The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Cecilia went in a
chair to Swallow-street; she enquired for Miss Belfield, and was
told to go up stairs: but what was her amazement to meet, just
coming out of the room into which she was entering, young Delvile!
They both started, and Cecilia, from the seeming strangeness of her
situation, felt a confusion with which she had hitherto been
unacquainted. But Delvile, presently recovering from his surprise,
said to her, with an expressive smile, “How good is Miss Beverley
thus to visit the sick! and how much better might I have had the
pleasure of seeing Mr Belfield, had I but, by prescience, known her
design, and deferred my own enquiries till he had been revived by
hers!”
And then, bowing and wishing her good morning, he glided past her.
Cecilia, notwithstanding the openness and purity of her intentions,
was so much disconcerted by this unexpected meeting, and pointed
speech, that she had not the presence of mind to call him back and
clear herself: and the various interrogatories and railleries which
had already passed between them upon the subject of Mr Belfield,
made her suppose that what he had formerly suspected he would now
think confirmed, and conclude that all her assertions of
indifference, proceeded merely from that readiness at hypocrisy upon
particular subjects, of which he had openly accused her whole Sex.
This circumstance and this apprehension took from her for a while
all interest in the errand upon which she came; but the benevolence
of her heart soon brought it back, when, upon going into the room,
she saw her new favourite in tears.
“What is the matter?” cried she, tenderly; “no new affliction I hope
has happened? Your brother is not worse?”
“No, madam, he is much the same; I was not then crying for him.”
“For what then? tell me, acquaint me with your sorrows, and assure
yourself you tell them to a friend.”
“I was crying, madam, to find so much goodness in the world, when I
thought there was so little! to find I have some chance of being
again happy, when I thought I was miserable for ever! Two whole
years have I spent in nothing but unhappiness, and I thought there
was nothing else to be had; but yesterday, madam, brought me you,
with every promise of nobleness and protection; and to-day, a friend
of my brother’s has behaved so generously, that even my brother has
listened to him, and almost consented to be obliged to him!”
“And have you already known so much sorrow,” said Cecilia, “that
this little dawn of prosperity should wholly overpower your spirits?
Gentle, amiable girl! may the future recompense you for the past,
and may Mr Albany’s kind wishes be fulfilled in the reciprocation of
our comfort and affection!”
They then entered into a conversation which the sweetness of
Cecilia, and the gratitude of Miss Belfield, soon rendered
interesting, friendly and unreserved: and in a very short time,
whatever was essential in the story or situation of the latter was
fully communicated. She gave, however, a charge the most earnest,
that her brother should never be acquainted with the confidence she
had made.
Her father, who had been dead only two years, was a linen-draper in
the city; he had six daughters, of whom herself was the youngest,
and only one son. This son, Mr Belfield, was alike the darling of
his father, mother, and sisters: he was brought up at Eaton, no
expence was spared in his education, nothing was denied that could
make him happy. With an excellent understanding he had uncommon
quickness of parts, and his progress in his studies was rapid and
honourable: his father, though he always meant him for his successor
in his business, heard of his improvement with rapture, often
saying, “My boy will be the ornament of the city, he will be the
best scholar in any shop in London.”
He was soon, however, taught another lesson; when, at the age of
sixteen, he returned home, and was placed in the shop, instead of
applying his talents, as his father had expected, to trade, he both
despised and abhorred the name of it; when serious, treating it with
contempt, when gay, with derision.
He was seized, also, with a most ardent desire to finish his
education, like those of his school-fellows who left Eaton at the
same time, at one of the Universities; and, after many difficulties,
this petition, at the intercession of his mother, was granted, old
Mr Belfield telling him he hoped a little more learning would give
him a little more sense, and that when he became a finished
student, he would not only know the true value of business, but
understand how to get money, and make a bargain, better than any man
whatsoever within Temple Bar.
These expectations, equally shortsighted, were also equally
fallacious with the former: the son again returned, and returned, as
his father had hoped, a finished student; but, far from being
more tractable, or better disposed for application to trade, his
aversion to it now was more stubborn, and his opposition more hardy
than ever. The young men of fashion with whom he had formed
friendships at school, or at the University, and with whom, from the
indulgence of his father, he was always able to vie in expence, and
from the indulgence of Nature to excel in capacity, earnestly sought
the continuance of his acquaintance, and courted and coveted the
pleasure of his conversation: but though he was now totally
disqualified for any other society, he lost all delight in their
favour from the fear they should discover his abode, and sedulously
endeavoured to avoid even occasionally meeting them, lest any of his
family should at the same time approach him: for of his family,
though wealthy, worthy, and independent, he was now so utterly
ashamed, that the mortification the most cruel he could receive, was
to be asked his address, or told he should be visited.
