 | CHAPTER III. Clarence, or, A tale of our own times |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
“Il faut briguer Ia faveur de ceux à qui l'on vent de bien, plûtot
que de ceux de qui l'on espère du bien.”
La Bruyere.
On the morning following their rencontre, Layton
sent a half apologetic letter to Roscoe. The
conflict was apparent between his sense of justice
and gentlemanly feeling on the one side, and his
pride and humiliation on the other. Roscoe was
satisfied, and heartily pitied him, but of course there
could be no renewal of their intercourse. Mrs.
Layton deplored the privation of Roscoe's exciting
society, and after deeply considering how she could
best solace herself for the loss, she addressed a letter
to Gertrude Clarence, to which the following is a
reply:
Miss Clarence to Mrs. Layton.
“My dear friend—It is almost cruel of you to
“enforce your kind invitation with such glowing
“pictures of the variety and excitement of a winter
“in New York, and quite barbarous to ask me if I
“do not begin to feel the ennui of country life, when
“I am obliged to confess that I do. Since my return
“from Trenton, I have felt a craving that `country“contentments'
do not satisfy. I used to go round
“and round in the same circle, and experience nei
“ther satiety nor deficiency. I read and study as
“usual with my father, but the spirit is gone. I
“our simple village friends, and could, without
“effort, manifest the expected interest in the suc
“cess of an application for a new bank, or turn
“pike-road, or the formation of a new `society.'
“I could listen with becoming attention to Col.
“Norton's stories of the revolution, though I knew
“them all by heart—to good old Mrs. Wyman's
“graphic details of her anomalous diseases, and
“even to your friend Mrs. Upton's domestic chro
“nicles. I have ridden half a dozen miles to find
“out whether our pretty little busy bee, Sally Ellis,
“or her bouncing notable rival obtained the pre
“mium for the best flannel at the fair, and—dare I
“confess it to you, Mrs. Layton?—I have been as
“eager to know which of our rustic friends re
“ceived the premiums of the Agricultural Society
“—premiums for rich crops and fat bullocks—as if
“they were the crowns decreed in Olympian games.
“But, alas! it is all over now—these things move
“me no longer. I have not opened my piano since
“the Marions left us, and my drawing, my former
“delight, I have abandoned. It is too indissolubly
“associated with the sad memory of Louis Seton.
“If you love me, my dear Mrs. Layton, spare me
“any farther raillery on this subject—I cannot
“bear it. I have known nothing in my short life,
“so painful as being the accidental cause of suffer
“ing to a mind, pure, elevated, and susceptible as
“Louis Seton's, and certainly nothing so perplex
“ing to my faith, as that such a mind should be
“doomed to misery! My father, who is my ora
“cle in all dark matters, says these are mysteries of
“are here as travellers in a strange and misty
“country, where objects are seen obscurely, and
“their relations and dependencies are quite hidden.
“But we are safe while we fix the eye of faith on
“the goodness of Providence—His perfect, illimit
“able, and immutable goodness. This is the bea
“con-light—the central truth of the moral universe.
“I am announcing high speculations in a very
“metaphysical sort of a way; but I am as the
“humble cottager who receives through her narrow
“window a few rays of light—few, but sufficient to
“brighten her small sphere of duty, and to preserve
“her from either faltering or fear.
“Why do I not hear from my dear Emilie?
“Why are you silent in relation to her? Must I
“give the natural interpretation to this silence?
“Marion staid with us a month, and though we
“made every effort to animate him, his melancholy
“did not relax in the least. I wish, if you have an
“apt occasion, you would assure Mr. Gerald Ros
“coe that he has been misinformed—that Randolph
“Marion has not been `paying his court to the
“great heiress.' I believe I quote Mr. Roscoe's
“flattering words. Poor Randolph! his destiny
“is a far more enviable one, suffering as it may be,
“than a heartless devotion to an heiress.”
“I was interrupted by a summons from my fa
“ther. He has made it his request that I should
“accept your invitation. You know I could only
“go by his request. `He cannot,' he says, `stay at
“Clarenceville without me, and a tour through the
“is all delightfully arranged, and I shall be with
“you in the course of ten days.
“My father's southern tour may confirm your
“suspicions in relation to Miss Marion. You cer
“tainly condole with me, most gracefully, on the
“prospect of a step-mother, and the possible con
“tingency of a divided, and subdivided inherit
“ance. Honestly, my dear Mrs. Layton, such
“probabilities would, in my opinion, make me a
“subject rather of congratulation, than condolence.
“Miss Marion's visit to us has confirmed all my
“predilections in her favor. She is intelligent, ac
“tive, and gay. Her gaiety is the sparkling of a
“clear and pure fountain—and, my father says, the
“result of a happy physical constitution; for you
“know, he thinks with the French-woman, `que
“tout cela dépend de la maniére que le sang circule.'
“You may think this view of my friend precludes
“sentiment—or that my father is past the period of
“romantic attachment; but I doubt if age, or ac
“cident, or any thing but voluntary abuse, can
“deprive the affections of their finest essence.
