CHAPTER II. LUCRETIA.
When Lucretia first came to the house of Sir Miles St. John she wasan infant about four years old. The baronet then lived principallyin London, with occasional visits rather to the Continent or awatering-place than to his own family mansion. He did not pay any minuteattention to his little ward, satisfied that her nurse was sedulous, andher nursery airy and commodious. When, at the age of seven, she beganto interest him, and he himself, approaching old age, began seriouslyto consider whether he should select her as his heiress, for hithertohe had not formed any decided or definite notions on the matter, he wasstartled by a temper so vehement, so self-willed and sternly imperious,so obstinately bent upon attaining its object, so indifferentlycontemptuous of warning, reproof, coaxing, or punishment, that hergoverness honestly came to him in despair.
The management of this unmanageable child interested Sir Miles. Itcaused him to think of Lucretia seriously; it caused him to have hermuch in his society, and always in his thoughts. The result was, that byamusing and occupying him, she forced a stronger hold on his affectionsthan she might have done had she been more like the ordinary run ofcommonplace children. Of all dogs, there is no dog that so attaches amaster as a dog that snarls at everybody else,--that no other hand canventure to pat with impunity; of all horses, there is none which soflatters the rider, from Alexander downwards, as a horse that nobodyelse can ride. Extend this principle to the human species, and you mayunderstand why Lucretia became so dear to Sir Miles St. John,--she gotat his heart through his vanity. For though, at times, her brow darkenedand her eye flashed even at his remonstrance, she was yet no soonerin his society than she made a marked distinction between him and thesubordinates who had hitherto sought to control her. Was this affection?He thought so. Alas! what parent can trace the workings of a child'smind,--springs moved by an idle word from a nurse; a whisperedconference between hirelings. Was it possible that Lucretia had notoften been menaced, as the direst evil that could befall her, with heruncle's displeasure; that long before she could be sensible of mereworldly loss or profit, she was not impressed with a vague sense of SirMiles's power over her fate,--nay, when trampling, in childish wrath andscorn, upon some menial's irritable feelings, was it possible that shehad not been told that, but for Sir Miles, she would be little betterthan a servant herself? Be this as it may, all weakness is prone todissimulate; and rare and happy is the child whose feelings are as pureand transparent as the fond parent deems them. There is somethingin children, too, which seems like an instinctive deference to thearistocratic appearances which sway the world. Sir Miles's statelyperson, his imposing dress, the respect with which he was surrounded,all tended to beget notions of superiority and power, to which it was noshame to succumb, as it was to Miss Black, the governess, whom themaids answered pertly, or Martha, the nurse, whom Miss Black snubbed ifLucretia tore her frock.
Sir Miles's affection once won, his penetration not, perhaps, blindedto her more evident faults, but his self-love soothed towards regardingthem leniently, there was much in Lucretia's external gifts whichjustified the predilection of the haughty man. As a child she wasbeautiful, and, perhaps from her very imperfections of temper, herbeauty had that air of distinction which the love of command is apt toconfer. If Sir Miles was with his friends when Lucretia swept into theroom, he was pleased to hear them call her their little "princess," andwas pleased yet more at a certain dignified tranquillity with which shereceived their caresses or their toys, and which he regarded as thesign of a superior mind; nor was it long, indeed, before what we call "asuperior mind" developed itself in the young Lucretia. All children arequick till they are set methodically to study; but Lucretia's quicknessdefied even that numbing ordeal, by which half of us are rendereddunces. Rapidity and precision in all the tasks set to her, in thecomprehension of all the explanations given to her questions, evincedsingular powers of readiness and reasoning.
As she grew older, she became more reserved and thoughtful. Seeing butfew children of her own age, and mixing intimately with none, her mindwas debarred from the usual objects which distract the vivacity, therestless and wondrous observation, of childhood. She came in and outof Sir Miles's library of a morning, or his drawing-room of an evening,till her hour for rest, with unquestioned and sometimes unnoticedfreedom; she listened to the conversation around her, and formed her ownconclusions unchecked. It has a great influence upon a child, whetherfor good or for evil, to mix early and habitually with those grownup,--for good to the mere intellect always; the evil depends upon thecharacter and discretion of those the child sees and hears. "Reverencethe greatest is due to the children," exclaims the wisest of the Romans[Cicero. The sentiment is borrowed by Juvenal.],--that is to say, thatwe must revere the candour and inexperience and innocence of theirminds.
Now, Sir Miles's habitual associates were persons of theworld,--well-bred and decorous, indeed, before children, as the best ofthe old school were, avoiding all anecdotes; all allusions, for whichthe prudent matron would send her girls out of the room; but with thatreserve speaking of the world as the world goes: if talking of youngA----, calculating carelessly what he would have when old A----, hisfather, died; naturally giving to wealth and station and ability theirfixed importance in life; not over-apt to single out for eulogium somequiet goodness; rather inclined to speak with irony of pretensions tovirtue; rarely speaking but with respect of the worldly seemings whichrule mankind. All these had their inevitable effect upon that keen,quick, yet moody and reflective intellect.
Sir Miles removed at last to Laughton. He gave up London,--why, heacknowledged not to himself; but it was because he had outlived his age.Most of his old set were gone; new hours, new habits, had stolen in.He had ceased to be of importance as a marrying man, as a personageof fashion; his health was impaired; he shrank from the fatigues of acontested election; he resigned his seat in parliament for his nativecounty; and once settled at Laughton, the life there soothed andflattered him,--there all his former claims to distinction were stillfresh. He amused himself by collecting, in his old halls and chambers,his statues and pictures, and felt that, without fatigue or trouble, hewas a greater man at Laughton in his old age than he had been in Londonduring his youth.
