Book: Helen

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Helen




"He may say he knows more, at all events," replied Lady Davenant; "but
now for the discovery of causes, metaphysical sir."

"I have done," cried the general, turning to leave the breakfast-room;
"when Beauclerc goes to metaphysics I give it up."

"No, no, do not give it up, my dear general," cried Lady Cecilia; "do
not stir till we have heard what will come next, for I am sure it will
be something delightfully absurd."

Beauclerc bowed, and feared he should not justify her ladyship's good
opinion, for he had nothing delightfully absurd to say, adding that the
cause of his friend's appearing like a brute was, that he feared to be a
hypocrite among hypocrites.

"Lord Beltravers was in company with a set who were striving, with all
their might of dissimulation, to appear better than they are, and he, as
he always does, strove to make himself appear worse than he really is."

"Unnecessary, I should think," said Lady Davenant.

"Impossible, I should think," said the general.

"Impossible I know it is to change your opinion, general, of any one,"
said Beauclerc.

"For my own part, I am glad of that," said Lady Cecilia, rising; "and I
advise you, Granville, to rest content with the general's opinion of
yourself, and say no more."

"But," said Beauclerc; "one cannot be content to think only of one's-
self always."

"Say no more, say no more," repeated Lady Cecilia, smiling as she looked
back from the door, where she had stopped the general. "For my sake say
no more, I entreat, I do dislike to hear so much said about anything or
anybody. What sort of a road is it to Old Forest?" continued she; "why
should not we ladies go with you, my dear Clarendon, to enliven the
way."

Clarendon's countenance brightened at this proposal. The road was
certainly beautiful, he said, by the banks of the Thames. Lady Cecilia
and the general left the room, but Beauclerc remained sitting at the
breakfast-table, apparently intently occupied in forming a tripod of
three tea-spoons; Lady Davenant opposite to him, looking at him
earnestly, "Granville!" said she. He started, "Granville! set my mind at
ease by one word, tell me the _mot d'enigme_ of this sudden friendship."

"Not what you suppose," said he steadily, yet colouring deeply. "The
fact is, that Beltravers and I were school-fellows; a generous little
fellow he was as ever was born; he got me out of a sad scrape once at
his own expense, and I can never forget it. We had never met since we
left Eton, till about three weeks ago in town, when I found him in great
difficulties, persecuted too, by a party--I could not turn my back on
him--I would rather be shot!"

"No immediate necessity for being shot, my dear Granville, I hope," said
Lady Davenant. "But if this be indeed _all_, I will never say another
word against your Lord Beltravers; I will leave it to you to find out
his character, or to time to show it. I shall be quite satisfied that
you throw away your money, if it be only money that is in the question;
be this Lord Beltravers what he may. Let him say, 'or let them do, it is
all one to me,' provided that he does not marry you to his sister."

"He has not a thought of it," cried Beauclerc; "and if he had, do you
conceive, Lady Davenant, that any man on earth could dispose of me in
marriage, at his pleasure?"

"I hope not," said Lady Davenant.

"Be assured not; my own will, my own heart alone, must decide that
matter."

"The horses are at the door!" cried Cecilia, as she entered; but
"where's Helen?"

Helen had made her escape out of the room when Lady Davenant had
pronounced the words, "Set my mind at rest, Granville," as she felt it
must then be embarrassing to him to speak, and to herself to hear. Her
retreat, had not, however, been effected with considerable loss, she had
been compelled to leave a large piece of the crape-trimming of her gown
under the foot of Lady Davenant's inexorable chair.

"Here is something that belongs to Miss Stanley, if I mistake not," said
the general, who first spied the fragment. The aid-de-camp stooped for
it--Lady Cecilia pitied it--Lady Davenant pronounced it to be Helen's
own fault--Beauclerc understood how it happened, and said nothing.

"But, Helen," cried Lady Cecilia, as she re-appeared,--"but, Helen, are
you not coming with us?"

Helen had intended to have gone in the pony-carriage with Lady Davenant,
but her ladyship now declared that she had business to do at home; it
was settled therefore that Helen was to be of the riding party, and that
party consisted of Lady Cecilia and the general, Beauclerc and herself.




CHAPTER X.


