Cecilia vol. 3

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

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In this resolution she was not a little strengthened, by seriously
considering with herself the great abatement to all her possible
happiness, which must have been made by the humiliating circumstance of
forcing herself into a family which held all connection with her as
disgraceful. She desired not to be the wife even of Delvile upon such
terms, for the more she esteemed and admired him, the more anxious she
became for his honour, and the less could she endure being regarded
herself as the occasion of its diminution.

Now, therefore, her plan of conduct settled, with calmer spirits,
though a heavy heart, she attended upon Mrs Charlton; but fearing to
lose the steadiness she had just acquired before it should be called
upon, if she trusted herself to relate the decision which had been
made, she besought her for the present to dispense with the account,
and then forced herself into conversation upon less interesting
subjects.

This prudence had its proper effect, and with tolerable tranquility she
heard Mrs Delvile again announced, and waited upon her in the parlour
with an air of composure.

Not so did Mrs Delvile receive her; she was all eagerness and emotion;
she flew to her the moment she appeared, and throwing her arms around
her, warmly exclaimed "Oh charming girl! Saver of our family! preserver
of our honour! How poor are words to express my admiration! how
inadequate are thanks in return for such obligations as I owe you!"
"You owe me none, madam," said Cecilia, suppressing a sigh; on my side
will be all the obligation, if you can pardon the petulance of my
behaviour this morning."

"Call not by so harsh a name," answered Mrs Delvile, "the keenness of a
sensibility by which you have yourself alone been the sufferer. You
have had a trial the most severe, and however able to sustain, it was
impossible you should not feel it. That you should give up any man
whose friends solicit not your alliance, your mind is too delicate to
make wonderful; but your generosity in submitting, unasked, the
arrangement of that resignation to those for whose interest it is made,
and your high sense of honour in holding yourself accountable to me,
though under no tie, and bound by no promise, mark a greatness of mind
which calls for reverence rather than thanks, and which I never can
praise half so much as I admire."

Cecilia, who received this applause but as a confirmation of her
rejection, thanked her only by courtsying; and Mrs Delvile, having
seated herself next her, continued her speech.

"My son, you have the goodness to tell me, is here,--have you seen
him?"

"Yes, madam," answered she, blushing, "but hardly for a moment."

"And he knows not of my arrival?" No,--I believe he certainly does
not."

"Sad then, is the trial which awaits him, and heavy for me the office I
must perform! Do you expect to see him again?"

"No,--yes,--perhaps--indeed I hardly--" She stammered, and Mrs Delvile,
taking her hand, said "Tell me, Miss Beverley, _why_ should you see him
again?"

Cecilia was thunderstruck by this question, and, colouring yet more
deeply, looked down, but could not answer.

"Consider," continued Mrs Delvile, "the _purpose_ of any further
meeting; your union is impossible, you have nobly consented to
relinquish all thoughts of it why then tear your own heart, and torture
his, by an intercourse which seems nothing but an ill-judged invitation
to fruitless and unavailing sorrow?"

Cecilia was still silent; the truth of the expostulation her reason
acknowledged, but to assent to its consequence her whole heart refused.

"The ungenerous triumph of little female vanity," said Mrs Delvile, "is
far, I am sure, from your mind, of which the enlargement and liberality
will rather find consolation from lessening than from embittering his
sufferings. Speak to me, then, and tell me honestly, judiciously,
candidly tell me, will it not be wiser and more right, to avoid rather
than seek an object which can only give birth to regret? an interview
which can excite no sensations but of misery and sadness?" Cecilia then
turned pale, she endeavoured to speak, but could not; she wished to
comply,--yet to think she had seen him for the last time, to remember
how abruptly she had parted from him, and to fear she had treated him
unkindly;--these were obstacles which opposed her concurrence, though
both judgment and propriety demanded it.

"Can you, then," said Mrs Delvile, after a pause, "can you wish to see
Mortimer merely to behold his grief? Can you desire he should see you,
only to sharpen his affliction at your loss?"

"O no!" cried Cecilia, to whom this reproof restored speech and
resolution, "I am not so despicable, I am not, I hope, so unworthy!--I
will--be ruled by you wholly; I will commit to you every thing;--yet
_once_, perhaps,--no more!"--

"Ah, my dear Miss Beverley! to meet confessedly for _once_,--what were
that but planting a dagger in the heart of Mortimer? What were it but
infusing poison into your own?

