Chapter 2

Mrs. Stanhope, a well-bred woman, accomplished in the art of rising in the world, had, with but a small fortune, contrived to live in the highest company. She prided herself upon having established half a dozen nieces most happily--that is to say, upon having married them to men of fortunes far superior to their own. One niece still remained unmarried, Belinda Portman, of whom she determined to get rid with all convenient expedition; but finding that, owing to declining health, she could not go out with her as much as she wished, she succeeded in fastening her upon the fashionable Lady Delacour for a winter in London.

"Nothing, to my mind, can be more miserable than the situation of a poor girl who fails in her matrimonial expectations (as many do merely from not beginning to speculate in time)," she wrote from Bath. "She finds herself at five or six-and-thirty a burden to her friends, destitute of the means of rendering herself independent--for the girls I speak of never think of _learning_ to play cards--_de trop_ in society, yet obliged to hang upon all her acquaintances, who wish her in heaven, because she is unqualified to make the _expected_ return for civilities, having no home--I mean no establishment, no house, etc.--fit for the reception of company of certain rank. My dearest Belinda, may this never be your case. I have sent your bracelet to you by Mr. Clarence Hervey, an acquaintance of Lady Delacour, an uncommonly pleasant young man, highly connected, a wit and a gallant, and having a fine independent fortune; so, my dear Belinda, I make it a point--look well when he is introduced to you, and remember that nobody _can_ look well without taking some pains to please."

Belinda had been charmed by Lady Delacour, who was the most agreeable, the most fascinating person she had ever beheld; and to be a visitor at her house was a delightful privilege. But, a short time after her arrival, she began to see through the thin veil with which politeness covers domestic misery. Abroad, Lady Delacour appeared all spirit, life, and good humour; at home, listless, fretful, and melancholy, a prey to thoughts, seemingly, of the most painful nature.

The first time Belinda saw his lordship he was dead drunk in the arms of two footmen; his lady, who had just returned from Ranelagh, passed him on the stairs with the utmost contempt.

"Don't look so shocked and amazed, Belinda. Don't look so _new_, child. This funeral of my lord's intellects is to me a nightly ceremony; or," said her ladyship, looking at her watch and yawning, "I believe I should say a daily ceremony--six o'clock, I protest!"

The next morning Clarence Hervey called, and Belinda found him a most uncommonly pleasant young man. Lord Delacour was jealous of him; but although he would have started with horror at the idea of disturbing the peace of a family, in that family, he said, there was no peace to disturb. Consequently, he visited her ladyship every day, and every day viewed Belinda with increasing admiration, and with increasing dread of being taken in to marry a niece of that "catch-matchmaker," as Mrs. Stanhope was known amongst the men of his acquaintance.

Under the guise of a tragic muse--in which character Lady Delacour had pretended she was going to a masquerade--Belinda heard his true sentiments with regard to her.

"You don't believe I go to Lady Delacour's to look for a wife? Do you think I'm an idiot? Do you think I could be taken in by one of the Stanhope school?" he said to the facetious friends who rallied him on his attachment. "Do you think I don't see as plainly as any of you that Belinda Portman is a composition of art and affectation?"

"Melpomene, hast thou forgot thyself to warble?" asked Lady Delacour, tripping towards them as the comic muse.

"I am not very well," whispered Miss Portman. "Could we get away?"

"Do see if you can find any of my people!" cried Lady Delacour to Clarence Hervey, who had followed them downstairs.

"Lady Delacour, the comic muse!" exclaimed he. "I had thought----"

"No matter what you thought!" interrupted her ladyship. "Let my carriage draw up, and put this lady into it!" And he obeyed without uttering a syllable.

"Dry up your tears, _keep on your mask_, and elbow your way through the crowd," she said, when she had heard Belinda's story. "If you stop to be civil and 'hope I don't hurt ye,' you will be trod underfoot."

She insisted on driving to the Panthéon instead of going home, but to Belinda the night seemed long and dull. The masquerade had no charm to keep her thoughts from the conversation that had given her so much pain.

