The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth Volume I Part 12

All kinds of tables, broken and stowed on top of each other, and parts of looking-gla.s.ses, looking as if they had been there a hundred years, and jelly gla.s.ses on a gla.s.s stand, as if somebody had supped there the night before. Turn from the study and you see a staircase, more like a step-ladder, very narrow, but one could squeeze up at a time, by which we went into a place like that you may remember at the post-house in the Low Countries--two chambers, if chambers they could be called, quite remote from the rest of the house, low ceilings, strange sc.r.a.ps of many-coloured paper on the walls, an old camp bed, a feather bed with half the feathers out; one window, low, but wide.

"Out of that window," said my aunt, "as Isabella told us, the corpse was carried."

"Who is Isabella?" cried I; but before my aunt could answer I was struck with new wonder at the sight of two French looking-gla.s.ses, in gilt frames, side by side, reaching from the ceiling to the floor, and placed exactly opposite the bed! [Footnote: This mysterious apartment had belonged to a poor crazed lady who died there, and who had, as Isabella, the gardener's wife, related, a pa.s.sion for fine papers, different patterns of which were put on the walls to please her, and also the French mirrors, on which she delighted to look from her bed. And when she died her coffin was, to avoid the crooked pa.s.sages, taken out of the window.]

I was now so tired that I could neither see, hear, nor understand, imagine, or wonder any longer. Sophy somehow managed to get my clothes off, and literally put me into bed. The images of all these people and things flitted before my eyes for a few seconds, and then I was fast asleep.

Mrs. and Miss Fortescue came in the morning, and among other things mentioned the fancy ball in Dublin. Mrs. Sheridan [Footnote: Mrs. Tom Sheridan.] was the handsomest woman there. The d.u.c.h.ess of Bedford was dressed as Mary Queen of Scots, and danced with Lord Darnley. At supper the d.u.c.h.ess _motioned_ to Lady Darnley to come to her table; but Lady Darnley refused, as she had a party of young ladies. The d.u.c.h.ess reproached her rather angrily. "Oh," said Lady Darnley, "when the Queen of Scots was talking to Darnley, it would not have done for me to have been too near them."

MRS. EDGEWORTH _to_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 3, 1806._

We were at Gaybrook when your letter came, and when the good news of Miss Pakenham's happiness arrived: [Footnote: Catherine, second daughter of the second Lord Longford, married, 10th April 1806, Sir Arthur Wellesley, afterwards the first and great Duke of Wellington. He had, at this time, just returned from India, after a stay of eleven years.] it was announced there in a very pleasant, sprightly letter from your friend Miss Fortescue. Your account of the whole affair is really admirable, and is one of those tales of real life in which the romance is far superior to the generality of fictions. I hope the imaginations of this hero and heroine have not been too much exalted, and that they may not find the enjoyment of a happiness so long wished for inferior to what they expected. Pray tell dear good Lady Elizabeth we are so delighted with the news, and so engrossed by it, that, waking or sleeping, the image of Miss Pakenham swims before our eyes. To make the romance perfect we want two material doc.u.ments--a description of the person of Sir Arthur, and a knowledge of the time when the interview after his return took place.

MARIA _to_ MRS. EDGEWORTH.

ALLENSTOWN, _May-day, 1806._

Dr. Beaufort, tell Charlotte, saw Sir Arthur Wellesley at the Castle: handsome, very brown, quite bald, and a hooked nose. He could not travel with Lady Wellesley; he went by the mail. He had overstayed his leave a day. She travelled under the care of his brother, the clergyman.

_To_ MISS MARGARET RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _May 23, 1806._

I have been laughed at most unmercifully by some of the phlegmatic personages round the library table for my impatience to send you _The Mine._ "Do you think Margaret cannot live five minutes longer without it? Saddle the mare, and ride to Dublin, and thence to Black Castle or Chantony with it, my dear!"

I bear all with my accustomed pa.s.siveness, and am rewarded by my father's having bought it for me; and it is now at Archer's for you.

