Cecilia vol. 3

F >> Frances (Fanny) Burney (Madame d'Arblay) >> Cecilia vol. 3

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Nothing indeed could be more painful to her than giving them such
information, yet not to be speedy with it would double the barbarity of
their disappointment. She even felt for these poor women, whose loss in
her she knew would be irreparable, a compassion that drove from her
mind almost every other subject, and determined her, in order to soften
to them this misfortune, to communicate it herself, that she might
prevent them from sinking under it, by reviving them with hopes of her
future assistance.

She had ordered at seven o'clock in the morning an hired chaise at the
door, and she did not suffer it long to wait for her. She quitted her
house with a heart full of care and anxiety, grieving at the necessity
of making such a sacrifice, uncertain how it would turn out, and
labouring under a thousand perplexities with respect to the measures
she ought immediately to take. She passed, when she reached the hall,
through a row of weeping domestics, not one of whom with dry eyes could
see the house bereft of such a mistress. She spoke to them all with
kindness, and as much as was in her power with chearfulness: but the
tone of her voice gave them little reason to think the concern at this
journey was all their own.

She ordered her chaise to drive round to the pew-opener's and thence to
the rest of her immediate dependents. She soon, however, regretted that
she had given herself this task; the affliction of these poor
pensioners was clamorous, was almost heart-breaking; they could live,
they said, no longer, they were ruined for ever; they should soon be
without bread to eat, and they might cry for help in vain, when their
generous, their only benefactress was far away!

Cecilia made the kindest efforts, to comfort and encourage them,
assuring them the very moment her own affairs were arranged, she would
remember them all, visit them herself, and contribute to their relief,
with all the power she should have left. Nothing, however, could
console them; they clung about her, almost took the horses from the
chaise, and conjured her not to desert those who were solely cherished
by her bounty!

Nor was this all she had to suffer; the news of her intention to quit
the county was now reported throughout the neighbourhood, and had
spread the utmost consternation among the poor in general, and the
lower close of her own tenants in particular, and the road was soon
lined with women and children, wringing their hands and crying. They
followed her carriage with supplications that she would return to them,
mixing blessings with their lamentations, and prayers for her happiness
with the bitterest repinings at their own loss!

Cecilia was extremely affected; her liberal and ever-ready hand was
every other instant involuntarily seeking her purse, which her many
immediate expences, made her prudence as often check: and now first she
felt the capital error she had committed, in living constantly to the
utmost extent of her income, without ever preparing, though so able to
have done it, against any unfortunate contingency.

When she escaped, at last, from receiving any longer this painful
tribute to her benevolence, she gave orders to her man to ride forward
and stop at the Grove, that a precise and minute account of Mr
Monckton, might be the last, as it was now become the most important,
news she should hear in Suffolk. This he did, when to her equal
surprise and delight, she heard that he was suddenly so much better,
there were hopes of his recovery.

Intelligence so joyful made her amends for almost every thing; yet she
hesitated not in her plan of going abroad, as she knew not where to be
in England, and could not endure to hurry Delvile from his sick mother,
by acquainting him with her helpless and distressed situation. But so
revived were her spirits by these unexpected tidings, that a gleam of
brightest hope once more danced before her eyes, and she felt herself
invigorated with fresh courage and new strength, sufficient to support
her through all hardships and fatigues.

Spirits and courage were indeed much wanted for the enterprize she had
formed; but little used to travelling, and having never been out of
England, she knew nothing of the route but by a general knowledge of
geography, which, though it could guide her east or west, could teach
her nothing of foreign customs, the preparations necessary for the
journey, the impositions she should guard against, nor the various
dangers to which she might be exposed, from total ignorance of the
country through which she had to pass.

Conscious of these deficiencies for such an undertaking, she
deliberated without intermission how to obviate them. Yet sometimes,
when to these hazards, those arising from her youth and sex were added,
she was upon the point of relinquishing her scheme, as too perilous for
execution, and resolving to continue privately in London till some
change happened in her affairs.

But though to every thing she could suggest, doubts and difficulties
arose, she had no friend to consult, nor could devise any means by
which they might be terminated. Her maid was her only companion, and
Ralph, who had spent almost his whole life in Suffolk, her only guard
and attendant. To hire immediately some French servant, used to
travelling in his own country, seemed the first step she had to take,
and so essential, that no other appeared feasible till it was done. But
where to hear of such a man she could not tell, and to take one not
well recommended, would be exposing herself to frauds and dangers
innumerable.

