Evan Harrington, v3

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EVAN HARRINGTON

By George Meredith

BOOK 3.

XIV. THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION
XV. A CAPTURE
XVI. LEADS TO A SMALL SKIRMISH BETWEEN ROSE AND EVAN
XVII. IN WHICH EVAN WRITES HIMSELF TAILOR
XVIII. IN WHICH EVAN CALLS HIMSELF GENTLEMAN

CHAPTER XIV

THE COUNTESS DESCRIBES THE FIELD OF ACTION

Now, to clear up a point or two: You may think the Comic Muse is
straining human nature rather toughly in making the Countess de Saldar
rush open-eyed into the jaws of Demogorgon, dreadful to her. She has
seen her brother pointed out unmistakeably as the tailor-fellow. There
is yet time to cast him off or fly with him. Is it her extraordinary
heroism impelling her onward, or infatuated rashness? or is it her mere
animal love of conflict?

The Countess de Saldar, like other adventurers, has her star. They who
possess nothing on earth, have a right to claim a portion of the heavens.
In resolute hands, much may be done with a star. As it has empires in
its gift, so may it have heiresses. The Countess's star had not blinked
balefully at her. That was one reason why she went straight on to
Beckley.

Again: the Countess was a born general. With her star above, with
certain advantages secured, with battalions of lies disciplined and
zealous, and with one clear prize in view, besides other undeveloped
benefits dimly shadowing forth, the Countess threw herself headlong into
the enemy's country.

But, that you may not think too highly of this lady, I must add that the
trivial reason was the exciting cause--as in many great enterprises.
This was nothing more than the simple desire to be located, if but for a
day or two, on the footing of her present rank, in the English country-
house of an offshoot of our aristocracy. She who had moved in the first
society of a foreign capital--who had married a Count, a minister of his
sovereign, had enjoyed delicious high-bred badinage with refulgent
ambassadors, could boast the friendship of duchesses, and had been the
amiable receptacle of their pardonable follies; she who, moreover,
heartily despised things English:--this lady experienced thrills of proud
pleasure at the prospect of being welcomed at a third-rate English
mansion. But then, that mansion was Beckley Court. We return to our
first ambitions, as to our first loves not that they are dearer to us,
--quit that delusion: our ripened loves and mature ambitions are probably
closest to our hearts, as they deserve to be--but we return to them
because our youth has a hold on us which it asserts whenever a
disappointment knocks us down. Our old loves (with the bad natures I
know in them) are always lurking to avenge themselves on the new by
tempting us to a little retrograde infidelity. A schoolgirl in Fallow
field, the tailor's daughter, had sighed for the bliss of Beckley Court.
Beckley Court was her Elysium ere the ardent feminine brain conceived a
loftier summit. Fallen from that attained eminence, she sighed anew for
Beckley Court. Nor was this mere spiritual longing; it had its material
side. At Beckley Court she could feel her foreign rank. Moving with our
nobility as an equal, she could feel that the short dazzling glitter of
her career was not illusory, and had left her something solid; not coin
of the realm exactly, but yet gold. She could not feel this in the
Cogglesby saloons, among pitiable bourgeoises--middle-class people daily
soiled by the touch of tradesmen. They dragged her down. Their very
homage was a mockery.

Let the Countess have due credit for still allowing Evan to visit Beckley
Court to follow up his chance. If Demogorgon betrayed her there, the
Count was her protector: a woman rises to her husband. But a man is what
he is, and must stand upon that. She was positive Evan had committed
himself in some manner. As it did not suit her to think so, she at once
encouraged an imaginary conversation, in which she took the argument that
it was quite impossible Evan could have been so mad, and others instanced
his youth, his wrongheaded perversity, his ungenerous disregard for his
devoted sister, and his known weakness: she replying, that undoubtedly
they were right so far: but that he could not have said he himself was
that horrible thing, because he was nothing of the sort: which faith in
Evan's stedfast adherence to facts, ultimately silenced the phantom
opposition, and gained the day.

With admiration let us behold the Countess de Saldar alighting on the
gravel sweep of Beckley Court, the footman and butler of the enemy bowing
obsequious welcome to the most potent visitor Beckley Court has ever yet
embraced.