“There is, I assure you, in neither party a want of
“sentiment, nor an excess of it—no obstacle what
“ever to the event you predict, but such as the
“world never takes account of when it sends forth
“its rumors. The parties themselves have never
“thought of it, and have both an entire indisposi
“tion to matrimony. These, you know, may be as
“effective obstacles as that only one which poor Sir
“Hugh's benevolent efforts could not overcome in
“the case of Dr. Orkborne and Miss Margland—
“their `mortal mutual aversion.'
“But I am spinning out my letter when my
“thoughts are busy with the delight of seeing you.
“Adieu then till we meet. My tenderest love to
“Emilie.
down and resuming it half a dozen times, added the
following postscript. Every body knows a lady's
P. S. contains that which is nearest her heart. “P. S. I am exceedingly obliged to you, my
“dear Mrs. L., for your assurance that you have
“been mindful of my request that you would not
“mention to your friend, G. R., the fact of my
“having been at Trenton with you. You ridicule
“what you call a `true femality,' and define that
“to be something without rhyme or reason. But
“you say you love me the better for it, and I am
“content with whatever produces this result. “G. C.”
At the appointed time Miss Clarence arrived in
New York, and was welcomed by Mrs. Layton and
Emilie with unequivocal demonstrations of joy.
Mr. Layton, too, received her with the courtesy of
a man of the world. Scarcely aware of the strength
of her prejudices against him, she was surprised at
his agreeable exterior, and bland manners. He had
originally been very handsome, and though his
heavy drooping eye-lids, and mottled cheek, indicated
a man of irregular habits, his features still retained
the beauty of symmetry, and his figure the
ease and grace of a man of fashion.
There was an air of luxury and refinement in Mrs.
Layton's establishment, beyond that usually produced
by the union of fortune and fashion. Her
taste and imagination, and that love of the recherchée,
that is perhaps a subtle form of vanity,
had led her to avoid whatever was common-place.
Even the names of her children indicated her artificial
taste. She relieved the simplicity of Emily, a
name adopted in compliment to her grandmother, by
giving it a French termination; and subsequently
gratified her fancy by selecting for her younger
children the rare names of Gabrielle, Victorine,
Julian, and Eugene. In the arrangement of her
house, she avoided the usual modes of vulgar
wealth. She tolerated no servile imitation of French
ornament; no vases of flaunting artificial flowers, in
full eternal bloom; no pier tables covered with
French china, kept for show, not `wisely,' and looking
much like a porcelain dealer's specimens,
or a little girl's baby-house; no guady time-piece,
confounding all mythology, or, like the Roman
Pantheon, embracing all; in short, there was nothing
common-place, nothing that indicated the uninspired,
undirected art of the fabricator. The very
curtains and carpets betrayed, in their web, the fancy
of the fair mistress of the mansion. There were
few ornaments in the apartments, but they were of
the most exquisite and costly kinds. Lamps of the
purest classic form—the prettiest alumette cases and
fire-skreens that ever came from the hand of a gifted
Parisienne—flowers compounded of shells, and
wrought into card-racks, that might have served
the pretty Naiads themselves, if perchance visiting
Cupid, of Italian sculpture, bearing on his wing
a time-piece, and looking askance, with a mischievous
smile, at this emblem of the sternest of
tyrants.
On a pedestal in one corner of one of the drawing-rooms,
stood a bust of the Princess Borghese,
said to bear a striking resemblance to Mrs. Layton,
and on that account presented to her by a
young Italian, who had given her lessons, en amateur,
in his native language. Opposite to it was
a Cupid and Psyche.
Connected with the drawing-rooms there was a
library, filled with the flowers of foreign literature,
and the popular productions of the day, and
embellished with a veiled copy of Vanderlyn's
Ariadne, and a beautiful portrait of Mrs. Layton,
in the character of Armida. We do not furnish
inventories, but merely data, to indicate the character
of that establishment in which our heroine
was now to be introduced to the society of New
York. So much of it as was comprised within
the large and fashionable circle of Mrs. Layton's
acquaintance, poured in upon her on the first notice
of her arrival, to offer courtesies in every accredited
form.
Mr. Clarence was detained for a few days in
Albany. When he rejoined his daughter in New
York, and as soon as the first greetings were over,
he said, “Of course, my child, you have explained
to Gerald Roscoe the Trenton affair?”
We ought to state, that Gertrude after the disappearance
story of the eventful night at Trenton. We will
not say that she was quite as confidential to him as
we have been to our readers, but she was as much
so as could reasonably be expected; that is, she
communicated the leading facts, which bore about
the same proportion to the emotions they had elicited,
as a little fire does to the volume of smoke that
evolves from it. Gertrude replied to her father's
interrogatory, “I have not seen Mr. Roscoe.”
“Not seen him! that's most extraordinary. He
certainly knows you are in town, for he has replied
to the letter I sent by you. My child! you are
ruining the lock of that work-box.”
She was zealously turning and re-turning the
key. “Mr. Roscoe does not, I believe, visit here
now,” she replied; “Mrs. Layton says he has some
coolness with her husband.”
“That's no reason why he should not pay his
respects to you. Of course Mrs. Roscoe has
called?”