Yet so slow as Delvile travelled, from whom her last letter was still
dated Ostend, she thought herself almost certain, could she once reach
the continent, of overtaking him in his route within a day or two of
her landing.

The earnest inclination with which this scheme was seconded, made her
every moment less willing to forego it. It seemed the only harbour for
her after the storm she had weathered, and the only refuge she could
properly seek while thus houseless and helpless. Even were Delvile in
England, he had no place at present to offer her, nor could any thing
be proposed so unexceptionable as her living with Mrs Delvile at Nice,
till he knew his father's pleasure, and, in a separate journey home,
had arranged his affairs either for her return, or her continuance
abroad.

With what regret did she now look back to the time when, in a distress
such as this, she should have applied for, and received the advice of
Mr Monckton as oracular! The loss of a counsellor so long, so
implicitly relied upon, lost to her also, only by his own interested
worthlessness, she felt almost daily, for almost daily some intricacy
or embarrassment made her miss his assistance: and though glad, since
she found him so undeserving, that she had escaped the snares he had
spread for her, she grieved much that she knew no man of honest
character and equal abilities, that would care for her sufficiently to
supply his place in her confidence.

As she was situated at present, she could think only of Mr Belfield to
whom she could apply for any advice. Nor even to him was the
application unexceptionable, the calumnies of Mr Delvile senior making
it disagreeable to her even to see him. But he was at once a man of the
world and a man of honour; he was the friend of Mortimer, whose
confidence in him was great, and his own behaviour had uniformly shewn
a respect far removed from impertinence or vanity, and a mind superior
to being led to them by the influence of his gross mother. She had,
indeed, when she last quitted his house, determined never to re-enter
it; but determinations hasty or violent, are rarely observed, because
rarely practicable; she had promised Henrietta to inform Mrs Belfield
whither she was gone, and reconcile her to the absence she still hoped
to make from home. She concluded, therefore, to go to Portland-street
without delay, and enquire openly and at once whether, and when, she
might speak with Mr Belfield; resolving, if tormented again by any
forward insinuations, to rectify all mistakes by acknowledging her
marriage.

She gave directions accordingly to the post-boy and Ralph.

With respect to her own lodgings while in town, as money was no longer
unimportant to her, she meant from the Belfields to go to the Hills, by
whom she might be recommended to some reputable and cheap place. To the
Belfields, however, though very late when she arrived in town, she went
first, unwilling to lose a moment in promoting her scheme of going
abroad.

She left her maid in the chaise, and sent Ralph on to Mrs Hill, with
directions to endeavour immediately to procure her a lodging.

CHAPTER vi.

A PRATING.

Cecilia was shewn into a parlour, where Mrs Belfield was very earnestly
discoursing with Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins; and Belfield himself, to her
great satisfaction, was already there, and reading.

"Lack a-day!" cried Mrs Belfield, "if one does not always see the
people one's talking of! Why it was but this morning, madam, I was
saying to Mr Hobson, I wonder, says I, a young lady of such fortunes as
Miss Beverley should mope herself up so in the country! Don't you
remember it, Mr Hobson?"

"Yes, madam," answered Mr Hobson, "but I think, for my part, the young
lady's quite in the right to do as she's a mind; for that's what I call
living agreeable: and if I was a young lady to-morrow, with such fine
fortunes, and that, it's just what I should do myself: for what I say
is this: where's the joy of having a little money, and being a little
matter above the world, if one has not one's own will?"

"Ma'am," said Mr Simkins, who had scarce yet raised his head from the
profoundness of his bow upon Cecilia's entrance into the room, "if I
may be so free, may I make bold just for to offer you this chair?"

"I called, madam," said Cecilia, seizing the first moment in her power
to speak, "in order to acquaint you that your daughter, who is
perfectly well, has made a little change in her situation, which she
was anxious you should hear from myself."

"Ha! ha! stolen a match upon you, I warrant!" cried the facetious Mr
Hobson; "a good example for you, young lady; and if you take my advice,
you won't be long before you follow it; for as to a lady, let her be
worth never so much, she's a mere nobody, as one may say, till she can
get herself a husband, being she knows nothing of business, and is made
to pay for every thing through the nose."