The despatches of a general being usually acknowledged to be the safest
sources from which the historian of a campaign can draw, I proceed to set
forth a letter of the Countess de Saldar, forwarded to her sister,
Harriet Cogglesby, three mornings after her arrival at Beckley Court; and
which, if it should prove false in a few particulars, does nevertheless
let us into the state of the Countess's mind, and gives the result of
that general's first inspection of the field of action. The Countess's
epistolary English does small credit to her Fallow field education; but
it is feminine, and flows more than her ordinary speech. Besides,
leaders of men have always notoriously been above the honours of grammar.

'MY DEAREST HARRIET,

'Your note awaited me. No sooner my name announced, than servitors in
yellow livery, with powder and buckles started before me, and bowing one
presented it on a salver. A venerable butler--most impressive! led the
way. In future, my dear, let it be de Saldar de Sancorvo. That is our
title by rights, and it may as well be so in England. English Countess
is certainly best. Always put the de. But let us be systematic, as my
poor Silva says. He would be in the way here, and had better not come
till I see something he can do. Silva has great reliance upon me. The
farther he is from Lymport, my dear!--and imagine me, Harriet, driving
through Fallow field to Beckley Court! I gave one peep at Dubbins's, as
I passed. The school still goes on. I saw three little girls skipping,
and the old swing-pole. SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES as bright as ever! I
should have liked to have kissed the children and given them bonbons and
a holiday.

'How sparing you English are of your crests and arms! I fully expected
to see the Jocelyns' over my bed; but no--four posts totally without
ornament! Sleep, indeed, must be the result of dire fatigue in such a
bed. The Jocelyn crest is a hawk in jesses. The Elburne arms are, Or,
three falcons on a field, vert. How heraldry reminds me of poor Papa!
the evenings we used to spend with him, when he stayed at home, studying
it so diligently under his directions! We never shall again! Sir Franks
Jocelyn is the third son of Lord Elburne, made a Baronet for his
patriotic support of the Ministry in a time of great trouble. The people
are sometimes grateful, my dear. Lord Elburne is the fourteenth of his
line--originally simple country squires. They talk of the Roses, but we
need not go so very far back as that. I do not quite understand why a
Lord's son should condescend to a Baronetcy. Precedence of some sort for
his lady, I suppose. I have yet to learn whether she ranks by his birth,
or his present title. If so, a young Baronetcy cannot possibly be a
gain. One thing is certain. She cares very little about it. She is
most eccentric. But remember what I have told you. It will be
serviceable when you are speaking of the family.

'The dinner-hour, six. It would no doubt be full seven in Town. I am
convinced you are half-an-hour too early. I had the post of honour to
the right of Sir Franks. Evan to the right of Lady Jocelyn. Most
fortunately he was in the best of spirits--quite brilliant. I saw the
eyes of that sweet Rose glisten. On the other side of me sat my pet
diplomatist, and I gave him one or two political secrets which astonished
him. Of course, my dear, I was wheedled out of them. His contempt for
our weak intellects is ineffable. But a woman must now and then
ingratiate herself at the expense of her sex. This is perfectly
legitimate. Tory policy at the table. The Opposition, as Andrew says,
not represented. So to show that we were human beings, we differed among
ourselves, and it soon became clear to me that Lady Jocelyn is the
rankest of Radicals. My secret suspicion is, that she is a person of no
birth whatever, wherever her money came from. A fine woman--yes; still
to be admired, I suppose, by some kind of men; but totally wanting in the
essentially feminine attractions.

'There was no party, so to say. I will describe the people present,
beginning with the insignifacants.

'First, Mr. Parsley, the curate of Beckley. He eats everything at table,
and agrees with everything. A most excellent orthodox young clergyman.
Except that he was nearly choked by a fish-bone, and could not quite
conceal his distress--and really Rose should have repressed her desire to
laugh till the time for our retirement--he made no sensation. I saw her
eyes watering, and she is not clever in turning it off. In that nobody
ever equalled dear Papa. I attribute the attack almost entirely to the
tightness of the white neck-cloths the young clergymen of the Established
Church wear. But, my dear, I have lived too long away from them to wish
for an instant the slightest change in anything they think, say, or do.
The mere sight of this young man was most refreshing to my spirit. He
may be the shepherd of a flock, this poor Mr. Parsley, but he is a sheep
to one young person.

