Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v3

G >> George Meredith >> Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v3

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

This etext was produced by Pat Castevans
and David Widger

SANDRA BELLONI

By George Meredith

BOOK 3

XVIII. RETURN OF THE SENTIMENTALIST INTO BONDAGE
XIX. LIFE AT BROOKFIELD.
XX. BY WILMING WEIR
XXI. RETURN OF MR. PERICLES
XXII. THE PITFALL OF SENTIMENT
XXIII. WILFRID DIPLOMATIZES
XXIV. EMILIA MAKES A MOVE
XXV. A FARCE WITHIN A FARCE

CHAPTER XVIII

Meantime Wilfrid was leading a town-life and occasionally visiting
Stornley. He was certainly not in love with Lady Charlotte
Chillingworth, but he was in harness to that lady. In love we have some
idea whither we would go: in harness we are simply driven, and the
destination may be anywhere. To be reduced to this condition (which will
happen now and then in the case of very young men who are growing up to
something, and is, if a momentary shame to them, rather a sign of promise
than not) the gentle male need not be deeply fascinated. Lady Charlotte
was not a fascinating person. She did not lay herself out to attract.
Had she done so, she would have failed to catch Wilfrid, whose soul
thirsted for poetical refinement and filmy delicacies in a woman. What
she had, and what he knew that he wanted, and could only at intervals
assume by acting as if he possessed it, was a victorious aplomb, which
gave her a sort of gallant glory in his sight. He could act it well
before his sisters, and here and there a damsel; and coming fresh from
Lady Charlotte's school, he had recently done so with success, and had
seen the ladies feel toward him, as he felt under his instructress in the
art. Some nature, however, is required for every piece of art. Wilfrid
knew that he had been brutal in his representation of the part, and the
retrospect of his conduct at Brookfield did not satisfy his remorseless
critical judgement. In consequence, when he again saw Lady Charlotte,
his admiration of that one prized characteristic of hers paralyzed him.
She looked, and moved, and spoke, as if the earth were her own. She was
a note of true music, and he felt himself to be an indecisive chord;
capable ultimately of a splendid performance, it might be, but at present
crying out to be played upon. This is the condition of a man in harness,
whom witlings may call what they will. He is subjugated: not won. In
this state of subjugation he will joyfully sacrifice as much as a man in
love. For, having no consolatory sense of happiness, such as encircles
and makes a nest for lovers, he seeks to attain some stature, at least,
by excesses of apparent devotion. Lady Charlotte believed herself
beloved at last. She was about to strike thirty; and Rumour, stalking
with a turban of cloud on her head,--enough that this shocking old
celestial dowager, from condemnation had passed to pity of the dashing
lady. Beloved at last! After a while there is no question of our
loving; but we thirst for love, if we have not had it. The key of Lady
Charlotte will come in the course of events. She was at the doubtful
hour of her life, a warm-hearted woman, known to be so by few, generally
consigned by devout-visaged Scandal (for who save the devout will dare to
sit in the chair of judgement?) as a hopeless rebel against conventional
laws; and worse than that, far worse,--though what, is not said.

At Stornley the following letter from Emilia hit its mark:--

Dear Mr. Wilfrid,

"It is time for me to see you. Come when you have read this letter. I
cannot tell you how I am, because my heart feels beating in another body.
Pray come; come now. Come on a swift horse. The thought of you
galloping to me goes through me like a flame that hums. You will come, I
know. It is time. If I write foolishly, do forgive me. I can only make
sure of the spelling, and I cannot please you on paper, only when I see
you."

The signature of 'Emilia Alessandra Belloni' was given with her wonted
proud flourish.

Wilfrid stared at the writing. "What! all this time she has been
thinking the same thing!" Her constancy did not swim before him in
alluring colours. He regarded it as a species of folly. Disgust had
left him. The pool of Memory would have had to be stirred to remind him
of the pipe-smoke in her hair. "You are sure to please me when you see
me?" he murmured. "You are very confident, young lady!" So much had her
charm faded. And then he thought kindly of her, and that a meeting would
not be good for her, and that she ought to go to Italy and follow her
profession. "If she grows famous," whispered coxcombry, "why then
oneself will take a little of the praises given to her." And that seemed
eminently satisfactory. Men think in this way when you have loved them,
ladies. All men? No; only the coxcombs; but it is to these that you
give your fresh affection. They are, as it were, the band of the
regiment of adorers, marching ahead, while we sober working soldiers
follow to their music. "If she grows famous, why then I can bear in mind
that her heart was once in my possession: and it may return to its old
owner, perchance." Wilfrid indulged in a pleasant little dream of her
singing at the Opera-house, and he, tied to a ferocious, detested wife,
how softly and luxuriously would he then be sighing for the old time! It
was partly good seed in his nature, and an apprehension of her force of
soul, that kept him from a thought of evil to her. Passion does not
inspire dark appetite. Dainty innocence does, I am told. Things are
tested by the emotions they provoke. Wilfrid knew that there was no
trifling with Emilia, so he put the letter by, commenting thus "she's
right, she doesn't spell badly." Behind, which, to those who have caught
the springs of his character, volumes may be seen.