Tired, at length, of evading the enquiries made by some, and forcing
faint laughs at the detection made by others, he privately took a
lodging at the west end of the town, to which he thence forward
directed all his friends, and where, under various pretences, he
contrived to spend the greatest part of his time.
In all his expensive deceits and frolics, his mother was his never-failing confidant and assistant; for when she heard that the
companions of her son were men of fashion, some born to titles,
others destined to high stations, she concluded he was in the
certain road to honour and profit, and frequently distressed
herself, without ever repining, in order to enable him to preserve
upon equal terms, connections which she believed so conducive to his
future grandeur.
In this wild and unsettled manner he passed some time, struggling
incessantly against the authority of his father, privately abetted
by his mother, and constantly aided and admired by his sisters:
till, sick of so desultory a way of life, he entered himself a
volunteer in the army.
How soon he grew tired of this change has already been related,[1] as well as his reconciliation with
his father, and his becoming a student at the Temple: for the father
now grew as weary of opposing, as the young man of being opposed.
Here, for two or three years, he lived in happiness uninterrupted;
he extended his acquaintance among the great, by whom he was no
sooner known than caressed and admired, and he frequently visited
his family, which, though he blushed to own in public, he
affectionately loved in private. His profession, indeed, was but
little in his thoughts, successive engagements occupying almost all
his hours. Delighted with the favour of the world, and charmed to
find his presence seemed the signal for entertainment, he soon
forgot the uncertainty of his fortune, and the inferiority of his
rank: the law grew more and more fatiguing, pleasure became more and
more alluring, and, by degrees, he had not a day unappropriated to
some party or amusement; voluntarily consigning the few leisure
moments his gay circle afforded him, to the indulgence of his fancy
in some hasty compositions in verse, which were handed about in
manuscript, and which contributed to keep him in fashion.
Such was his situation at the death of his father; a new scene was
then opened to him, and for some time he hesitated what course to
pursue.
Old Mr Belfield, though he lived in great affluence, left not behind
him any considerable fortune, after the portions of his daughters,
to each of whom he bequeathed L2000, had been deducted from it. But
his stock in trade was great, and his business was prosperous and
lucrative.
His son, however, did not merely want application and fortitude to
become his successor, but skill and knowledge; his deliberation,
therefore, was hasty, and his resolution improvident; he determined
to continue at the Temple himself, while the shop, which he could by
no means afford to relinquish, should be kept up by another name,
and the business of it be transacted by an agent; hoping thus to
secure and enjoy its emoluments, without either the trouble or the
humiliation of attendance.
But this scheme, like most others that have their basis in vanity,
ended in nothing but mortification and disappointment: the shop
which under old Mr. Belfield had been flourishing and successful,
and enriched himself and all his family, could now scarce support
the expences of an individual. Without a master, without that
diligent attention to its prosperity which the interest of
possession alone can give, and the authority of a principal alone
can enforce, it quickly lost its fame for the excellence of its
goods, and soon after its customers from the report of its
declension. The produce, therefore, diminished every month; he was
surprised, he was provoked; he was convinced he was cheated, and
that his affairs were neglected; but though he threatened from time
to time to enquire into the real state of the business, and
investigate the cause of its decay, he felt himself inadequate to
the task; and now first lamented that early contempt of trade, which
by preventing him acquiring some knowledge of it while he had youth
and opportunity, made him now ignorant what redress to seek, though
certain of imposition and injury.
But yet, however disturbed by alarming suggestions in his hours of
retirement, no alteration was made in the general course of his
life; he was still the darling of his friends, and the leader in all
parties, and still, though his income was lessened, his expences
encreased.
Such were his circumstances at the time Cecilia first saw him at the
house of Mr. Monckton: from which, two days after her arrival in
town, he was himself summoned, by an information that his agent had
suddenly left the kingdom.
The fatal consequence of this fraudulent elopement was immediate
bankruptcy.