'Mr. Drummond Forth. A great favourite of Lady Jocelyn's; an old friend.
He went with them to the East. Nothing improper. She is too cold for
that. He is fair, with regular features, very self-possessed, and ready
--your English notions of gentlemanly. But none of your men treat a
woman as a woman. We are either angels, or good fellows, or heaven knows
what that is bad. No exquisite delicacy, no insinuating softness, mixed
with respect, none of that hovering over the border, as Papa used to say,
none of that happy indefiniteness of manner which seems to declare
"I would love you if I might," or "I do, but I dare not tell," even when
engaged in the most trivial attentions--handing a footstool, remarking on
the soup, etc. You none of you know how to meet a woman's smile, or to
engage her eyes without boldness--to slide off them, as it were,
gracefully. Evan alone can look between the eyelids of a woman. I have
had to correct him, for to me he quite exposes the state of his heart
towards dearest Rose. She listens to Mr. Forth with evident esteem. In
Portugal we do not understand young ladies having male friends.

'Hamilton Jocelyn--all politics. The stiff Englishman. Not a shade of
manners. He invited me to drink wine. Before I had finished my bow his
glass was empty--the man was telling an anecdote of Lord Livelyston!
You may be sure, my dear, I did not say I had seen his lordship.

'Seymour Jocelyn, Colonel of Hussars. He did nothing but sigh for the
cold weather, and hunting. All I envied him was his moustache for Evan.
Will you believe that the ridiculous boy has shaved!

'Then there is Melville, my dear diplomatist; and here is another
instance of our Harrington luck. He has the gout in his right hand; he
can only just hold knife and fork, and is interdicted Port-wine and
penmanship. The dinner was not concluded before I had arranged that Evan
should resume (gratuitously, you know) his post of secretary to him. So
here is Evan fixed at Beckley Court as long as Melville stays. Talking
of him, I am horrified suddenly. They call him the great Mel!
'Sir Franks is most estimable, I am sure, as a man, and redolent of
excellent qualities--a beautiful disposition, very handsome. He has just
as much and no more of the English polish one ordinarily meets. When he
has given me soup or fish, bowed to me over wine, and asked a
conventional question, he has done with me. I should imagine his
opinions to be extremely good, for they are not a multitude.

'Then his lady-but I have not grappled with her yet. Now for the women,
for I quite class her with the opposite sex.

'You must know that before I retired for the night, I induced Conning to
think she had a bad head-ache, and Rose lent me her lady's-maid--they
call the creature Polly. A terrible talker. She would tell all about
the family. Rose has been speaking of Evan. It would have looked better
had she been quiet--but then she is so English!'

Here the Countess breaks off to say, that from where she is writing, she
can see Rose and Evan walking out to the cypress avenue, and that no eyes
are on them; great praise being given to the absence of suspicion in the
Jocelyn nature.

The communication is resumed the night of the same day.

'Two days at Beckley Court are over, and that strange sensation I had of
being an intruder escaped from Dubbins's, and expecting every instant the
old schoolmistress to call for me, and expose me, and take me to the dark
room, is quite vanished, and I feel quite at home, quite happy. Evan is
behaving well. Quite the young nobleman. With the women I had no fear
of him; he is really admirable with the men--easy, and talks of sport and
politics, and makes the proper use of Portugal. He has quite won the
heart of his sister. Heaven smiles on us, dearest Harriet!

'We must be favoured, my dear, for Evan is very troublesome--
distressingly inconsiderate! I left him for a day-remaining to comfort
poor Mama--and on the road he picked up an object he had known at school,
and this creature, in shameful garments, is seen in the field where Rose
and Evan are riding--in a dreadful hat--Rose might well laugh at it!--he
is seen running away from an old apple woman, whose fruit he had consumed
without means to liquidate; but, of course, he rushes bolt up to Evan
before all his grand company, and claims acquaintance, and Evan was base
enough to acknowledge him! He disengaged himself so far well by tossing
his purse to the wretch, but if he knows not how to--cut, I assure him it
will be his ruin. Resolutely he must cast the dust off his shoes, or he
will be dragged down to their level. By the way, as to hands and feet,
comparing him with the Jocelyn men, he has every mark of better blood.
Not a question about it. As Papa would say--We have Nature's proof.

'Looking out on a beautiful lawn, and the moon, and all sorts of trees, I
must now tell you about the ladies here.

'Conning undid me to-night. While Conning remains unattached, Conning is
likely to be serviceable. If Evan, would only give her a crumb, she
would be his most faithful dog. I fear he cannot be induced, and Conning
will be snapped up by somebody else. You know how susceptible she is
behind her primness--she will be of no use on earth, and I shall find
excuse to send her back immediately. After all, her appearance here was
all that was wanted.