He put the letter by. Two days later, at noon, the card of Captain
Gambier was brought to him in the billiard-room,--on it was written:
"Miss Belloni waits on horseback to see you." Wilfrid thought "Waits!"
and the impossibility of escape gave him a notion of her power.

"So, you are letting that go on," said Lady Charlotte, when she heard
that Emilia and the captain were in company.

"There is no fear for her whatever."

"There is always fear when a man gives every minute of his time to that
kind of business," retorted her ladyship.

Wilfrid smiled the smile of the knowing. Rivalry with Gambier (and
successful too!) did not make Emilia's admiration so tasteless. Some one
cries out: "But, what a weak creature is this young man!" I reply, he
was at a critical stage of his career. All of us are weak in the period
of growth, and are of small worth before the hour of trial. This fellow
had been fattening all his life on prosperity; the very best dish in the
world; but it does not prove us. It fattens and strengthens us, just as
the sun does. Adversity is the inspector of our constitutions; she
simply tries our muscle and powers of endurance, and should be a
periodical visitor. But, until she comes, no man is known. Wilfrid was
not absolutely engaged to Lady Charlotte (she had taken care of that),
and being free, and feeling his heart beat in more lively fashion, he
turned almost delightedly to the girl he could not escape from. As when
the wriggling eel that has been prodded by the countryman's fork, finds
that no amount of wriggling will release it, to it twists in a knot
around the imprisoning prong. This simile says more than I mean it to
say, but those who understand similes will know the measure due to them.

There sat Emilia on her horse. "Has Gambier been giving her lessons?"
thought Wilfrid. She sat up, well-balanced; and, as he approached, began
to lean gently forward to him. A greeting 'equal to any lady's,' there
was no doubt. This was the point Emilia had to attain, in his severe
contemplation. A born lady, on her assured level, stood a chance of
becoming a Goddess; but ladyship was Emilia's highest mark. Such is the
state of things to the sentimental fancy when girls are at a
disadvantage. She smiled, and held out both hands. He gave her one,
nodding kindly, but was too confused to be the light-hearted cavalier.
Lady Charlotte walked up to her horse's side, after receiving Captain
Gambier's salute, and said: "Come, catch hold of my hands and jump."

"No," replied Emilia; "I only came to see him."

"But you will see him, and me in the bargain, if you stay."

"I fancy she has given her word to return early," interposed Wilfrid.

"Then we'll ride back with her," said Lady Charlotte. "Give me five
minutes. I'll order a horse out for you."

She smiled, and considerately removed the captain, by despatching him to
the stables.

A quivering dimple of tenderness hung for a moment in Emilia's cheeks, as
she looked upon Wilfrid. Then she said falteringly, "I think they wish
to be as we do."

"Alone?" cried Wilfrid.

"Yes; that is why I brought him over. He will come anywhere with me."

"You must be mistaken."

"No; I know it."

"Did he tell you so?"

"No; Mr. Powys did."

"Told you that Lady Charlotte--"

"Yes. Not, is; but, was. And he used that word...there is no word like
it,...he said 'her lover'--Oh! mine!" Emilia lifted her arms. Her voice
from its deepest fall had risen to a cry.

Wilfrid caught her as she slipped from her saddle. His heart was in a
tumult; stirred both ways: stirred with wrath and with love. He clasped
her tightly.

"Am I?--am I?" he breathed.

"My lover!" Emilia murmured.

He was her slave again.

For, here was something absolutely his own. His own from the roots; from
the first growth of sensation. Something with the bloom on it: to which
no other finger could point and say: "There is my mark."

(And, ladies, if you will consent to be likened to a fruit, you must bear
with these observations, and really deserve the stigma. If you will
smile on men, because they adore you as vegetable products, take what
ensues.)