_II.--Fashion and Fortitude_

"How happy you are, Lady Delacour!" she said, when they got into the carriage to go home. "How happy to have such an amazing flow of spirits!"

And then she learnt the reason of her ladyship's strange unevenness of temper. She was dying of an incurable complaint, which she kept hidden from all the world except her maid, Marriott, who attended on her in a mysterious cabinet full of medicines and linen rags, the door of which she had hitherto kept locked.

"You are shocked, Belinda," said she, "but as yet you have seen nothing. Look here!" And baring one half of her bosom, she revealed a hideous spectacle.

"Am I humbled? Am I wretched enough?" she asked. "No matter. I will die as I have lived, the envy and admiration of the world. Promise--swear to me that you will never reveal what you have seen to-night!" And Belinda promised not only that, but to remain with her as long as ever she wished.

Belinda's quiet avoidance of Clarence Hervey made him begin to believe that she might not be "a compound of art and affectation," and he was mortified to find that, though she joined with ease and dignity in the general conversation with the others, her manner to him was grave and reserved. To divert her, he declared he was convinced he was as well able to manage a hoop as any woman in England, except Lady Delacour; accordingly he was dressed by Marriott, and made his _entree_ with very composed assurance and grace, being introduced as the Countess de Pomenars to the purblind dowager, Lady Boucher, who had come to call. He managed his part well, speaking French and broken English, until Lady Delacour dexterously let down Belinda's beautiful tresses, and, calling the French lady to admire _la belle chevelure,_ artfully let fall her comb.

Totally forgetting his hoop and his character, he stooped to pick it up, and lost his wager by knocking over a music-stand. He would have liked a lock of her hair, but she refused with a modest, graceful dignity; she was glad she had done so later when a tress of hair dropped from his pocket-book, and his confusion showed her he was extremely interested about the person to whom it belonged.

During her absence from the room Clarence entreated Lady Delacour to make his peace with her. She consented on condition that he found her a pair of horses from Tattersall's, on which Belinda, she said, had secretly set her heart. He was vexed to find Belinda had so little delicacy, and relapsed into his former opinion of Mrs. Stanhope's niece, addressing her with the air of a man of gallantry, who thought his peace had been cheaply made.

The horses ran away with Lady Delacour, injuring her ankle, and on her being brought home by Clarence, Lord Delacour wished to enter the locked cabinet for _arque-busade._ On being denied entrance, he seized the key, believing a lover of hers was concealed there, until Belinda sprang forward and took it from him, leaving them to believe what they would.

This circumstance was afterwards explained by Dr. X----, a mutual friend, and Hervey was so much charmed with Belinda that he would have gone to her at once--only that he had undertaken the reformation of Lady Delacour.

_III.--An Unexpected Suitor_

In the meantime, after spending a morning in tasting wines, and thinking that, although he had never learned to swim, some recollection he had of an essay on swimming would ensure his safety, he betted his friends a hundred guineas that he would swim to a certain point, and flinging himself into the Serpentine, would have drowned before their eyes but for the help of Mr. Percival. The breach caused by this affair induced Sir Philip Baddely, a gentleman who always supplied "each vacuity of sense" with an oath, to endeavour to cut him out by proposing to Belinda.

"Damme, you're ten times handsomer than the finest woman I ever saw, for, damme, I didn't know what it was to be in love then," he said, heaving an audible sigh. "I'll trouble you for Mrs. Stanhope's direction, Miss Portman; I believe, to do the thing in style, I ought to write to her before I speak to you."

Belinda looked at him in astonishment, and then, finding he was in earnest, assured him it was not in her power to encourage his addresses, although she was fully sensible of the honour he had done her.

"Confusion seize me!" cried he, starting up, "if it isn't the most extraordinary thing I ever heard! Is it to Sir Philip Baddely's fortune--£15,000 a year--you object, or to his family, or to his person? Oh, curse it!" said he, changing his tone, "you're only quizzing me to see how I should look--you do it too well, you little coquette!"