"Fie, Mr Hobson, fie!" said Mr Simkins, "to talk so slighting of the
ladies before their faces! what one says in a corner, is quite of
another nature; but for to talk so rude in their company,--I thought
you would scorn to do such a thing."

"Sir, I don't want to be rude no more than yourself," said Mr Hobson,
"for what I say is, rudeness is a thing that makes nobody agreeable;
but I don't see because of that, why a man is not to speak his mind to
a lady as well as to a gentleman, provided he does it in a complaisant
fashion."

"Mr Hobson," cried Mrs Belfield, very impatiently, "you might as well
let _me_ speak, when the matter is all about my own daughter."

"I ask pardon, ma'am," said he, "I did not mean to stop you; for as to
not letting a lady speak, one might as well tell a man in business not
to look at the Daily Advertiser; why, it's morally impossible!"

"But sure, madam," cried Mrs Belfield, "it's no such thing? You can't
have got her off already?"

"I would I had!" thought Cecilia; who then explained her meaning; but
in talking of Mrs Harrel, avoided all mention of Mr Arnott, well
foreseeing that to hear such a man existed, and was in the same house
with her daughter, would be sufficient authority to her sanguine
expectations, for depending upon a union between them, and reporting it
among her friends, his circumstance being made clear, Cecilia added, "I
could by no means have consented voluntarily to parting so soon with
Miss Belfield, but that my own affairs call me at present out of the
kingdom." And then, addressing herself to Belfield, she enquired if he
could recommend to her a trusty foreign servant, who would be hired
only for the time she was to spend abroad?

While Belfield was endeavouring to recollect some such person, Mr
Hobson eagerly called out "As to going abroad, madam, to be sure you're
to do as you like, for that, as I say, is the soul of every thing; but
else I can't say it's a thing I much approve; for my notion is this:
here's a fine fortune, got as a man may say, out of the bowels of one's
mother country, and this fine fortune, in default of male issue, is
obliged to come to a female, the law making no proviso to the contrary.
Well, this female, going into a strange country, naturally takes with
her this fortune, by reason it's the main article she has to depend
upon; what's the upshot? why she gets pilfered by a set of sharpers
that never saw England in their lives, and that never lose sight of her
till she has not a sous in the world. But the hardship of the thing is
this: when it's all gone, the lady can come back, but will the money
come back?--No, you'll never see it again: now this is what I call
being no true patriot."

"I am quite ashamed for to hear you talk so, Mr Hobson!" cried Mr
Simkins, affecting to whisper; "to go for to take a person to task at
this rate, is behaving quite unbearable; it's enough to make the young
lady afraid to speak before you."

"Why, Mr Simkins," answered Mr Hobson, "truth is truth, whether one
speaks it or not; and that, ma'am, I dare say, a young lady of your
good sense knows as well as myself."

"I think, madam," said Belfield, who waited their silence with great
impatience, "that I know just such a man as you will require, and one
upon whose honesty I believe you may rely."

"That's more," said Mr Hobson, "than I would take upon me to say for
any _Englishman_! where you may meet with such a _Frenchman_, I won't
be bold to say."

"Why indeed," said Mr Simkins, "if I might take the liberty for to put
in, though I don't mean in no shape to go to contradicting the young
gentleman, but if I was to make bold to speak my private opinion upon
the head, I should be inclinable for to say, that as to putting a
dependance upon the French, it's a thing quite dubious how it may turn
out."

"I take it as a great favour, ma'am," said Mrs Belfield, "that you have
been so complaisant as to make me this visit to-night, for I was almost
afraid you would not have done me the favour any more; for, to be sure,
when you was here last, things went a little unlucky: but I had no
notion, for my part, who the old gentleman was till after he was gone,
when Mr Hobson told me it was old Mr Delvile: though, sure enough, I
thought it rather upon the extraordinary order, that he should come
here into my parlour, and make such a secret of his name, on purpose to
ask me questions about my own son."

