Early the next morning Cecilia had a visit from Lady Honoria, who came
to tell her story her own way, and laugh at the anxiety of Mrs
Delvile, and the trouble she had taken; “for, after all,” continued
she, “what did the whole matter signify? and how could I possibly help
the mistake? when I heard of his paying for a woman’s board, what was
so natural as to suppose she must be his mistress? especially as there
was a child in the case. O how I wish you had been with us! you never
saw such a ridiculous sight in your life; away we went in the chaise
full drive to the cottage, frightening all the people almost into
fits; out came the poor woman, away ran the poor man,—both of them
thought the end of the world at hand! The gipsey was best off, for she
went to her old business, and began begging. I assure you, I believe
she would be very pretty if she was not so ill, and so I dare say
Mortimer thought too, or I fancy he would not have taken such care of
her.”
“Fie, fie, Lady Honoria! will nothing bring conviction to you?”
“Nay, you know, there’s no harm in that, for why should not pretty
people live as well as ugly ones? There’s no occasion to leave nothing
in the world but frights. I looked hard at the baby, to see if it was
like Mortimer, but I could not make it out; those young things are
like nothing. I tried if it would talk, for I wanted sadly to make it
call Mrs Delvile grandmama; however, the little urchin could say
nothing to be understood. O what a rage would Mrs Delvile have been
in! I suppose this whole castle would hardly have been thought heavy
enough to crush such an insolent brat, though it were to have fallen
upon it all at a blow!”
Thus rattled this light-hearted lady till the family was assembled to
breakfast; and then Cecilia, softened towards Delvile by newly-excited
admiration, as well as by the absence which would separate them the
following day, intended, by every little courteous office in her
power, to make her peace with him before his departure: but she
observed, with much chagrin, that Mrs Delvile never ceased to watch
her, which, added to an air of pride in the coldness of Delvile, that
he had never before assumed, discouraged her from making the attempt,
and compelled her to seem quiet and unconcerned.
As soon as breakfast was over, the gentlemen all rode or walked out;
and when the ladies were by themselves, Lady Honoria suddenly
exclaimed, “Mrs Delvile, I can’t imagine for what reason you send Mr
Mortimer to Bristol.”
“For a reason, Lady Honoria, that with all your wildness, I should be
very sorry you should know better by experience.”
“Why then, ma’am; had we not better make a party, and all go? Miss
Beverley, should you like to join it? I am afraid it would be vastly
disagreeable to you.”
Cecilia, now again was red and white, and white and red a dozen
times in a minute; and Mrs Delvile, rising and taking her hand,
expressively said, “Miss Beverley, you have a thousand times too much
sensibility for this mad-cap of a companion. I believe I shall punish
her by taking you away from her all this morning; will you come and
sit with me in the dressing-room?”
Cecilia assented without daring to look at her, and followed in
trembling, up stairs. Something of importance, she fancied, would
ensue, her secret she saw was revealed, and therefore she could form
no conjecture but that Delvile would be the subject of their discourse
yet whether to explain his behaviour, or plead his cause, whether to
express her separate approbation, or communicate some intelligence
from himself, she had neither time, opportunity nor clue to unravel.
All that was undoubted seemed the affection of Mrs Delvile, all that,
on her own part, could be resolved, was to suppress her partiality
till she knew if it might properly be, avowed.
Mrs Delvile, who saw her perturbation, led immediately to subjects of
indifference, and talked upon them so long, and with so much ease,
that Cecilia, recovering her composure, began to think she had been
mistaken, and that nothing was intended but a tranquil conversation.
As soon, however, as she had quieted her apprehensions, she sat silent
herself, with a look that Cecilia easily construed into thoughtful
perplexity in what manner she should introduce what she meant to
communicate.
This pause was succeeded by her speaking of Lady Honoria; “how wild,
how careless, how incorrigible she is! she lost her mother early; and
the Duke, who idolizes her, and who, marrying very late, is already an
old man, she rules entirely; with him, and a supple governess, who has
neither courage to oppose her, nor heart to wish well but to her own
interest, she has lived almost wholly. Lately, indeed, she has come
more into the world, but without even a desire of improvement, and
with no view and no thought but to gratify her idle humour by laughing
at whatever goes forward.”
“She certainly neither wants parts nor discernment,” said Cecilia;
“and, when my mind is not occupied by other matters, I find her
conversation entertaining and agreeable.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Delvile, “but that light sort of wit which attacks,
with equal alacrity, what is serious or what is gay, is twenty times
offensive, to once that it is exhilarating; since it shews that while
its only aim is self-diversion, it has the most insolent negligence
with respect to any pain it gives to others. The rank of Lady Honoria,
though it has not rendered her proud, nor even made her conscious she
has any dignity to support, has yet given her a saucy indifference
whom she pleases or hurts, that borders upon what in a woman is of all
things the most odious, a daring defiance of the world and its
opinions.”