His spirits, however, did not yet fail him; as he had never been the
nominal master of the shop, he escaped all dishonour from its ruin,
and was satisfied to consign what remained to the mercy of the
creditors, so that his own name should not appear in the
Gazette.
Three of his sisters were already extremely well married to
reputable tradesmen; the two elder of those who were yet single were
settled with two of those who were married, and Henrietta, the
youngest, resided with her mother, who had a comfortable annuity,
and a small house at Padington.
Bereft thus through vanity and imprudence of all the long labours of
his father, he was now compelled to think seriously of some actual
method of maintenance; since his mother, though willing to sacrifice
to him even the nourishment which sustained her, could do for him
but little, and that little he had too much justice to accept. The
law, even to the most diligent and successful, is extremely slow of
profit, and whatever, from his connections and abilities might be
hoped hereafter, at present required an expence which he was no
longer able to support.
It remained then to try his influence with his friends among the
great and the powerful.
His canvas proved extremely honourable; every one promised
something, and all seemed delighted to have an opportunity of
serving him.
Pleased with finding the world so much better than report had made
it, he now saw the conclusion of his difficulties in the prospect of
a place at court.
Belfield, with half the penetration with which he was gifted, would
have seen in any other man the delusive idleness of expectations no
better founded; but though discernment teaches us the folly of
others, experience singly can teach us our own! he flattered himself
that his friends had been more wisely selected than the friends of
those who in similar circumstances had been beguiled, and he
suspected not the fraud of his vanity, till he found his invitations
daily slacken, and that his time was at his own command.
All his hopes now rested upon one friend and patron,
Mr Floyer, an uncle of Sir Robert Floyer, a man of power in the
royal household, with whom he had lived in great intimacy, and who
at this period had the disposal of a place which he solicited. The
only obstacle that seemed in his way was from Sir Robert himself,
who warmly exerted his interest in favour of a friend of his own. Mr
Floyer, however, assured Belfield of the preference, and only begged
his patience till he could find some opportunity of appeasing his
nephew.
And this was the state of his affairs at the time of his quarrel at
the Opera-house. Already declared opponents of each other, Sir
Robert felt double wrath that for him Cecilia should reject
his civilities; while Belfield, suspecting he presumed upon his
known dependence on his uncle to affront him, felt also double
indignation at the haughtiness of his behaviour. And thus, slight as
seemed to the world the cause of their contest, each had private
motives of animosity that served to stimulate revenge.
The very day after this duel, Mr Floyer wrote him word that he was
now obliged in common decency to take the part of his nephew, and
therefore had already given the place to the friend he had
recommended.
This was the termination of his hopes, and the signal of his ruin!
To the pain of his wound he became insensible, from the superior
pain of this unexpected miscarriage; yet his pride still enabled him
to disguise his distress, and to see all the friends whom this
accident induced to seek him, while from the sprightliness he forced
in order to conceal his anguish, he appeared to them more lively and
more entertaining than ever.
But these efforts, when left to himself and to nature, only sunk him
the deeper in sadness; he found an immediate change in his way of
life was necessary, yet could not brook to make it in sight of those
with whom he had so long lived in all the brilliancy of equality. A
high principle of honour which still, in the midst of his gay
career, had remained uncorrupted, had scrupulously guarded him from
running in debt, and therefore, though of little possessed, that
little was strictly his own. He now published that he was going out
of town for the benefit of purer air, discharged his surgeon, took a
gay leave of his friends, and trusting no one with his secret but
his servant, was privately conveyed to mean and cheap lodgings in
Swallow-street.
Here, shut up from every human being he had formerly known, he
purposed to remain till he grew better, and then again to seek his
fortune in the army.
His present situation, however, was little calculated to contribute
to his recovery; the dismission of the surgeon, the precipitation of
his removal, the inconveniencies of his lodgings, and the
unseasonable deprivation of long customary indulgencies, were
unavoidable delays of his amendment; while the mortification of his
present disgrace, and the bitterness of his late disappointment,
preyed incessantly upon his mind, robbed him of rest, heightened his
fever, and reduced him by degrees to a state so low and dangerous,
that his servant, alarmed for his life, secretly acquainted his
mother with his illness and retreat.
