The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> The Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth, Vol. 1

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

You call yourself, dear Miss Beaufort, my friend and companion: I hope
you will never have reason to repent beginning in this style towards me.
I think you will not find me encroach upon you. The overflowings of your
kindness, if I know anything of my own heart, will fertilise the land,
but will not destroy the landmarks. I do not know whether I most hate or
despise the temper which will take an ell where an inch is given. A
well-bred person never forgets that species of respect which is due to
situation and rank: though his superiors in rank treat him with the
utmost condescension, he never is "Hail fellow well met" with them; he
never calls them Jack or Tom by way of increasing his own consequence.

I flatter myself that you will find me gratefully exact _en belle
fille._ I think there is a great deal of difference between that species
of ceremony which exists with acquaintance, and that which should always
exist with the best of friends: the one prevents the growth of
affection, the other preserves it in youth and age. Many foolish people
make fine plantations, and forget to fence them; so the young trees are
destroyed by the young cattle, and the bark of the forest trees is
sometimes injured. You need not, dear Miss Beaufort, fence yourself
round with very strong palings in this family, where all have been early
accustomed to mind their boundaries. As for me, you see my intentions,
or at least my theories, are good enough: if my Practice be but half as
good, you will be content, will you not? But Theory was born in
Brobdingnag, and Practice in Lilliput. So much the better for _me._ I
have often considered, since my return home, as I have seen all this
family pursuing their several occupations and amusements, how much you
will have it in your power to add to their happiness. In a stupid or
indolent family, your knowledge and talents would be thrown away; here,
if it may be said without vanity, they will be the certain source of
your daily happiness. You will come into a new family, but you will not
come as a stranger, dear Miss Beaufort: you will not lead a new life,
but only continue to lead the life you have been used to in your own
happy, cultivated family.

* * * * *

Mr. Edgeworth and Miss Beaufort were married 31st May 1798 at St. Anne's
Church in Dublin. Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

When we set off from the church door for Edgeworthstown, the rebellion
had broken out in many parts of Ireland.

Soon after we had passed the second stage from Dublin, one of the
carriage wheels broke down. Mr. Edgeworth went back to the inn, then
called the Nineteen-mile House, [Footnote: Now Enfield: a railway
station.] to get assistance. Very few people were to be found, and a
woman who was alone in the kitchen came up to him and whispered, "The
boys (the rebels) are hid in the potato furrows beyond." He was rather
startled at this intelligence, but took no notice. He found an ostler
who lent him a wheel, which they managed to put on, and we drove off
without being stopped by any of _the boys._ A little farther on I saw
something very odd on the side of the road before us. "What is
that?"--"Look to the other side--don't look at it!" cried Mr. Edgeworth;
and when we had passed he said it was a car turned up, between the
shafts of which a man was hung--murdered by the rebels.

We reached Edgeworthstown late in the evening. The family at that time
consisted of the two Miss Sneyds, Maria, Emmeline, Bessy, Charlotte
(Lovell was then at Edinburgh), Henry, Sneyd, Honora, and William. Sneyd
was not twelve years old, and the other two were much younger. All
agreed in making me feel at once at home, and part of the family; all
received me with the most unaffected cordiality: but from Maria it was
something more. She more than fulfilled the promise of her letter; she
made me at once her most intimate friend; and in all the serious
concerns of life, and in every trifle of the day, treated me with the
most generous confidence.

MARIA _to_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON IN NORTH WALES.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _June 20, '98._

Hitherto all has been quiet in our county, and we know nothing of the
dreadful disturbances in other parts of the country but what we see in
the newspapers. I am sorry my uncle and Richard were obliged to leave
you and my dear aunt, as I know the continual state of suspense and
anxiety in which you must live while they are away. I fear that we may
soon know by experience what you feel, for my father sees in to-night's
paper that Lord Cornwallis is coming over here as Lord-Lieutenant; and
he thinks it will be his duty to offer his services in any manner in
which they can be advantageous. Why cannot we be left in peace to enjoy
our happiness? that is all we have the conscience to ask! We are indeed
happy: the more I see of my friend and mother, the more I love and
esteem her, and the more I feel the truth of all that I have heard you
say in her praise. I do not think I am _much_ prejudiced by her
partiality for me, though I do feel most grateful for her kindness. I
never saw my father at any period of his life appear so happy as he
does, and has done for this month past; and you know that he _tastes_
happiness as much as any human being can. He is not of the number of
those _qui avalent leurs plaisirs, il sait les gouter._ So little change
has been made in the way of living, that you would feel as if you were
going on with your usual occupations and conversation amongst us. We
laugh and talk, and enjoy the good of every day, which is more than
sufficient. How long this may last we cannot tell. I am going on in the
old way, writing stories. I cannot be a captain of dragoons, and sitting
with my hands before me would not make any of us one degree safer. I
know nothing more of _Practical Education_: it is advertised to be
published. I have finished a volume of wee, wee stories, about the size
of the "Purple Jar," all about Rosamond. "Simple Susan" went to Foxhall
a few days ago, for Lady Anne to carry to England.

