# Romance and Reality (Landon)/Chapter 41

CHAPTER XVII.
"Oh, so vulgar!—such a set of horrors! Very common expression. "But passing rich."—Goldsmith.
It was just the end of July, and one of those tremendously hot weeks, which, once in a summer, remind our island that heat is as good for grumbling as cold. It passed as weeks do when all is hurry, confusion, and packing—when there are a thousand things to do, and another thousand left undone. It is amazing how long such a week seems—events lengthen the time they number: it is the daily and quiet round of usual occupation that passes away so quickly; it is the ordinary week which exclaims, "Good gracious! it is Saturday again."
The human heart is something like a watch; and Emily's advanced not a little in its usual pace, when, one morning, Lady Mandeville, on her return from a drive, said, "I have been ​accepting an invitation, in spite of all our good resolutions against that unnecessary waste of time—visiting. I often think, one makes resolutions to have the pleasure of breaking them; but this is really an urgent case: if we do not see the new Countess of Etheringhame this season, it admits, I think, of a question whether we shall next. I met her this morning, and she asked us in the name of charity. London is so empty, she is fearful of taking cold."
"I have heard that Lord Etheringhame was a man of the most recluse habits—what magic has turned him into the most dissipated?"
"'The power of grace, the magic of a name.'
His beautiful wife knows no rule but her own will, and no will but her own. Lord Etheringhame is the very man to be governed: his temper is discontented—he calls it sensitive; his habits self-indulged—he calls them refined; he has literary tastes—he calls them talents; he is indolent to an excess—he calls it delicacy of feeling, which unfits him for the world. He married with some romantic notion of domestic bliss, congenial tastes, moonlight walks, &c. Lady Etheringhame's reading of connubial felicity was different: first, the old Castle was ​abandoned for Park Lane—the moonlight walk for a midnight ball—and for congenial tastes, universal admiration. All this was very disagreeable to allow, but still more disagreeable to resist; and Lord Etheringhame is a cipher in his own house: the cipher gives value to the other figures, still it is a cipher after all."
"Well, Lord Etheringhame has all the milk of human kindness—to say nothing of the water," remarked Lord Mandeville; "but I do wish he was just master of some honeysuckle villa, and his brother in his place; though Lorraine's career will not be the less distinguished because he has to make it for himself."
Evening came, and with it the assemblage of Lady Etheringhame's few friends: few as there were, there were quite enow to draw from every one the exclamation of, "I could not have believed there were so many people in town." The Countess came forward to meet them, looking more beautiful than ever. But it was not now that Emily envied her beauty;—no philosopher like a girl in love, to feel, for the time being, utter indifference to all possible pomp and garniture.
Emily looked round the rooms, though, with ​sufficient anxiety: often did a sudden flush on the cheek involuntarily avow the deception of the eye; and more than once did the ear become quick, as it does when hope lends its charm to the listener: but it was in vain—and her spirits took a tone of despondency she would fain have entirely ascribed to fatigue;—when Adelaide approached. Now, the fair Countess had a little feminine pique to vent, and a woman's unkindly feelings are very unkind indeed; and that spirit of universal appropriation which belongs to insatiable vanity broke out in the following speech, aimed at Miss Arundel, though addressed to Lady Mandeville. "I dare say you expected to meet an old favourite of yours—by the by, he is almost always here—Lorraine; but, though I used the strong persuasion of your ladyship and his old friend Miss Arundel being expected, some rural whim seized him, and go he would for a few days from town." The Countess cast one look, and, in the deeper paleness of Emily's cheek, saw that her shaft had entered, and passed smilingly on. Another moment, and she was receiving as much pleasure as could be put into words from the flatteries unsparingly offered by the young Count Alfred de Merivale.
​ Once Emily was again startled into the belief of Lorraine's presence; a second and nearer glance shewed her mistake—it was his brother, whose likeness was as strong in feature as it was opposite in expression. The government of the mind is absolute, but nothing in its whole dominion does it modify as it does the face.