The mother, almost distracted by this intelligence, instantly, with
her daughter, flew to his lodgings. She wished to have taken him
immediately to her house at Padington, but he had suffered so much
from his first removal, that he would not consent to another. She
would then have called in a physician, but he refused even to see
one; and she had too long given way to all his desires and opinions,
to have now the force of mind for exerting the requisite authority
of issuing her orders without consulting him.
She begged, she pleaded, indeed, and Henrietta joined in her
entreaties; but sickness and vexation had not rendered him tame,
though they had made him sullen: he resisted their prayers, and
commonly silenced them by assurances that their opposition to the
plan he had determined to pursue, only inflamed his fever, and
retarded his recovery.
The motive of an obduracy so cruel to his friends was the fear of a
detection which he thought not merely prejudicial to his affairs,
but dishonourable to his character: for, without betraying any
symptom of his distress, he had taken a general leave of his
acquaintance upon pretence of going out of town, and he could ill
endure to make a discovery which would at once proclaim his
degradation and his deceit.
Mr. Albany had accidentally broken in upon him, by mistaking his
room for that of another sick person in the same house, to whom his
visit had been intended; but as he knew and reverenced that old
gentleman, he did not much repine at his intrusion.
He was not so easy when the same discovery was made by young
Delvile, who, chancing to meet his servant in the street, enquired
concerning his master’s health, and surprising from him its real
state, followed him home; where, soon certain of the change in his
affairs by the change of his habitation, he wrote him a letter, in
which, after apologizing for his freedom, he warmly declared that
nothing could make him so happy as being favoured with his commands,
if, either through himself or his friends, he could be so fortunate
as to do him any service.
Belfield, deeply mortified at this detection of his situation,
returned only a verbal answer of cold thanks, and desired he would
not speak of his being in town, as he was not well enough to be
seen.
This reply gave almost equal mortification to young Delvile, who
continued, however, to call at the door with enquiries how he went
on, though he made no further attempt to see him.
Belfield, softened at length by the kindness of this conduct,
determined to admit him; and he was just come from paying his first
visit, when he was met by Cecilia upon the stairs.
His stay with him had been short, and he had taken no notice either
of his change of abode, or his pretence of going into the country;
he had talked to him only in general terms, and upon general
subjects, till he arose to depart, and then he re-urged his offers
of service with so much openness and warmth, that Belfield, affected
by his earnestness, promised he would soon see him again, and
intimated to his delighted mother and sister, that he would frankly
consult with him upon his affairs.
Such was the tale which, with various minuter circumstances, Miss
Belfield communicated to Cecilia. “My mother,” she added, “who never
quits him, knows that you are here, madam, for she heard me talking
with somebody yesterday, and she made me tell her all that had
passed, and that you said you would come again this morning.”
Cecilia returned many acknowledgments for this artless and
unreserved communication, but could not, when it was over, forbear
enquiring by what early misery she had already, though so very
young, spent two years in nothing but unhappiness?
“Because,” she answered, “when my poor father died all our family
separated, and I left every body to go and live with my mother at
Padington; and I was never a favourite with my mother—no more,
indeed, was any body but my brother, for she thinks all the rest of
the world only made for his sake. So she used to deny both herself
and me almost common necessaries, in order to save up money to make
him presents: though, if he had known how it was done, he would only
have been angry instead of taking them. However, I should have
regarded nothing that had but been for his benefit, for I loved him
a great deal more than my own convenience; but sums that would
distress us for months to save up, would by him be spent in a day,
and then thought of no more! Nor was that all—O no! I had much
greater uneasiness to suffer; for I was informed by one of my
brothers-in-law how ill every thing went, and that certain ruin
would come to my poor brother from the treachery of his agent; and
the thought of this was always preying upon my mind, for I did not
dare tell it my mother, for fear it should put her out of humour,
for, sometimes, she is not very patient; and it mattered little what
any of us said to my brother, for he was too gay and too confident
to believe his danger.”
“Well but,” said Cecilia, “I hope, now, all will go better; if your
brother will consent to see a physician—”
“Ah, madam! that is the thing I fear he never will do, because of
being seen in these bad lodgings. I would kneel whole days to
prevail with him, but he is unused to controul, and knows not how to
submit to it; and he has lived so long among the great, that he
forgets he was not born as high as themselves. Oh that he had never
quitted his own family! If he had not been spoilt by ambition, he
had the best heart and sweetest disposition in the world. But living
always with his superiors, taught him to disdain his own relations,
and be ashamed of us all; and yet now, in the hour of his distress—
who else comes to help him?”