My father has made our little room so nice for us; they are all fresh
painted and papered. O rebels! O French! spare them! We have never
injured you, and all we wish is to see everybody as happy as ourselves.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Aug. 29, '98._

We have this moment learned from the sheriff of this county, Mr. Wilder,
who has been at Athlone, that the French have got to Castlebar. They
changed clothes with some peasants, and so deceived our troops. They
have almost entirely cut off the carbineers, the Longford militia, and a
large body of yeomanry who opposed them. The Lord-Lieutenant is now at
Athlone, and it is supposed that it will be their next object of attack.
My father's corps of yeomanry are extremely attached to him, and seem
fully in earnest; but, alas! by some strange negligence their arms have
not yet arrived from Dublin. My father this morning sent a letter by an
officer going to Athlone, to Lord Cornwallis, offering his services to
convey intelligence or reconnoitre, as he feels himself in a most
terrible situation, without arms for his men, and no power of being
serviceable to his country. We who are so near the scene of action
cannot by any means discover what _number_ of the French actually
landed: some say 800, some 1800, some 18,000, some 4000. The troops
march and countermarch, as they say themselves, without knowing where
they are going, or for what.

Poor Lady Anne Fox! [Footnote: Wife of Mr. Edgeworth's nephew.] she is
in a dreadful situation; so near her confinement she is unable to move
from Foxhall to any place of greater safety, and exposed every moment to
hear the most alarming reports. She shows admirable calmness and
strength of mind. Francis and Barry [Footnote: Brothers of the fourth
Mrs. Edgeworth.] set out to-morrow morning for England: as they do not
go near Conway, my father advises me not to send by them "Simple Susan"
and sundry other little volumes which I wish were in your kind hands.

GOD send the French may soon go, and that you may soon come.

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

MRS. FALLON'S INN, LONGFORD,

_Sept. 5, '98._

We are all safe and well, my dearest aunt, and have had two most
fortunate escapes from rebels and from the explosion of an ammunition
cart. Yesterday we heard, about ten o'clock in the morning, that a large
body of rebels, armed with pikes, were within a few miles of
Edgeworthstown. My father's yeomanry were at this moment gone to
Longford for their arms, which Government had delayed sending. We were
ordered to decamp, each with a small bundle: the two chaises full, and
my mother and Aunt Charlotte on horseback. We were all ready to move,
when the report was contradicted: only twenty or thirty men were now, it
was said, in arms, and my father hoped we might still hold fast to our
dear home.

Two officers and six dragoons happened at this moment to be on their way
through Edgeworthstown, escorting an ammunition cart from Mullingar to
Longford: they promised to take us under their protection, and the
officer came up to the door to say he was ready. My father most
fortunately detained us: they set out without us. Half an hour
afterwards, as we were quietly sitting in the portico, we heard--as we
thought close to us--a clap of thunder, which shook the house. The
officer soon afterwards returned, almost speechless; he could hardly
explain what had happened. The ammunition cart, containing nearly three
barrels of gunpowder, packed in tin cases, took fire and burst, halfway
on the road to Longford. The man who drove the cart was blown to
atoms--nothing of him could be found; two of the horses were killed,
others were blown to pieces and their limbs scattered to a distance; the
head and body of a man were found a hundred and twenty yards from the
spot. Mr. Murray was the name of the officer I am speaking of: he had
with him a Mr. Rochfort and a Mr. Nugent. Mr. Rochfort was thrown from
his horse, one side of his face terribly burnt, and stuck over with
gunpowder. He was carried into a cabin; they thought he would die, but
they now say he will recover. The carriage has been sent to take him to
Longford. I have not time or room, my dear aunt, to dilate or tell you
half I have to say. If we had gone with this ammunition, we must have
been killed.

