The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume 4 (of 7)

He told us, that he should set out on Friday early for Windsor, in order to attend Lord W– in his first visit to Mansfield-house. You, Lady L–, will have the trouble given you, said he, of procuring to be new-set the jewels of the late Lady W– for a present to the future bride. My lord shewed them to me (among a great number of other valuable trinkets of his late wife's) in my last return from the Hall. They are rich, and will do credit to his quality. You, my Lord L–, you, my sisters, will be charmed with your new aunt, and her whole family. I have joy on the happiness in prospect that will gild the latter days of my mother's brother; and at the same time be a means of freeing from oppression an ancient and worthy family.

Tears were in every eye. There now, thought I, sits this princely man, rejoicing every one who sees him, and hears him speak: But where will he be nine days hence? And whose this day twelvemonth?

He talked with particular pleasure of the expected arrival of his Beauchamp. He pleased himself, that he should leave behind him a man who would delight every body, and supply to his friends his absence.—What a character did he give, and Dr. Bartlett confirm, of that amiable friend of his!

How did the Earl and Lady Gertrude dwell upon all he said! They prided themselves on the relation they were likely so soon to stand in to so valuable a man.

In your last letter, you tell me, Lucy, that Mr. Greville has the confidence to throw out menaces against this excellent man—Sorry wretch! —How my heart rises against him!—He—But no more of such an earth-born creature.

LETTER XV

MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 6

Miss Grandison, accompanied by Miss Jervois, has just left us. Lady L– has undertaken, she says, to set all hands at work, to have things in tolerable order, early as the day is, for Tuesday next. Miss Grandison (would you believe it?) owns, that she wants spirits to order anything. What must be the solemnity of that circumstance, when near, that shall make Charlotte Grandison want spirits?

She withdrew with me to my apartment. She threw herself into a chair: 'Tis a folly to deny it, Harriet, but I am very low, and very silly: I don't like next Tuesday by any means.

Is your objection only to the day, my dear?

I do not like the man.

Is there any man whom you like better?

I can't say that neither. But this brother of mine makes me think contemptibly of all other men. I would compound for a man but half so good—Tender, kind, humane, polite, and even cheerful in affliction!—O, Harriet! where is there such another man?

No where.—But you don't by marriage lose, on the contrary, you further engage and secure, the affection of this brother. You will have a good-natured worthy man for your husband; a man who loves you, and you will have your brother besides.

Do you think I can be happy with Lord G–?

I am sure you may, if it be not your own fault.

That's the thing: I may, perhaps, bear with the man; but I cannot honour him.

Then don't vow to honour him. Don't meet him at the altar.

Yet I must. But I believe I think too much: and consideration is no friend to wedlock.—Would to Heaven that the same hour that my hand and Lord G–'s were joined, yours and my brother's were also united!

Ah, Miss Grandison! If you love me, try to wean me; and not to encourage hopes of what never, never can be.

Dear creature! You will be greater than Clementina, and that is greater than the greatest, if you can conquer a passion, that overturned her reason.

Do not, my Charlotte, make comparisons in which the conscience of your Harriet tells her she must be a sufferer. There is no occasion for me to despise myself, in order to hold myself inferior to Clementina.

Well, you are a noble creature!—But, the approaching Tuesday—I cannot bear to think of it.

Dear Charlotte!

And dear Harriet too!—But the officiousness, the assiduities, of this trifling man are disgustful to me.

You don't hate him?—

Hate him—True—I don't hate him—But I have been so much accustomed to treat him like a fool, that I can't help thinking him one. He should not have been so tame to such a spirit as mine. He should have been angry when I played upon him. I have got a knack of it, and shall never leave it off, that's certain.

Then I hope he will be angry with you. I hope that he will resent your ill-treatment of him.

Too late, too late to begin, Harriet. I won't take it of him now. He has never let me see that his face can become two sorts of features. The poor man can look sorrowful; that I know full well: but I shall always laugh when he attempts to look angry.

You know better, Charlotte. You may give him so much cause for anger, that you may make it habitual to him, and then would be glad to see him pleased. Men have an hundred ways that women have not to divert themselves abroad, when they cannot be happy at home. This I have heard observed by—

By your grandmother, Harriet? Good old lady! In her reign it might be so; but you will find, that women now have as many ways to divert themselves abroad as the men. Have you not observed this yourself in one of your letters to Lucy? Ah! my dear! we can every hour of the twenty-four be up with our monarchs, if they are undutiful.