Lucretia was then thirteen. Three years afterwards, Olivier Dalibardwas established in the house; and from that time a great change becamenoticeable in her. The irregular vehemence of her temper graduallysubsided, and was replaced by an habitual self-command which renderedthe rare deviations from it more effective and imposing. Her pridechanged its character wholly and permanently; no word, no look of scornto the low-born and the poor escaped her. The masculine studies whichher erudite tutor opened to a grasping and inquisitive mind, elevatedher very errors above the petty distinctions of class. She imbibedearnestly what Dalibard assumed or felt,--the more dangerous pride ofthe fallen angel,--and set up the intellect as a deity. All belongingto the mere study of mind charmed and enchained her; but active andpractical in her very reveries, if she brooded, it was to scheme, toplot, to weave, web, and mesh, and to smile in haughty triumph ather own ingenuity and daring. The first lesson of mere worldly wisdomteaches us to command temper; it was worldly wisdom that made the onceimpetuous girl calm, tranquil, and serene. Sir Miles was pleased bya change that removed from Lucretia's outward character its chiefblot,--perhaps, as his frame declined, he sighed sometimes to thinkthat with so much majesty there appeared but little tenderness; he took,however, the merits with the faults, and was content upon the whole.
If the Provencal had taken more than common pains with his young pupil,the pains were not solely disinterested. In plunging her mind amidstthat profound corruption which belongs only to intellect cultivatedin scorn of good and in suppression of heart, he had his own views toserve. He watched the age when the passions ripen, and he grasped atthe fruit which his training sought to mature. In the human heart illregulated there is a dark desire for the forbidden. This Lucretia felt;this her studies cherished, and her thoughts brooded over. S
he detected,with the quickness of her sex, the preceptor's stealthy aim. Shestarted not at the danger. Proud of her mastery over herself, she rathertriumphed in luring on into weakness this master-intelligence which hadlighted up her own,--to see her slave in her teacher; to despise or topity him whom she had first contemplated with awe. And with this merepride of the understanding might be connected that of the sex; she hadattained the years when woman is curious to know and to sound her power.To inflame Dalibard's cupidity or ambition was easy; but to touch hisheart,--that marble heart!--this had its dignity and its charm. Strangeto say, she succeeded; the passion, as well as interests, of thisdangerous and able man became enlisted in his hopes. And now the gameplayed between them had a terror in its suspense; for if Dalibardpenetrated not into the recesses of his pupil's complicated nature, shewas far from having yet sounded the hell that lay, black and devouring,beneath his own. Not through her affections,--those he scarce hopedfor,--but through her inexperience, her vanity, her passions, hecontemplated the path to his victory over her soul and her fate. And soresolute, so wily, so unscrupulous was this person, who had played uponall the subtlest keys and chords in the scale of turbulent life, that,despite the lofty smile with which Lucretia at length heard and repelledhis suit, he had no fear of the ultimate issue, when all his projectswere traversed, all his mines and stratagems abruptly brought to aclose, by an event which he had wholly unforeseen,--the appearance ofa rival; the ardent and almost purifying love, which, escaping a whilefrom all the demons he had evoked, she had, with a girl's frank heartand impulse, conceived for Mainwaring. And here, indeed, was the greatcrisis in Lucretia's life and destiny. So interwoven with her nature hadbecome the hard calculations of the understanding; so habitual to hernow was the zest for scheming, which revels in the play and vivacity ofintrigue and plot, and which Shakspeare has perhaps intended chiefly todepict in the villany of Iago,--that it is probable Lucretia could neverbecome a character thoroughly amiable and honest. But with a happy andwell-placed love, her ambition might have had legitimate vents; herrestless energies, the woman's natural field in sympathies for another.The heart, once opened, softens by use; gradually and unconsciouslythe interchange of affection, the companionship with an upright andingenuous mind (for virtue is not only beautiful, it is contagious),might have had their redeeming and hallowing influence. Happier, indeed,had it been, if her choice had fallen upon a more commanding and loftynature! But perhaps it was the very meekness and susceptibility ofMainwaring's temper, relieved from feebleness by his talents, which,once in play, were undeniably great, that pleased her by contrast withher own hardness of spirit and despotism of will.
That Sir Miles should have been blind to the position of the lovers isless disparaging to his penetration than it may appear; for the veryimprudence with which Lucretia abandoned herself to the society ofMainwaring during his visits at Laughton took a resemblance to candour.Sir Miles knew his niece to be more than commonly clever and wellinformed; that she, like him, should feel that the conversation of asuperior young man was a relief to the ordinary babble of their countryneighbours, was natural enough; and if now and then a doubt, a fear, hadcrossed his mind and rendered him more touched than he liked to own byVernon's remarks, it had vanished upon perceiving that Lucretia neverseemed a shade more pensive in Mainwaring's absence. The listlessnessand the melancholy which are apt to accompany love, especially whereunpropitiously placed, were not visible on the surface of this strongnature. In truth, once assured that Mainwaring returned her affection,Lucretia reposed on the future with a calm and resolute confidence; andher customary dissimulation closed like an unruffled sea over all theundercurrents that met and played below. Still, Sir Miles's attentiononce, however slightly, aroused to the recollection that Lucretia wasat the age when woman naturally meditates upon love and marriage, hadsuggested, afresh and more vividly, a project which had before beenindistinctly conceived,--namely, the union of the divided branches ofhis house, by the marriage of the last male of the Vernons with theheiress of the St. Johns. Sir Miles had seen much of Vernon himself atvarious intervals; he had been present at his christening, though he hadrefused to be his godfather, for fear of raising undue expectations; hehad visited and munificently "tipped" him at Eton; he had accompaniedhim to his quarters when he joined the prince's regiment; he had comeoften in contact with him when, at the death of his father, Vernonretired from the army and blazed in the front ranks of metropolitanfashion; he had given him counsel and had even lent him money. Vernon'sspendthrift habits and dissipated if not dissolute life had certainlyconfirmed the old baronet in his intentions to trust the lands ofLaughton to the lesser risk which property incurs in the hands ofa female, if tightly settled on her, than in the more colossal andmultiform luxuries of an expensive man; and to do him justice, duringthe flush of Vernon's riotous career he had shrunk from the thought ofconfiding the happiness of his niece to so unstable a partner. But oflate, whether from his impaired health or his broken fortunes, Vernon'sfollies had been less glaring. He had now arrived at the mature age ofthirty-three, when wild oats may reasonably be sown. The composed andsteadfast character of Lucretia might serve to guide and direct him; andSir Miles was one of those who hold the doctrine that a reformed rakemakes the best husband. Add to this, there was nothing in Vernon'sreputation--once allowing that his thirst for pleasure was slaked--whichcould excite serious apprehensions. Through all his difficulties, he hadmaintained his honour unblemished; a thousand traits of amiability andkindness of heart made him popular and beloved. He was nobody's enemybut his own. His very distresses--the prospect of his ruin, if leftunassisted by Sir Miles's testamentary dispositions--were argumentsin his favour. And, after all, though Lucretia was a nearer relation,Vernon was in truth the direct male heir, and according to the usualprejudices of family, therefore, the fitter representative of theancient line. With these feelings and views, he had invited Vernon tohis house, and we have seen already that his favourable impressions hadbeen confirmed by the visit.