It was a delightful day, sun shining, not too hot, air balmy, birds
singing, all nature gay; and the happy influence was quickly felt by the
riding party. Unpleasant thoughts of the past or future, if any such had
been, were now lost in present enjoyment. The general, twice a man on
horseback, as he always felt himself, managed his own and Helen's horse
to admiration, and Cecilia, riding on with Beauclerc, was well pleased
to hear his first observation, that he had been quite wrong last night,
in not acknowledging that Miss Stanley was beautiful. "People look so
different by daylight and by candlelight," said he; "and so different
when one does not know them at all, and when one begins to know
something of them."

"But what can you know yet of Helen?"

"One forms some idea of character from trifles light as air. How
delightful this day is!"

"And now you really allow she may be called beautiful?"

"Yes, that is, with some expression of mind, heart, soul, which is what
I look for in general," said Beauclerc.

"In general, what can you mean by in general?"

"Not in particular; in particular cases I might think--I--I might feel--
otherwise."

"In particular, then, do you like fools that have no mind, heart, or
soul, Granville?--Answer me."

"Take care," said he, "that horse is too spirited for a lady."

"Not for me," said Lady Cecilia; "but do not think you shall get off so;
what did you mean?"

"My meaning lies too deep for the present occasion."

"For the present company--eh?"

Beauclerc half smiled and answered--"You know you used to tell me that
you hated long discussions on words and nice distinctions."

"Well, well, but let me have the nice distinction now."

"Between love and friendship, then, there is a vast difference in what
one wishes for in a woman's face; there are, 'faces which pale passion
loves.'" "To the right, turn," the general's voice far behind was heard
to say.

To the right they turned, into a glade of the park, which opened to a
favourite view of the general's, to which Cecilia knew that all
attention must be paid. He came up, and they proceeded through a wood
which had been planted by his father, and which seemed destined to stand
for ever secure from sacrilegious axe. The road led them next into a
village, one of the prettiest of that sort of scattered English
villages, where each habitation seems to have been suited to the fancy
as well as to the convenience of each proprietor; giving an idea at once
of comfort and liberty, such as can be seen only in England. Happy
England, how blest, would she but know her bliss!

This village was inhabited by the general's tenants. His countenance
brightened and expanded, as did theirs, whenever he came amongst them;
he saw them happy, and they knew that they owed their happiness in just
proportion to their landlord and themselves; therefore there was a
comfortable mixture in their feelings of gratitude and self-respect.
Some old people who were sitting on the stone benches, sunning
themselves at their doors, rose as he passed, cap in hand, with cordial
greeting. The oldest man, the father of the village, forgot his crutch
as he came forward to see his landlord's bride, and to give him joy. At
every house where they stopped, out came husband, wife, and children,
even "wee toddling things;" one of these, while the general was speaking
to its mother, made its way frightfully close to his horse's heels:
Helen saw it, and called to the mother. The general, turning and leaning
back on his horse, said to the bold little urchin as the mother snatched
him up, "My boy, as long as you live never again go behind a horse's
heels."

"And remember, it was general Clarendon gave you this advice," added
Beauclerc, and turning to Lady Cecilia--"'_Et souvenez vous que c'est
Marechal Turenne qui vous l'a dit_.'"

While the general searched for that English memento, six-pence, Lady
Cecilia repeated, "Marshal Turenne! I do not understand."

"Yes, if you recollect," said Helen, "you do."

"I dare say I know, but I don't remember," said Cecilia. "It was only,"
said Helen, "that the same thing had happened to Marshal Turenne, that
he gave the same advice to a little child."

Lady Cecilia said she owed Beauclerc an acknowledgment down to her
saddle-bow, for the compliment to her general, and a bow at least as low
to Ellen, for making her comprehend it; and, having paid both debts with
graceful promptitude, she observed, in an aside to Beauclerc, that she
quite agreed with him, that "In friendship it was good not to have to do
with fools."

He smiled.

"It is always permitted," continued Cecilia, "to woman to use her
intellects so far as to comprehend what man says; her knowledge, of
whatever sort, never comes amiss when it serves only to illustrate what
is said by one of the lords of the creation. Let us note this, my dear
Ellen, as a general maxim, for future use, and pray, since you have so
good a memory, remember to tell mamma, who says I never generalise, that
this morning I have actually made and established a philosophical maxim,
one that may be of some use too, which cannot be said of all
reflections, general or particular."

