Books: Nature and Art
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Mrs Inchbald >> Nature and Art
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"That, as Henry was the younger, and by their stations, in every
sense the dean's inferior, Henry ought first to make overtures of
reconciliation."
The dean answered, "He had no doubt of his brother's good will to
him, but that he had reason to think, from the knowledge of his
temper, he would be more likely to come to him upon an occasion to
bestow comfort, than to receive it. For instance, if I had suffered
the misfortune of losing your ladyship, my brother, I have no doubt,
would have forgotten his resentment, and--"
She was offended that the loss of the vulgar wife of Henry should be
compared to the loss of her--she lamented her indiscretion in
forming an alliance with a family of no rank, and implored the dean
to wait till his brother should make some concession to him, before
he renewed the acquaintance.
Though Lady Clementina had mentioned on this occasion her
INDISCRETION, she was of a prudent age--she was near forty--yet,
possessing rather a handsome face and person, she would not have
impressed the spectator with a supposition that she was near so old
had she not constantly attempted to appear much younger. Her dress
was fantastically fashionable, her manners affected all the various
passions of youth, and her conversation was perpetually embellished
with accusations against her own "heedlessness, thoughtlessness,
carelessness, and childishness."
There is, perhaps in each individual, one parent motive to every
action, good or bad. Be that as it may, it was evident, that with
Lady Clementina, all she said or did, all she thought or looked, had
but one foundation--vanity. If she were nice, or if she were
negligent, vanity was the cause of both; for she would contemplate
with the highest degree of self-complacency, "What such-a-one would
say of her elegant preciseness, or what such-a-one would think of
her interesting neglect."
If she complained she was ill, it was with the certainty that her
languor would be admired: if she boasted she was well, it was that
the spectator might admire her glowing health: if she laughed, it
was because she thought it made her look pretty: if she cried, it
was because she thought it made her look prettier still. If she
scolded her servants, it was from vanity, to show her knowledge
superior to theirs: and she was kind to them from the same motive,
that her benevolence might excite their admiration. Forward and
impertinent in the company of her equals, from the vanity of
supposing herself above them, she was bashful even to shamefacedness
in the presence of her superiors, because her vanity told her she
engrossed all their observation. Through vanity she had no memory,
for she constantly forgot everything she heard others say, from the
minute attention which she paid to everything she said herself.
She had become an old maid from vanity, believing no offer she
received worthy of her deserts; and when her power of farther
conquest began to be doubted, she married from vanity, to repair the
character of her fading charms. In a word, her vanity was of that
magnitude, that she had no conjecture but that she was humble in her
own opinion; and it would have been impossible to have convinced her
that she thought well of herself, because she thought so WELL, as to
be assured that her own thoughts undervalued her.
CHAPTER VIII.
That, which in a weak woman is called vanity, in a man of sense is
termed pride. Make one a degree stranger, or the other a degree
weaker, and the dean and his wife were infected with the self-same
folly. Yet, let not the reader suppose that this failing (however
despicable) had erased from either bosom all traces of humanity.
They are human creatures who are meant to be portrayed in this
little book: and where is the human creature who has not some good
qualities to soften, if not to counterbalance, his bad ones?
The dean, with all his pride, could not wholly forget his brother,
nor eradicate from his remembrance the friend that he had been to
him: he resolved, therefore, in spite of his wife's advice, to make
him some overture, which he had no doubt Henry's good-nature would
instantly accept. The more he became acquainted with all the vain
and selfish propensities of Lady Clementina, the more he felt a
returning affection for his brother: but little did he suspect how
much he loved him, till (after sending to various places to inquire
for him) he learned--that on his wife's decease, unable to support
her loss in the surrounding scene, Henry had taken the child she
brought him in his arms, shaken hands with all his former friends--
passing over his brother in the number--and set sail in a vessel
bound for Africa, with a party of Portuguese and some few English
adventurers, to people there the uninhabited part of an extensive
island.