They left early, yet the evening had seemed interminable; and considering that Emily was niched between an inlaid table, on which stood a shepherd in a yellow jacket offering a China—Chinese I mean—rose to a shepherdess in green and pink—and a tea-pot, all exquisite Dresden specimens—and an old lady, of whose shawl and shoulders Emily had the full benefit, while her neighbour discussed with an elderly gentleman the vices and follies of the rising generation; and considering, also, that such conversation was more edifying than amusing, it is not so very wonderful that Emily found the evening somewhat dull. On their return home, however, she was greatly consoled by Lady Mandeville's reading aloud a billet from Edward Lorraine, regretting that unexpected business, which he had to transact for his brother, obliged him to go down to Etheringhame Castle; and expressing his hope and expectation that in a ​few months he should meet them on the Continent.
The next morning she had to see Mr. Delawarr as her guardian; some forms were necessary to go through; and accordingly to his residence she and Lady Mandeville drove—rather before their appointment. They had to wait a short period in the drawing-room. What a cold, uninhabited look now reigned through the magnificent apartments! There were no flowers—none of those ornamental trifles scattered round, which speak so much of pretty and feminine tastes—no graceful disorder—chairs, sofas, tables, all stood in their exact places. "I should never have thought," observed Lady Mandeville, "of missing Lady Alicia, unless I had come here."
The hurried track of the multitude soon effaces all trace of death; but here the past seemed preserved in the present. All was splendid, but all was silent; and a thousand monuments had not so forcibly brought back the dead, as did the loneliness of her once crowded rooms. Neither sat down, and neither spoke, but walked about the apartment with soft and subdued steps, as if in the very presence of the dead, before whom the common ​acts of life seem mockery. It was a relief to both to be told Mr. Delawarr waited in the library: they afterwards learnt he had never entered the drawing-room since his wife's death.
Nothing could be kinder or more affectionate than he was to Emily; still, there was an obvious change in himself. His general manner was colder, and more abrupt; he hurried the interview—he entered on no light or common topics of conversation—and at once avowed that his time was precious, and, almost before the door closed on his visitors, had earnestly resumed the business in which he was engaged on their entrance. "A statesman should have no feelings, no interests, no pleasures, but in the service of his country. Such," said Lady Mandeville, "Is the definition I once heard of a patriot. Mr. Delawarr bids fair to be that most inestimable but unattractive personage."
Every preparation was now made: one day more and they were at Dover, and the next they embarked on board the steam-packet. Water has long owned man's power, and now "bodiless air works as his servant,"—a dominion frail, perilous, subject to chance and change, as all human power must be, but still a mighty and glorious influence to exercise over ​what would seem to be least subservient to man's authority,—the elements. Yet a steam-boat is the last place in the world for these reflections: the ridiculous is the reality of the sublime, and its deck is a farce without spectators.
Lady Mandeville always lay down the moment she got on board ship; but Emily, who did not suffer at all, sat in the open travelling carriage, and indulged whatever of sentiment she or Lord Mandeville might feel at parting with the white cliffs of Albion. Their attention was, however, too much taken up with their fellow-passengers: a whiskered, cloaked, and cigared youth, with every thing military about him but the air:—a female in a dark silk, and plaid cloak, her face eloquent of bandboxes and business—an English milliner going over for patterns, which, with a little additional trimming, would be the glory of her future show-room.
But their chief attention was attracted by a family group. The father, a little fat man, with that air of small importance which says, "I'm well to do in the world—I've made my money myself—I don't care if I do spend some—it's a poor heart what never rejoices." The ​mother was crimson in countenance and pelisse, and her ample dimensions spoke years of peace and plenteousness. Every thing about her was, as she would have said, of the best; and careful attention was she giving to the safety of a huge hamper that had been deposited on deck. Two daughters followed, who looked as if they had just stepped out of the Royal Lady's Magazine—that is, the prevailing fashion exaggerated into caricature. Their bonnets were like Dominie Samson's ejaculation, "prodigious!"—their sleeves enormous—their waists had evidently undergone the torture of the thumb-screw—indeed they were even smaller—and their skirts had "ample verge and space enough" to admit of a doubt whether the latitude of their figure did not considerably exceed the longitude. Two small, mean-looking young men followed, whose appearance quite set the question at rest, that nature never intended the whole human race to be gentlemen. Blue-coated, brass-buttoned, there was nothing to remark in the appearance of either, excepting that, though the face of the one bore every indication of robust health, his head had been recently shaved, as if for a fever, which unlucky disclosure was made by a rope coming in awkward contact with his hat.