And here we must say that Vernon himself had been brought up in boyhoodand youth to regard himself the presumptive inheritor of Laughton. Ithad been, from time immemorial, the custom of the St. Johns to pass bythe claims of females in the settlement of the entails; from male tomale the estate had gone, furnishing warriors to the army, and senatorsto the State. And if when Lucretia first came to Sir Miles's house thebright prospect seemed somewhat obscure, still the mesalliance of themother, and Sir Miles's obstinate resentment thereat, seemed to warrantthe supposition that he would probably only leave to the orphan theusual portion of a daughter of the house, and that the lands would goin their ordinary destination. This belief, adopted passively, and as athing of course, had had a very prejudicial effect upon Vernon's career.What mattered that he overenjoyed his youth, that the subordinateproperty of the Vernons, a paltry four or five thousand pounds a year,went a little too fast,--the splendid estates of Laughton would recoverall. From this dream he had only been awakened, two or three yearsbefore, by an attachment he had formed to the portionless daughter ofan earl; and the Grange being too far encumbered to allow him the propersettlements which the lady's family required, it became a matter ofimportance to ascertain Sir Miles's intentions. Too delicate himself tosound them, he had prevailed upon the earl, who was well acquainted withSir Miles, to take Laughton in his way to his own seat in Dorsetshire,and, without betraying the grounds of his interest in the question,learn carelessly, as it were, the views of the wealthy man. The resulthad been a severe and terrible disappointment. Sir Miles had then fullydetermined upon constituting Lucretia his heiress; and with the usualopenness of his character, he had plainly said so upon the very firstcovert and polished allusion to the subject which the earl slyly made.This discovery, in breaking off all hopes of a union with Lady MaryStanville, had crushed more than mercenary expectations. It affected,through his heart, Vernon's health and spirits; it rankled deep, andwas resented at first as a fatal injury. But Vernon's native nobility ofdisposition graduall
y softened an indignation which his reason convincedhim was groundless and unjust. Sir Miles had never encouraged theexpectations which Vernon's family and himself had unthinkingly formed.The baronet was master of his own fortune, and after all, was it notmore natural that he should prefer the child he had brought up andreared, to a distant relation, little more than an acquaintance, simplybecause man succeeded to man in the mouldy pedigree of the St. Johns?And, Mary fairly lost to him, his constitutional indifference to money,a certain French levity of temper, a persuasion that his life wasnearing its wasted close, had left him without regret, as withoutresentment, at his kinsman's decision. His boyish affection for thehearty, generous old gentleman returned, and though he abhorred thecountry, he had, without a single interested thought or calculation,cordially accepted the baronet's hospitable overtures, and deserted, forthe wilds of Hampshire, "the sweet shady side of Pall-Mall."
We may now enter the drawing-room at Laughton, in which were alreadyassembled several of the families residing in the more immediateneighbourhood, and who sociably dropped in to chat around the nationaltea-table, play a rubber at whist, or make up, by the help of two orthree children and two or three grandpapas, a merry country-dance; forin that happy day people were much more sociable than they are now inthe houses of our rural Thanes. Our country seats became bustling andanimated after the Birthday; many even of the more important familiesresided, indeed, all the year round on their estates. The Continent wasclosed to us; the fastidious exclusiveness which comes from habitualresidence in cities had not made that demarcation, in castes and intalk, between neighbour and neighbour, which exists now. Our squireswere less educated, less refined, but more hospitable and unassuming.In a word, there was what does not exist now, except in some districtsremote from London,--a rural society for those who sought it.
The party, as we enter, is grouped somewhat thus. But first we must casta glance at the room itself, which rarely failed to be the first objectto attract a stranger's notice. It was a long, and not particularlywell-proportioned apartment,--according, at least, to modernnotions,--for it had rather the appearance of two rooms thrown into one.At the distance of about thirty-five feet, the walls, before somewhatnarrow, were met by an arch, supported by carved pilasters, which openedinto a space nearly double the width of the previous part of the room,with a domed ceiling and an embayed window of such depth that the recessalmost formed a chamber in itself. But both these divisions of theapartment corresponded exactly in point of decoration,--they had thesame small panelling, painted a very light green, which seemed almostwhite by candlelight, each compartment wrought with an arabesque; thesame enriched frieze and cornice; they had the same high mantelpieces,ascending to the ceiling, with the arms of St. John in bold relief. Theyhad, too, the same old-fashioned and venerable furniture, draperiesof thick figured velvet, with immense chairs and sofas tocorrespond,--interspersed, it is true, with more modern and commodiousinventions of the upholsterer's art, in grave stuffed leather or livelychintz. Two windows, nearly as deep as that in the farther division,broke the outline of the former one, and helped to give that irregularand nooky appearance to the apartment which took all discomfort fromits extent, and furnished all convenience for solitary study or detachedflirtation. With little respect for the carved work of the panels, thewalls were covered with pictures brought by Sir Miles from Italy; hereand there marble busts and statues gave lightness to the character ofthe room, and harmonized well with that half-Italian mode of decorationwhich belongs to the period of James the First. The shape of thechamber, in its divisions, lent itself admirably to that friendly andsociable intermixture of amusements which reconciles the tastes of youngand old. In the first division, near the fireplace, Sir Miles, seatedin his easy-chair, and sheltered from the opening door by a seven-foldtapestry screen, was still at chess with his librarian. At a littledistance a middle-aged gentleman and three turbaned matrons were cuttingin at whist, shilling points, with a half-crown bet optional, and notmuch ventured on. On tables, drawn into the recesses of the windows,were the day's newspapers, Gilray's caricatures, the last newpublications, and such other ingenious suggestions