'Mrs. Melville and her dreadful juvenile are here, as you may imagine--
the complete Englishwoman. I smile on her, but I could laugh. To see
the crow's-feet under her eyes on her white skin, and those ringlets, is
really too ridiculous. Then there is a Miss Carrington, Lady Jocelyn's
cousin, aged thirty-two--if she has not tampered with the register of her
birth. I should think her equal to it. Between dark and fair. Always
in love with some man, Conning tells me she hears. Rose's maid, Polly,
hinted the same. She has a little money.

'But my sympathies have been excited by a little cripple--a niece of Lady
Jocelyn's and the favourite grand-daughter of the rich old Mrs. Bonner--
also here--Juliana Bonner. Her age must be twenty. You would take her
for ten. In spite of her immense expectations, the Jocelyns hate her.
They can hardly be civil to her. It is the poor child's temper. She has
already begun to watch dear Evan--certainly the handsomest of the men
here as yet, though I grant you, they are well-grown men, these Jocelyns,
for an untravelled Englishwoman. I fear, dear Harriet, we have been
dreadfully deceived about Rose. The poor child has not, in her own
right, much more than a tenth part of what we supposed, I fear. It was
that Mrs. Melville. I have had occasion to notice her quiet boasts here.
She said this morning, "when Mel is in the Ministry"--he is not yet in
Parliament! I feel quite angry with the woman, and she is not so cordial
as she might be. I have her profile very frequently while I am
conversing with her.

'With Grandmama Bonner I am excellent good friends,--venerable silver
hair, high caps, etc. More of this most interesting Juliana Bonner by-
and-by. It is clear to me that Rose's fortune is calculated upon the
dear invalid's death! Is not that harrowing? It shocks me to think of
it.

'Then there is Mrs. Shorne. She is a Jocelyn--and such a history! She
married a wealthy manufacturer--bartered her blood for his money, and he
failed, and here she resides, a bankrupt widow, petitioning any man that
may be willing for his love AND a decent home. AND--I say in charity.

'Mrs. Shorne comes here to-morrow. She is at present with--guess, my
dear!--with Lady Racial. Do not be alarmed. I have met Lady Racial.
She heard Evan's name, and by that and the likeness I saw she knew at
once, and I saw a truce in her eyes. She gave me a tacit assurance of
it--she was engaged to dine here yesterday, and put it off--probably to
grant us time for composure. If she comes I do not fear her. Besides,
has she not reasons? Providence may have designed her for a staunch
ally--I will not say, confederate.

'Would that Providence had fixed this beautiful mansion five hundred
miles from L-----, though it were in a desolate region! And that reminds
me of the Madre. She is in health. She always will be overbearingly
robust till the day we are bereft of her. There was some secret in the
house when I was there, which I did not trouble to penetrate. That
little Jane F---- was there--not improved.

'Pray, be firm about Torquay. Estates mortgaged, but hopes of saving a
remnant of the property. Third son! Don't commit yourself there. We
dare not baronetize him. You need not speak it--imply. More can be done
that way.

'And remember, dear Harriet, that you must manage Andrew so that we may
positively promise his vote to the Ministry on all questions when
Parliament next assembles. I understood from Lord Livelyston, that
Andrew's vote would be thought much of. A most amusing nobleman! He
pledged himself to nothing! But we are above such a thing as a
commercial transaction. He must countenance Silva. Women, my dear, have
sent out armies--why not fleets? Do not spare me your utmost aid in my
extremity, my dearest sister.

'As for Strike, I refuse to speak of him. He is insufferable and next to
useless. How can one talk with any confidence of relationship with a
Major of Marines? When I reflect on what he is, and his conduct to
Caroline, I have inscrutable longings to slap his face. Tell dear Carry
her husband's friend--the chairman or something of that wonderful company
of Strike's--you know--the Duke of Belfield is coming here. He is a
blood-relation of the Elburnes, therefore of the Jocelyns. It will not
matter at all. Breweries, I find, are quite in esteem in your England.
It was highly commendable in his Grace to visit you. Did he come to see
the Major of Marines? Caroline is certainly the loveliest woman I ever
beheld, and I forgive her now the pangs of jealousy she used to make me
feel.