This was a resolution, in Henry's circumstances, worthy a mind of
singular sensibility: but William had not discerned, till then,
that every act of Henry's was of the same description; and more than
all, his every act towards him. He staggered when he heard the
tidings; at first thought them untrue; but quickly recollected, that
Henry was capable of surprising deeds! He recollected with a force
which gave him torture, the benevolence his brother had ever shown
to him--the favours he had heaped upon him--the insults he had
patiently endured in requital!
In the first emotion, which this intelligence gave the dean, he
forgot the dignity of his walk and gesture: he ran with frantic
enthusiasm to every corner of his deanery where the least vestige of
what belonged to Henry remained--he pressed close to his breast,
with tender agony, a coat of his, which by accident had been left
there--he kissed and wept over a walking-stick which Henry once had
given him--he even took up with delight a music book of his
brother's--nor would his poor violin have then excited anger.
When his grief became more calm, he sat in deep and melancholy
meditation, calling to mind when and where he saw his brother last.
The recollection gave him fresh cause of regret. He remembered they
had parted on his refusing to suffer Lady Clementina to admit the
acquaintance of Henry's wife. Both Henry and his wife he now
contemplated beyond the reach of his pride; and he felt the meanness
of his former and the imbecility of his future haughtiness towards
them.
To add to his self-reproaches, his tormented memory presented to him
the exact countenance of his brother at their last interview, as it
changed, while he censured his marriage, and treated with disrespect
the object of his conjugal affection. He remembered the anger
repressed, the tear bursting forth, and the last glimpse he had of
him, as he left his presence, most likely for ever.
In vain he now wished that he had followed him to the door--that he
had once shaken hands and owned his obligations to him before they
had parted. In vain he wished too, that, in this extreme agony of
his mind, he had such a friend to comfort him, as Henry had ever
proved.
CHAPTER IX.
The avocations of an elevated life erase the deepest impressions.
The dean in a few months recovered from those which his brother's
departure first made upon him: and he would now at times even
condemn, in anger, Henry's having so hastily abandoned him and his
native country, in resentment, as he conceived, of a few misfortunes
which his usual fortitude should have taught him to have borne. Yet
was he still desirous of his return, and wrote two or three letters
expressive of his wish, which he anxiously endeavoured should reach
him. But many years having elapsed without any intelligence from
him, and a report having arrived that he, and all the party with
whom he went, were slain by the savage inhabitants of the island,
William's despair of seeing his brother again caused the desire to
diminish; while attention and affection to a still nearer and dearer
relation than Henry had ever been to him, now chiefly engaged his
mind.
Lady Clementina had brought him a son, on whom from his infancy, he
doated--and the boy, in riper years, possessing a handsome person
and evincing a quickness of parts, gratified the father's darling
passion, pride, as well as the mother's vanity.
The dean had, beside this child, a domestic comfort highly
gratifying to his ambition: the bishop of **** became intimately
acquainted with him soon after his marriage, and from his daily
visits had become, as it were, a part of the family. This was much
honour to the dean, not only as the bishop was his superior in the
Church, but was of that part of the bench whose blood is ennobled by
a race of ancestors, and to which all wisdom on the plebeian side
crouches in humble respect.
Year after year rolled on in pride and grandeur; the bishop and the
dean passing their time in attending levees and in talking politics;
Lady Clementina passing hers in attending routs and in talking of
HERSELF, till the son arrived at the age of thirteen.
Young William passed HIS time, from morning till night, with persons
who taught him to walk, to ride, to talk, to think like a man--a
foolish man, instead of a wise child, as nature designed him to be.
This unfortunate youth was never permitted to have one conception of
his own--all were taught him--he was never once asked, "What he
thought;" but men were paid to tell "how to think." He was taught
to revere such and such persons, however unworthy of his reverence;
to believe such and such things, however unworthy of his credit:
and to act so and so, on such and such occasions, however unworthy
of his feelings.
Such were the lessons of the tutors assigned him by his father--
those masters whom his mother gave him did him less mischief; for
though they distorted his limbs and made his manners effeminate,
they did not interfere beyond the body.
Mr. Norwynne (the family name of his father, and though but a
school-boy, he was called Mister) could talk on history, on
politics, and on religion; surprisingly to all who never listened to
a parrot or magpie--for he merely repeated what had been told to him
without one reflection upon the sense or probability of his report.
