Cecilia; Or, Memoirs of an Heiress. Volume 1

“Won’t tell!” answered he; “not your business. Got a good right. Who cares for pearls? Nothing but French beads.” Pointing with a sneer to his turban. Then, again addressing Cecilia, “Fine doings!” he continued, “Here’s a place! never saw the like before! turn a man’s noddle!—All goings out; no comings in; wax candles in every room; servants thick as mushrooms! And where’s the cash? Who’s to pay the piper? Come to more than a guinea; warrant Master Harrel thinks that nothing!”

“A guinea?” contemptuously repeated the Turk, “and what do you suppose a guinea will do?”

“What? Why, keep a whole family handsome a week;—never spend so much myself; no, nor half neither.”

“Why then, how the devil do you live? Do you beg?”

“Beg? Who should I beg of? You?—Got anything to give? Are warm?”

“Take the trouble to speak more respectfully, sir!” said the Turk, haughtily; “I see you are some low fellow, and I shall not put up with your impudence.”

“Shall, shall! I say!” answered the chimneysweeper, sturdily; “Hark’ee, my duck,” chucking Cecilia under the chin, “don’t be cajoled, nick that spark! never mind gold trappings; none of his own; all a take-in; hired for eighteenpence; not worth a groat. Never set your heart on a fine outside, nothing within. Bristol stones won’t buy stock: only wants to chouse you.”

“What do you mean by that, you little old scrub!” cried the imperious Turk; “would you provoke me to soil my fingers by pulling that beastly snub nose?” For Mr Briggs had saved himself any actual mask, by merely blacking his face with soot.

“Beastly snub nose!” sputtered out the chimneysweeper in much wrath, “good nose enough; don’t want a better; good as another man’s. Where’s the harm on’t?”

“How could this blackguard get in?” cried the Turk, “I believe he’s a mere common chimneysweeper out of the streets, for he’s all over dirt and filth. I never saw such a dress at a masquerade before in my life.”

“All the better,” returned the other; “would not change. What do think it cost?”

“Cost? Why, not a crown.”

“A crown? ha! ha!—a pot o’ beer! Little Tom borrowed it; had it of our own sweep. Said ‘twas for himself. I bid him a pint; rascal would not take less.”

“Did your late uncle,” said the white domino in a low voice to Cecilia, “chuse for two of your guardians Mr Harrel and Mr Briggs, to give you an early lesson upon the opposite errors of profusion and meanness?”

“My uncle?” cried Cecilia, starting, “were you acquainted with my uncle?”

“No,” said he, “for my happiness I knew him not.”

“You would have owed no loss of happiness to an acquaintance with him,” said Cecilia, very seriously, “for he was one who dispensed to his friends nothing but good.”

“Perhaps so,” said the domino; “but I fear I should have found the good he dispensed through his niece not quite unmixed with evil!”

“What’s here?” cried the chimney-sweeper, stumbling over the fiend, “what’s this black thing? Don’t like it; looks like the devil. You shan’t stay with it; carry you away; take care of you myself.”

He then offered Cecilia his hand; but the black gentleman, raising himself upon his knees before her, paid her, in dumb shew, the humblest devoirs, yet prevented her from removing.

“Ah ha!” cried the chimney-sweeper, significantly nodding his head, “smell a rat! a sweetheart in disguise. No bamboozling! it won’t do; a’n’t so soon put upon. If you’ve got any thing to say, tell me, that’s the way. Where’s the cash? Got ever a rental? Are warm? That’s the point; are warm?”

The fiend, without returning any answer, continued his homage to Cecilia; at which the enraged chimney-sweeper exclaimed, “Come, come with me! won’t be imposed upon; an old fox,—understand trap!”

He then again held out his hand, but Cecilia, pointing to the fiend, answered, “How can I come, sir?”

“Shew you the way,” cried he, “shovel him off.” And taking his shovel, he very roughly set about removing him.

The fiend then began a yell so horrid, that it disturbed the whole company; but the chimney-sweeper, only saying, “Aye, aye, blacky, growl away, blacky,—makes no odds,” sturdily continued his work, and, as the fiend had no chance of resisting so coarse an antagonist without a serious struggle, he was presently compelled to change his ground.

“Warm work!” cried the victorious chimney-sweeper, taking off his wig, and wiping his head with the sleeves of his dress, “pure warm work this!”

Cecilia, once again freed from her persecutor, instantly quitted her place, almost equally desirous to escape the haughty Turk, who was peculiarly her aversion, and the facetious chimney-sweeper, whose vicinity, either on account of his dress or his conversation, was by no means desirable. She was not, however, displeased that the white domino and the schoolmaster still continued to attend her.