'Andrew, I hope, has received the most kind invitations of the Jocelyns.
He must come. Melville must talk with him about the votes of his
abominable brother in Fallow field. We must elect Melville and have the
family indebted to us. But pray be careful that Andrew speaks not a word
to his odious brother about our location here. It would set him dead
against these hospitable Jocelyns. It will perhaps be as well, dear
Harriet, if you do not accompany Andrew. You would not be able to
account for him quite thoroughly. Do as you like--I do but advise, and
you know I may be trusted--for our sakes, dear one! I am working for
Carry to come with Andrew. Beautiful women always welcome. A prodigy!
--if they wish to astonish the Duke. Adieu! Heaven bless your babes!'

The night passes, and the Countess pursues:

'Awakened by your fresh note from a dream of Evan on horseback, and a
multitude hailing him Count Jocelyn for Fallow field! A morning dream.
They might desire that he should change his name; but "Count" is
preposterous, though it may conceal something.

'You say Andrew will come, and talk of his bringing Caroline. Anything
to give our poor darling a respite from her brute. You deserve great
credit for your managing of that dear little good-natured piece of
obstinate man. I will at once see to prepare dear Caroline's welcome,
and trust her stay may be prolonged in the interest of common humanity.
They have her story here already.

'Conning has come in, and says that young Mr. Harry Jocelyn will be here
this morning from Fallow field, where he has been cricketing. The family
have not spoken of him in my hearing. He is not, I think, in good odour
at home--a scapegrace. Rose's maid, Polly, quite flew out when I
happened to mention him, and broke one of my laces. These English maids
are domesticated savage animals.

'My chocolate is sent up, exquisitely concocted, in plate of the purest
quality--lovely little silver cups! I have already quite set the fashion
for the ladies to have chocolate in bed. The men, I hear, complain that
there is no lady at the breakfast-table. They have Miss Carrington to
superintend. I read, in the subdued satisfaction of her eyes (completely
without colour), how much she thanks me and the institution of chocolate
in bed. Poor Miss Carrington is no match for her opportunities. One may
give them to her without dread.

'It is ten on the Sabbath morn. The sweet churchbells are ringing. It
seems like a dream. There is nothing but the religion attaches me to
England; but that--is not that everything? How I used to sigh on Sundays
to hear them in Portugal!

'I have an idea of instituting toilette-receptions. They will not please
Miss Carrington so well.

'Now to the peaceful village church, and divine worship. Adieu, my dear.
I kiss my fingers to Silva. Make no effort to amuse him. He is always
occupied. Bread!--he asks no more. Adieu! Carry will be invited with
your little man .... You unhappily unable .... She, the sister I pine
to see, to show her worthy of my praises. Expectation and excitement!
Adieu!'

Filled with pleasing emotions at the thought of the service in the quiet
village church, and worshipping in the principal pew, under the blazonry
of the Jocelyn arms, the Countess sealed her letter and addressed it, and
then examined the name of Cogglesby; which plebeian name, it struck her,
would not sound well to the menials of Beckley Court. While she was
deliberating what to do to conceal it, she heard, through her open
window, the voices of some young men laughing. She beheld her brother
pass these young men, and bow to them. She beheld them stare at him
without at all returning his salute, and then one of them--the same who
had filled her ears with venom at Fallow field--turned to the others and
laughed outrageously, crying

'By Jove! this comes it strong. Fancy the snipocracy here--eh?'

What the others said the Countess did not wait to hear. She put on her
bonnet hastily, tried the effect of a peculiar smile in the mirror, and
lightly ran down-stairs.

CHAPTER XV

A CAPTURE

The three youths were standing in the portico when the Countess appeared
among them. She singled out him who was specially obnoxious to her, and
sweetly inquired the direction to the village post. With the renowned
gallantry of his nation, he offered to accompany her, but presently, with
a different exhibition of the same, proposed that they should spare
themselves the trouble by dropping the letter she held prominently, in
the bag.

'Thanks,' murmured the Countess, 'I will go.' Upon which his eager air
subsided, and he fell into an awkward silent march at her side, looking
so like the victim he was to be, that the Countess could have emulated
his power of laughter.

'And you are Mr. Harry Jocelyn, the very famous cricketer?'

He answered, glancing back at his friends, that he was, but did not know
about the 'famous.'

'Oh! but I saw you--I saw you hit the ball most beautifully, and dearly
wished my brother had an equal ability. Brought up in the Court of
Portugal, he is barely English. There they have no manly sports. You
saw him pass you?'

'Him! Who?' asked Harry.

'My brother, on the lawn, this moment. Your sweet sister's friend. Your
uncle Melville's secretary.'

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