to chit-chat. Andround these tables grouped those who had not yet found elsewhere theirevening's amusement,--two or three shy young clergymen, the parishdoctor, four or five squires who felt great interest in politics, butnever dreamed of the extravagance of taking in a daily paper, and whonow, monopolizing all the journals they could find, began fairly withthe heroic resolution to skip nothing, from the first advertisement tothe printer's name. Amidst one of these groups Mainwaring had bashfullyensconced himself. In the farther division, the chandelier, suspendedfrom the domed ceiling, threw its cheerful light over a large circulartable below, on which gleamed the ponderous tea-urn of massive silver,with its usual accompaniments. Nor were wanting there, in addition tothose airy nothings, sliced infinitesimally, from a French roll,the more substantial and now exiled cheer of cakes,--plum and seed,Yorkshire and saffron,--attesting the light hand of the housekeeper andthe strong digestion of the guests. Round this table were seated, infull gossip, the maids and the matrons, with a slight sprinkling ofthe bolder young gentlemen who had been taught to please the fair. Thewarmth of the evening allowed the upper casement to be opened and thecurtains drawn aside, and the July moonlight feebly struggled againstthe blaze of the lights within. At this table it was Miss Clavering'sobvious duty to preside; but that was a complaisance to which she rarelycondescended. Nevertheless, she had her own way of doing the honour ofher uncle's house, which was not without courtesy and grace; to glidefrom one to the other, exchange a few friendly words, see that eachset had its well-known amusements, and, finally, sit quietly down toconverse with some who, from gravity or age, appeared most to neglector be neglected by the rest, was her ordinary, and not unpopular mode ofwelcoming the guests at Laughton,--not unpopular; for she thus avoidedall interference with the flirtations and conquests of humbler damsels,whom her station and her endowments might otherwise have crossed orhumbled, while she insured the good word of the old, to whom the youngare seldom so attentive. But if a stranger of more than provincialrepute chanced to be present; if some stray member of parliament, orbarrister on the circuit, or wandering artist, accompanied any of theneighbours,--to him Lucretia gave more earnest and undivided attention.Him she sought to draw into a conversation deeper than the usual babble,and with her calm, searching eyes, bent on him while he spoke, seemed tofathom the intellect she set in play. But as yet, this evening, she hadnot made her appearance,--a sin against etiquette very unusual in her.Perhaps her recent conversation with Dalibard had absorbed her thoughtsto forgetfulness of the less important demands on her attention. Herabsence had not interfered with the gayety at the tea-table, whichwas frank even to noisiness as it centred round the laughing face ofArdworth, who, though unknown to most or all of the ladies present,beyond a brief introduction to one or two of the first comers from SirMiles (as the host had risen from his chess to bid them welcome), hadalready contrived to make himself perfectly at home and outrageouslypopular. Niched between two bouncing lasses, he had commencedacquaintance with them in a strain of familiar drollery and fun, whichhad soon broadened its circle, and now embraced the whole group inthe happy contagion of good-humour and young animal spirits. Gabriel,allowed to sit up later than his usual hour, had not, as might have beenexpected, attached himself to this circle, nor indeed to any; he mightbe seen moving quietly about,--now contemplating the pictures on thewall with a curious eye; now pausing at the whist-table, and noting thegame with the interest of an embryo gamester; now throwing himself on anottoman, and trying to coax towards him Dash or Ponto,--trying in vain,for both the dogs abhorred him; yet still, through all this generalmovement, had any one taken the pains to observe him closely, it mighthave been sufficiently apparent that his keen, bright, restless eye,from the corner of its long, sly lids, roved chiefly towards the threepersons whom he approached the least,--his father, Mainwaring, and Mr.Vernon. This last had ensconced himself apart fro
m all, in the angleformed by one of the pilasters of the arch that divided the room, sothat he was in command, as it were, of both sections. Reclined, with thecareless grace that seemed inseparable from every attitude and motion ofhis person, in one of the great velvet chairs, with a book in his hand,which, to say truth, was turned upside down, but in the lecture of whichhe seemed absorbed, he heard at one hand the mirthful laughter thatcircled round young Ardworth, or, in its pauses, caught, on the otherside, muttered exclamations from the grave whist-players: "If youhad but trumped that diamond, ma'am!" "Bless me, sir, it was the bestheart!" And somehow or other, both the laughter and the exclamationsaffected him alike with what then was called "the spleen,"--for the onereminded him of his own young days of joyless, careless mirth, of whichhis mechanical gayety now was but a mocking ghost; and the other seemeda satire, a parody, on the fierce but noiseless rapture of gaming,through which his passions had passed, when thousands had slipped awaywith a bland smile, provoking not one of those natural ebullitionsof emotion which there accompanied the loss of a shilling point. Andbesides this, Vernon had been so accustomed to the success of thedrawing-room, to be a somebody and a something in the company of witsand princes, that he felt, for the first time, a sense of insignificancein this provincial circle. Those fat squires had heard nothing of Mr.Vernon, except that he would not have Laughton,--he had no acres, novote in their county; he was a nobody to them. Those ruddy maidens,though now and then, indeed, one or two might steal an admiring glanceat a figure of elegance so unusual, regarded him not with the femaleinterest he had been accustomed to inspire. They felt instinctively thathe could be nothing to them, nor they to him,--a mere London fop, andnot half so handsome as Squires Bluff and Chuff.
Rousing himself from this little vexation to his vanity with a conscioussmile at his own weakness, Vernon turned his looks towards the door,waiting for Lucretia's entrance, and since her uncle's address to him,feeling that new and indescribable interest in her appearance which isapt to steal into every breast when what was before but an indifferentacquaintance, is suddenly enhaloed with the light of a possible wife.At length the door opened, and Lucretia entered. Mr. Vernon loweredhis book, and gazed with an earnestness that partook both of doubt andadmiration.