Cecilia, never less disposed to enter upon her defence, made but
little answer; and, soon after, Mrs Delvile added, “I heartily wish
she were properly established; and yet, according to the pernicious
manners and maxims of the present age, she is perhaps more secure from
misconduct while single, than she will be when married. Her father, I
fear, will leave her too much to herself, and in that case I scarce
know what may become of her; she has neither judgment nor principle to
direct her choice, and therefore, in all probability, the same whim
which one day will guide it, will the next lead her to repent it.”
Again they were both silent; and then Mrs Delvile, gravely, yet with
energy exclaimed, “How few are there, how very few, who marry at once
upon principles rational, and feelings pleasant! interest and
inclination are eternally at strife, and where either is wholly
sacrificed, the other is inadequate to happiness. Yet how rarely do
they divide the attention! the young are rash, and the aged are
mercenary; their deliberations are never in concert, their views are
scarce ever blended; one vanquishes, and the other submits; neither
party temporizes, and commonly each is unhappy.”
“The time,” she continued, “is now arrived when reflections of this
sort cannot too seriously occupy me; the errors I have observed in
others, I would fain avoid committing; yet such is the blindness of
self-love, that perhaps, even at the moment I censure them, I am
falling, without consciousness, into the same! nothing, however, shall
through negligence be wrong; for where is the son who merits care and
attention, if Mortimer from his parents deserves not to meet them?”
The expectations of Cecilia were now again awakened, and awakened with
fresh terrors lest Mrs Delvile, from compassion, meant to offer her
services; vigorously, therefore, she determined to exert herself, and
rather give up Mortimer and all thoughts of him for ever, than submit
to receive assistance in persuading him to the union.
“Mr Delvile,” she continued, “is most earnest and impatient that some
alliance should take place without further delay; and for myself,
could I see him with propriety and with happiness disposed of, what a
weight of anxiety would be removed from my heart!”
Cecilia now made an effort to speak, attempting to say “Certainly, it
is a matter of great consequence;” but so low was her voice, and so
confused her manner, that Mrs Delvile, though attentively listening,
heard not a word. She forbore, however, to make her repeat what she
said, and went on herself as if speaking in answer.
“Not only his own, but the peace of his whole family will depend upon
his election, since he is the last of his race. This castle and
estate, and another in the north, were entailed upon him by the late
Lord Delvile, his grandfather, who, disobliged by his eldest son, the
present lord, left every thing he had power to dispose of to his
second son, Mr Delvile, and at his death, to his grandson, Mortimer.
And even the present lord, though always at variance with his brother,
is fond of his nephew, and has declared him his heir. I, also, have
one sister, who is rich, who has no children, and who has made the
same declaration. Yet though with such high expectations, he must not
connect himself imprudently; for his paternal estate wants repair, and
he is well entitled with a wife to expect what it requires.”
Most true! thought Cecilia, yet ashamed of her recent failure, she
applied herself to her work, and would not again try to speak.
“He is amiable, accomplished, well educated, and well born; far may we
look, and not meet with his equal; no woman need disdain, and few
women would refuse him.”
Cecilia blushed her concurrence; yet could well at that moment have
spared hearing the eulogy.
“Yet how difficult,” she continued, “to find a proper alliance! there
are many who have some recommendations, but who is there wholly
unexceptionable?”
This question seemed unanswerable; nor could Cecilia devise what it
meant.
“Girls of high family have but seldom large fortunes, since the heads
of their house commonly require their whole wealth for the support of
their own dignity; while on the other hand, girls of large fortune are
frequently ignorant, insolent, or low born; kept up by their friends
lest they should fall a prey to adventurers, they have no acquaintance
with the world, and little enlargement from education; their
instructions are limited to a few merely youthful accomplishments; the
first notion they imbibe is of their own importance, the first lesson
they are taught is the value of riches, and even from their cradles,
their little minds are narrowed, and their self-sufficiency is
excited, by cautions to beware of fortune-hunters, and assurances that
the whole world will be at their feet. Among such should we seek a
companion for Mortimer? surely not. Formed for domestic happiness, and
delighting in elegant society, his mind would disdain an alliance in
which its affections had no share.”
Cecilia colouring and trembling, thought now the moment of her trial
was approaching, and half mortified and half frightened prepared
herself to sustain it with firmness.
