Several days passed on nearly in the same manner; the mornings were
all spent in gossipping, shopping and dressing, and the evenings
were regularly appropriated to public places, or large parties of
company.
Meanwhile Mr Arnott lived almost entirely in Portman Square; he
slept, indeed, at his own lodgings, but he boarded wholly with Mr
Harrel, whose house he never for a moment quitted till night, except
to attend Cecilia and his sister in their visitings and rambles.
Mr Arnott was a young man of unexceptionable character, and of a
disposition mild, serious and benignant: his principles and
blameless conduct obtained the universal esteem of the world, but
his manners, which were rather too precise, joined to an uncommon
gravity of countenance and demeanour, made his society rather
permitted as a duty, than sought as a pleasure.
The charms of Cecilia had forcibly, suddenly and deeply penetrated
his heart; he only lived in her presence, away from her he hardly
existed: the emotions she excited were rather those of adoration
than of love, for he gazed upon her beauty till he thought her more
than human, and hung upon her accents till all speech seemed
impertinent to him but her own. Yet so small were his expectations
of success, that not even to his sister did he hint at the situation
of his heart: happy in an easy access to her, he contented himself
with seeing, hearing and watching her, beyond which bounds he formed
not any plan, and scarce indulged any hope.
Sir Robert Floyer, too, was a frequent visitor in Portman Square,
where he dined almost daily. Cecilia was chagrined at seeing so much
of him, and provoked to find herself almost constantly the object of
his unrestrained examination; she was, however, far more seriously
concerned for Mrs Harrel, when she discovered that this favourite
friend of her husband was an unprincipled spendthrift, and an
extravagant gamester, for as he was the inseparable companion of Mr
Harrel, she dreaded the consequence both of his influence and his
example.
She saw, too, with an amazement that daily increased, the fatigue,
yet fascination of a life of pleasure: Mr Harrel seemed to consider
his own house merely as an hotel, where at any hour of the night he
might disturb the family to claim admittance, where letters and
messages might be left for him, where he dined when no other dinner
was offered him, and where, when he made an appointment, he was to
be met with. His lady, too, though more at home, was not therefore
more solitary; her acquaintance were numerous, expensive and idle,
and every moment not actually spent in company, was scrupulously
devoted to making arrangements for that purpose.
In a short time Cecilia, who every day had hoped that the next would
afford her greater satisfaction, but who every day found the present
no better than the former, began to grow weary of eternally running
the same round, and to sicken at the irksome repetition of
unremitting yet uninteresting dissipation. She saw nobody she wished
to see, as she had met with nobody for whom she could care; for
though sometimes those with whom she mixed appeared to be amiable,
she knew that their manners, like their persons, were in their best
array, and therefore she had too much understanding to judge
decisively of their characters. But what chiefly damped her hopes of
forming a friendship with any of the new acquaintance to whom she
was introduced, was the observation she herself made how ill the
coldness of their hearts accorded with the warmth of their
professions; upon every first meeting, the civilities which were
shewn her, flattered her into believing she had excited a partiality
that a very little time would ripen into affection; the next meeting
commonly confirmed the expectation; but the third, and every future
one, regularly destroyed it. She found that time added nothing to
their fondness, nor intimacy to their sincerity; that the interest
in her welfare which appeared to be taken at first sight, seldom,
with whatever reason, increased, and often without any, abated; that
the distinction she at first met with, was no effusion of kindness,
but of curiosity, which is scarcely sooner gratified than satiated;
and that those who lived always the life into which she had only
lately been initiated, were as much harassed with it as herself,
though less spirited to relinquish, and more helpless to better it,
and that they coveted nothing but what was new, because they had
experienced the insufficiency of whatever was familiar.
She began now to regret the loss she sustained in quitting the
neighbourhood, and being deprived of the conversation of Mr
Monckton, and yet more earnestly to miss the affection and sigh for
the society of Mrs Charlton, the lady with whom she had long and
happily resided at Bury; for she was very soon compelled to give up
all expectation of renewing the felicity of her earlier years, by
being restored to the friendship of Mrs Harrel, in whom she had
mistaken the kindness of childish intimacy for the sincerity of
chosen affection; and though she saw her credulous error with
mortification and displeasure, she regretted it with tenderness and
sorrow. “What, at last,” cried she, “is human felicity, who has
tasted, and where is it to be found? If I, who, to others, seem
marked out for even a partial possession of it,—distinguished by
fortune, caressed by the world, brought into the circle of high
life, and surrounded with splendour, seek without finding it, yet
losing, scarce know how I miss it!”