Cecilia then enquired if she wanted not assistance for herself and
her mother, observing that they did not seem to have all the
conveniencies to which they were entitled.
“Why indeed, madam,” she replied, with an ingenuous smile, “when you
first came here I was a little like my brother, for I was sadly
ashamed to let you see how ill we lived! but now you know the worst,
so I shall fret about it no more.”
“But this cannot be your usual way of life; I fear the misfortunes
of Mr Belfield have spread a ruin wider than his own.”
“No indeed; he took care from the first not to involve us in his
hazards, for he is very generous, madam, and very noble in all his
notions, and could behave to us all no better about money matters
than he has ever done. But from the moment we came to this dismal
place, and saw his distress, and that he was sunk so low who used
always to be higher than any of us, we had a sad scene indeed! My
poor mother, whose whole delight was to think that he lived like a
nobleman, and who always flattered herself that he would rise to be
as great as the company he kept, was so distracted with her
disappointment, that she would not listen to reason, but immediately
discharged both our servants, said she and I should do all the work
ourselves, hired this poor room for us to live in, and sent to order
a bill to be put upon her house at Padington, for she said she would
never return to it any more.”
“But are you, then,” cried Cecilia, “without any servant?”
“We have my brother’s man, madam, and so he lights our fires, and
takes away some of our litters; and there is not much else to be
done, except sweeping the rooms, for we eat nothing but cold meat
from the cook shops.”
“And how long is this to last?”
“Indeed I cannot tell; for the real truth is, my poor mother has
almost lost her senses; and ever since our coming here, she has been
so miserable and so complaining, that indeed, between her and my
brother, I have almost lost mine too! For when she found all her
hopes at an end, and that her darling son, instead of being rich and
powerful, and surrounded by friends and admirers, all trying who
should do the most for him, was shut up by himself in this poor
little lodging, and instead of gaining more, had spent all he was
worth at first, with not a creature to come near him, though ill,
though confined, though keeping his bed!—Oh madam, had you seen my
poor mother when she first cast her eyes upon him in that
condition!—indeed you could never have forgotten it!”
“I wonder not at her disappointment,” cried Cecilia; “with
expectations so sanguine, and a son of so much merit, it might well
indeed be bitter.”
“Yes, and besides the disappointment, she is now continually
reproaching herself for always complying with his humours, and
assisting him to appear better than the rest of his family, though
my father never approved her doing so. But she thought herself so
sure of his rising, that she believed we should all thank her for it
in the end. And she always used to say that he was born to be a
gentleman, and what a grievous thing it would be to have him made a
tradesman.”
“I hope, at least, she has not the additional misery of seeing him
ungrateful for her fondness, however injudicious it may have been?”
“O no! he does nothing but comfort and cheer her! and indeed it is
very good of him, for he has owned to me in private, that but for
her encouragement, he could not have run the course he has run, for
he should have been obliged to enter into business, whether he had
liked it or not. But my poor mother knows this, though he will not
tell it her, and therefore she says that unless he gets well, she
will punish herself all the rest of her life, and never go back to
her house, and never hire another servant, and never eat any thing
but bread, nor drink any thing but water!”
“Poor unhappy woman!” cried Cecilia, “how dearly does she pay for
her imprudent and short-sighted indulgence! but surely you are not
also to suffer in the same manner?”
“No, madam, not by her fault, for she wants me to go and live with
one of my sisters: but I would not quit her for the world; I should
think myself wicked indeed to leave her now. Besides, I don’t at all
repine at the little hardships I go through at present, because my
poor brother is in so much distress, that all we save may be really
turned to account; but when we lived so hardly only to procure him
luxuries he had no right to, I must own I used often to think it
unfair, and if I had not loved him dearly, I should not have borne
it so well, perhaps, as I ought.”
Cecilia now began to think it high time to release her new
acquaintance by quitting her, though she felt herself so much
interested in her affairs, that every word she spoke gave her a
desire to lengthen the conversation. She ardently wished to make her
some present, but was restrained by the fear of offending, or of
being again refused; she had, however, devised a private scheme for
serving her more effectually than by the donation of a few guineas,
and therefore, after earnestly begging to hear from her if she could
possibly be of any use, she told her that she should not find her
confidence misplaced, and promising again to see her soon,
reluctantly departed.
Footnotes
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