He had been praised for his memory; and to continue that praise, he
was so anxious to retain every sentence he had heard, or he had
read, that the poor creature had no time for one native idea, but
could only re-deliver his tutors' lessons to his father, and his
father's to his tutors. But, whatever he said or did, was the
admiration of all who came to the house of the dean, and who knew he
was an only child. Indeed, considering the labour that was taken to
spoil him, he was rather a commendable youth; for, with the pedantic
folly of his teachers, the blind affection of his father and mother,
the obsequiousness of the servants, and flattery of the visitors, it
was some credit to him that he was not an idiot, or a brute--though
when he imitated the manners of a man, he had something of the
latter in his appearance; for he would grin and bow to a lady, catch
her fan in haste when it fell, and hand her to her coach, as
thoroughly void of all the sentiment which gives grace to such
tricks, as a monkey.
CHAPTER X.
One morning in winter, just as the dean, his wife, and darling
child, had finished their breakfast at their house in London, a
servant brought in a letter to his master, and said "the man waited
for an answer."
"Who is the man?" cried the dean, with all that terrifying dignity
with which he never failed to address his inferiors, especially such
as waited on his person.
The servant replied with a servility of tone equal to the haughty
one of his master, "he did not know; but that the man looked like a
sailor, and had a boy with him."
"A begging letter, no doubt," cried Lady Clementina.
"Take it back," said the dean, "and bid him send up word who he is,
and what is his errand."
The servant went; and returning said, "He comes from on board a
ship; his captain sent him, and his errand is, he believes, to leave
a boy he has brought with him."
"A boy!" cried the dean: "what have I to do with a boy? I expect
no boy. What boy? What age?"
"He looks about twelve or thirteen," replied the servant.
"He is mistaken in the house," said the dean. "Let me look at the
letter again."
He did look at it, and saw plainly it was directed to himself. Upon
a second glance, he had so perfect a recollection of the hand, as to
open it instantaneously; and, after ordering the servant to
withdraw, he read the following:-
"ZOCOTORA ISLAND, April 6.
"My Dear Brother William,--It is a long time since we have seen one
another; but I hope not so long, that you have quite forgotten the
many happy days we once passed together.
"I did not take my leave of you when I left England, because it
would have been too much for me. I had met with a great many
sorrows just at that time; one of which was, the misfortune of
losing the use of my right hand by a fall from my horse, which
accident robbed me of most of my friends; for I could no longer
entertain them with my performance as I used to do, and so I was
ashamed to see them or you; and that was the reason I came hither to
try my fortune with some other adventurers.
"You have, I suppose, heard that the savages of the island put our
whole party to death. But it was my chance to escape their cruelty.
I was heart-broken for my comrades; yet upon the whole, I do not
know that the savages were much to blame--we had no business to
invade their territories! and if they had invaded England, we should
have done the same by them. My life was spared, because, having
gained some little strength in my hand during the voyage, I pleased
their king when I arrived there with playing on my violin.
"They spared my child too, in pity to my lamentations, when they
were going to put him to death. Now, dear brother, before I say any
more to you concerning my child, I will first ask your pardon for
any offence I may have ever given you in all the time we lived so
long together. I know you have often found fault with me, and I
dare say I have been very often to blame; but I here solemnly
declare that I never did anything purposely to offend you, but
mostly, all I could to oblige you--and I can safely declare that I
never bore you above a quarter of an hour's resentment for anything
you might say to me which I thought harsh.
"Now, dear William, after being in this island eleven years, the
weakness in my hand has unfortunately returned; and yet there being
no appearance of complaint, the uninformed islanders think it is all
my obstinacy, and that I WILL NOT entertain them with my music,
which makes me say that I CANNOT; and they have imprisoned me, and
threaten to put my son to death if I persist in my stubbornness any
longer.
"The anguish I feel in my mind takes away all hope of the recovery
of strength in my hand; and I have no doubt but that they intend in
a few days to put their horrid threat into execution.
"Therefore, dear brother William, hearing in my prison of a most
uncommon circumstance, which is, that an English vessel is lying at
a small distance from the island, I have entrusted a faithful negro
to take my child to the ship, and deliver him to the captain, with a
request that he may be sent (with this letter) to you on the ship's
arrival in England.