An hour or two afterwards, however, we were obliged to fly from
Edgeworthstown. The pikemen, three hundred in number, actually were
within a mile of the town. My mother, Aunt Charlotte, and I rode; passed
the trunk of the dead man, bloody limbs of horses, and two dead horses,
by the help of men who pulled on our steeds: we are all safely lodged
now in Mrs. Fallon's inn.

* * * * *

Mrs. Edgeworth narrates:

Before we had reached the place where the cart had been blown up, Mr.
Edgeworth suddenly recollected that he had left on the table in his
study a list of the yeomanry corps, which he feared might endanger the
poor fellows and their families if it fell into the hands of the rebels.
He galloped back for it--it was at the hazard of his life--but the
rebels had not yet appeared. He burned the paper, and rejoined us
safely.

The landlady of the inn at Longford did all she could to make us
comfortable, and we were squeezed into the already crowded house. Mrs.
Billamore, our excellent housekeeper, we had left behind for the return
of the carriage which had taken Mr. Rochfort to Longford; but it was
detained, and she did not reach us till the next morning, when we
learned from her that the rebels had not come up to the house. They had
halted at the gate, but were prevented from entering by a man whom she
did not remember to have ever seen; but he was grateful to her for
having lent money to his wife when she was in great distress, and we
now, at our utmost need, owed our safety and that of the house to his
gratitude. We were surprised to find that this was thought by some to be
a suspicious circumstance, and that it showed Mr. Edgeworth to be a
favourer of the rebels! An express arrived at night to say the French
were close to Longford: Mr. Edgeworth undertook to defend the gaol,
which commanded the road by which the enemy must pass, where they could
be detained till the King's troops came up. He was supplied with men and
ammunition, and watched all night; but in the morning news came that the
French had turned in a different direction, and gone to Granard, about
seven miles off; but this seemed so unlikely, that Mr. Edgeworth rode
out to reconnoitre, and Henry went to the top of the Court House to look
out with a telescope. We were all at the windows of a room in the inn
looking into the street, when we saw people running, throwing up their
hats and huzzaing. A dragoon had just arrived with the news that General
Lake's army had come up with the French and the rebels, and completely
defeated them at a place called Ballinamuck, near Granard. But we soon
saw a man in a sergeant's uniform haranguing the mob, not in honour of
General Lake's victory, but against Mr. Edgeworth; we distinctly heard
the words, "that young Edgeworth ought to be dragged down from the Court
House." The landlady was terrified; she said Mr. Edgeworth was accused
of having made signals to the French from the gaol, and she thought the
mob would pull down her house; but they ran on to the end of the town,
where they expected to meet Mr. Edgeworth. We sent a messenger in one
direction to warn him, while Maria and I drove to meet him on the other
road. We heard that he had passed some time before with Major Eustace,
the mob seeing an officer in uniform with him went back to the town, and
on our return we found them safe at the inn. We saw the French prisoners
brought in in the evening, when Mr. Edgeworth went after dinner with
Major Eustace to the barrack. Some time after, dreadful yells were heard
in the street: the mob had attacked them on their return from the
barrack--Major Eustace being now in coloured clothes, they did not
recognise him as an officer. They had struck Mr. Edgeworth with a
brickbat in the neck, and as they were now, just in front of the inn,
collaring the major, Mr. Edgeworth cried out in a loud voice, "Major
Eustace is in danger." Several officers who were at dinner in the inn,
hearing the words through the open window, rushed out sword in hand,
dispersed the crowd in a moment, and all the danger was over. The
military patrolled the streets, and the sergeant who had made all this
disturbance was put under arrest. He was a poor, half-crazed fanatic.

The next day, the 9th of September, we returned home, where everything
was exactly as we had left it, all serene and happy, five days
before--only five days, which seemed almost a lifetime, from the dangers
and anxiety we had gone through.

MARIA EDGEWORTH _to_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 9, '98._

You will rejoice, I am sure, my dear Sophy, to see by the date of this
letter that we are safe back at Edgeworthstown. The scenes we have gone
through for some days past have succeeded one another like the pictures
in a magic-lantern, and have scarcely left the impression of reality
upon the mind. It all seems like a dream, a mixture of the ridiculous
and the horrid. "Oh ho!" says my aunt, "things cannot be very bad with
my brother, if Maria begins her letters with magic-lantern and
reflections on dreams."