They rode on through a lane bright and fragrant with primroses and
violets; gradually winding, this lane opened at last upon the beautiful
banks of the Thames, whose "silver bosom" appeared at once before them
in the bright sunshine, silent, flowing on, seeming, as Beauclerc said,
as if it would for ever flow on unaltered in full, broad, placid
dignity. "Here," he exclaimed, as they paused to contemplate the view,
"the throng of commerce, the ponderous barge, the black steam-boat, the
hum and din of business, never have violated the mighty current. No
lofty bridge insultingly over-arches it, no stone-built wharf confines
it; nothing but its own banks, coeval with itself and like itself,
uncontaminated by the petty uses of mankind!--they spread into large
parks, or are hung with thick woods, as nature wills. No citizen's box,
no chimera villa destroys the idea of repose; but nature, uninterrupted,
carries on her own operations in field, and flood, and tree."

The general, less poetically inclined, would name to Helen all the fine
places within view--"Residences," as he practically remarked, "such as
cannot be seen in any country in the world but England; and not only
fine places such as these, but from the cottage to the palace--'the
homes of Old England' are the best homes upon earth."

"The most candid and sensible of all modern French travellers," said
Beauclerc, "was particularly struck with the superiority of our English
country residences, and the comfort of our homes."

"You mean M. de Stael?" said the general; "true English sense in that
book, I allow."

When the general and Beauclerc did agree in opinion about a book, which
was not a circumstance of frequent occurrence, they were mutually
delighted; one always feeling the value of the other's practical sense,
and the other then acknowledging that literature is good for something.
Beauclerc in the fulness of his heart, and abundance of his words, began
to expatiate on M. de Stael's merits, in having better than any
foreigner understood the actual workings and balances of the British
constitution, that constitution so much talked of abroad, and so little
understood.

"So little understood any where," said the general.

Reasonably as Beauclerc now spoke, Helen formed a new idea of his
capacity, and began to think more respectfully even of his common sense,
than when she had heard him in the Beltravers cause. He spoke of the
causes of England's prosperity, the means by which she maintains her
superiority among nations--her equal laws and their just administration.
He observed, that the hope which every man born in England, even in the
lowest station, may have of rising by his own merits to the highest
eminence, forms the great spring of industry and talent. He agreed with
the intelligent foreigner's observation, that the aristocracy of talent
is superior in England to the aristocracy of birth.

The general seemed to demur at the word superior, drew himself up, but
said nothing in contradiction.

"Industry, and wealth, and education, and fashion, all emulous, act in
England beneficially on each other," continued Beauclerc.

The general sat at ease again.

"And above all," pursued Beauclerc,--"above all, education and the
diffusion of knowledge----"

"Knowledge--yes, but take care of what kind," said his guardian. "All
kinds are good," said Beauclerc.

"No, only such as are safe," said the general. The march of intellect
was not a favourite march with him, unless the step were perfectly kept,
and all in good time.

But now, on passing a projecting bend in the wood, they came within
sight of a place in melancholy contrast to all they had just admired. A
park of considerable extent, absolutely bereft of trees, except a few
ragged firs on each side of a large dilapidated mansion, on the summit
of a bleak hill: it seemed as if a great wood had once been there.

"Old Forest!" exclaimed the general; "Old Forest, now no more! Many a
happy hour, when I was a boy, have I spent shooting in those woods," and
he pointed to where innumerable stumps of trees, far as the eye could
reach, marked where the forest had once stood: some of the white circles
on the ground showed the magnificent size of those newly felled.
Beauclerc was quite silent.

The general led the way on to the great gate of entrance: the porter's
lodge was in ruins.

A huge rusty padlock hung upon one of the gates, which had been dragged
half open, but, the hinge having sunk, there it stuck--the gate could
not be opened further. The other could not be stirred without imminent
hazard of bringing down the pier on which it hung, and which was so
crazy, the groom said, "he was afraid, if he shook it never so little,
all would come down together."

"Let it alone," said the general, in the tone of one resolved to be
patient; "there is room enough for us to get in one by one--Miss
Stanley, do not be in a hurry, if you please; follow me quietly."

In they filed. The avenue, overgrown with grass, would have been
difficult to find, but for deep old cart-ruts which still marked the
way. But soon, fallen trees, and lopped branches, dragged many a rood
and then left there, made it difficult to pass. And there lay exposed
the white bodies of many a noble tree, some wholly, some half, stripped
of their bark, some green in decay, left to the weather--and every here
and there little smoking pyramids of burning charcoal.