“Pray, look,” said the white domino, as they entered another apartment, “at that figure of Hope; is there any in the room half so expressive of despondency?”

“The reason, however,” answered the schoolmaster, “is obvious; that light and beautiful silver anchor upon which she reclines presents an occasion irresistible for an attitude of elegant dejection; and the assumed character is always given up where an opportunity offers to display any beauty, or manifest any perfection in the dear proper person!”

“But why,” said Cecilia, “should she assume the character of Hope? Could she not have been equally dejected and equally elegant as Niobe, or some tragedy queen?”

“But she does not assume the character,” answered the schoolmaster, “she does not even think of it: the dress is her object, and that alone fills up all her ideas. Enquire of almost any body in the room concerning the persons they seem to represent, and you will find their ignorance more gross than you can imagine; they have not once thought upon the subject; accident, or convenience, or caprice has alone directed their choice.”

A tall and elegant youth now approached them, whose laurels and harp announced Apollo. The white domino immediately enquired of him if the noise and turbulence of the company had any chance of being stilled into silence and rapture by the divine music of the inspired god?

“No,” answered he, pointing to the room in which was erected the new gallery, and whence, as he spoke, issued the sound of a hautboy, “there is a flute playing there already.”

“O for a Midas,” cried the white domino, “to return to this leather-eared god the disgrace he received from him!”

They now proceeded to the apartment which had been lately fitted up for refreshments, and which was so full of company that they entered it with difficulty. And here they were again joined by Minerva, who, taking Cecilia’s hand, said, “Lord, how glad I am you’ve got away from that frightful black mask! I can’t conceive who he is; nobody can find out; it’s monstrous odd, but he has not spoke a word all night, and he makes such a shocking noise when people touch him, that I assure you it’s enough to put one in a fright.”

“And pray,” cried the schoolmaster, disguising his voice, “how camest thou to take the helmet of Minerva for a fool’s cap?”

“Lord, I have not,” cried she, innocently, “why, the whole dress is Minerva’s; don’t you see?”

“My dear child,” answered he, “thou couldst as well with that little figure pass for a Goliath, as with that little wit for a Pallas.”

Their attention was now drawn from the goddess of wisdom to a mad Edgar, who so vehemently ran about the room calling out “Poor Tom’s a cold!” that, in a short time, he was obliged to take off his mask, from an effect, not very delicate, of the heat!

Soon after, a gentleman desiring some lemonade whose toga spoke the consular dignity, though his broken English betrayed a native of France, the schoolmaster followed him, and, with reverence the most profound, began to address him in Latin; but, turning quick towards him, he gaily said, “Monsieur, j’ai l’honneur de representer Ciceron, le grand Ciceron, pere de sa patrie! mais quoique j’ai cet honneur-la, je ne suit pas pedant!—mon dieu, Monsieur, je ne parle que le Francois dans la bonne compagnie!” And, politely bowing, he went on.

Just then Cecilia, while looking about the room for Mrs Harrel, found herself suddenly pinched by the cheek, and hastily turning round, perceived again her friend the chimney-sweeper, who, laughing, cried, “Only me! don’t be frightened. Have something to tell you;—had no luck!—got never a husband yet! can’t find one! looked all over, too; sharp as a needle. Not one to be had! all catched up!”

“I am glad to hear it, sir,” said Cecilia, somewhat vexed by observing the white domino attentively listening; “and I hope, therefore, you will give yourself no farther trouble.”

“Pretty duck!” cried he, chucking her under the chin; “never mind, don’t be cast down; get one at last. Leave it to me. Nothing under a plum; won’t take up with less. Good-by, ducky, good-by! must go home now,—begin to be nodding.”

And then, repeating his kind caresses, he walked away.

“Do you think, then,” said the white domino, “more highly of Mr Briggs for discernment and taste than of any body?”

“I hope not!” answered she, “for low indeed should I then think of the rest of the world!”

“The commission with which he is charged,” returned the domino, “has then misled me; I imagined discernment and taste might be necessary ingredients for making such a choice as your approbation would sanctify: but perhaps his skill in guarding against any fraud or deduction in the stipulation he mentioned, may be all that is requisite for the execution of his trust.”

“I understand very well,” said Cecilia, a little hurt, “the severity of your meaning; and if Mr Briggs had any commission but of his own suggestion, it would fill me with shame and confusion; but as that is not the case, those at least are sensations which it cannot give me.”

“My meaning,” cried the domino, with some earnestness, “should I express it seriously, would but prove to you the respect and admiration with which you have inspired me, and if indeed, as Mr Briggs hinted, such a prize is to be purchased by riches, I know not, from what I have seen of its merit, any sum I should think adequate to its value.”

“You are determined, I see,” said Cecilia, smiling, “to make most liberal amends for your asperity.”