"Why I think, indeed, if I may be so free," said Mr Simkins, "it was
rather petickeler of the gentleman; for, to be sure, if he was so over
curious to hear about your private concerns, the genteel thing, if I
may take the liberty for to differ, would have been for him to say,
ma'am, says he, I'm come to ask the favour of you just to let me a
little into your son's goings on; and any thing, ma'am, you should take
a fancy for to ask me upon the return, why I shall be very compliable,
ma'am, says he, to giving of you satisfaction."

"I dare say," answered Mrs Belfield, "he would not have said so much if
you'd have gone down on your knees to ask him. Why he was upon the very
point of being quite in a passion because I only asked him his name!
though what harm that could do him, I'm sure I never could guess.
However, as he was so mighty inquisitive about my son, if I had but
known who he was in time, I should have made no scruple in the world to
ask him if he could not have spoke a few words for him to some of those
great people that could have done him some good. But the thing that I
believe put him so out of humour, was my being so unlucky as to say,
before ever I knew who he was, that I had heard he was not over and
above good-natured; for I saw he did not seem much to like it at the
time."

"If he had done the generous thing," said Mr Simkins, "it would have
been for him to have made the proffer of his services of his own free-
will; and it's rather surpriseable to me he should never have thought
of it; for what could be so natural as for him to say, I see, ma'am,
says he, you've got a very likely young gentleman here, that's a little
out of cash, says he, so I suppose, ma'am, says he, a place, or a
pension, or something in that shape of life, would be no bad
compliment, says he."

"But no such good luck as that will come to my share," cried Mrs
Belfield, "I can tell you that, for every thing I want to do goes quite
contrary. Who would not have thought such a son as mine, though I say
it before his face, could not have made his fortune long ago, living as
he did, among all the great folks, and dining at their table just like
one of themselves? yet, for all that, you see they let him go on his
own way, and think of him no more than of nobody! I'm sure they might
be ashamed to shew their faces, and so I should tell them at once, if I
could but get sight of them."

"I don't mean, ma'am," said Mr Simkins, "for to be finding fault with
what you say, for I would not be unpelite in no shape; but if I might
be so free as for to differ a little bit, I must needs say I am rather
for going to work in anotherguess sort of a manner; and if I was as
you--"

"Mr Simkins," interrupted Belfield, "we will settle this matter another
time." And then, turning to the wearied Cecilia, "The man, madam," he
said, "whom I have done myself the honour to recommend to you, I can
see to-morrow morning; may I then tell him to wait upon you?"

"I ask pardon for just putting in," cried Mr Simkins, before Cecilia
could answer, and again bowing down to the ground, "but I only mean to
say I had no thought for to be impertinent, for as to what I was agoing
to remark, is was not of no consequence in the least."

"Its a great piece of luck, ma'am," said Mrs Belfield, "that you should
happen to come here, of a holiday! If my son had not been at home, I
should have been ready to cry for a week: and you might come any day
the year through but a Sunday, and not meet with him any more than if
he had never a home to come to."

"If Mr Belfield's home-visits are so periodical," said Cecilia, "it
must be rather less, than more, difficult to meet with him."

"Why you know, ma'am," answered Mrs Belfield, "to-day is a red-letter
day, so that's the reason of it."

"A red-letter day?"

"Good lack, madam, why have not you heard that my son is turned book-
keeper?"

Cecilia, much surprised, looked at Belfield, who, colouring very high,
and apparently much provoked by his mother's loquacity, said, "Had Miss
Beverley not heard it even now, madam, I should probably have lost with
her no credit."

"You can surely lose none, Sir," answered Cecilia, "by an employment
too little pleasant to have been undertaken from any but the most
laudable motives."

"It is not, madam, the employment," said he, "for which I so much blush
as for the person employed--for _myself_! In the beginning of the
winter you left me just engaged in another business, a business with
which I was madly delighted, and fully persuaded I should be enchanted
for ever;--now, again, in the beginning of the summer,--you find me,
already, in a new occupation!"

"I am sorry," said Cecilia, "but far indeed from surprised, that you
found yourself deceived by such sanguine expectations."

"Deceived!" cried he, with energy, "I was bewitched, I was infatuated!
common sense was estranged by the seduction of a chimera; my
understanding was in a ferment from the ebullition of my imagination!
But when this new way of life lost its novelty,--novelty! that short-
liv'd, but exquisite bliss! no sooner caught than it vanishes, no
sooner tasted than it is gone! which charms but to fly, and comes but
to destroy what it leaves behind!--when that was lost, reason, cool,
heartless reason, took its place, and teaching me to wonder at the
frenzy of my folly, brought me back to the tameness--the sadness of
reality!"

