In which our heroine engages herself in a very unequal contest.
I must confess,” said miss Courteney, resuming her narrative, “that I had no inclination to engage in a religious dispute with a man whose learning and abilities furnished him with so many advantages over me; therefore whenever he gave the conversation that turn, I generally took refuge in silence, not being willing to hurt a cause I had so much at heart, by defending it weakly.
“However, I was often drawn in to answer by some apparent absurdity advanced by him, which it seemed mighty easy to refute. On these occasions Mr. Danvers would listen to me with wonderful attention, observe the most minute exactness in his reply, as if what I had urged had indeed great force: nay, he would sometimes seem a little prest by my arguments; pause for a few moments, as if he found it necessary to collect all his strength against so potent an adversary; and after a well-turned compliment on my understanding, he would resume the argument, in which he never failed to puzzle, though he could not convince me; but always concluded with a declaration that I was too hard for him, and it was well he had the best side of the argument, for nothing but truth could stand against such subtilty of reasoning.
“These praises always left me in a very good disposition to renew the subject whenever an opportunity offered. I began to be extremely fond of disputing with the chaplain; and, instead of shunning it, as I used to do, I even invited his opposition.
“I have heard it observed that vanity cheats many a woman out of her honour, I am sure it was well nigh cheating me out of my religion; for this jesuit, by his insidious praises, had given me such a confidence in my talent of reasoning, that I began to believe if he did not make a proselyte of me, I should certainly make one of him; and, in my eager pursuit of victory, I sometimes engaged myself beyond my strength, and received such checks, that if my faith was not overthrown, yet it was strangely staggered: but some disgust which I took to the manners of the chaplain preserved me from the poison of his doctrine, and made me lose all my relish for arguing with him.
“My aunt, who was certainly very desirous of my conversion, was much pleased with her chaplain’s zeal to forward so great a work; and that she might give no interruption to our discourse, she would often leave us alone for several hours together.
“At such times, the jesuit would be very lavish of his compliments and praises; of which my person would even come in for a share—He would gaze on my face till he lost the chain of his discourse, and, by his inattention to what he was saying, gave me many advantages over him; and often, while he was pursuing his argument with great warmth, he would lay his hand on mine, hold it for several minutes together, and press it so violently, that I could hardly help crying out.
“All this, however, would not have startled me; but one day, taking occasion upon something I had said to break into an exclamation of surprise, at my prodigious understanding, he kissed my hand in a kind of rapture; and having once taken this liberty, he repeated it several times, to my great confusion and surprise.
“These are suspicions, my dear, which, against persons of a certain character, one dare not even avow to one’s self. I was shocked, yet would not venture to examine why; I could never endure to be alone with him, yet never asked myself the reason; my eyes, as it were, mechanically avoided his; his civilities were odious to me. If he enquired after my health, I answered him coldly, without knowing I did so; and when he launched into any of his usual praises, I was downright rude to him, yet scarce perceived it myself.
“I now so carefully shunned being alone with him, that notwithstanding he sought opportunities of engaging me in private, which heightened my disgust, yet he never could find any. This conduct, if he had any guilt in his heart, must certainly give him cause to think I had detected it; and indeed I soon found, by my aunt’s altered behaviour, that he was endeavouring to undermine me in her affection.
“The little peevishness I observed in her towards me, I imputed at first to her chagrin, at my having disappointed her wishes in not becoming a convert to that religion she professed; but I soon found that she had been made to conceive strange notions of me. She objected to the gaiety of my disposition; she did not like that crowd of lovers, as she phrased it, that followed me, and were encouraged by my coquet airs, and the pleasure I shewed in being admired.