"If you think so, madam," said she, "I had better--I will certainly--"
she sighed, stammered, and stopt.

"Hear me," cried Mrs Delvile, "and rather let me try to convince than
persuade you. Were there any possibility, by argument, by reflection,
or even by accident, to remove the obstacles to our connection, then
would it be well to meet, for then might discussion turn to account,
and an interchange of sentiments be productive of some happy
expedients: but here--"

She hesitated, and Cecilia, shocked and ashamed, turned away her face,
and cried "I know, madam, what you would say,--here all is over! and
therefore--" "Yet suffer me," interrupted she, "to be explicit, since
we speak upon, this matter now for the last time. Here, then, I say,
where not ONE doubt remains, where ALL is finally, though not happily
decided, what can an interview produce? Mischief of every sort, pain,
horror, and repining! To Mortimer you may think it would be kind, and
grant it to his prayers, as an alleviation of his misery; mistaken
notion! nothing could so greatly augment it. All his passions would be
raised, all his prudence would be extinguished, his soul would be torn
with resentment and regret, and force, only, would part him from you,
when previously he knew that parting was to be eternal. To yourself--"

"Talk not, madam, of me," cried the unhappy Cecilia, "what you say of
your son is sufficient, and I will yield---"

"Yet hear me," proceeded she, "and believe me not so unjust as to
consider him alone; you, also, would be an equal, though a less stormy
sufferer. You fancy, at this moment, that once more to meet him would
soothe your uneasiness, and that to take of him a farewell, would
soften the pain of the separation: how false such reasoning! how
dangerous such consolation! acquainted ere you meet that you were to
meet him no more, your heart would be all softness and grief, and at
the very moment when tenderness should be banished from your
intercourse, it would bear down all opposition of judgment, spirit, and
dignity: you would hang upon every word, because every word would seem
the last, every look, every expression would be rivetted in your
memory, and his image in this parting distress would-be painted upon
your mind, in colours that would eat into its peace, and perhaps never
be erased."

"Enough, enough," said Cecilia, "I will not see him,--I will not even
desire it!"

"Is this compliance or conviction? Is what I have said true, or only
terrifying?"

"Both, both! I believe, indeed, the conflict would have overpowered
me,--I see you are right,--and I thank you, madam, for saving me from a
scene I might so cruelly have rued."

"Oh Daughter of my mind!" cried Mrs Delvile, rising and embracing her,
"noble, generous, yet gentle Cecilia! what tie, what connection, could
make you more dear to me? Who is there like you? Who half so excellent?
So open to reason, so ingenuous in error! so rational! so just! so
feeling, yet so wise!"

"You are very good," said Cecilia, with a forced serenity, "and I am
thankful that your resentment for the past obstructs not your lenity
for the present."

Alas, my love, how shall I resent the past, when I ought myself to have
foreseen this calamity! and I _should_ have foreseen it, had I not been
informed you were engaged, and upon your engagement built our security.
Else had I been more alarmed, for my own admiration would have bid me
look forward to my son's. You were just, indeed, the woman he had least
chance to resist, you were precisely the character to seize his very
soul. To a softness the most fatally alluring, you join a dignity which
rescues from their own contempt even the most humble of your admirers.
You seem born to have all the world wish your exaltation, and no part
of it murmur at your superiority. Were any obstacle but this
insuperable one in the way, should nobles, nay, should princes offer
their daughters to my election, I would reject without murmuring the
most magnificent proposals, and take in triumph to my heart my son's
nobler choice!"

"Oh madam," cried Cecilia, "talk not to me thus!--speak not such
flattering words!--ah, rather scorn and upbraid me, tell me you despise
my character, my family and my connections,--load, load me with
contempt, but do not thus torture me with approbation!"

"Pardon me, sweetest girl, if I have awakened those emotions you so
wisely seek to subdue. May my son but emulate your example, and my
pride in his virtue shall be the solace of my affliction for his
misfortunes."

She then tenderly embraced her, and abruptly took her leave.