Lady Charlotte did no more than double the time she had asked for. The
party were soon at a quiet canter up the lanes; but entering a broad
furzy common with bramble-plots and oak-shaws, the Amazon flew ahead.
Emilia's eyes were so taken with her, that she failed to observe a tiny
red-flowing runlet in the clay, with yellow-ridged banks almost baked to
brick. Over it she was borne, but at the expense of a shaking that
caused her to rely on her hold of the reins, ignorant of the notions of a
horse outstripped. Wilfrid looked to see that the jump had been
accomplished, and was satisfied. Gambier was pressing his hack to keep a
respectable second.

Lady Charlotte spun round suddenly, crying, "Catch the mare!" and
galloped back to Emilia, who was deposited on a bush of bramble.
Dismounting promptly, the lady said: "My child, you're not hurt?"

"Not a bit." Emilia blinked.

"Not frightened?"

"Not a bit," was half whispered.

"That's brave. Now jump on your feet. Tell me why you rode over to us
this morning. Quick. Don't hesitate."

"Because I want Wilfrid to see his sister Cornelia," came the answer,
with the required absence of indecision.

Emilia ran straightway to meet Wilfrid approaching; and as both her
hands, according to her fashion, were stretched out to him to assure him
of her safety and take his clasp, forgetful of the instincts derived from
riding-habits, her feet became entangled; she trod herself down, falling
plump forward and looking foolish--perhaps for the first time in her life
plainly feeling so.

"Up! little woman," said Lady Charlotte, supporting her elbow.

"Now, Sir Wilfrid, we part here; and don't spoil her courage, now she has
had a spill, by any 'assiduous attentions' and precautions. She's sure
to take as many as are needed. If Captain Gambler thinks I require an
escort, he may offer."

The captain, taken by surprise, bowed, and flowed in ardent commonplace.
Wilfrid did not look of a wholesome colour.

"Do you return?" he stammered; not without a certain aspect of righteous
reproach.

"Yes. You will ride over to us again, probably, in a day or two?
Captain Gambler will see me safe from the savage admirers that crowd this
country, if I interpreted him rightly."

Emilia was lifted to her seat. Lady Charlotte sprang unassisted to hers.
"Ta-ta!" she waved her fingers from her lips. The pairs then separated;
one couple turning into green lanes, the other dipping to blue hills.

CHAPTER XIX

Gossip of course was excited on the subject of the choice of a partner
made by the member for the county. Cornelia placed her sisters in one of
their most pleasing of difficulties. She had not as yet pledged her
word. It was supposed that she considered it due to herself to withhold
her word for a term. The rumour in the family was, that Sir Twickenham
appreciated her hesitation, and desired that he might be intimately known
before he was finally accepted. When the Tinleys called, they heard that
Cornelia's acceptance of the baronet was doubtful. The Copleys, on the
other hand, distinctly understood that she had decided in his favour.
Owing to the amiable dissension between the Copleys and the Tinleys, each
party called again; giving the ladies of Brookfield further opportunity
for studying one of the levels from which they had risen. Arabella did
almost all the fencing with Laura Tinley, contemptuously as a youth of
station returned from college will turn and foil an ill-conditioned
villager, whom formerly he has encountered on the green.

"Had they often met, previous to the...the proposal?" inquired Laura; and
laughed: "I was going to say 'popping.'"

"Pray do not check yourself, if a phrase appears to suit you," returned
Arabella.

"But it was in the neighbourhood, was it not?"

"They have met in the neighbourhood."

"At Richford?"

"Also at Richford."

"We thought it was sudden, dear; that's all."

"Why should it not be?"

"Perhaps the best things are, it is true."

"You congratulate us upon a benefit?"

"He is to be congratulated seriously. Naturally. When she decides, let
me know early, I do entreat you, because...well, I am of a different
opinion from some people, who talk of another attachment, or engagement,
and I do not believe in it, and have said so."

Rising to depart, Laura Tinley resumed: "Most singular! You are aware,
of course, that poor creature, our organist--I ought to say yours--who
looked (it was Mr. Sumner I heard say it--such a good thing!)" as if he
had been a gentleman in another world, and was the ghost of one in this:"
really one of the cleverest things! but he is clever!--Barrett's his
name: Barrett and some: musical name before it, like Handel. I mean one
that we are used to. Well, the man has totally and unexpectedly thrown
up his situation."

"His appointment," said Arabella. Permitting no surprise to be visible,
she paused: "Yes. I don't think we shall give our consent to her filling
the post."

Laura let it be seen that her adversary was here a sentence too quick for
her.

"Ah! you mean your little Miss Belloni?"

"Was it not of her you were thinking?"

"When?" asked Laura, shamefully bewildered.

"When you alluded to Mr. Barrett's vacant place."

"Not at the moment."

"I thought you must be pointing to her advancement."

"I confess it was not in my mind."