Observe, I think the poem, as a drama, tiresome in the extreme, and absurd, but I wish you to see that the very letters from the man in the quick-silver mine which you recommended to me have been seized upon by a poet of no inferior genius. Some of the strophes of the fairies are most beautifully poetic.

Lady Elizabeth Pakenham told us that when Lady Wellesley was presented to the Queen, Her Majesty said, "I am happy to see you at my court, so bright an example of constancy. If anybody in this world deserves to be happy, you do." Then Her Majesty inquired, "But did you really never write _one_ letter to Sir Arthur Wellesley during his long absence?"--"No, never, madam."--"And did you never think of him?

"--"Yes, madam, very often."

I am glad constancy is approved of at courts, and hope "the bright example" may be followed.

_To_ MISS SOPHY RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _July 12, 1806._

This is the third sheet of paper in the smallest hand I could write I have had the honour within these three days to spoil in your service, stuffed full of geological and chemical facts, which we learned from our two philosophical travellers, Davy and Greenough; but when finished I persuaded myself they were not worth sending. Many of the facts I find you have in Thomson and Nicholson, which, "owing to my ignorance," as poor Sir Hugh Tyrold would say, "I did not rightly know."

Our travellers have just left us, and my head is in great danger of bursting from the multifarious treasures that have been stowed and crammed into it in the course of one week. Mr. Davy is wonderfully improved since you saw him at Bristol: he has an amazing fund of knowledge upon all subjects, and a great deal of genius. Mr. Greenough has not, at first sight, a very intelligent countenance, yet he _is_ very intelligent, and has a good deal of literature and anecdote, foreign and domestic, and a taste for wit and humour. He has travelled a great deal, and relates well. Dr. Beddoes is much better, but my father does not think his health safe. I am very well, but shamefully idle: indeed, I have done nothing but hear; and if I had had a dozen pair extraordinary of ears, and as many heads, I do not think I could have heard or held all that was said.

_To_ MISS RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Feb. 1807._

While Charlotte [Footnote: Charlotte Edgeworth, the idol and beauty of the family, died, after a long illness, 7th April 1807.] was pretty well we paid our long-promised visit to Coolure, and pa.s.sed a few very pleasant days there. Admiral Pakenham is very entertaining, and appears very amiable in the midst of his children, who doat on him. He spoke very handsomely of your darling brother, and diverted us by the mode in which he congratulated Richard on his marriage: "I give you joy, my good friend, and I am impatient to see the woman who has made an honest man of you."

Colonel Edward Pakenham burned his instep by falling asleep before the fire, out of which a turf fell on his foot, and so he was, luckily for us, detained a few days longer and dined and breakfasted at Coolure. He is very agreeable, and unaffected, and modest, after all the flattery he has met with. [Footnote: Colonel, afterwards Sir Edward Pakenham, distinguished in the Peninsular War, fell in action at New Orleans, 8th January 1815.]

_To_ MRS. RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Sept. 1807._

My beloved aunt and friend--friend to my least fancies as well as to my largest interests,--thank you for the six fine rose-trees, and thank you for the little darling double-flowering almond tree. Sneyd asked if there was nothing for him? so I very generously gave him the polyanthuses and planted them with my own hands at the corners of his garden pincus.h.i.+ons.

Mr. Hammond may satisfy himself as to the union of commerce and literature by simply reading the history of the Medici, where commerce, literature, and the arts made one of the most splendid, useful, and powerful coalitions that ever were seen in modern times. Here is a fine sentence! Mr. Hammond once, when piqued by my raillery, declared that he never in his life saw, or could have conceived, till he saw me, that a _philosopher_ could laugh so much and so heartily.

Enclosed I send a copy of an epitaph written by Louis XVIII., on the Abbe Edgeworth; I am sure the intention does honour to H.M. heart, and the critics here say the Latin does honour to H.M. head. William Beaufort, who sent it to my father, says the epitaph was communicated to him by a physician at Cork, who being a Roman Catholic of learning and foreign education, maintains a considerable correspondence in foreign countries.

_To_ HENRY EDGEWORTH, IN LONDON.