“It is certain, that the report of the fortune my aunt designed for me, procured me addresses from several men, whom as she did not approve, so neither did I encourage; having, in reality, none of that sort of vanity which is gratified by a great many pretenders of this kind, nor did I feel the least partiality to any one of them; so that I told her it would give me no uneasiness if she forbid their visits for the future, which, since I found they were disagreeable to her I would have done myself, if I had thought it became me to take that liberty in her house. This declaration would not satisfy my aunt: she had further views; I must marry, and she must choose a husband for me, without leaving me in an affair that so nearly concerned my happiness, even a negative voice.
“I have no doubt but that the person she pitched upon was recommended to her by the chaplain; he was a Roman catholic baronet, had a large estate, was not much above sixty years of age, his person just not horrible, and he was not quite a fool. This was the man whom my aunt proposed to me, or rather commanded me to accept; for he had modesty enough not to try to engage my affections, till he had secured her consent, and was admitted in form to make his addresses to me.
“My aunt indeed allowed that there was some disproportion in our years; but then he had a good estate, and I was wholly dependent upon her; his person, she acknowledged, was not very amiable, but he was a baronet, and could give me a title; to be sure, she said, he was not a man of bright parts, but he would make a good settlement on me; and concluded with assuring me, that my chearful consent would greatly endear me to her, which I should find by the disposition she would make in her will.
“My aunt, having thus anticipated every objection I could make, and, in her opinion, fully answered them all, I thought it would be to no purpose to dispute with her on points already decided; I therefore contented myself with declaring, that I could not like Sir Isaac Darby (for that was his name); that I should be miserable if I married him; that I was extremely happy in my present situation, and had no wish to change it.
“Lady Meadows, I perceived, was a little offended at this so positive a declaration; but, I had nothing for it but steadiness. I expected, said she, more compliance from that sweetness I have been fond of supposing in your temper, and from your good sense, a greater attention to your own interest. I assured her, that it was and ever should be my sincerest endeavour to avoid offending her; that I would admit no offer but such as she should approve; and that I would guard my heart against any preference which was not authorised by her; more than this I told her was not in my power to promise, for no consideration of interest could prevail upon me to give my hand to a man, whom it was impossible for me either to love or esteem.
“Finding she listened to me patiently, I urged every argument my imagination could furnish me with, to prove to her that such an engagement, entered into upon pecuniary motives only, could not be happy, and might be very miserable. I begged she would not think of disposing of me in marriage, till I seemed less satisfied with my present happy lot; and that, by giving me no superior duties in domestic life to fulfil, she might entitle herself to all my undivided cares, affection, and assiduity.
“My aunt seemed affected with what I said: she told me she had no intention of forcing my inclination; that, loving me so well as she did, it was natural for her to wish to see me settled; that Sir Isaac Darby was a very advantageous offer; she recommended to me to consider well what I refused, and to conquer my unreasonable dislike of him, if possible.
“If it were possible, madam, replied I, your command would make me attempt it, but—No more buts now, Henrietta, interrupted my aunt—Sir Isaac dines here to-day; remember I expect you will treat him civilly at least, since he has so great a regard for you.
“I smiled, courtesied, and went out of the room where this long conversation had been held; for I heard the chaplain’s step in my aunt’s dressing-room; and this being the hour when he generally joined us, I chose to avoid seeing him then, for fear he should prevail upon her to exact something more than civility from me to the odious wretch, who had thus bartered for me without my consent.
“I did not appear in the dining-room till dinner was ready to be served; my antiquated lover approached with a janty air, and a sliding bow; and O! don’t you pity me, my dear, kissed my hand, as he led me to my seat. Nothing but the respect I owed my aunt could have hindered me from laughing at this ridiculous display of gallantry in the old man; for age has no claim to our reverence, if not accompanied by those qualities from whence it derives its worth. Wisdom, gravity, experience, the triumph of reason over passions, prejudice, and folly: all these we expect to find in fulness of years, and these make its wrinkles not only respectable but even lovely.