​ The wind was fair; and Lord Mandeville having gone to the head of the vessel, where he was engaged in conversation, Emily was left to watch the shore of France, to which they were rapidly approaching, when her meditations were interrupted by a coarse but good-humoured voice saying, "I wish, miss, you would find me a corner on them there nice soft cushions—my old bones aches with them benches." Emily, with that best politeness of youth which shews attention to age, immediately made room in the carriage for the petitioner, who turned out to be her of the crimson pelisse. "Monstrous pleasant seat," said the visitor, expanding across one side of the carriage. Emily bowed in silence; but the vulgar are always the communicative, and her companion was soon deep in all their family history. "That's my husband, Mr. H.: our name is Higgs, but I calls him Mr. H. for shortness. Waste makes want, you know—we should not be here pleasuring if we had ever wasted. And those are my sons: the eldest is a great traveller—I dare-say you have heard of him—Lord bless you! there isn't a hill in Europe, to say nothing of that at Greenwich, that he hasn't been up: you see he's a stout little ​fellow. Look, miss, at this box—it is made of the lather of Vesuvius, which he brought from Mont Blanc: he has been up to the very top of it, miss. I keep it for bones-bones."
So saying, she offered Emily some of the peppermint-drops it contained: these were civilly declined, and the box good-naturedly admired, which encouraged—though, Heaven knows, there was not much need—the old lady to proceed. "We always travel in the summer for improvement—both Mr. H. and I think a deal of larning: the boys have both been to grammar schools, and their two brothers are at the London Universary—only think, miss, of our city having a universary—Lord, Lord, but we do live in clever times."
Mrs. H. paused for a moment, as if overwhelmed with the glories of the London University; and conversation was renewed by Emily's inquiring "what part of the Continent they intended visiting?"
"Oh, we are going to Italy—I want to see what's at the end of it; besides, the girls mean to buy such a quantity of pearls at Rome. We intend giving a fancy ball this winter—we have got a good house of our own in Fitzroy Square— ​we can afford to let the young ones see a little pleasure."
"May I ask," said Emily,"what is Mr. Higgs's profession?"
"Indeed!" exclaimed his offended spouse, "he's not one of your professing sort—he never says what he doesn't mean—his word's as good as his bond through St. Mary Within, any day—professions, indeed! what has he ever professed to you?" Emily took her most conciliating tone, and, as unwilling duellists say, the explanation was quite satisfactory. "Bless your silly soul! his business you mean. You are just like my girls—I often tells them to run for the dictionary: to see the blessings of edication! Our childer are a deal more knowing than ourselves. But Mr. H.'s business—though I say it that shouldn't, there isn't a more thriving soap-boiler in the ward. Mr. H. wanted to go to Moscow for our summer tower (Moscow's the sea-port which sends us our tallow)—but I said, 'Lord, Mr. H.,' says I, 'what signifies making a toil of a pleasure?'"
"You are," said Emily, "quite a family party."
"I never lets Mr. H. leave me and the girls ​behind—no, share and share alike, says I—your wife has as good a right to go as yourself. I often tells him a bit of my mind in the old song—you know what it says for we women—that when Adam was created,
'We wasn't took out of his feet, sir,
 That we might be trampled upon;
But we was took out of the side, sir,
 His equals and partners to be:
So you never need go for to think, sir,
 That you are the top of the tree.'"
"Well," replied Emily, "I wish you much pleasure in Italy."
"Ah, miss, it was my son there that put it in our noddles to go to Italy first. Do you see that his head's shaved?—its all along of his taste for the fine arts. We've got his bust at home, and his hair was cut off to have his head and its bumps taken: they covered it all over with paste just like a pudding. Lord! his white face does look so queer in the front drawing-room—it's put on a marble pillar, just in the middle window—but, dear, I thought the people outside would like to see the great traveller."
But all conversation was put an end to by the Calais pier, and all was now the bustle ​and confusion of landing; but, even while in the very act of seeing with her own eyes to the safety of the portmanteau which contained her husband's flannel waistcoats, Mrs. Higgs turned round to Emily to say, "We shall be monstrous glad to see you in Fitzroy Square." What is the popularity of a patriot compared to that of a listener?
At Calais they landed and spent the night—Emily, at least, passed it half awake: she was too young, and had led too unvaried a life, not to feel in its utmost extent the excitement of arrival in a foreign country, a strange language, another clime, a complete change of daily habits—it was opening a new leaf in the book of life.