Cecilia had now acted her part, and acted it to her own satisfaction;
but the curtain dropt when Mrs Delvile left the house, nature resumed
her rights, and the sorrow of her heart was no longer disguised or
repressed. Some faint ray of hope had till now broke through the
gloomiest cloud of her misery, and secretly flattered her that its
dispersion was possible, though distant: but that ray was extinct, that
hope was no more; she had solemnly promised to banish Delvile her
sight, and his mother had absolutely declared that even the subject had
been discussed for the last time.

Mrs Charlton, impatient of some explanation of the morning's
transactions, soon sent again to beg Cecilia would come to her. Cecilia
reluctantly obeyed, for she feared encreasing her indisposition by the
intelligence she had to communicate; she struggled, therefore, to
appear to her with tolerable calmness, and in briefly relating what had
passed, forbore to mingle with the narrative her own feelings and
unhappiness.

Mrs Charlton heard the account with the utmost concern; she accused Mrs
Delvile of severity, and even of cruelty; she lamented the strange
accident by which the marriage ceremony had been stopt, and regretted
that it had not again been begun, as the only means to have rendered
ineffectual the present fatal interposition. But the grief of Cecilia,
however violent, induced her not to join in this regret; she mourned
only the obstacle which had occasioned the separation, and not the
incident which had merely interrupted the ceremony: convinced, by the
conversations in which she had just been engaged, of Mrs Delvile's
inflexibility, she rather rejoiced than repined that she had put it to
no nearer trial: sorrow was all she felt; for her mind was too liberal
to harbour resentment against a conduct which she saw was dictated by a
sense of right; and too ductile and too affectionate to remain unmoved
by the personal kindness which had softened the rejection, and the many
marks of esteem and regard which had shewn her it was lamented, though
considered as indispensable.

How and by whom this affair had been betrayed to Mrs Delvile she knew
not; but the discovery was nothing less than surprising, since, by
various unfortunate accidents, it was known to so many, and since, in
the horror and confusion of the mysterious prohibition to the marriage,
neither Delvile nor herself had thought of even attempting to give any
caution to the witnesses of that scene, not to make it known: an
attempt, however, which must almost necessarily have been unavailing,
as the incident was too extraordinary and too singular to have any
chance of suppression.

During this conversation, one of the servants came to inform Cecilia,
that a man was below to enquire if there was no answer to the note he
had brought in the forenoon.

Cecilia, greatly distressed, knew not upon what to resolve; that the
patience of Delvile should be exhausted, she did not, indeed, wonder,
and to relieve his anxiety was now almost her only wish; she would
therefore instantly have written to him, confessed her sympathy in his
sufferings, and besought him to endure with fortitude an evil which was
no longer to be withstood: but she was uncertain whether he was yet
acquainted with the journey of his mother to Bury, and having agreed to
commit to her the whole management of the affair, she feared it would
be dishonourable to take any step in it without her concurrence. She
returned, therefore, a message that she had yet no answer ready.

In a very few minutes Delvile called himself, and sent up an earnest
request for permission to see her.

Here, at least, she had no perplexity; an interview she had given her
positive word to refuse, and therefore, without a moment's hesitation,
she bid the servant inform him she was particularly engaged, and sorry
it was not in her power to see any company.

In the greatest perturbation he left the house, and immediately wrote
to her the following lines.

_To Miss Beverley_. I entreat you to see me! if only for an instant, I
entreat, I implore you to see me! Mrs Charlton may be present, all the
world, if you wish it, may be present,--but deny me not admission, I
supplicate, I conjure you!

I will call in an hour; in that time you may have finished your present
engagement. I will otherwise wait longer, and call again. You will not,
I think, turn me from' your door, and, till I have seen you, I can only
live in its vicinity. M. D.

The man who brought this note, waited not for any answer.

Cecilia read it in an agony of mind inexpressible: she saw, by its
style, how much Delvile was irritated, and her knowledge of his temper
made her certain his irritation proceeded from believing himself ill-
used. She ardently wished to appease and to quiet him, and regretted
the necessity of appearing obdurate and unfeeling, even more, at that
moment, than the separation itself. To a mind priding in its purity,
and animated in its affections, few sensations can excite keener
misery, than those by which an apprehension is raised of being thought
worthless or ungrateful by the objects of our chosen regard. To be
deprived of their society is less bitter, to be robbed of our own
tranquillity by any other means, is less afflicting.