As they approached the house--"How changed," said the general, "from
that once cheerful hospitable mansion!"--It was a melancholy example of
a deserted home: the plaster dropping off, the cut stone green, the
windows broken, the shutters half shut, the way to the hall-door steps
blocked up. They were forced to go round through the yards. Coach-houses
and stables, grand ranges, now all dilapidated. Only one yelping cur in
the great kennel. The back-door being ajar, the general pushed it open,
and they went in, and on to the great kitchen, where they found in the
midst of wood smoke one little old woman, whom they nearly scared out of
her remaining senses. She stood and stared. Beauclerc stepped towards
her to explain; but she was deaf: he raised his voice--in vain. She was
made to comprehend by the general, whose voice, known in former times,
reached her heart--"that they only came to see the place."

"See the place! ah! a sad sight to see." Her eyes reverted to Beauclerc,
and, conceiving that he was the young lord himself, she waxed pale, and
her head shook fearfully; but, when relieved from this mistake, she went
forward to show them over the house.

As they proceeded up the great staircase, she confided to her friend,
the general, that she was glad it was not the young lord, for she was
told he was a fiery man, and she dreaded his coming unawares.

Lady Cecilia asked if she did not know him?

No, she had never seen him since he was a little fellow: "he has been
always roaming about, like the rest, in foreign parts, and has never set
foot in the place since he came to man's estate."

As the general passed a window on the landing-place, he looked out.--
"You are missing the great elm, Sir. Ah! I remember you here, a boy; you
was always good. It was the young lord ordered specially the cutting of
that, which I could not stomach; the last of the real old trees! Well,
well! I'm old and foolish--I'm old and foolish, and I should not talk."

But still she talked on, and as this seemed her only comfort, they would
not check her garrulity. In the hope that they were come to take the
house, she now bustled as well as she could, to show all to the best
advantage, but bad was the best now, as she sorrowfully said. She was
very unwilling that the gentlemen should go up to inspect the roof. They
went, however; and the general saw and estimated, and Beauclerc saw and
hoped.

The general, recollecting the geography of the house, observed that she
had not shown them what used to be the picture-gallery, which looked out
on the terrace; he desired to see it. She reluctantly obeyed; and, after
trying sundry impossible keys, repeating all the while that her heart
was broke, that she wished it had pleased God never to give her a heart,
unlock the door she could not in her trepidation. Beauclerc gently took
the keys from her, and looked so compassionately upon her, that she God-
blessed him, and thought it a pity her young lord was not like him; and
while he dealt with the lock, Lady Cecilia, saying they would trouble
her no further, slipped into her hand what she thought would be some
comfort. The poor old creature thanked her ladyship, but said gold could
be of no use to her now in life; she should soon let the parish bury
her, and be no cost to the young lord. She could forgive many things,
she said, but she could never forgive him for parting with the old
pictures. She turned away as the gallery-door opened.

One only old daub of a grandmother was there; all the rest had been
sold, and their vacant places remained discoloured on the walls. There
were two or three dismembered old chairs, the richly dight windows
broken, the floor rat-eaten. The general stood and looked, and did not
sigh, but absolutely groaned. They went to the shattered glass door,
which looked out upon the terrace--that terrace which had cost thousands
of pounds to raise, and he called Cecilia to show her the place where
the youngsters used to play, and to point out some of his favourite
haunts.

"It is most melancholy to see a family-place so gone to ruin," said
Beauclerc; "if it strikes us so much, what must it be to the son of this
family, to come back to the house of his ancestors, and find it thus
desolate! Poor Beltravers!"

The expression of the general's eye changed.

"I am sure you must pity him, my dear general," continued Beauclerc.

"I might, had he done any thing to prevent, or had he done less to
hasten, this ruin."

"How? he should not have cut down the trees, do you mean?--but it was to
pay his father's debts----" "And his own," said the general.

"He told me his father's, sir."

"And I tell you his own."

"Even so," said Beauclerc, "debts are not crimes for which we ought to
shut the gates of mercy on our fellow-creatures--and so young a man as
Beltravers, left to himself, without a home, his family abroad, no
parent, no friend--no guardian friend."

"But what is it you would do, Beauclerc?" said the general.