"In what consisted the singularity, then?"

"The singularity?"

"You prefaced your remarks with the exclamation, 'Singular!'"

Laura showed that Arabella had passed her guard. She hastened to
compliment her on her kindness to Emilia, and so sheathed her weapon for
the time, having just enjoyed a casual inspection of Mrs. Chump entering
the room, and heard the brogue an instant.

"Irish!" she whispered, smiling, with a sort of astonished discernment of
the nationality, and swept through the doorway: thus conveying forcibly
to Arabella her knowledge of what the ladies of Brookfield were enduring:
a fine Parthian shot.

That Cornelia should hold a notable county man, a baronet and owner of
great acres, in a state between acceptance and rejection, was considered
high policy by the ladies, whom the idea of it elevated; and they
encouraged her to pursue this course, without having a suspicion, shrewd
as they were, that it was followed for any other object than the honour
of the family. But Mr. Pole was in the utmost perplexity, and spoke of
baronets as things almost holy, to be kneeled to, prayed for. He was
profane. "I thought, papa," said Cornelia, "that women conferred the
favour when they gave their hands!"

It was a new light to the plain merchant. "How should you say if a
Prince came and asked for you?"

"Still that he asked a favour at my hands."

"Oh!" went Mr. Pole, in the voice of a man whose reason is outraged. The
placidity of Cornelia's reply was not without its effect on him,
nevertheless. He had always thought his girls extraordinary girls, and
born to be distinguished. "Perhaps she has a lord in view," he
concluded: it being his constant delusion to suppose that high towering
female sense has always a practical aim at a material thing. He was no
judge of the sex in its youth. "Just speak to her," he said to Wilfrid.

Wilfrid had heard from Emilia that there was a tragic background to this
outward placidity; tears on the pillow at night and long vigils. Emilia
had surprised her weeping, and though she obtained no confidences, the
soft mood was so strong in the stately lady, that she consented to weep
on while Emilia clasped her. Petitioning on her behalf to Wilfrid for
aid, Emilia had told him the scene; and he, with a man's stupidity,
alluded to it, not thinking what his knowledge of it revealed to a woman.

"Why do you vacillate, and keep us all in the dark as to what you mean?"
he began.

"I am not prepared," said Cornelia; the voice of humility issuing from a
monument.

"One of your oracular phrases! Are you prepared to be straightforward in
your dealings?"

"I am prepared for any sacrifice, Wilfrid."

"The marrying of a man in his position is a sacrifice!"

"I cannot leave papa."

"And why not?"

"He is ill. He does not speak of it, but he is ill. His actions are
strange. They are unaccountable."

"He has an old friend to reside in his house?"

"It is not that. I have noticed him. His mind...he requires watching."

"And how long is it since you made this discovery?"

"One sees clearer perhaps when one is not quite happy."

"Not happy! Then it's for him that you turn the night to tears?"

Cornelia closed her lips. She divined that her betrayer must be close in
his confidence. She went shortly after to Emilia, whose secret at once
stood out bare to a kindled suspicion. There was no fear that Cornelia
would put her finger on it accusingly, or speak of it directly. She had
the sentimentalist's profound respect for the name and notion of love.
She addressed Emilia vaguely, bidding her keep guard on her emotions, and
telling her there was one test of the truth of masculine protestations;
this, Will he marry you? The which, if you are poor, is a passably
infallible test. Emilia sucked this in thoughtfully. She heard that
lovers were false. Why, then of course they were not like her lover!
Cornelia finished what she deemed her duty, and departed, while Emilia
thought: "I wonder whether he could be false to me;" and she gave herself
shrewd half-delicious jarrings of pain, forcing herself to contemplate
the impossible thing.

She was in this state when Mrs. Chump came across her, and with a slight
pressure of a sovereign into her hand, said: "There, it's for you, little
Belloni! and I see ye've been thinkin' me one o' the scrape-hards and
close-fists. It's Pole who keeps me low, on purpose. And I'm a wretch
if I haven't my purse full, so you see I'm all in the dark in the house,
and don't know half so much as the sluts o' the kitchen. So, ye'll tell
me, little Belloni, is Arr'bella goin' to marry Mr. Annybody? And is
Cornelia goin' to marry Sir Tickleham? And whether Mr. Wilfrud's goin'
to marry Lady Charlotte Chill'nworth? Becas, my dear, there's Arr'bella,
who's sharp, she is, as a North-easter in January, (which Chump 'd cry
out for, for the sake of his ships, poor fella--he kneelin' by 's bedside
in a long nightgown and lookin' just twice what he was!) she has me like
a nail to my vary words, and shows me that nothin' can happen betas o'
what I've said. And Cornelia--if ye'll fancy a tall codfish on its tail:
'Mrs. Chump, I beg ye'll not go to believe annything of me.' So I says
to her, 'Cornelia! my dear! do ye think, now, it's true that Chump went
and marrud his cook, that ye treat me so? becas my father,' I tell her,
'he dealt in porrk in a large way, and I was a fine woman, full of the
arr'stocracy, and Chump a little puffed-out bladder of a man.' So then
she says: 'Mrs. Chump, I listen to no gossup: listen you to no gossup.
'And Mr. Wilfrud, my dear, he sends me on the flat o' my back, laughin'.
And Ad'la she takes and turns me right about, so that I don't see the
thing I'm askin' after; and there's nobody but you, little Belloni, to
help me, and if ye do, ye shall know what the crumple of paper sounds
like."

