Yes; I prefer association to gregariousness.
That is a distinction, said Egremont, musingly.
It is a community of purpose that constitutes society, continued the younger stranger; without that, men may be drawn into contiguity, but they still continue virtually isolated.
And is that their condition in cities?
It is their condition everywhere; but in cities that condition is aggravated. A density of population implies a severer struggle for existence, and a consequent repulsion of elements brought into too close contact. In great cities men are brought together by the desire of gain. They are not in a state of co-operation, but of isolation, as to the making of fortunes; and for all the rest they are careless of neighbours. Christianity teaches us to love our neighbour as ourself; modern society acknowledges no neighbour.
Well, we live in strange times, said Egremont, struck by the observation of his companion, and relieving a perplexed spirit by an ordinary exclamation, which often denotes that the mind is more stirring than it cares to acknowledge, or at the moment is capable to express.
When the infant begins to walk, it also thinks that it lives in strange times, said his companion.
Your inference? asked Egremont.
That society, still in its infancy, is beginning to feel its way.
This is a new reign, said Egremont, perhaps it is a new era.
I think so, said the younger stranger.
I hope so, said the elder one.
Well, society may be in its infancy, said Egremont slightly smiling; but, say what you like, our Queen reigns over the greatest nation that ever existed.
Which nation? asked the younger stranger, for she reigns over two.
The stranger paused; Egremont was silent, but looked inquiringly.
Yes, resumed the younger stranger after a moments interval. Two nations; between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each others habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets; who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws.
You speak of said Egremont, hesitatingly.
THE RICH AND THE POOR.
At this moment a sudden flush of rosy light, suffusing the grey ruins, indicated that the sun had just fallen; and through a vacant arch that overlooked them, alone in the resplendent sky, glittered the twilight star. The hour, the scene, the solemn stillness and the softening beauty, repressed controversy, induced even silence. The last words of the stranger lingered in the ear of Egremont; his musing spirit was teeming with many thoughts, many emotions; when from the Lady Chapel there rose the evening hymn to the Virgin. A single voice; but tones of almost supernatural sweetness; tender and solemn, yet flexible and thrilling.
Egremont started from his reverie. He would have spoken, but he perceived that the elder of the strangers had risen from his resting-place, and with downcast eyes and crossed arms, was on his knees. The other remained standing in his former posture.
The divine melody ceased; the elder stranger rose; the words were on the lips of Egremont, that would have asked some explanation of this sweet and holy mystery, when in the vacant and star-lit arch on which his glance was fixed, he beheld a female form. She was apparently in the habit of a Religious, yet scarcely could be a nun, for her veil, if indeed it were a veil, had fallen on her shoulders, and revealed her thick tresses of long fair hair. The blush of deep emotion lingered on a countenance, which though extremely young, was impressed with a character of almost divine majesty; while her dark eyes and long dark lashes, contrasting with the brightness of her complexion and the luxuriance of her radiant locks, combined to produce a beauty as rare as it is choice; and so strange, that Egremont might for a moment have been pardoned for believing her a seraph, that had lighted on this sphere, or the fair phantom of some saint haunting the sacred ruins of her desecrated fane.
Book 2 Chapter 6
I understand, then, said Lord Marney to his brother, as on the evening of the same day they were seated together in the drawing-room, in close converse I understand then, that you have in fact paid nothing, and that my mother will give you a thousand pounds. That wont go very far.
It will hardly pay for the chairing, said Egremont; the restoration of the family influence was celebrated on so great a scale.
The family influence must be supported, said Lord Marney, and my mother will give you a thousand pounds; as I said, that will not do much for you, but I like her spirit. Contests are very expensive things, yet I quite approve of what you have done, especially as you won. It is a great thing in these ten pound days to win your first contest, and shows powers of calculation which I respect. Everything in this world is calculation; there is no such thing as luck, depend upon it; and if you go on calculating with equal exactness, you must succeed in life. Now the question is, what is to be done with your election bills?
Exactly.
You want to know what I will do for you, or rather what I can do for you; that is the point. My inclination of course is to do everything for you; but when I calculate my resources, I may find that they are not equal to my inclination.