"What you must wish to be done," said Beauclerc. "Repair this ruin,
restore this once hospitable mansion, and put it in the power of the son
to be what his ancestors have been."

"But how--my dear Beauclerc? Tell me plainly--how?"

"Plainly, I would lend him money enough to make this house fit to live
in."

"And he would never repay you, and would never live in it."

"He would, sir--he promised me he would."

"Promised you!"

"And I promised him that I would lend him the money."

"Promised! Beauclerc? Without your guardian's knowledge? Pray, how much--"

"Confound me, if I remember the words. The sense was, what would do the
business; what would make the house fit for him and his sisters to live
in."

"Ten thousand!--fifteen thousand would not do."

"Well, sir. You know what will be necessary better than I do. A few
thousands more or less, what signifies, provided a friend be well
served. The superfluous money accumulated during my long minority cannot
be better employed."

"All that I have been saving for you with such care from the time your
father died!"

"My dear guardian, my dear friend, do not think me ungrateful; but the
fact is,--in short, my happiness does not depend, never can depend, upon
money; as my friend, therefore, I beseech you to consider my moneyed
interest less, and my happiness more."

"Beauclerc, you do not know what your happiness is. One hour you tell me
it is one thing, the next another. What is become of the plan for the
new house you wanted to build for yourself? I must have common sense for
you, Beauclerc, as you have none for yourself. I shall not give you this
money for Lord Beltravers."

"You forget sir, that I told you I had promised."

"You forget, Beauclerc, that I told you that such a promise, vague and
absurd in itself, made without your guardian's concurrence or consent,
is absolutely null and void."

"Null and void in law, perhaps it may be," cried Beauclerc; "but for
that very reason, in honour, the stronger the more binding, and I am
speaking to a man of honour."

"To one who can take care of his own honour," said the general.

"And of mine, I trust."

"You do well to trust it, as your father did, to me: it shall not he
implicated--"

"When once I am of age," interrupted Beauclerc.

"You will do as you please," said the general. "In the mean time I shall
do my duty."

"But, sir, I only ask you to let me _lend_ this money."

"Lend--nonsense! lend to a man who cannot give any security."

"Security!" said Beauclerc, with a look of unutterable contempt. "When a
friend is in distress, to talk to him like an attorney, of security! Do,
pray, sir, spare me that. I would rather give the money at once."

"I make no doubt of it; then at once I say No, sir."

"No, sir! and why do you say no?"

"Because I think it my duty, and nothing I have heard has at all shaken
my opinion."

"Opinion! and so I am to be put down by opinion, without any reason!"
cried Beauclerc. Then trying to command his temper, "But tell me, my
dear general, why I cannot have this cursed money?"

"Because, my dear Beauclerc, I am your guardian, and can say _no_, and
can adhere to a refusal as firmly as any man living, when it is
necessary."

"Yes, and when it is unnecessary. General Clarendon, according to your
own estimate, fifteen thousand pounds is the utmost sum requisite to put
this house in a habitable state--by that sum I abide!" "Abide!"

"Yes, I require it, to keep my promise to Beltraver's, and have it I
MUST."

"Not from me."

"From some one else then, for have it I WILL.

"Dearest Clarendon," whispered Lady Cecilia, "let him have it, since he
has promised----"

Without seeming to hear her whisper, without a muscle of his countenance
altering, General Clarendon repeated, "Not from me."

"From some one else then--I can."

"Not while I have power to prevent."

"Power! power! power! Yes, that is what you love, above all things and
all persons, and I tell you plainly, General Clarendon," pursued
Beauclerc, too angry to heed or see Lady Cecilia's remonstrating looks,
"at once I tell you that you have not the power. You had it. It is past
and gone. The power of affection you had, if not of reason; but force,
General Clarendon, despotism, can never govern me. I submit to no man's
mere will, much less to any man's sheer obstinacy."

At the word obstinacy, the general's face, which was before rigid, grew
hard as iron. Beauclerc walked up and down the room with great strides,
and as he strode he went on talking to himself.

"To be kept from the use of my own money, treated like a child--an
idiot--at my time of life! Not considered at years of discretion, when
other men of the meanest capacity, by the law of the land, can do what
they please with their own property! By heavens!--that will of my
father's----"

"Should be respected, my dear Granville, since it was your father's
will," said Lady Cecilia, joining him as he walked. "And respect----" He
stopped short.

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