Mrs. Chump gave a sugary suck with her tongue. Emilia returned the money
to her.

"Ye're foolush!" said Mrs. Chump. "A shut fist's good in fight and bad
in friendship. Do ye know that? Open your hand."

"Excuse me," persisted Emilia.

"Pooh! take the money, or I'll say ye're in a conspiracy to make me
blindman's-buff of the parrty. Take ut."

"I don't want it."

"Maybe, it's not enough?"

"I don't want any, ma'am."

"Ma'am, to the deuce with ye! I'll be callin' ye a forr'ner in a minute,
I will."

Emilia walked away from a volley of terrific threats.

For some reason, unfathomed by her, she wanted to be alone with Wilfrid
and put a question to him. No other, in sooth, than the infallible test.
Not, mind you, that she wished to be married. But something she had
heard (she had forgotten what it was) disturbed her, and that recent
trifling with pain, in her excess of happiness, laid her open to it. Her
heart was weaker, and fluttered, as if with a broken wing. She thought,
"if I can be near him to lean against him for one full hour!" it would
make her strong again. For, she found that if her heart was rising on a
broad breath, suddenly, for no reason that she knew, it seemed to stop in
its rise, break, and sink, like a wind-beaten billow. Once or twice, in
a quick fear, she thought: "What is this? Is this a malady coming before
death?" She walked out gloomily, thinking of the darkness of the world
to Wilfrid, if she should die. She plucked flowers, and then reproached
herself with plucking them. She tried to sing. "No, not till I have
been with him alone;" she said, chiding her voice to silence. A shadow
crossed her mind, as a Spring-mist dulls the glory of May. "Suppose all
singing has gone from me--will he love wretched me?"

By-and-by she met him in the house. "Come out of doors
to-night," she whispered.

Wilfrid's spirit of intrigue was never to be taken by surprise. "In the
wood, under the pine, at nine," he replied.

"Not there," said Emilia, seeing this place mournfully dark from
Cornelia's grief. "It is too still; say, where there's water falling.
One can't be unhappy by noisy water."

Wilfrid considered, and named Wilming Weir. "And there we'll sit and
you'll sing to me. I won't dine at home, so they won't susp-a-fancy
anything.--Soh! and you want very much to be with me, my bird? What am
I?" He bent his head.

"My lover."

He pressed her hand rapturously, half-doubting whether her pronunciation
of the word had not a rather too confident twang.

Was it not delightful, he asked her, that they should be thus one to the
other, and none know of it. She thought so too, and smiled happily,
promising secresy, at his request; for the sake of continuing so
felicitous a life.

"You, you know, have an appointment with Captain Gambier, and, I with
Lady Charlotte Chillingworth," said he. "How dare you make appointments
with a captain of hussars?" and he bent her knuckles fondlingly.

Emilia smiled as before. He left her with a distinct impression that she
did not comprehend that part of her lesson.

Wilfrid had just bled his father of a considerable sum of money; having
assured him that he was the accepted suitor of Lady Charlotte
Chillingworth, besides making himself pleasant in allusion to Mrs. Chump,
so far as to cast some imputation on his sisters' judgement for not
perceiving the virtues of the widow. The sum was improvidently large.
Mr. Pole did not hear aright when he heard it named. Even at the
repetition, he went: "Eh?" two or three times, vacantly. The amount was
distinctly nailed to his ear: whereupon he said, "Ah!--yes! you young
fellows want money: must have it, I suppose. Up from the bowels of the
earth Up from the--: you're sure they're not playing the fool with you,
over there?"

Wilfrid understood the indication to Stornley. "I think you need have no
fear of that, sir." And so his father thought, after an examination of
the youth, who was of manly shape, and had a fresh, non-fatuous, air.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6