Yet to this it was necessary to submit, or incur the only penalty
which, to such a mind, would be more severe, self-reproach: she had
promised to be governed by Mrs Delvile, she had nothing, therefore, to
do but obey her.

Yet _to turn_, as he expressed himself, _from the door_, a man who, but
for an incident the most incomprehensible, would now have been sole
master of herself and her actions, seemed so unkind and so tyrannical,
that she could not endure to be within hearing of his repulse: she
begged, therefore, the use of Mrs Charlton's carriage, and determined
to make a visit to Mrs Harrel till Delvile and his mother had wholly
quitted Bury. She was not, indeed, quite satisfied in going to the
house of Mr Arnott, but she had no time to weigh objections, and knew
not any other place to which still greater might not be started.

She wrote a short letter to Mrs Delvile, acquainting her with her
purpose, and its reason, and repeating her assurances that she would be
guided by her implicitly; and then, embracing Mrs Charlton, whom she
left to the care of her grand-daughters, she got into a chaise,
accompanied only by her maid, and one man and horse, and ordered the
postilion to drive to Mr Arnott's.

CHAPTER v.

A COTTAGE.

The evening was already far advanced, and before she arrived at the end
of her little journey it was quite dark. When they came within a mile
of Mr Arnott's house, the postilion, in turning too suddenly from the
turnpike to the cross-road, overset the carriage. The accident,
however, occasioned no other mischief than delaying their proceeding,
and Cecilia and her maid were helped out of the chaise unhurt. The
servants, assisted by a man who was walking upon the road, began
lifting it up; and Cecilia, too busy within to be attentive to what
passed without, disregarded what went forward, till she heard her
footman call for help. She then hastily advanced to enquire what was
the matter, and found that the passenger who had lent his aid, had, by
working in the dark, unfortunately slipped his foot under one of the
wheels, and so much hurt it, that without great pain he could not put
it to the ground.

Cecilia immediately desired that the sufferer might be carried to his
own home in the chaise, while she and the maid walked on to Mr
Arnott's, attended by her servant on horseback.

This little incident proved of singular service to her upon first
entering the house; Mrs Harrel was at supper with her brother, and
hearing the voice of Cecilia in the hall, hastened with the extremest
surprise to enquire what had occasioned so late a visit; followed by Mr
Arnott, whose amazement was accompanied with a thousand other
sensations too powerful for speech. Cecilia, unprepared with any
excuse, instantly related the adventure she had met with on the road,
which quieted their curiosity, by turning their attention to her
personal safety. They ordered a room to be prepared for her, entreated
her to go to rest with all speed, and postpone any further account till
the next day. With this request she most gladly complied, happy to be
spared the embarrassment of enquiry, and rejoiced to be relieved from
the fatigue of conversation. Her night was restless and miserable: to
know how Delvile would bear her flight was never a moment from her
thoughts, and to hear whether he would obey or oppose his mother was
her incessant wish. She was fixt, however, to be faithful in refusing
to see him, and at least to suffer nothing new from her own enterprize
or fault.

Early in the morning Mrs Harrel came to see her. She was eager to learn
why, after invitations repeatedly refused, she was thus suddenly
arrived without any; and she was still more eager to talk of herself,
and relate the weary life she led thus shut up in the country, and
confined to the society of her brother.

Cecilia evaded giving any immediate answer to her questions, and Mrs
Harrel, happy in an opportunity to rehearse her own complaints, soon
forgot that she had asked any, and, in a very short time, was
perfectly, though imperceptibly, contented to be herself the only
subject upon which they conversed.

But not such was the selfishness of Mr Arnott; and Cecilia, when she
went down to breakfast, perceived with the utmost concern that he had
passed a night as sleepless as her own. A visit so sudden, so
unexpected, and so unaccountable, from an object that no discouragement
could make him think of with indifference, had been a subject to him of
conjecture and wonder that had revived all the hopes and the fears
which had lately, though still unextinguished, lain dormant. The
enquiries, however, which his sister had given up, he ventured not to
renew, and thought himself but too happy in her presence, whatever
might be the cause of her visit.

He perceived, however, immediately, the sadness that hung upon her
mind, and his own was redoubled by the sight: Mrs Harrel, also, saw
that she looked ill, but attributed it to the fatigue and fright of the
preceding evening, well knowing that a similar accident would have made
her ill herself, or fancy that she was so.