I am sure, George, you will do everything, and more than everything you ought.
I am extremely pleased about this thousand pounds of my mother, Charles.
Most admirable of her! But she always is so generous!
Her jointure has been most regularly paid, continued Lord Marney. Always be exact in your payments, Charles. There is no end to the good it produces. Now if I had not been so regular in paying my mother her jointure, she would not in all probability have been able to have given you this thousand pounds; and, therefore, to a certain extent, you are indebted for this thousand pounds to me.
Egremont drew up a little, but said nothing.
I am obliged to pay my mother her jointure, whether ricks are burnt or not, said Lord Marney. Its very hard, dont you think so?
But these ricks were Bingleys?
But he was not insured, and he will want some reduction in his rent, and if I do not see fit to allow it him, which I probably shall not, for he ought to have calculated on these things, I have ricks of my own, and they may be burnt any night.
But you, of course, are insured?
No, I am not; I calculate tis better to run the risk.
I wonder why ricks are burnt now, and were not in old days, said Egremont.
Because there is a surplus population in the kingdom, said Lord Marney, and no rural police in the county.
You were speaking of the election, George, said Egremont, not without reluctance, yet anxious, as the ice had been broken, to bring the matter to a result. Lord Marney, before the election, had written, in reply to his mother consulting him on the step a letter with which she was delighted, but which Egremont at the time could have wished to have been more explicit. However in the excitement attendant on a first contest, and influenced by the person whose judgment always swayed, and, in the present case, was peculiarly entitled to sway him, he stifled his scruples, and persuaded himself that he was a candidate not only with the sanction, but at the instance, of his brother. You were speaking of the election, George, said Egremont.
About the election, Charles. Well, the long and short of it is this: that I wish to see you comfortable. To be harassed about money is one of the most disagreeable incidents of life. It ruffles the temper, lowers the spirits, disturbs the rest, and finally breaks up ones health. Always, if you possibly can, keep square. And if by any chance you do find yourself in a scrape, come to me. There is nothing under those circumstances like the advice of a cool-headed friend.
As valuable as the assistance of a cold-hearted one, thought Egremont, who did not fancy too much the tone of this conversation.
But there is one thing of which you must particularly beware, continued Lord Marney, there is one thing worse even than getting into difficultiespatching them up. The patching-up system is fatal; it is sure to break down; you never get clear. Now, what I want to do for you, Charles, is to put you right altogether. I want to see you square and more than square, in a position which will for ever guarantee you from any annoyance of this kind.
He is a good fellow after all, thought Egremont.
That thousand pounds of my mother was very a propos, said Lord Marney; I suppose it was a sop that will keep them all right till we have made our arrangements.
Oh! there is no pressure of that kind, said Egremont; if I see my way, and write to them, of course they will be quite satisfied.
Excellent, said Lord Marney; and nothing could be more convenient to me, for, between ourselves, my balances are very low at this moment. The awful expenditure of keeping up this place! And then such terrible incumbrances as I came to!
Incumbrances, George! Why, I thought you had not any. There was not a single mortgage.
No mortgages; they are nothing; you find them, you get used to them, and you calculate accordingly. You quite forget the portions for younger children.
Yes; but you had plenty of ready money for them.
I had to pay them though, said Lord Marney. Had I not, I might have bought Grimblethorpe with the money; such an opportunity will never occur again.
But you talked of incumbrances, said Egremont.
Ah! my dear fellow, said Lord Marney, you dont know what it is to have to keep up an estate like this; and very lucky for you. It is not the easy life you dream of. Theres buildingsI am ruined in buildingsour poor dear father thought he left me Marney without an incumbrance; why, there was not a barn on the whole estate that was weather-proof; not a farm-house that was not half in ruins. What I have spent in buildings! And draining! Though I make my own tiles, draining, my dear fellow, is a something of which you have not the least idea!