Ashamed upon reflection to believe she was considered as an object
of envy by others, while repining and discontented herself, she
determined no longer to be the only one insensible to the blessings
within her reach, but by projecting and adopting some plan of
conduct better suited to her taste and feelings than the frivolous
insipidity of her present life, to make at once a more spirited and
more worthy use of the affluence, freedom, and power which she
possessed.
A scheme of happiness at once rational and refined soon presented
itself to her imagination. She purposed, for the basis of her plan,
to become mistress of her own time, and with this view, to drop all
idle and uninteresting acquaintance, who, while they contribute
neither to use nor pleasure, make so large a part of the community,
that they may properly be called the underminers of existence; she
could then shew some taste and discernment in her choice of friends,
and she resolved to select such only as by their piety could elevate
her mind, by their knowledge improve her understanding, or by their
accomplishments and manners delight her affections. This regulation,
if strictly adhered to, would soon relieve her from the fatigue of
receiving many visitors, and therefore she might have all the
leisure she could desire for the pursuit of her favourite studies,
music and reading.
Having thus, from her own estimation of human perfection, culled
whatever was noblest for her society, and from her own ideas of
sedentary enjoyments arranged the occupations of her hours of
solitude, she felt fully satisfied with the portion of happiness
which her scheme promised to herself, and began next to consider
what was due from her to the world.
And not without trembling did she then look forward to the claims
which the splendid income she was soon to possess would call upon
her to discharge. A strong sense of DUTY, a fervent desire to ACT
RIGHT, were the ruling characteristics of her mind: her affluence
she therefore considered as a debt contracted with the poor, and her
independence as a tie upon her liberality to pay it with interest.
Many and various, then, soothing to her spirit and grateful to her
sensibility, were the scenes which her fancy delineated; now she
supported an orphan, now softened the sorrows of a widow, now
snatched from iniquity the feeble trembler at poverty, and now
rescued from shame the proud struggler with disgrace. The prospect
at once exalted her hopes, and enraptured her imagination; she
regarded herself as an agent of Charity, and already in idea
anticipated the rewards of a good and faithful delegate; so
animating are the designs of disinterested benevolence! so pure is
the bliss of intellectual philanthropy!
Not immediately, however, could this plan be put in execution; the
society she meant to form could not be selected in the house of
another, where, though to some she might shew a preference, there
were none she could reject: nor had she yet the power to indulge,
according to the munificence of her wishes, the extensive generosity
she projected: these purposes demanded a house of her own, and the
unlimited disposal of her fortune, neither of which she could claim
till she became of age. That period, however, was only eight months
distant, and she pleased herself with the intention of meliorating
her plan in the meantime, and preparing to put it in practice.
But though, in common with all the race of still-expecting man, she
looked for that happiness in the time to come which the present
failed to afford, she had yet the spirit and good sense to determine
upon making every effort in her power to render her immediate way of
life more useful and contented.
Her first wish, therefore, now, was to quit the house of Mr Harrel,
where she neither met with entertainment nor instruction, but was
perpetually mortified by seeing the total indifference of the friend
in whose society she had hoped for nothing but affection.
The will of her uncle, though it obliged her while under age to live
with one of her guardians, left her at liberty to chuse and to
change amongst them according to her wishes or convenience: she
determined, therefore, to make a visit herself to each of them, to
observe their manners and way of life, and then, to the best of her
judgment, decide with which she could be most contented: resolving,
however, not to hint at her intention till it was ripe for
execution, and then honestly to confess the reasons of her retreat.
She had acquainted them both of her journey to town the morning
after her arrival. She was almost an entire stranger to each of
them, as she had not seen Mr Briggs since she was nine years old,
nor Mr Delvile within the time she could remember.
The very morning that she had settled her proceedings for the
arrangement of this new plan, she intended to request the use of Mrs
Harrel’s carriage, and to make, without delay, the visits
preparatory to her removal; but when she entered the parlour upon a
summons to breakfast, her eagerness to quit the house gave way, for
the present, to the pleasure she felt at the sight of Mr Monckton,
who was just arrived from Suffolk.
She expressed her satisfaction in the most lively terms, and
scrupled not to tell him she had not once been so much pleased since
her journey to town, except at her first meeting with Mrs Harrel.