Lucretia Clavering was tall,--tall beyond what is admitted to be tallin woman; but in her height there was nothing either awkward ormasculine,--a figure more perfect never served for model to a sculptor.The dress at that day, unbecoming as we now deem it, was not to her--atleast, on the whole disadvantageous. The short waist gave greatersweep to her majestic length of limb, while the classic thinness of thedrapery betrayed the exact proportion and the exquisite contour. Thearms then were worn bare almost to the shoulder, and Lucretia's armswere not more faultless in shape than dazzling in their snowy colour;the stately neck, the falling shoulders, the firm, slight, yet roundedbust,--all would have charmed equally the artist and the sensualist.Fortunately, the sole defect of her form was not apparent at a distance:that defect was in the hand; it had not the usual faults of femaleyouthfulness,--the superfluity of flesh, the too rosy healthfulnessof colour,--on the contrary, it was small and thin; but it was,nevertheless, more the hand of a man than a woman: the shape had a man'snervous distinctness, the veins swelled like sinews, the joints of thefingers were marked and prominent. In that hand it almost seemed as ifthe iron force of the character betrayed itself. But, as we have said,this slight defect, which few, if seen, would hypercritically notice,could not, of course, be perceptible as she moved slowly up the room;and Vernon's eye, glancing over the noble figure, rested upon theface. Was it handsome? Was it repelling? Strange that in feature ithad pretensions to the highest order of beauty, and yet even thatexperienced connoisseur in female charms was almost as puzzled whatsentence to pronounce. The hair, as was the fashion of the day,clustered in profuse curls over the forehead, but could not conceal aslight line or wrinkle between the brows; and this line, rare in womenat any age, rare even in men at hers, gave an expression at once ofthought and sternness to the whole face. The eyebrows themselves werestraight, and not strongly marked, a shade or two perhaps too light,--afault still more apparent in the lashes; the eyes were large, full,and though bright, astonishingly calm and deep,--at least in ordinarymoments; yet withal they wanted the charm of that steadfast and openlook which goes at once to the heart and invites its trust,--theirexpression was rather vague and abstracted. She usually looked aslantwhile she spoke, and this, which with some appears but shyness, inone so self-collected had an air of falsehood. But when, at times, ifearnest, and bent rather on examining those she addressed than guardingherself from penetration, she fixed those eyes upon you with sudden anddirect scrutiny, the gaze impressed you powerfully, and haunted youwith a strange spell. The eye itself was of a peculiar and displeasingcolour,--not blue, nor gray, nor black, nor hazel, but rather of thatcat-like green which is drowsy in the light, and vivid in the shade.The profile was purely Greek, and so seen, Lucretia's beauty seemedincontestable; but in front face, and still more when inclined betweenthe two, all the features took a sharpness that, however regular, hadsomething chilling and severe: the mouth was small, but the lips werethin and pale, and had an expression of effort and contraction whichadded to the distrust that her sidelong glance was calculated toinspire. The teeth were dazzlingly white, but sharp and thin, and theeye-teeth were much longer than the rest. The complexion was pale,but without much delicacy,--the paleness seemed not natural to it, butrather that hue which study and late vigils give to men; so that shewanted the freshness and bloom of youth, and looked older than shewas,--an effect confirmed by an absence of roundness in the cheek notnoticeable in the profile, but rendering the front face somewhatharsh as well as sharp. In a word, the face and the figure were not inharmony: the figure prevented you from pronouncing her to be masculine;the face took from the figure the charm of feminacy. It was the head ofthe young Augustus upon the form of Agrippina. One touch more, andwe close a description which already perhaps the reader may considerfrivolously minute. If you had placed before the mouth and lower part ofthe face a mask or bandage, the whole character of the upper face wouldhave changed at once,--the eye lost its glittering falseness, the browits sinister contraction; you would have pronounced the face not onlybeautiful, but sweet and womanly. Take that bandage suddenly away andthe change would have startled you, and startled you the more becauseyou could detect no sufficient defect or disproportion in the lower partof the countenance to explain it. It was as if the mouth was the keyto the whole: the key nothing without the text, the text uncomprehendedwithout the key.
Such, then, was Lucretia Clavering in outward appearance at the age oftwenty,--striking to the most careless eye; interesting and perplexingthe student in that dark language never yet deciphered,--the humancountenance. The reader must have observed that the effect every facethat he remarks for the first time produces is different from theimpression it leaves upon him when habitually seen. Perhaps no twopersons differ more from each other than does the same countenance inour earliest recollection of it from the countenance regarded in thefamiliarity of repeated intercourse. And this was especially the casewith Lucretia Clavering's: the first impulse of nearly all who beheld itwas distrust that partook of fear; it almost inspired you with a senseof danger. The judgment rose up against it; the heart set itself on itsguard. But this uneasy sentiment soon died away, with most observers, inadmiration at the chiselled outline, which, like the Greciansculpture, gained the more the more it was examined, in respect for theintellectual power of the expression, and in fascinated pleasure at thecharm of a smile, rarely employed, it is true, but the more attractiveboth for that reason and for its sudden effect in giving brightness andpersuasion to an aspect that needed them so much. It was literally likethe abrupt breaking out of a sunbeam; and the repellent impression ofthe face thus familiarized away, the matchless form took its naturalinfluence; so that while one who but saw Lucretia for a moment mighthave pronounced her almost plain, and certainly n
ot prepossessing inappearance, those with whom she lived, those whom she sought to please,those who saw her daily, united in acknowledgment of her beauty; andif they still felt awe, attributed it only to the force of herunderstanding.
As she now came midway up the room, Gabriel started from his seat andran to her caressingly. Lucretia bent down, and placed her hand upon hisfair locks. As she did so, he whispered,--
"Mr. Vernon has been watching for you."
"Hush! Where is your father?"
"Behind the screen, at chess with Sir Miles."
"With Sir Miles!" and Lucretia's eye fell, with the direct gaze we havebefore referred to, upon the boy's face.
"I have been looking over them pretty often," said he, meaningly: "theyhave talked of nothing but the game." Lucretia lifted her head, andglanced round with her furtive eye; the boy divined the search, andwith a scarce perceptible gesture pointed her attention to Mainwaring'sretreat. Her vivid smile passed over her lips as she bowed slightly toher lover, and then, withdrawing the hand which Gabriel had taken in hisown, she moved on, passed Vernon with a commonplace word or two, and wassoon exchanging greetings with the gay merry-makers in the fartherpart of the room. A few minutes afterwards, the servants entered, thetea-table was removed, chairs were thrust back, a single lady of acertain age volunteered her services at the piano, and dancing beganwithin the ample space which the arch fenced off from the whist-players.Vernon had watched his opportunity, and at the first sound of the pianohad gained Lucretia's side, and with grave politeness pre-engaged herhand for the opening dance.