Belinda again assured him she was entirely in earnest, and that she was incapable of the sort of coquetry which he ascribed to her. To punish her for this rejection he spread the report of Hervey's entanglement with a beautiful girl named Virginia, whose picture he had sent to an exhibition. He also roused Lady Delacour's jealousy into the belief that Belinda meant to marry her husband, the viscount, after her death.

In her efforts to bring husband and wife together, Belinda had forgotten that jealousy could exist without love, and a letter from Mrs. Stanhope, exaggerating the scandalous reports in the hope of forcing her niece to marry Sir Philip Baddely, shocked her so much that when Lady Delacour quarrelled with her, she accepted an invitation from Lady Anne Percival, and went there at once.

There she became acquainted with Mr. Percival's ward, Augustus Vincent, a Creole, about two-and-twenty, tall and remarkably handsome, with striking manners and an engaging person, who fixed his favourable attention on her. The Percivals would have wished her to marry him, but she still thought too much of Clarence Hervey to consent, although she believed he had some engagement with the lovely Virginia.

_IV.--Explanation and Reconciliation_

Quite unexpectedly a summons came from Lady Delacour, and Belinda returned to her at once, to find her so seriously ill that she persuaded her at last to consent to an operation, and inform her husband of the dangerous disease from which she was suffering. He believed from her preamble that she was about to confess her love for another man; he tried to stop her with an emotion and energy he had never shown until now.

"I am not sufficiently master of myself. I once loved you too well to hear such a stroke. Say no more--trust me with no such secret! you have said enough--too much. I forgive you, that is all I can do; but we must part, Lady Delacour!" said he, breaking from her with agony expressed in his countenance.

"The man has a heart, a soul, I protest! You knew him better that I did, Miss Portman. Nay, you are not gone yet, my lord! You really love me, I find."

"No, no, no!" cried he vehemently. "Weak as you take me to be, Lady Delacour, I am incapable of loving a woman who has disgraced me, disgraced herself, her--" His utterance failed.

"Oh, Lady Delacour," cried Belinda, "how can you trifle in this manner?"

"I meant not," said her ladyship, "to trifle; I am satisfied. My lord, I can give you the most irrefragable proof that whatever may have been the apparent levity of my conduct, you have had no serious cause for jealousy. But the proof will shock, disgust you. Have you courage to know more? Then follow me."

He followed her. Belinda heard the boudoir door unlocked. In a few minutes they returned. Grief and horror and pity were painted on Lord Delacour's countenance as he passed hastily out of the room.

"My dearest friend, I have taken your advice; would to heaven I had taken it sooner!" said Lady Delacour. "I have revealed to Lord Delacour my real situation. Poor man, he was shocked beyond expression. The moment his foolish jealousy was extinguished, his love for me revived in full."

Lady Delacour awaited the operation with the utmost fortitude; but, to everyone's joy, it was found there was no necessity for it; she had been deceived by a villainous quack, who knew too well how to make a wound hideous and painful, and had continued her delusion for his own advantage.

Meanwhile, Belinda having permitted Mr. Vincent to address her, he was being given a fair trial whether he could win her love. They had heard reports of Clarence Hervey's speedy marriage with an heiress, Miss Hartley, and found them confirmed by a letter Lady Delacour received from him. Some years ago he had formed the romantic idea of educating a wife for himself, and having found a beautiful, artless girl in the New Forest, he had taken her under his care on the death of her grandmother.

She felt herself bound in honour and gratitude to him when her fortune changed, and she was acknowledged by her father, Mr. Hartley, who had long been searching for her, and who had traced her at last by the picture Clarence Hervey had caused to be exhibited.

With the utmost magnanimity, Hervey, although he saw a successful rival for Belinda's hand in Augustus Vincent, rescued him from ruin at the gaming-table, and induced him to promise never to gamble again.

"I was determined Belinda's husband should be my friend. I have succeeded beyond my hopes," he said.

But Vincent's love of play had decided Belinda at last. She refused him finally in a letter which she confessed she found difficult to write, but which she sent because she had promised she would not hold him in suspense once she had made her decision.