During breakfast, Cecilia sent for the postilion, to enquire of him how
the man had fared, whose good-natured assistance in their distress had
been so unfortunate to himself. He answered that he had turned out to
be a day labourer, who lived about half a mile off. And then, partly to
gratify her own humanity, and partly to find any other employment for
herself and friends than uninteresting conversation, she proposed that
they should all walk to the poor man's habitation, and offer him some
amends for the injury he had received. This was readily assented to,
and the postilion directed them whither to go. The place was a cottage,
situated upon a common; they entered it without ceremony, and found a
clean looking woman at work.

Cecilia enquired for her husband, and was told that he was gone out to
day-labour.

"I am very glad to hear it," returned she; "I hope then he has got the
better of the accident he met with last night?"

"It was not him, madam," said the woman, "met with the accident, it was
John;--there he is, working in the garden."

To the garden then they all went, and saw him upon the ground, weeding.

The moment they approached he arose, and, without speaking, began to
limp, for he could hardly walk; away.

"I am sorry, master," said Cecilia, "that you are so much hurt. Have
you had anything put to your foot?"

The man made no answer, but still turned away from her; a glance,
however, of his eye, which the next instant he fixed upon the ground,
startled her; she moved round to look at him again,--and perceived Mr
Belfield!

"Good God!" she exclaimed; but seeing him still retreat, she
recollected in a moment how little he would be obliged to her for
betraying him, and suffering him to go on, turned back to her party,
and led the way again into the house.

As soon as the first emotion of her surprise was over, she enquired how
long John had belonged to this cottage, and what was his way of life.

The woman answered he had only been with them a week, and that he went
out to day-labour with her husband.

Cecilia then, finding their stay kept him from his employment, and
willing to save him the distress of being seen by Mr Arnott or Mrs
Harrel, proposed their returning home. She grieved most sincerely at
beholding in so melancholy an occupation a young man of such talents
and abilities; she wished much to assist him, and began considering by
what means it might be done, when, as they were walking from the
cottage, a voice at some distance called out "Madam! Miss Beverley!"
and, looking round, to her utter amazement she saw Belfield
endeavouring to follow her.

She instantly stopt, and he advanced, his hat in his hand, and his
whole air indicating he sought not to be disguised.

Surprised at this sudden change of behaviour, she then stept forward to
meet him, accompanied by her friends: but when they came up to each
other, she checked her desire of speaking, to leave him fully at
liberty to make himself known, or keep concealed.

He bowed with a look of assumed gaiety and ease, but the deep scarlet
that tinged his whole face manifested his internal confusion; and in a
voice that attempted to sound lively, though its tremulous accents
betrayed uneasiness and distress, he exclaimed, with a forced smile,
"Is it possible Miss Beverley can deign to notice a poor miserable day-
labourer such as I am? how will she be justified in the beau monde,
when even the sight of such a wretch ought to fill her with horror?
Henceforth let hysterics be blown to the winds, and let nerves be
discarded from the female vocabulary, since a lady so young and fair
can stand this shock without hartshorn or fainting!"

"I am happy," answered Cecilia, "to find your spirits so good; yet my
own, I must confess, are not raised by seeing you in this strange
situation."

"My spirits!" cried he, with an air of defiance, "never were they
better, never so good as at this moment. Strange as seems my situation,
it is all that I wish; I have found out, at last, the true secret of
happiness! that secret which so long I pursued in vain, but which
always eluded my grasp, till the instant of despair arrived, when,
slackening my pace, I gave it up as a phantom. Go from me, I cried, I
will be cheated no more! thou airy bubble! thou fleeting shadow! I will
live no longer in thy sight, since thy beams dazzle without warming me!
Mankind seems only composed as matter for thy experiments, and I will
quit the whole race, that thy delusions may be presented to me no
more!"

This romantic flight, which startled even Cecilia, though acquainted
with his character, gave to Mrs Harrel and Mr Arnott the utmost
surprize; his appearance, and the account they had just heard of him,
having by no means prepared them for such sentiments or such language.

"Is then this great secret of happiness," said Cecilia, "nothing, at
last, but total seclusion from the world?"

"No, madam," answered he, "it is Labour with Independence."

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