At that day, though it is not so very long ago, gentlemen were notashamed to dance, and to dance well; it was no languid saunter througha quadrille; it was fair, deliberate, skilful dancing amongst thecourtly,--free, bounding movement amongst the gay.
Vernon, as might be expected, was the most admired performer of theevening; but he was thinking very little of the notice he at lastexcited, he was employing such ingenuity as his experience of lifesupplied to the deficiencies of a very imperfect education, limited tothe little flogged into him at Eton, in deciphering the character andgetting at the heart of his fair partner.
"I wonder you do not make Sir Miles take you to London, my cousin, ifyou will allow me to call you so. You ought to have been presented."
"I have no wish to go to London yet."
"Yet!" said Mr. Vernon, with the somewhat fade gallantry of his day;"beauty even like yours has little time to spare."
"Hands across, hands across!" cried Mr. Ardworth.
"And," continued Mr. Vernon, as soon as a pause was permitted to him,"there is a song which the prince sings, written by some sensibleold-fashioned fellow, which says,--
"'Gather your rosebuds while you may, For time is still a flying."'
"You have obeyed the moral of the song yourself, I believe, Mr. Vernon."
"Call me cousin, or Charles,--Charley, if you like, as most of myfriends do; nobody ever calls me Mr. Vernon,--I don't know myself bythat name."
"Down the middle; we are all waiting for you," shouted Ardworth.
And down the middle, with wondrous grace, glided the exquisite nankeensof Charley Vernon.
The dance now, thanks to Ardworth, became too animated and riotous toallow more than a few broken monosyllables till Vernon and his partnergained the end of the set, and then, flirting his partner's fan, herecommenced,--
"Seriously, my cousin, you must sometimes feel very much moped here."
"Never!" answered Lucretia. Not once yet had her eye rested on Mr.Vernon. She felt that she was sounded.
"Yet I am sure you have a taste for the pomps and vanities. Aha! thereis ambition under those careless curls," said Mr. Vernon, with his easy,adorable impertinence.
Lucretia winced.
"But if I were ambitious, what field for ambition could I find inLondon?"
"The same as Alexander,--empire, my cousin."
"You forget that I am not a man. Man, indeed, may hope for an empire. Itis something to be a Pitt, or even a Warren Hastings."
Mr. Vernon stared. Was this stupidity, or what?
"A woman has an empire more undisputed than Mr. Pitt's, and morepitiless than that of Governor Hastings."
"Oh, pardon me, Mr. Vernon--"
"Charles, if you please."
Lucretia's brow darkened.
"Pardon me," she repeated; "but these compliments, if such they aremeant to be, meet a very ungrateful return. A woman's empire over gauzesand ribbons, over tea-tables and drums, over fops and coquettes, is notworth a journey from Laughton to London."
"You think you can despise admiration?"
"What you mean by admiration,--yes."
"And love too?" said Vernon, in a whisper.
Now Lucretia at once and abruptly raised her eyes to her partner. Was heaiming at her secret? Was he hinting at intentions of his own? The lookchilled Vernon, and he turned away his head.
Suddenly, then, in pursuance of a new train of ideas, Lucretia alteredher manner to him. She had detected what before she had surmised.This sudden familiarity on his part arose from notions her uncle hadinstilled,--the visitor had been incited to become the suitor. Herpenetration into character, which from childhood had been her passionatestudy, told her that on that light, polished, fearless nature scornwould have slight effect; to meet the familiarity would be the bestmeans to secure a friend, to disarm a wooer. She changed then hermanner; she summoned up her extraordinary craft; she accepted theintimacy held out to her, not to unguard herself, but to lay open heropponent. It became necessary to her to know this man, to have suchpower as the knowledge might give her. Insensibly and gradually she ledher companion away from his design of approaching her own secrets orcharacter, into frank talk about himself. All unconsciously he beganto lay bare to his listener the infirmities of his erring, open heart.Silently she looked down, and plumbed them all,--the frivolity, therecklessness, the half gay, half mournful sense of waste and ruin.There, blooming amongst the wrecks, she saw the fairest flowers ofnoble manhood profuse and fragrant still,--generosity and courage anddisregard for self. Spendthrift and gambler on one side the medal;gentleman and soldier on the other. Beside this maimed and imperfectnature she measured her own prepared and profound intellect, and as shelistened, her smile became more bland and frequent. She could afford tobe gracious; she felt superiority, scorn, and safety.
As this seeming intimacy had matured, Vernon and his partner hadquitted the dance, and were conversing apart in the recess of one of thewindows, which the newspaper readers had deserted, in the part of theroom where Sir Miles and Dalibard, still seated, were about to commencetheir third game at chess. The baronet's hand ceased from the task ofarranging his pawns; his eye was upon the pair; and then, after a longand complacent gaze, it looked round without discovering the object itsought.
"I am about to task your kindness most improperly, Monsieur Dalibard,"said Sir Miles, with that politeness so displeasing to Ardworth, "butwill you do me the favour to move aside that fold of the screen? I wishfor a better view of our young people. Thank you very much."
Sir Miles now discovered Mainwaring, and observed that, far fromregarding with self-betraying jealousy the apparent flirtation goingon between Lucretia and her kinsman, he was engaged in animatedconversation with the chairman of the quarter sessions. Sir Miles wassatisfied, and ranged his pawns. All this time, and indeed ever sincethey had sat down to play, the Provencal had been waiting, with thepatience that belonged to his character, for some observation from SirMiles on the subject which, his sagacity perceived, was engrossing histhoughts. There had been about the old gentleman a fidgety restlessnesswhich showed that something was on his mind. His eyes had beenfrequently turned towards his niece since her entrance; once or twicehe had cleared his throat and hemmed,--his usual prelude to somemore important communication; and Dalibard had heard him muttering tohimself, and fancied he caught the name of "Mainwaring." And indeed thebaronet had been repeatedly on the verge of sounding his secr
etary,and as often had been checked both by pride in himself and pride forLucretia. It seemed to him beneath his own dignity and hers even tohint to an inferior a fear, a doubt, of the heiress of Laughton. OlivierDalibard could easily have led on his patron, he could easily, if hepleased it, have dropped words to instil suspicion and prompt question;but that was not his object,--he rather shunned than courted anyreference to himself upon the matter; for he knew that Lucretia, ifshe could suppose that he, however indirectly, had betrayed her to heruncle, would at once declare his own suit to her, and so procure hisimmediate dismissal; while, aware of her powers of dissimulation and herinfluence over her uncle, he feared that a single word from her wouldsuffice to remove all suspicion in Sir Miles, however ingeniouslyimplanted, and however truthfully grounded. But all the while, under hisapparent calm, his mind was busy and his passions burning.