But Charlotte Grandison will not, cannot—

Why that's true, my dear—But I shall not then be a Grandison. Yet the man will have some security from my brother's goodness. He is not only good himself, but he makes every one related to him, either from fear or shame, good likewise. But I think that when one week or fortnight is happily over, and my spirits are got up again from the depression into which this abominable hurry puts them, I could fall upon some inventions that would make every-one laugh, except the person who might take it into his head that he may be a sufferer by them: and who can laugh, and be angry, in the same moment?

You should not marry, Charlotte, till this wicked vein of humour and raillery is stopt.

I hope it will hold me till fifty.

Don't say so, Charlotte—Say rather that you hope it will hold you so long only as it may be thought innocent or inoffensive, by the man whom it will be your duty to oblige, and so long as it will bring no discredit to yourself.

Your servant, Goody Gravity!—But what must be, must. The man is bound to see it. It will be all his own seeking. He will sin with his eyes open. I think he has seen enough of me to take warning. All that I am concerned about is for the next week or fortnight. He will be king all that time—Yet, perhaps not quite all neither. And I shall be his sovereign ever after, or I am mistaken. What a deuse, shall a woman marry a man of talents not superior to her own, and forget to reward herself for her condescension?—But, high-ho!—There's a sigh, Harriet. Were I at home, I would either sing you a song, or play you a tune, in order to raise my own heart.

She besought me then, with great earnestness, to give her my company till the day arrived, and on the day. You see, said she, that my brother has engagements till Monday. Dear creature! support, comfort me—Don't you see my heart beat through my stays?—If you love me, come to me to-morrow to breakfast; and leave me not for the whole time—Are you not my sister, and the friend of my heart? I will give you a month for it, upon demand. Come, let us go down; I will ask the consent of both your cousins.

She did: and they, with their usual goodness to me, cheerfully complied.

Sir Charles set out this morning to attend the triple marriages; dressed charmingly, his sister says. I have made Miss Grandison promise to give me an account of such particulars, as, by the help of Saunders, and Sir Charles's own relation, she can pick up. All we single girls, I believe, are pretty attentive to such subjects as these; as what one day may be our own concern.

LETTER XVI

MISS GRANDISON, TO MISS BYRON THURSDAY NIGHT

Unreasonable, wicked, cruel Byron! To expect a poor creature, so near her execution, to write an account of other people's behaviour in the same tremendous circumstances! The matrimonial noose has hung over my head for some time past; and now it is actually fitted to my devoted neck.—Almost choaked, my dear!—This moment done hearing read, the firsts, seconds, thirds, fourths, to near a dozen of them—Lord be merciful to us!—And the villanous lawyer rearing up to me his spectacled nose, as if to see how I bore it! Lord G– insulting me, as I thought, by his odious leers: Lady Gertrude simpering; little Emily ready to bless herself—How will the dear Harriet bear these abominable recitatives?– But I am now up stairs from them all, in order to recover my breath, and obey my Byron.

Well, but what am I now to say about the Danbys? Richard has made his report; Sir Charles has told us some things: yet I will only give you heads: make out the rest.

In the first place, my brother went to Mrs. Harrington's (Miss Danby's aunt:) she did every thing but worship him. She had with her two young ladies, relations of her late husband, dainty damsels of the city, who had procured themselves to be invited, that they might see the man, whom they called, a wonder of generosity and goodness. Richard heard one of them say to the other, Ah, sister, this is a king of a man! What pity there are not many such! But, Harriet, if there were a hundred of them, we would not let one of them go into the city for a wife; would we, my dear?

Sir Charles praised Miss Danby. She was full of gratitude; and of humility, I suppose. Meek, modest, and humble, are qualities of which men are mighty fond in women. But matrimony, and a sense of obligation, are equally great humblers even of spirits prouder than that of Miss Danby; as your poor Charlotte can testify.

The young gentlemen, with the rest, were to meet Sir Charles, the bride, and these ladies, at St. Helen's, I think the church is called.

As if wedlock were an honour, the Danby girl, in respect to Sir Charles, was to be first yoked. He gave her away to the son Galliard. The father Galliard gave his daughter to Edward Danby: but first Mr. Hervey gave his niece to the elder.

One of the brides, I forget which, fainted away; another half-fainted—

Saved by timely salts: the third, poor soul, wept heartily—as I suppose I shall do on Tuesday.