"Now my dear, dear brother William, in case the poor boy should live
to come to you, I have no doubt but you will receive him; yet excuse
a poor, fond father, if I say a word or two which I hope may prove
in his favour.
"Pray, my dear brother, do not think it the child's fault, but mine,
that you will find him so ignorant--he has always shown a quickness
and a willingness to learn, and would, I dare say, if he had been
brought up under your care, have been by this time a good scholar,
but you know I am no scholar myself. Besides, not having any books
here, I have only been able to teach my child by talking to him, and
in all my conversations with him I have never taken much pains to
instruct him in the manners of my own country; thinking, that if
ever he went over, he would learn them soon enough; and if he never
DID go over, that it would be as well he knew nothing about them.
"I have kept him also from the knowledge of everything which I have
thought pernicious in the conduct of the savages, except that I have
now and then pointed out a few of their faults, in order to give him
a true conception and a proper horror of them. At the same time I
have taught him to love, and to do good to his neighbour, whoever
that neighbour may be, and whatever may be his failings. Falsehood
of every kind I included in this precept as forbidden, for no one
can love his neighbour and deceive him.
"I have instructed him too, to hold in contempt all frivolous
vanity, and all those indulgences which he was never likely to
obtain. He has learnt all that I have undertaken to teach him; but
I am afraid you will yet think he has learned too little.
"Your wife, I fear, will be offended at his want of politeness, and
perhaps proper respect for a person of her rank: but indeed he is
very tractable, and can, without severity, be amended of all his
faults; and though you will find he has many, yet, pray, my dear
brother William, call to mind he has been a dutiful and an
affectionate child to me; and that had it pleased Heaven we had
lived together for many years to come, I verily believe I should
never have experienced one mark of his disobedience.
"Farewell for ever, my dear, dear brother William--and if my poor,
kind, affectionate child should live to bring you this letter,
sometimes speak to him of me and let him know, that for twelve years
he was my sole comfort; and that, when I sent him from me, in order
to save his life, I laid down my head upon the floor of the cell in
which I was confined, and prayed that Heaven might end my days
before the morning."
* * *
This was the conclusion of the letter, except four or five lines
which (with his name) were so much blotted, apparently with tears,
that they were illegible.
CHAPTER XI.
While the dean was reading to himself this letter, his countenance
frequently changed, and once or twice the tears streamed from his
eyes. When it was finished, he exclaimed,
"My brother has sent his child to me, and I will be a parent to
him." He was rushing towards the door, when Lady Clementina stopped
him.
"Is it proper, do you think, Mr. Dean, that all the servants in the
house should be witnesses to your meeting with your brother and your
nephew in the state in which they must be at present? Send for them
into a private apartment."
"My brother!" cried the dean; "oh! that it WERE my brother! The man
is merely a person from the ship, who has conducted his child
hither."
The bell was rung, money was sent to the man, and orders given that
the boy should be shown up immediately.
While young Henry was walking up the stairs, the dean's wife was
weighing in her mind in what manner it would most redound to her
honour to receive him; for her vanity taught her to believe that the
whole inquisitive world pried into her conduct, even upon every
family occurrence.
Young William was wondering to himself what kind of an unpolished
monster his beggarly cousin would appear; and was contemplating how
much the poor youth would be surprised, and awed by his superiority.
The dean felt no other sensation than an impatient desire of
beholding the child.
The door opened--and the son of his brother Henry, of his
benefactor, entered.
The habit he had on when he left his father, having been of slight
texture, was worn out by the length of the voyage, and he was in the
dress of a sailor-boy. Though about the same age with his cousin,
he was something taller: and though a strong family resemblance
appeared between the two youths, he was handsomer than William; and
from a simplicity spread over his countenance, a quick impatience in
his eye--which denoted anxious curiosity, and childish surprise at
every new object which presented itself--he appeared younger than
his well-informed and well-bred cousin.