“I venture, therefore, my dear Miss Beverley, to speak to you upon
this subject as a friend who will have patience to hear my
perplexities; you see upon what they hang,—where the birth is such as
Mortimer Delvile may claim, the fortune generally fails; and where the
fortune is adequate to his expectations, the birth yet more frequently
would disgrace us.”
Cecilia, astonished by this speech, and quite off her guard from
momentary surprize, involuntarily raised her head to look at Mrs
Delvile, in whose countenance she observed the most anxious concern,
though her manner of speaking had seemed placid and composed.
“Once,” she continued, without appearing to remark the emotion of her
auditor, “Mr Delvile thought of uniting him with his cousin Lady
Honoria; but he never could endure the proposal; and who shall blame
his repugnance? her sister, indeed, Lady Euphrasia, is much
preferable, her education has been better, and her fortune is much
more considerable. At present, however, Mortimer seems greatly averse
to her, and who has a right to be difficult, if we deny it to him?”
Wonder, uncertainty, expectation and suspence now all attacked
Cecilia, and all harassed her with redoubled violence; why she was
called to this conference she knew not; the approbation she had
thought so certain, she doubted, and the proposal of assistance she
had apprehended, she ceased to think would be offered some fearful
mystery, some cruel obscurity, still clouded all her prospects, and
not merely obstructed her view of the future, but made what was
immediately before her gloomy and indistinct.
The state of her mind seemed read by Mrs Delvile, who examined her
with eyes of such penetrating keenness, that they rather made
discoveries than enquiries. She was silent some time, and looked
irresolute how to proceed; but at length, she arose, and taking
Cecilia by the hand, who almost drew it back from her dread of what
would follow, she said “I will torment you no more, my sweet young
friend, with perplexities which you cannot relieve: this only I will
say, and then drop the subject for ever; when my solicitude for
Mortimer is removed, and he is established to the satisfaction of us
all, no care will remain in the heart of his mother, half so fervent,
so anxious and so sincere as the disposal of my amiable Cecilia, for
whose welfare and happiness my wishes are even maternal.”
She then kissed her glowing cheek, and perceiving her almost stupified
with astonishment, spared her any effort to speak, by hastily leaving
her in possession of her room.
Undeceived in her expectations and chilled in her hopes, the heart of
Cecilia no longer struggled to sustain its dignity, or conceal its
tenderness; the conflict was at an end, Mrs Delvile had been open,
though her son was mysterious; but, in removing her doubts, she had
bereft her of her peace. She now found her own mistake in building
upon her approbation; she saw nothing was less in her intentions, and
that even when most ardent in affectionate regard, she separated her
interest from that of her son as if their union was a matter of utter
impossibility. “Yet why,” cried Cecilia, “oh why is it deemed so! that
she loves me, she is ever eager to proclaim, that my fortune would be,
peculiarly useful, she makes not a secret, and that I, at least,
should start no insuperable objections, she has, alas! but too
obviously discovered! Has she doubts of her son?—no, she has too much
discernment; the father, then, the haughty, impracticable father, has
destined him for some woman of rank, and will listen to no other
alliance.”
This notion somewhat soothed her in the disappointment she suffered;
yet to know herself betrayed to Mrs Delvile, and to see no other
consequence ensue but that of exciting a tender compassion, which led
her to discourage, from benevolence, hopes too high to be indulged,
was a mortification so severe, that it caused her a deeper depression
of spirits than any occurrence of her life had yet occasioned.
“What Henrietta Belfield is to me,” she cried, “I am to Mrs Delvile! but
what in her is amiable and artless, in me is disgraceful and unworthy.
And this is the situation which so long I have desired! This is the
change of habitation which I thought would make me so happy! oh who
can chuse, who can judge for himself? who can point out the road to
his own felicity, or decide upon the spot where his peace will be
ensured!”
Still, however, she had something to do, some spirit to exert, and some
fortitude to manifest: Mortimer, she was certain, suspected not his own
power; his mother, she knew, was both too good and too wise to reveal it
to him, and she determined, by caution and firmness upon his leave-taking and departure, to retrieve, if possible, that credit with Mrs
Delvile, which she feared her betrayed susceptibility had weakened.
As soon, therefore, as she recovered from her consternation, she
quitted Mrs Delvile’s apartment, and seeking Lady Honoria herself,
determined not to spend even a moment alone, till Mortimer was gone;
lest the sadness of her reflections should overpower her resolution,
and give a melancholy to her air and manner which he might attribute,
with but too much justice, to concern upon his own account.
Nguồn: Wikisource English — Cecilia (Burney)/Book 6/Chapter viii. Văn bản được nhập và định dạng lại; CC BY-SA 4.0, có thể áp dụng điều khoản bổ sung của tác phẩm.