“No, papa—she does not visit Mrs. Layton.”
“Nonsense! my oldest and dearest friends to
stand on such punctilios as these; I do not understand
it—it is not like them. I shall go immediately
and find out the meaning of it.”
“Oh, papa!” Gertrude checked the remonstrance
that rose to her lips, and merely said, “At
least, I beg you will say nothing to Gerald Roscoe
of my having been the person whom he met at
Trenton.”
“Certainly not—if you choose to have the pleasure
of surprising him when you meet—well, there's
a quest that was destined to prove rather unsatisfactory.
Gertrude mistook in supposing that Mrs. Roscoe
had not called on her. Eager to see and to pay
every respect to the daughter of her friend, she went
to Mrs. Layton's on the very first day of Gertrude's
arrival. Miss Clarence was at home, but it did not
quite suit the convenience of the servant, whose
affairs were in arrears, that she should be so, and he
refused her, received Mrs. Roscoe's card, and suppressed
it. On the following day Mrs. Roscoe
wrote a note to Miss Clarence, saying, that she was
unfortunately prevented by indisposition from repeating
her call on that day, expressing her earnest
desire to see her, &c. &c. The note was sent, but
mislaid at Mrs. Layton's, and never reached Gertrude.
Two days after she again called, was told
Miss Clarence was at home, and was shown into the
parlor, and announced to Miss Layton, who was
receiving morning company. Mrs. Layton was not
present. Miss Layton did not know Mrs. Roscoe,
and did not hear the name distinctly; and the coldness
and seeming indifference which the poor girl
now manifested alike to all, Mrs. Roscoe fancied
was marked to her. Visiter after visiter appeared.
It chanced that there were one or two among them,
who had formerly courted even a look from Mrs.
Roscoe, and who now recognised her with a supercilious
bow, or what is far more annoying, a greeting
evidently meant to be condescending. Mrs.
Roscoe was entirely superior to their slights or favors,
but not to being disturbed by their ignorance
them and, with her impatience aggravated
by these little irritations, she sat for a full half hour
watching every opening of the door. No one can
possibly estimate, or it may be, excuse her vexation,
who has not waited for half an hour, and at the end
of it been told, as she was, by the heedless servant,
“Oh, ma'am, I thought you inquired for the ladies
—Miss Clarence is not at home.” Miss Layton
now perceived that the lady had suffered some
negligence, and she advanced with an apology.
Mrs. Roscoe left her compliments for Miss Clarence,
and withdrew. Pedrillo entered as Mrs. Roscoe
retired, and so suddenly and completely displaced
her image, that Emilie never thought of her again.
These little mistakes and neglects left both parties
with the impression that each was aggrieved. Gertrude,
of course, never returned the visits, and Mrs.
Roscoe did not repeat them.
Mr. Clarence went to Mrs. Roscoe's lodgings, in
the full confidence of a satisfactory éclaircissement.
He was sincerely and deeply attached to the Roscoes;
and certainly, the strongest wish of his heart,
was, that his daughter should be favorably known
to them; but he was far too proud of her, and too
delicate, to solicit even Gerald Roscoe's attentions.
He was told that Mrs. Roscoe was at home, but
`engaged.' He sent up his card, with a request to
see her. She was really indispensably engaged,
but she did not think it worth while to detain him
with an explanation of particulars; and she returned
word that she was extremely sorry, but she could
not then see Mr. Clarence. He left a request that
of the day, and went away more annoyed than he
was willing to admit, even to himself.
Roscoe was out of town, and did not return till
late at night. In the morning, before breakfast, he
called on Mr. Clarence. Before breakfast, as our
readers well know, was the dark hour to Mr. Clarence.
Instead of meeting Roscoe with the cordial
greeting he anticipated, he received him coldly, and
pettishly, and proceeded immediately to talk of some
business concerns, that required Roscoe's immediate
attention, as Mr. Clarence was to leave town in
the twelve o'clock boat.
Roscoe was hurt and disappointed by Mr. Clarence'
reception. He had cherished a filial affection for him;
and shocked by his apparent indifference, he forgot
to account for his not having called the day before.
He thought Mr. Clarence betrayed an undue interest
about his pecuniary concerns—`this detestable
money!' he said to himself, `it spoils every body!'
He left Mr. Clarence to execute his business, and
engaged to meet him again at the boat. He encountered
some unexpected delays, and just got to
the wharf in time to exchange one word with Mr.
Clarence, as the boat, like a hound springing from
his leash, darted away.
`Adieu,' thought Mr. Clarence, as he returned Roscoe's
farewell bow, `to my long cherished hopes.
What folly ever to stake our happiness on that which
depends on the mind of another. Well, certainly
the Roscoes were the last persons, whose coldness
and negligence, I should have expected.'
The circumstances here detailed, may seem very
trifling; but has not many a friendship been wrecked
by mistakes and misconceptions as trifling; and
should not those who know the value of this treasure,
carefully guard it, and maintain it, on an elevation
which these earthly vapors cannot reach.
| CHAPTER III. Clarence, or, A tale of our own times | |