“These roses. In Berkeley’s Utopia, which he calls Mezzorania—(every philosopher, you know, Mr. Dashwood, must have a Utopia, under whatever name he pleases to call it)—in Mezzorania, Lady Augusta, gentlemen did not, as amongst us, make declarations of love by artificial words, but by natural flowers{4}. The lover in the beginning of his attachment declared it to his mistress by the offer of an opening bud; if she felt favourably inclined towards him, she accepted and wore the bud. When time had increased his affection—for in Mezzorania it is supposed that time increases affection for those that deserve it—the lover presented a half-blown flower; and, after this also was graciously accepted, he came, we may suppose not very long afterwards, with a full-blown flower, the emblem of mature affection. The ladies who accepted these full-blown flowers, and wore them, were looked upon amongst the simple Mezzoranians as engaged for life; nor did the gentlemen, when they offered their flowers, make one single protestation or vow of eternal love, yet they were believed, and deserved, it is said, to be believed.”
{Footnote 4: Gaudentio di Lucca, p. 202.}
“Qu’est ce que c’est? Qu’est ce que c’est?” repeated mademoiselle several times to Dashwood, whilst Mr. Mountague was speaking: she did not understand English sufficiently to comprehend him, and Dashwood was obliged to make the thing intelligible to her in French. Whilst he was occupied with her, Mr. Mountague gathered three roses, a bud, a half-blown and a full-blown rose, and playfully presented them to Lady Augusta for her choice.—“I’m dying to see this Gaudentio di Lucca; you’ll get the book for me to-morrow from Miss Helen Temple, will you?” said Lady Augusta, as she with a coquettish smile took the rose-bud, and put it into her bosom.
“Bon!” cried mademoiselle, stooping to pick up the full-blown rose, which Mr. Mountague threw away carelessly. “Bon! but it is great pity dis should be thrown away.”
“It is not thrown away upon Mlle. Panache!” said Dashwood.
“Dat maybe,” said mademoiselle; “but I observe, wid all your fine compliment, you let me stoop to pick it up for myself—á l’Anglaise!”
“A la Française, then,” said Dashwood, laughing, “permit me to put it into your nosegay.”
“Dat is more dan you deserve,” replied mademoiselle.—“Eh! non, non. I can accommodate it, I tell you, to my own taste best.” She settled and resettled the flower: but suddenly she stopped, uttered a piercing shriek, plucked the full-blown rose from her bosom, and threw it upon the ground with a theatrical look of horror. A black earwig now appeared creeping out of the rose; it was running away, but mademoiselle pursued, set her foot upon it, and crushed it to death. “Oh! I hope to Heaven, Mr. Mountague, there are none of these vile creatures in the bud you’ve given me!” exclaimed Lady Augusta. She looked at her bud as she spoke, and espied upon one of the leaves a small green caterpillar: with a look scarcely less theatrical than mademoiselle’s, she tore off the leaf and flung it from her; then, from habitual imitation of her governess, she set her foot upon the harmless caterpillar, and crushed it in a moment.
In the same moment Lady Augusta’s whole person seemed metamorphosed to the eyes of her lover. She ceased to be beautiful: he seemed to see her countenance distorted by malevolence; he saw in her gestures disgusting cruelty; and all the graces vanished.
When Lady Augusta was a girl of twelve years old, she saw Mlle. Panache crush a spider to death without emotion: the lesson on humanity was not lost upon her. From imitation, she learned her governess’s foolish terror of insects; and from example, she was also taught that species of cruelty, by which at eighteen she disgusted a man of humanity who was in love with her. Mr. Mountague said not one word upon the occasion. They walked on. A few minutes after the caterpillar had been crushed, Lady Augusta exclaimed, “Why, mademoiselle, what have you done with Fanfan? I thought my dog was with us: for Heaven’s sake, where is he?”