After this Virginia Hartley confessed to her attachment for one Captain Sunderland, and Clarence was free to avow his passion for Belinda.

"And what is Miss Portman to believe," cried one of Belinda's friends, "when she has seen you on the very eve of marriage with another lady?"

"The strongest merit I can plead with such a woman as Miss Portman," he replied, "is that I was ready to sacrifice my own happiness to a sense of duty."

* * * * *

Castle Rackrent

"Castle Rackrent" was published anonymously in 1800. It was not only the first of Miss Edgeworth's novels,--it is in many respects her best work. Later came "The Absentee," "Belinda," "Helen," the "Tales of Fashionable Life," and the "Moral Tales." Sir Walter Scott wrote that reading these stories of Irish peasant life made him feel "that something might be tempted for my own country of the same kind as that which Miss Edgeworth so fortunately achieved for Ireland," something that would procure for his own countrymen "sympathy for their virtues and indulgence for their foibles." As a study of Irish fidelity in the person of Old Thady, the steward who tells the story of "Castle Rackrent," the book is a masterpiece.

_I.--Sir Patrick and Sir Murtagh_

Having, out of friendship for the family, undertaken to publish the memoirs of the Rackrent family, I think it my duty to say a few words concerning myself first. My real name is Thady Quirk, though in the family I've always been known as "Honest Thady"; afterwards, I remember to hear them calling me "Old Thady," and now I've come to "Poor Thady." To look at me you would hardly think poor Thady was the father of Attorney Quirk; he is a high gentleman, and having better than fifteen hundred a year, landed estate, looks down upon honest Thady. But I wash my hands of his doings, and as I lived so will I die, true and loyal to the family.

I ought to bless that day when Sir Tallyhoo Rackrent lost a fine hunter and his life, all in one day's hunt, for the estate came straight into _the_ family, upon one condition, that Sir Patrick O'Shaughlin (whose driver my grandfather was) should, by Act of Parliament, take the surname and arms of Rackrent.

Now it was the world could see what was in Sir Patrick. He gave the finest entertainments ever was heard of in the country; not a man could stand after supper but Sir Patrick himself. He had his house, from one year's end to another, as full of company as it would hold; and this went on, I can't tell you how long.

But one year, on his birthday, just as the company rose to drink his health, he fell down in a sort of fit, and in the morning it was all over with poor Sir Patrick.

Never did any gentleman die more beloved by rich and poor. All the gentlemen in the three counties came to his funeral; and happy the man who could get but a sight of the hearse!

Just as they were passing through his own town the body was seized for debt! Little gain had the creditors!

First and foremost, they had the curses of the country, and Sir Murtagh, the new heir, refused to pay a shilling on account of the insult to his father's body; in which he was countenanced by all the gentlemen of property of his acquaintance. He did not take at all after the old gentleman. The cellars were never filled, and no open house; even the tenants were sent away without their whiskey. I was ashamed myself, but put it all down to my lady; she was of the family of the Skinflints. I must say, she made the best of wives, being a notable, stirring woman, and looking close to everything. 'Tis surprising how cheap my lady got things done! What with fear of driving for rent, and Sir Murtagh's lawsuits, the tenants were kept in such good order they never came near Castle Rackrent without a present of something or other--nothing too much or too little for my lady. And Sir Murtagh taught 'em all, as he said, the law of landlord and tenant. No man ever loved the law as he did.

Out of the forty-nine suits he had, he never lost one, but seventeen.

Though he and my lady were much of a mind in most things, there was a deal of sparring and jarring between them. In a dispute about an abatement one day, my lady would have the last word, and Sir Murtagh grew mad. I was within hearing--he spoke so loud, all the kitchen was out on the stairs. All on a sudden he stopped, and my lady, too. Sir Murtagh, in his passion, had broken a blood-vessel. My lady sent for five physicians; but Sir Murtagh died. She had a fine jointure settled upon her, and took herself away, to the great joy of the tenantry.