He walked into the room, not with a dictated obeisance, but with a
hurrying step, a half pleased, yet a half frightened look, an
instantaneous survey of every person present; not as demanding "what
they thought of him," but expressing almost as plainly as in direct
words, "what he thought of them." For all alarm in respect to his
safety and reception seemed now wholly forgotten, in the curiosity
which the sudden sight of strangers such as he had never seen in his
life before, excited: and as to HIMSELF, he did not appear to know
there was such a person existing: his whole faculties were absorbed
in OTHERS.
The dean's reception of him did honour to his sensibility and his
gratitude to his brother. After the first affectionate gaze, he ran
to him, took him in his arms, sat down, drew him to him, held him
between his knees, and repeatedly exclaimed, "I will repay to you
all I owe to your father."
The boy, in return, hugged the dean round the neck, kissed him, and
exclaimed,
"Oh! you ARE my father--you have just such eyes, and such a
forehead--indeed you would be almost the same as he, if it were not
for that great white thing which grows upon your head!"
Let the reader understand, that the dean, fondly attached to every
ornament of his dignified function, was never seen (unless caught in
bed) without an enormous wig. With this young Henry was enormously
struck; having never seen so unbecoming a decoration, either in the
savage island from whence he came, or on board the vessel in which
he sailed.
"Do you imagine," cried his uncle, laying his hand gently on the
reverend habiliment, "that this grows?"
"What is on MY head grows," said young Henry, "and so does that
which is upon my father's."
"But now you are come to Europe, Henry, you will see many persons
with such things as these, which they put on and take off."
"Why do you wear such things?"
"As a distinction between us and inferior people: they are worn to
give an importance to the wearer."
"That's just as the savages do; they hang brass nails, wire,
buttons, and entrails of beasts all over them, to give them
importance."
The dean now led his nephew to Lady Clementina, and told him, "She
was his aunt, to whom he must behave with the utmost respect."
"I will, I will," he replied, "for she, I see, is a person of
importance too; she has, very nearly, such a white thing upon her
head as you have!"
His aunt had not yet fixed in what manner it would be advisable to
behave; whether with intimidating grandeur, or with amiable
tenderness. While she was hesitating between both, she felt a kind
of jealous apprehension that her son was not so engaging either in
his person or address as his cousin; and therefore she said,
"I hope, Dean, the arrival of this child will give you a still
higher sense of the happiness we enjoy in our own. What an
instructive contrast between the manners of the one and of the
other!"
"It is not the child's fault," returned the dean, "that he is not so
elegant in his manners as his cousin. Had William been bred in the
same place, he would have been as unpolished as this boy."
"I beg your pardon, sir," said young William with a formal bow and a
sarcastic smile, "I assure you several of my tutors have told me,
that I appear to know many things as it were by instinct."
Young Henry fixed his eyes upon his cousin, while, with steady self-
complacency, he delivered this speech, and no sooner was it
concluded than Henry cried out in a kind of wonder,
"A little man! as I am alive, a little man! I did not know there
were such little men in this country! I never saw one in my life
before!"
"This is a boy," said the dean; "a boy not older than yourself."
He put their hands together, and William gravely shook hands with
his cousin.
"It IS a man," continued young Henry; then stroked his cousin's
chin. "No, no, I do not know whether it is or not."
"I tell you again," said the dean, "he is a boy of your own age; you
and he are cousins, for I am his father."
"How can that be?" said young Henry. "He called you SIR."
"In this country," said the dean, "polite children do not call their
parents FATHER and MOTHER."
"Then don't they sometimes forget to love them as such?" asked
Henry.
His uncle became now impatient to interrogate him in every
particular concerning his father's state. Lady Clementina felt
equal impatience to know where the father was, whether he were
coming to live with them, wanted anything of them, and every
circumstance in which her vanity was interested. Explanations
followed all these questions; but which, exactly agreeing with what
the elder Henry's letter has related, require no recital here.
CHAPTER XII.
That vanity which presided over every thought and deed of Lady
Clementina was the protector of young Henry within her house. It
represented to her how amiable her conduct would appear in the eye
of the world should she condescend to treat this destitute nephew as
her own son; what envy such heroic virtue would excite in the hearts
of her particular friends, and what grief in the bosoms of all those
who did not like her.
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