"Pshaw! your old play,--the bishop again," said Sir Miles, laughing, ashe moved a knight to frustrate his adversary's supposed plan; and then,turning back, he once more contemplated the growing familiarity betweenVernon and his niece. This time he could not contain his pleasure."Dalibard, my dear sir," he said, rubbing his hands, "look yonder: theywould make a handsome couple!"
"Who, sir?" said the Provencal, looking another way, with doggedstupidity.
"Who? Damn it, man! Nay, pray forgive my ill manners, but I felt glad,sir, and proud, sir. Who? Charley Vernon and Lucretia Clavering."
"Assuredly, yes. Do you think that there is a chance of so happy anevent?"
"Why, it depends only on Lucretia; I shall never force her." Here SirMiles stopped, for Gabriel, unperceived before, picked up his patron'spocket-handkerchief.
Olivier Dalibard's gray eyes rested coldly on his son. "You are notdancing to-night, my boy. Go; I like to see you amused."
The boy obeyed at once, as he always did, the paternal commands. Hefound a partner, and joined a dance just begun; and in the midst of thedance, Honore Gabriel Varney seemed a new being,--not Ardworth himselfso thoroughly entered into the enjoyment of the exercise, the lights,the music. With brilliant eyes and dilated nostrils, he seemedprematurely to feel all that is exciting and voluptuous in thatexhilaration which to childhood is usually so innocent. His glancesfollowed the fairest form; his clasp lingered in the softest hand; hisvoice trembled as the warm breath of his partner came on his cheeks.
Meanwhile the conversation between the chess-players continued.
"Yes," said the baronet, "it depends only on Lucretia. And she seemspleased with Vernon: who would not be?"
"Your penetration rarely deceives you, sir. I own I think with you. DoesMr. Vernon know that you would permit the alliance?"
"Yes; but--" the baronet stopped short.
"You were saying, but--But what, Sir Miles?"
"Why, the dog affected diffidence; he had some fear lest he should notwin her affections. But luckily, at least, they are disengaged."
Dalibard looked grave, and his eye, as if involuntarily, glanced towardsMainwaring. As ill-luck would have it, the young man had then ceased hisconversation with the chairman of the quarter sessions, and with armsfolded, brow contracted, and looks, earnest, anxious, and intent, wascontemplating the whispered conference between Lucretia and Vernon.
Sir Miles's eye had followed his secretary's, and his face changed. Hishand fell on the chess board and upset half the men; he uttered a veryaudible "Zounds!"
"I think, Sir Miles," said the Provencal, rising, as if conscious thatSir Miles wished to play no more,--"I think that if you spoke soon toMiss Clavering as to your views with regard to Mr. Vernon, it mightripen matters; for I have heard it said by French mothers--and ourFrenchwomen understand the female heart, sir--that a girl having noother affection is often prepossessed at once in favour of a man whomshe knows beforehand is prepared to woo and to win her, whereas withoutthat knowledge he would have seemed but an ordinary acquaintance."
"It is shrewdly said, my dear Monsieur Dalibard; and for more reasonsthan one, the sooner I speak to her the better. Lend me your arm. It istime for supper; I see the dance is over."
Passing by the place where Mainwaring still leaned, the baronet lookedat him fixedly. The young man did not notice the gaze. Sir Miles touchedhim gently. He started as from a revery.
"You have not danced, Mr. Mainwaring."
"I dance so seldom, Sir Miles," said Mainwaring, colouring.
"Ah! you employ your head more than your heels, young gentleman,--veryright; I must speak to you to-morrow. Well, ladies, I hope you haveenjoyed yourselves? My dear Mrs. Vesey, you and I are old friends, youknow; many a minuet we have danced together, eh? We can't dance now,but we can walk arm-in-arm together still. Honour me. And your littlegrandson--vaccinated, eh? Wonderful invention! To supper, ladies, tosupper!"
The company were gone. The lights were out,--all save the lights ofheaven; and they came bright and still through the casements. Moonbeamand Starbeam, they seemed now to have the old house to themselves. Incame the rays, brighter and longer and bolder, like fairies that march,rank upon rank, into their kingdom of solitude. Down the oak stairs,from the casements, blazoned with heraldry, moved the rays, creepingly,fearfully. On the armour in the hall clustered the rays boldly andbrightly, till the steel shone out like a mirror. In the library, longand low, they just entered, stopped short: it was no place for theirplay. In the drawing-room, now deserted, they were more curious andadventurous. Through the large window, still open, they came in freelyand archly, as if to spy what had caused such disorder; the stiff chairsout of place, the smooth floor despoiled of its carpet, that flowerdropped on the ground, that scarf forgotten on the table,--the rayslingered upon them all. Up and down through the house, from the base tothe roof, roved the children of the air, and found but two spirits awakeamidst the slumber of the rest.