"I am sure," cried Mrs Belfield, "whatever it has brought you back to,
it has brought you back to no good! it's a hard case, you must needs
think, madam, to a mother, to see a son that might do whatever he
would, if he'd only set about it, contenting himself with doing nothing
but scribble and scribe one day, and when he gets tired of that,
thinking of nothing better than casting up two and two!"

"Why, madam," said Mr Hobson, "what I have seen of the world is this;
there's nothing methodizes a man but business. If he's never so much
upon the stilts, that's always a sure way to bring him down, by reason
he soon finds there's nothing to be got by rhodomontading. Let every
man be his own carver; but what I say is, them gentlemen that are what
one may call geniuses, commonly think nothing of the main chance, till
they get a tap on the shoulder with a writ; and a solid lad, that knows
three times five is fifteen, will get the better of them in the long
run. But as to arguing with gentlemen of that sort, where's the good of
it? You can never bring them to the point, say what you will; all you
can get from them, is a farrago of fine words, that you can't
understand without a dictionary."

"I am inclinable to think," said Mr Simkins, "that the young gentleman
is rather of opinion to like pleasure better than business; and, to be
sure, it's very excusable of him, because it's more agreeabler. And I
must needs say, if I may be so free, I'm partly of the young
gentleman's mind, for business is a deal more trouble."

"I hope, however," said Cecilia to Belfield, "your present situation is
less irksome to you?"

"Any situation, madam, must be less irksome than that which I quitted:
to write by rule, to compose by necessity, to make the understanding,
nature's first gift, subservient to interest, that meanest offspring of
art!--when weary, listless, spiritless, to rack the head for invention,
the memory for images, and the fancy for ornament and illusion; and
when the mind is wholly occupied by its own affections and affairs, to
call forth all its faculties for foreign subjects, uninteresting
discussions, or fictitious incidents!--Heavens! what a life of struggle
between the head and the heart! how cruel, how unnatural a war between
the intellects and the feelings!"

"As to these sort of things," said Mr Hobson, "I can't say I am much
versed in them, by reason they are things I never much studied; but if
I was to speak my notion, it is this; the best way to thrive in the
world is to get money; but how is it to be got? Why by business: for
business is to money, what fine words are to a lady, a sure road to
success. Now I don't mean by this to be censorious upon the ladies,
being they have nothing else to go by, for as to examining if a man
knows any thing of the world, and that, they have nothing whereby to
judge, knowing nothing of it themselves. So that when they are taken in
by rogues and sharpers, the fault is all in the law, for making no
proviso against their having money in their own hands. Let every one be
trusted according to their headpiece and what I say is this: a lady in
them cases is much to be pitied, for she is obligated to take a man
upon his own credit, which is tantamount to no credit at all, being
what man will speak an ill word of himself? you may as well expect a
bad shilling to cry out don't take me! That's what I say, and that's my
way of giving my vote."

Cecilia, quite tired of these interruptions, and impatient to be gone,
now said to Belfield, "I should be much obliged to you, Sir, if you
could send to me the man you speak of tomorrow morning. I wished, also
to consult you with regard to the route I ought to take. My purpose is
to go to Nice, and as I am very desirous to travel expeditiously, you
may perhaps be able to instruct me what is the best method for me to
pursue."

"Come, Mr Hobson and Mr Simkins," cried Mrs Belfield, with a look of
much significance and delight, "suppose you two and I was to walk into
the next room? There's no need for us to hear all the young lady may
have a mind to say."

"She has nothing to say, madam," cried Cecilia, "that the whole world
may not hear. Neither is it my purpose to talk, but to listen, if Mr
Belfield is at leisure to favour me with his advice."

"I must always be at leisure, and always be proud, madam," Belfield
began, when Hobson, interrupting him, said, "I ask pardon, Sir, for
intruding, but I only mean to wish the young lady good night. As to
interfering with business, that's not my way, for it's not the right
method, by reason--"

"We will listen to your reason, Sir," cried Belfield, "some other time;
at present we will give you all credit for it unheard."

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