PAKENHAM HALL,

_Christmas Day_, 1807.

A Merry Christmas to you, my dear Henry and Sneyd! I wish you were here at this instant, and you would be sure of one; for this is really the most agreeable family and the pleasantest and most comfortable castle I ever was in.

We came here yesterday--the _we_ being Mr. and Mrs. Edgeworth, Honora, and me. A few minutes after we came, arrived Hercules Pakenham--the first time he had met his family since his return from Copenhagen. My father has scarcely ever quitted his elbow since he came, and has been all ear and no tongue.

Lady Wellesley was prevented by engagements from joining this party at Pakenham Hall; both the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Richmond are so fond of her as no tongue can tell. The Duke must have a real friends.h.i.+p for Sir Arthur; for while he was at Copenhagen his Grace did all the business of his office for him.

_To_ C. SNEYD EDGEWORTH, IN LONDON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _Jan. 1, 1808._

A Happy New Year to you, my dear Sneyd. It is so dark, I can hardly see to write, and it has been pouring such torrents of rain, hail, and snow, that I began to think, with John Langan, that the "old prophecies found in a bog" were all accomplis.h.i.+ng, and that Slievegaulry was beginning to set out [Footnote: An old woman had, before Christmas, gone about the neighbourhood saying that, on New Year's Day, Slievegaulry, a little hill about five miles from Edgeworthstown, would come down with an earthquake, and settle on the village, destroying everything.] on its proposed journey. My mother has told you about these predictions, and the horror they have spread through the country _entirely._ The old woman who was the cause of the mischief is, I suppose, no bigger than a midge's wing, as she has never been found, though diligent search has been made for her. Almost all the people in this town sat up last night to _receive_ the earthquake.

We have had the same physiognomical or character-telling _fishes_ that you described to Honora. Captain Hercules Pakenham brought them from Denmark, where a Frenchman was selling them very cheap. Those we saw were pale green and bright purple. They are very curious: my father was struck with them as much, or more, than any of the children; for there are some wonders which strike in proportion to the knowledge, instead of the ignorance, of the beholders. Is it a leaf? Is it galvanic? What is it? I wish Henry would talk to Davy about it. The fish lay more quiet in my father's hand than could have been expected; only curled up their tails on my Aunt Mary's; tolerably quiet on my mother's; but they could not lie still one second on William's, and went up his sleeve, which I am told their German interpreters say is the worst sign they can give.

My father suggested that the different degrees of dryness or moisture in the hands cause the emotions of these sensitive fish, but after _drying_ our best, no change was perceptible. I thought the pulse was the cause of their motion, but this does not hold, because my pulse is slow, and my father's very quick. It was ingenious to make them in the shape of fish, because their motions exactly resemble the breathing, and panting, and floundering, and tail-curling of fish; and I am sure I have tired you with them, and you will be sick of these fish. [Footnote: It was afterwards ascertained that these conjuring fish had been brought from j.a.pan by the Dutch, and were made of horn cut extremely thin. Their movements were occasioned, as Mr. Edgeworth supposed, from the warm moisture of the hand, but depended upon the manner in which they were placed. If the middle of the fish was made to touch the warmest part of the hand, it contracted, and set the head and tail in motion.]

_To_ MISS RUXTON.

EDGEWORTHSTOWN, _April 1808._

We have just had a charming letter from Mrs. Barbauld, in which she asks if we have read _Marmion_, Mr. Scott's new poem: we have not. I have read _Corinne_ with my father, and I like it better than he does. In one word, I am dazzled by the genius, provoked by the absurdities, and in admiration of the taste and critical judgment of Italian literature displayed through the whole work. But I will not I dilate upon it in a letter; I could talk of it for three hours to you and my aunt. I almost broke my foolish heart over the end of the third volume, and my father acknowledges he never read anything more pathetic.

Pray remember my garden when the Beauforts come to us. It adds very much to my happiness, especially as Honora and all the children have shares in it, and I a.s.sure you it is very cheerful to see the merry, scarlet-coated, busy little workwomen in their territories, sowing, and weeding, and transplanting hour after hour.