When we got into the town this morning we saw the picture of a deserted,
or rather a shattered village--many joyful faces greeted us at the doors
of the houses--none of the windows of the new houses in Charlotte Row
were broken: the mob declared they would not meddle with them because
they were built by the two good ladies, meaning my aunts.

Last night my father was alarmed at finding that both Samuel and John,
[Footnote: John Jenkins, a Welsh lad; both he and Samuel thought better
of it and remained in the service.] who had stood by him with the utmost
fidelity through the Longford business, were at length panic-struck:
they wished now to leave him. Samuel said: "Sir, I would stay with you
to the last gasp, if you were not so foolhardy," and here he cried
bitterly; "but, sir, indeed you have not heard all I have heard. I have
heard about two hundred men in Longford swear they would have your
life." All the town were during the whole of last night under a similar
panic, they were certain the violent Longford yeomen would come and cut
them to pieces. Last night was not pleasant, but this morning was
pleasant--and why it was a pleasant morning I will tell you in my next.

_Sept. 19._

I forgot to tell you of a remarkable event in the history of our return;
all the cats, even those who properly belong to the stable, and who had
never been admitted to the honours of the sitting in the kitchen, all
crowded round Kitty with congratulatory faces, crawling up her gown,
insisting upon caressing and being caressed when she reappeared in the
lower regions. Mr. Gilpin's slander against cats as selfish, unfeeling
animals is thus refuted by stubborn facts.

When Colonel Handfield told the whole story of the Longford mob to Lord
Cornwallis, he said he never saw a man so much astonished. Lord
Longford, Mr. Pakenham, and Major Edward Pakenham, have shown much
warmth of friendship upon this occasion.

Enclosed I send you a little sketch, which I traced from one my mother
drew for her father, of the situation of the field of battle at
Ballinamuck, it is about four miles from The Hills. My father, mother,
and I rode to look at the camp; perhaps you recollect a pretty turn in
the road, where there is a little stream with a three-arched bridge: in
the fields which rise in a gentle slope, on the right-hand side of this
stream, about sixty bell tents were pitched, the arms all ranged on the
grass; before the tents, poles with little streamers flying here and
there; groups of men leading their horses to water, others filling
kettles and black pots, some cooking under the hedges; the various
uniforms looked pretty; Highlanders gathering blackberries. My father
took us to the tent of Lord Henry Seymour, who is an old friend of his;
he breakfasted here to-day, and his plain English civility, and quiet
good sense, was a fine contrast to the mob, etc. Dapple, [Footnote:
Maria Edgeworth's horse.] your old acquaintance, did not like all the
sights at the camp as well as I did.

_Oct 3, '98._

My father went to Dublin the day before yesterday, to see Lord
Cornwallis about the Court of Enquiry on the sergeant who harangued the
mob. About one o'clock to-day Lovell returned from the Assizes at
Longford with the news, met on the road, that expresses had come an hour
before from Granard to Longford, for the Reay Fencibles, and all the
troops; that there was another _rising_ and an attack upon Granard: four
thousand men the first report said, seven hundred the second. What the
truth may be it is impossible to tell, it is certain that the troops are
gone to Granard, and it is yet more certain that all the windows in this
house are built halfway up, guns and bayonets dispersed by Captain
Lovell in every room. The yeomanry corps paraded to-day, all steady:
guard sitting up in house and in the town to-night.

_Thursday Morning._

All alive and well. A letter from my father: he stays to see Lord
Cornwallis on Friday. Deficient arms for the corps are given by Lord
Castlereagh.

* * * * *

Mrs. Edgeworth writes:

The sergeant was to have been tried at the next sessions, but he was by
this time ashamed and penitent, and Mr. Edgeworth did not press the
trial, but knowing the man was, among his other weaknesses, very much
afraid of ghosts, he said to him as he came out of the Court House, "I
believe, after all, you had rather see me alive than have my ghost
haunting you!"

* * * * *

In 1798 _Practical Education_ was published in two large octavo volumes,
bearing the joint names of Richard and Maria Edgeworth upon their
title-page. This was the first work of that literary partnership of
father and daughter which Maria Edgeworth describes as "the joy and
pride of my life."