“In Sir Isaac Darby, age was contemptible as well as unlovely; he wanted to be young, in spite of time; he talked and laughed aloud; he strutted about the room; he adjusted his bag, for he was drest up to five and twenty; he hummed a tune: I sat staring with astonishment at him.20
“From what had passed between my aunt and I in the morning, I had no reason to imagine that Sir Isaac would be treated as a declared and authorised lover; but some time after dinner was over, Mr. Danvers withdrew, and my aunt, upon some trifling pretence, following him, I was left alone with the old baronet. I would instantly have quitted the room; but, remembring that my aunt had required civility of me at least, I resolved not to affront him, by leaving him to himself; and since I was obliged to stay, I would draw some amusement from the ridiculous scene before me.
“I know not whether it was from any particular archness in my looks just then (for I had composed my countenance to a kind of forced gravity) or whether the old man was at a loss in what manner he should form his address; but it is certain, that all his confidence seemed now, for the first time, to forsake him, and he sat silent during several minutes, stealing a glance at me every now and then: while I, with a formal air, played my fan, and increased his confusion by my silence. At length he quitted his own chair for that which my aunt had sat in, and which was next me; and drawing it still nearer to me, he made a motion to take my hand, which I withdrew as hastily as if a snake had touched it.
“This action a little disconcerted him; but taking courage again, after a preluding hem, he began, Charming miss Courteney, I don’t doubt but lady Meadows has informed you of the violence of my—Here an unlucky cough interrupted his speech, and held him so long, that he grew black in the face; his endeavours to suppress it having, as I believe, almost choaked him. I rose up in a seeming fright, as if I had designed to call for assistance; but finding his cough had ceased, I sat down again at a greater distance than before.
“I fancy the town air does not agree with you, sir, said I, it is certainly very bad for asthmatical disorders.
“Oh, madam! said he, this is no asthma. I got a slight cold the other night at Spring-Gardens;21 for we staid very late, and the ground was damp: but I came off better than any of my companions, two or three of whom are still laid up with colds. But tell me, dear miss Courteney, did you receive favourably the declaration your aunt made in my name? may I hope, or am I doomed to despair? whined out the superannuated enamorato, with an hideous ogle, which he designed for a languish.
“Oh, good sir, replied I, excessively shocked at his folly, these Arcadian strains do not become your wisdom and gravity. My aunt did mention your proposals to me, but I cannot accept them; I have no inclination to change my condition.
“How admirably this pretty seriousness sits on those sweet features! said the wretch, looking confidently at me, without being in the least mortified with my rebuke. But, my dear miss Courteney, you must change your mind—indeed you must—and your condition too, my fair one.
“Perhaps I may, sir, said I.
“Oh, that charming perhaps! said he, it restores me to life.
“Was there ever any thing so provoking, my dear, I protest I could hardly help abusing the ridiculous old man.
“I really think, sir, said I, looking at him with infinite contempt, that my seriousness would become your age, as well as my youth; but, pursued I, rising, to put an end to all your hopes, be pleased to know, that I am determined never to give my hand till I can give my heart with it; for I have no notion of being perjured at the altar, and of vowing to love, honour, and obey, when it is impossible for me to do either.
“I went out of the room when I had said these words, leaving the baronet to mumble the ends of his fingers with his gums; for he affected to bite his nails, as some persons who really have teeth do, when they are angry.
“I met my aunt as I was going to my own chamber: What, Henrietta! said she, have you left Sir Isaac alone?—I suppose you have treated him rudely; but come, you must return with me—I will, if you insist upon it, madam, said I, but I had much rather be excused—Indeed! said my aunt, looking a little angrily on me, and with that grave face too, but I shall not insist upon it, miss, and so you may go up to your own room, if you please.
“Although I was very glad to be at liberty to retire, yet my aunt’s permission was given in such a manner that I saw she was offended with me for desiring it. I had experienced the obstinacy of her temper on several occasions; and I was convinced that if she set her heart upon marrying me to the baronet, she would use her utmost endeavours to carry her point, and the loss of her favour might probably be the consequence of her disappointment.”