In that tower to the east, in the tapestry chamber with the large gildedbed in the recess, came the rays, tamed and wan, as if scared by thegrosser light on the table. By that table sat a girl, her brow leaningon one hand; in the other she held a rose,--it is a love-token:exchanged with its sister rose, by stealth, in mute sign of reproach fordoubt excited,--an assurance and a reconciliation. A love-token!--shrinknot, ye rays; there is something akin to you in love. But see,--the handcloses convulsively on the flower; it hides it not in the breast; itlifts it not to the lip: it throws it passionately aside. "How long!"muttered the girl, impetuously,--"how long! And to think that will herecannot shorten an hour!" Then she rose, and walked to and fro, and eachtime she gained a certain niche in the chamber she paused, and thenirresolutely passed on again. What is in that niche? Only books. Whatcan books teach thee, pale girl? The step treads firmer; this timeit halts more resolved. The hand that clasped the flower takes down avolume. The girl sits again before the light. See, O rays! what is thevolume? Moon and Starbeam, ye love what lovers read by the lamp in theloneliness. No love-ditty this; no yet holier lesson to patience, andmoral to hope. What hast thou, young girl, strong in health and rich inyears, with the lore of the leech,--with prognostics and symptoms anddiseases? She is tracing with hard eyes the signs that precede the grimenemy in his most sudden approach,--the habits that invite him, thewarnings that he gives. He whose wealth shall make her free has twicehad the visiting shock; he starves not, he lives frae! She closes thevolume, and, musing, metes him out the hours and days he has to live.Shrink back, ye rays! The love is disenhallowed; while the hand was onthe rose, the thought was on the charnel.
Yonder, in the opposite tower, in the small casement near the roof, camethe rays. Childhood is asleep. Moon and Starbeam, ye love the slumbersof the child! The door opens, a dark figure steals noiselessly in. Thefather comes to look on the sleep of his son. Holy tenderness, if thisbe all! "Gabriel, wake!" said a low, stern voice, and a rough hand shookthe sleeper.
The sharpest test of those nerves upon which depends the mere animalcourage is to be roused suddenly, in the depth of night, by a violenthand. The impulse of Gabriel, thus startled, was neither of tim
iditynor surprise. It was that of some Spartan boy not new to danger; with aslight cry and a fierce spring, the son's hand clutched at the father'sthroat. Dalibard shook him off with an effort, and a smile, half inapproval, half in irony, played by the moonlight over his lips.
"Blood will out, young tiger," said he. "Hush, and hear me!"
"Is it you, Father?" said Gabriel. "I thought, I dreamed--"
"No matter; think, dream always that man should be prepared for defencefrom peril!"
"Gabriel," and the pale scholar seated himself on the bed, "turn yourface to mine,--nearer; let the moon fall on it; lift your eyes; lookat me--so! Are you not playing false to me? Are you not Lucretia's spy,while you are pretending to be mine? It is so; your eye betrays you.Now, heed me; you have a mind beyond your years. Do you love best themiserable garret in London, the hard fare and squalid dress, oryour lodgment here, the sense of luxury, the sight of splendour, theatmosphere of wealth? You have the choice before you."
"I choose, as you would have me, then," said the boy, "the last."
"I believe you. Attend! You do not love me,--that is natural; you arethe son of Clara Varney! You have supposed that in loving LucretiaClavering you might vex or thwart me, you scarce knew how; and LucretiaClavering has gold and gifts and soft words and promises to bribewithal. I now tell you openly my plan with regard to this girl: it ismy aim to marry her; to be master of this house and these lands. IfI succeed, you share them with me. By betraying me, word or look, toLucretia, you frustrate this aim; you plot against our rise and to ourruin. Deem not that you could escape my fall; if I am driven hence,--asyou might drive me,--you share my fate; and mark me, you are deliveredup to my revenge! You cease to be my son,--you are my foe. Child! youknow me."
The boy, bold as he was, shuddered; but after a pause so brief that abreath scarce passed between his silence and his words, he replied withemphasis,--
"Father, you have read my heart. I have been persuaded by Lucretia (forshe bewitches me) to watch you,--at least, when you are with Sir Miles.I knew that this was mixed up with Mr. Mainwaring. Now that you havemade me understand your own views, I will be true to you,--true withoutthreats."
The father looked hard on him, and seemed satisfied with the gaze."Remember, at least, that your future rests upon your truth; that is nothreat,--that is a thought of hope. Now sleep or muse on it." He droppedthe curtain which his hand had drawn aside, and stole from the roomas noiselessly as he had entered. The boy slept no more. Deceit andcupidity and corrupt ambition were at work in his brain. Shrink back,Moon and Starbeam! On that child's brow play the demons who had followedthe father's step to his bed of sleep.
Back to his own room, close at hand, crept Olivier Dalibard. The wallswere lined with books,--many in language and deep in lore. Moon andStarbeam, ye love the midnight solitude of the scholar! The Provencalstole to the casement, and looked forth. All was serene,--breathlesstrees and gleaming sculpture and whitened sward, girdled by the mass ofshadow. Of what thought the man? Not of the present loveliness whichthe scene gave to his eye, nor of the future mysteries which the starsshould whisper to the soul. Gloomily over a stormy and a hideous pastroved the memory, stored with fraud and foul with crime,--plan uponplan, schemed with ruthless wisdom, followed up by remorseless daring,and yet all now a ruin and a blank; an intellect at war with good,and the good had conquered! But the conviction neither touched theconscience nor enlightened the reason; he felt, it is true, a moodysense of impotence, but it brought rage, not despondency. It was notthat he submitted to Good as too powerful to oppose, but that he deemedhe had not yet gained all the mastery over the arsenal of Evil. And evilhe called it not. Good and evil to him were but subordinate genii at thecommand of Mind; they were the slaves of the lamp. But had he got at thetrue secret of the lamp itself? "How is it," he thought, as he turnedimpatiently from the casement, "that I am baffled here where my fortunesseemed most assured? Here the mind has been of my own training, andprepared by nature to my hand; here all opportunity has smiled. Andsuddenly the merest commonplace in the vulgar lives of mortals,--anunlooked-for rival; rival, too, of the mould I had taught her todespise; one of the stock gallants of a comedy, no character but youthand fair looks,--yea, the lover of the stage starts up, and the fabricof years is overthrown." As he thus mused, he placed his hand upona small box on one of the tables. "Yet within this," resumed hissoliloquy, and he struck the lid, that gave back a dull sound,--"withinthis I hold the keys of life and death! Fool! the power does notreach to the heart, except to still it. Verily and indeed were theold heathens mistaken? Are there no philters to change the current ofdesire? But touch one chord in a girl's affection, and all the rest ismine, all, all, lands, station, power, all the rest are in the openingof this lid!"
Hide in the cloud, O Moon! shrink back, ye Stars! send not your holy,pure, and trouble-lulling light to the countenance blanched and lividwith the thoughts of murder.