* * * * *

MARIA _to_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Nov. 19, '98._

You have, I suppose, or are conscious that you ought to have, whitlows
upon your thumb and all your four fingers for not writing to me! Tell me
what you are saying and doing, and above all where you are going. My
father has taken me into a new partnership--we are writing a comedy:
will you come and see it acted? He is making a charming theatre in the
room over his study: it will be twice as large as old Poz's little
theatre in the dining-room. My aunt's woollen wig for old Poz is in high
estimation in the memory of man, woman, and child here. I give you the
play-bill:

Mrs. Fangle (a rich and whimsical widow) Emmeline.
Caroline (a sprightly heiress) Charlotte.
Jemima (Mrs. Fangle's waiting-maid) Bessy.
Sir Mordant Idem (in love with Mrs. Fangle,
and elderly, and hating anything _new_) Henry.
Opal (nephew to Sir Mordant, and hating
everything _old_, in love with Caroline,
and wild for illuminatism) Sneyd.
Count Babelhausen (a German illuminatus,
trying to marry either Mrs. Fangle or
Caroline) Lovell.
Heliodorus and Christina (Mrs. Fangle's } William
children, on whom she tries strange } and
experiments) } Honora.

To explain illuminatism I refer you to Robinson's book called _Proofs of
a Conspiracy._ It was from this book, which gives a history of the
cheats of Freemasonry and Illuminatism, that we took the idea of Count
Babelhausen. The book is tiresome, and no sufficient proofs given of the
facts, but parts of it will probably interest you.

Lovell has bought a fine apparatus and materials for a course of
chemical lectures which he is going to give us. The study is to be the
laboratory: I wish you were _in it._

In the _Monthly Review_ for October there is this anecdote. After the
King of Denmark, who was somewhat silly, had left Paris, a Frenchman,
who was in company with the Danish Ambassador, but did not know him,
began to ridicule the King--"Ma foi! il a une tete! une tete--"
"Couronnee," replied the Ambassador, with presence of mind and
politeness. My father, who was much delighted with this answer, asked
Lovell, Henry, and Sneyd, without telling the right answer, what they
would have said.

Lovell: "A head--and a heart, sir."
Henry: "A head--upon his shoulders."
Sneyd: "A head--of a King."

Tell me which answer you like best. Richard will take your _Practical
Education_ to you.

* * * * *

The play mentioned in the foregoing letter was twice acted in January
1799, with great applause, under the title of _Whim for Whim._ Mr.
Edgeworth's mechanism for the scenery, and for the experiments tried on
the children, were most ingenious. Mrs. Edgeworth painted the scenery
and arranged the dresses.

The day after the last performance of _Whim for Whim_, the family went
to Dublin for Mr. Edgeworth to attend Parliament, the last Irish
Parliament, he having been returned for the borough of St. John's Town,
in the County of Longford. In the spring Mrs. Edgeworth and Maria
accompanied him to England.

* * * * *

_To_ MISS CHARLOTTE SNEYD.

DUBLIN, _April 2, 1799._

In the paper of to-night you will see my father's farewell speech on the
Education Bill.

Some time ago, amongst some hints to the Chairman of the Committee of
Education, you sent one which I have pursued: you said that the early
lessons for the poor should speak with detestation of the spirit of
revenge: I have just finished a little story called "Forgive and
Forget," upon this idea. I am now writing one on a subject recommended
to me by Dr. Beaufort, on the evils of procrastination; the title of it
is "By-and-Bye." [Footnote: The title was afterwards changed to
"To-morrow."] I am very much obliged to Bessy and Charlotte for copying
the Errata of _Practical Education_ for me, and should be _extremely_
obliged to the whole Committee of Education and Criticism at
Edgeworthstown, if they would send corrections to me from their own
brains; the same eye (if I may judge by my own) can only see the same
things in looking over the book twenty times. Tell Sneyd that there is a
political print just come out, of a woman, meant for Hibernia, dressed
in orange and green, and holding a pistol in her hand to oppose the
Union.

MRS. EDGEWORTH _to_ MRS. RUXTON.

RICHMOND PLACE, CLIFTON,

_May 26, '99._

We are very well settled here, and this house is quite retired and quite
quiet. The prospects are very beautiful, and we have charming green
fields in which we walk, and in which dear Sophy could botanise at her
ease.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22