Well, said Egremont, anxious to bring his brother back to the point, you think, then, I had better write to them and say
Ah! now for your business, said Lord Marney. Now, I will tell you what I can do for you. I was speaking to Arabella about it last night; she quite approves my idea. You remember the De Mowbrays? Well, we are going to stay at Mowbray Castle, and you are to go with us. It is the first time they have received company since their great loss. Ah! you were abroad at the time, and so you are behind hand. Lord Mowbrays only son, Fitz-Warene, you remember him, a deuced clever fellow, he died about a year ago, in Greece, of a fever. Never was such a blow! His two sisters, Lady Joan and Lady Maud, are looked upon as the greatest heiresses in the kingdom; but I know Mowbray well; he will make an eldest son of his eldest daughter. She will have it all; she is one of Arabellas dearest friends; and you are to marry her.
Egremont stared at his brother, who patted him on the back with an expression of unusual kindness, and adding, You have no idea what a load this has taken off my mind, my dear Charles; so great has my anxiety always been about you, particularly of late. To see you lord of Mowbray Castle will realize my fondest hopes. That is a position fit for a man, and I know none more worthy of it than yourself, though I am your brother who say so. Now let us come and speak to Arabella about it.
So saying, Lord Marney, followed somewhat reluctantly by his brother, advanced to the other end of the drawing-room, where his wife was employed with her embroidery-frame, and seated next to her young friend, Miss Poinsett, who was playing chess with Captain Grouse, a member of the chess club, and one of the most capital performers extant.
Well, Arabella, said Lord Marney, it is all settled; Charles agrees with me about going to Mowbray Castle, and I think the sooner we go the better. What do you think of the day after to-morrow? That will suit me exactly, and therefore I think we had better fix on it. We will consider it settled.
Lady Marney looked embarrassed, and a little distressed. Nothing could be more unexpected by her than this proposition; nothing more inconvenient than the arrangement. It was very true that Lady Joan Fitz-Warene had invited them to Mowbray, and she had some vague intention, some day or other, of deliberating whether they should avail themselves of this kindness; but to decide upon going, and upon going instantly, without the least consultation, the least inquiry as to the suitableness of the arrangement, the visit of Miss Poinsett abruptly and ungraciously terminated, for exampleall this was vexatious, distressing: a mode of management which out of the simplest incidents of domestic life contrived to extract some degree of perplexity and annoyance.
Do not you think, George, said Lady Marney, that we had better talk it over a little?
Not at all, said Lord Marney: Charles will go, and it quite suits me, and therefore what necessity for any consultation?
Oh! if you and Charles like to go, certainly. said Lady Marney in a hesitating tone; only I shall be very sorry to lose your society.
How do you mean lose our society Arabella? Of course you must go with us. I particularly want you to go. You are Lady Joans most intimate friend; I believe there is no one she likes so much.
I cannot go the day after to-morrow, said Lady Marney, speaking in a whisper, and looking volumes of deprecation.
I cannot help it, said Lord Marney; you should have told me this before. I wrote to Mowbray to-day, that we should be with him the day after to-morrow, and stay a week.
But you never mentioned it to me, said Lady Marney, slightly blushing and speaking in a tone of gentle reproach.
I should like to know when I am to find time to mention the contents of every letter I write, said Lord Marney; particularly with all the vexatious business I have had on my hands to-day. But so it is; the more one tries to save you trouble, the more discontented you get.
No, not discontented, George.
I do not know what you call discontented; but when a man has made every possible arrangement to please you and every body, and all his plans are to be set aside merely because the day he has fixed on does not exactly suit your fancy, if that be not discontent, I should like very much to know what is, Arabella.
Lady Marney did not reply. Always sacrificed, always yielding, the moment she attempted to express an opinion, she ever seemed to assume the position not of the injured but the injurer.
Arabella was a woman of abilities, which she had cultivated. She had excellent sense, and possessed many admirable qualities; she was far from being devoid of sensibility; but her sweet temper shrank from controversy, and Nature had not endowed her with a spirit which could direct and control. She yielded without a struggle to the arbitrary will and unreasonable caprice of a husband, who was scarcely her equal in intellect, and far her inferior in all the genial qualities of our nature, but who governed her by his iron selfishness.