Mr Monckton, whose delight was infinitely superior to her own, and
whose joy in seeing her was redoubled by the affectionate frankness
of her reception, stifled the emotions to which her sight gave rise,
and denying himself the solace of expressing his feelings, seemed
much less charmed than herself at the meeting, and suffered no word
nor look to escape him beyond what could be authorised by friendly
civility.
He then renewed with Mrs Harrel an acquaintance which had been
formed before her marriage, but which [he] had dropt when her
distance from Cecilia, upon whose account alone he had thought it
worth cultivation, made it no longer of use to him. She afterwards
introduced her brother to him; and a conversation very interesting
to both the ladies took place, concerning several families with
which they had been formerly connected, as well as the neighbourhood
at large in which they had lately dwelt.
Very little was the share taken by Mr Arnott in these accounts and
enquiries; the unaffected joy with which Cecilia had received Mr
Monckton, had struck him with a sensation of envy as involuntary as
it was painful; he did not, indeed, suspect that gentleman’s secret
views; no reason for suspicion was obvious, and his penetration sunk
not deeper than appearances; he knew, too, that he was married, and
therefore no jealousy occurred to him; but still she had smiled upon
him!—and he felt that to purchase for himself a smile of so much
sweetness, he would have sacrificed almost all else that was
valuable to him upon earth.
With an attention infinitely more accurate, Mr Monckton had returned
his observations. The uneasiness of his mind was apparent, and the
anxious watchfulness of his eyes plainly manifested whence it arose.
From a situation, indeed, which permitted an intercourse the most
constant and unrestrained with such an object as Cecilia, nothing
less could be expected, and therefore he considered his admiration
as inevitable; all that remained to be discovered, was the reception
it had met from his fair enslaver. Nor was he here long in doubt; he
soon saw that she was not merely free from all passion herself, but
had so little watched Mr Arnott as to be unconscious she had
inspired any.
Yet was his own serenity, though apparently unmoved, little less
disturbed in secret than that of his rival; he did not think him a
formidable candidate, but he dreaded the effects of intimacy,
fearing she might first grow accustomed to his attentions, and then
become pleased with them. He apprehended, also, the influence of his
sister and of Mr Harrel in his favour; and though he had no
difficulty to persuade himself that any offer he might now make
would be rejected without hesitation, he knew too well the insidious
properties of perseverance, to see him, without inquietude, situated
so advantageously.
The morning was far advanced before he took leave, yet he found no
opportunity of discoursing with Cecilia, though he impatiently
desired to examine into the state of her mind, and to discover
whether her London journey had added any fresh difficulties to the
success of his long-concerted scheme. But as Mrs Harrel invited him
to dinner, he hoped the afternoon would be more propitious to his
wishes.
Cecilia, too, was eager to communicate to him her favourite project,
and to receive his advice with respect to its execution. She had
long been used to his counsel, and she was now more than ever
solicitous to obtain it, because she considered him as the only
person in London who was interested in her welfare.
He saw, however, no promise of better success when he made his
appearance at dinner time, for not only Mr Arnott was already
arrived, but Sir Robert Floyer, and he found Cecilia so much the
object of their mutual attention, that he had still less chance than
in the morning of speaking to her unheard.
Yet was he not idle; the sight of Sir Robert gave abundant
employment to his penetration, which was immediately at work, to
discover the motive of his visit: but this, with all his sagacity,
was not easily decided; for though the constant direction of his
eyes towards Cecilia, proved, at least, that he was not insensible
of her beauty, his carelessness whether or not she was hurt by his
examination, the little pains he took to converse with her, and the
invariable assurance and negligence of his manners, seemed strongly
to demonstrate an indifference to the sentiments he inspired,
totally incompatible with the solicitude of affection.
In Cecilia he had nothing to observe but what his knowledge of her
character prepared him to expect, a shame no less indignant than
modest at the freedom with which she saw herself surveyed.
Very little, therefore, was the satisfaction which this visit
procured him, for soon after dinner the ladies retired; and as they
had an early engagement for the evening, the gentlemen received no
summons to their tea-table. But he contrived, before they quitted
the room, to make an appointment for attending them the next morning
to a rehearsal of a new serious Opera.
He stayed not after their departure longer than decency required,
for too much in earnest was his present pursuit, to fit him for such
conversation as the house in Cecilia’s absence could afford him.
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