_II.--Sir Kit and his Wife_

Then the house was all hurry-scurry, preparing for my new master, Sir Murtagh's younger brother, a dashing young officer. He came before I knew where I was, with another spark with him, and horses and dogs, and servants, and harum-scarum called for everything, as if he were in a public-house. I walk slow, and hate a bustle, and if it had not been for my pipe and tobacco, should, I verily believe, have broke my heart for poor Sir Murtagh.

But one morning my new master caught sight of me. "And is that Old Thady?" says he. I loved him from that day to this, his voice was so like the family, and I never saw a finer figure of a man.

A fine life we should have led had he stayed among us, God bless him! But, the sporting season over, he grew tired of the place, and was off in a whirlwind to town. A circular letter came next post from the new agent to say he must remit £500 to the master at Bath within a fortnight--bad news for the poor tenants. Sir Kit Rackrent, my new master, left it all to the agent, and now not a week without a call for money. Rents must be paid to the day, and afore--old tenants turned out, anything for the ready penny.

The agent was always very civil to me, and took a deal of notice of my son Jason, who, though he be my son, was a good scholar from his birth, and a very cute lad. Seeing he was a good clerk, the agent gave him the rent accounts to copy, which he did for nothing at first, being always proud to serve the family.

By-and-by, a good farm fell vacant, and my son put in a proposal for it. Why not? The master, knowing no more of the land than a child unborn, wrote over, leaving it to the agent, and he must send over £200 by return post. So my son's proposal was just the thing, and he a good tenant, and he got a promise of abatement after the first year for advancing the half-year's rent to make up the £200, and my master was satisfied. The agent told us then, as a great secret, that Sir Kit was a little too fond of play.

At last, at Christmas, the agent wrote he could raise no more money, anyhow, and desired to resign the agency. My son, Jason, who had corresponded privately with Sir Kit, was requested to take over the accounts forthwith. His honour also condescended to tell us he was going to be married in a fortnight to the grandest heiress in England, and had immediate occasion for £200 for travelling expenses home to Castle Rackrent, where he intended to be early next month. We soon saw his marriage in the paper, and news came of him and his bride being in Dublin on their way home. We had bonfires all over the country, expecting them all day, and were just thinking of giving them up for the night, when the carriage came thundering up. I got the first sight of the bride, and greatly shocked I was, for she was little better than a blackamoor. "You're kindly welcome, my lady," I says; but neither spoke a word, nor did he so much as hand her up the steps.

I concluded she could not speak English, and was from foreign parts, so I left her to herself, and went down to the servants' hall to learn something about her. Sir Kit's own man told us, at last, that she might well be a great fortune, for she was a Jewess, by all accounts. I had never seen any of that tribe before, and could only gather that she could not abide pork nor sausages, and went neither to church nor mass. "Mercy upon his honour's poor soul," thought I. But when, after this, strange gentleman's servants came and began to talk about the bride, I took care to put the best foot foremost, and passed her for a nabob.

I saw plain enough, next morning, how things were between Sir Kit and his lady, though they went arm-in-arm to look at the building.

"Old Thady, how do you do?" says my master, just as he used to do, but I could see he was not well pleased, and my heart was in my mouth as I walked after them.

There were no balls, no dinners, no doings. Sir Kit's gentleman told me it was all my lady's fault, because she was so obstinate about the cross.

"What cross?" says I. "Is it about her being a heretic?"

"Oh, no such matter," says he. "My master does not mind about her heresies, but her diamond cross. She's thousands of English pounds concealed in her diamonds, which she as good as promised to give to my master before they married; but now she won't part with any of them, and must take the consequences."

One morning, his honour says to me, "Thady, buy me a pig," and that was the first breaking out of my lady's troubles when the sausages were ordered. My lady went down to the kitchen herself, and desired never more to see them on her table. The cook took her part, but the master made it a principle to have the sausages; so, for fear of her place, she gave in, and from that day forward, always sausages or pig-meat in one form or other went up to table; upon which my lady shut herself up in her own room, and my master turned the key in the door, and kept it ever after in his pocket. We none of us saw her, or heard her speak for seven years after; he carried her dinner in himself.