One evening, at Ranelagh, Charles happened to hear the name of Mr. William Darford pronounced by a lady who was walking behind him: he turned eagerly to look at her; but, though he had a confused recollection of having seen her face before, he could not remember when or where he had met with her. He felt a wish to speak to her, that he might hear something of those friends whom he had neglected, but not forgotten. He was not, however, acquainted with any of the persons with whom she was walking, and was obliged to give up his purpose. When she left the room, he followed her, in hopes of learning, from her servants, who she was; but she had no servants—no carriage!
Mrs. Germaine, who clearly inferred she was a person of no consequence, besought her husband not to make any further inquiries. “I beg, Mr. Germaine, you will not gratify your curiosity about the Darfords at my expense. I shall have a whole tribe of vulgar people upon my hands, if you do not take care. The Darfords, you know, are quite out of our line of life; especially in town.”
This remonstrance had a momentary effect upon Mr. Germaine’s vanity; but a few days afterwards he met the same lady in the park, attended by Mr. William Darford’s old servant. Regardless of his lady’s representations, he followed the suggestions of his own heart, and eagerly stopped the man to inquire after his friends in the most affectionate manner. The servant, who was pleased to see that Charles was not grown quite so much a fine gentleman as to forget all his friends in the country, became very communicative; he told Mr. Germaine that the lady, whom he was attending, was a Miss Locke, governess to Mr. William Darford’s children; and that she was now come to town to spend a few days with a relation, who had been very anxious to see her. This relation was not either rich or genteel; and though our hero used every persuasion to prevail upon his lady to show Miss Locke some civility whilst she was in town, he could not succeed. Mrs. Germaine repeated her former phrase, again and again, “The Darfords are quite out of our line of life;” and this was the only reason she would give.
Charles was disgusted by the obstinacy of his wife’s pride, and indulged his better feelings by going frequently to visit Miss Locke. She stayed, however, but a fortnight in town; and the idea of his friends, which had been strongly recalled by his conversations with her, gradually faded away. He continued the course of life into which he had been forced, rather from inability to stop than from inclination to proceed. Their winters were spent in dissipation in town; their summers wasted at watering-places, or in visits to fine relations, who were tired of their company, and who took but little pains to conceal this sentiment. Those who do not live happily at home can seldom contrive to live respectably abroad. Mr. and Mrs. Germaine could not purchase esteem, and never earned it from the world or from one another. Their mutual contempt increased every day. Only those who have lived with bosom friends whom they despise can fully comprehend the extent and intensity of the evil.
We spare our readers the painful detail of domestic grievances and the petty mortifications of vanity: from the specimens we have already given they may form some idea, but certainly not a competent one, of the manner in which this ill-matched pair continued to live together for twelve long years. Twelve long years! The imagination cannot distinctly represent such a period of domestic suffering; though, to the fancy of lovers, the eternal felicity to be ensured by their union is an idea perfectly familiar and intelligible. Perhaps, if we could bring our minds to dwell more upon the hours, and less upon the years of existence, we should make fewer erroneous judgments. Our hero and heroine would never have chained themselves together for life, if they could have formed an adequate picture of the hours contained in the everlasting period of twelve years of wrangling. During this time, scarcely an hour, certainly not a day, passed in which they did not, directly or indirectly, reproach one another; and tacitly form, or explicitly express, the wish that they had never been joined in holy wedlock.
They, however, had a family. Children are either the surest bonds of union between parents, or the most dangerous causes of discord. If parents agree in opinion as to the management of their children, they must be a continually increasing source of pleasure; but where the father counteracts the mother, and the mother the father—where the children cannot obey or caress either of their parents without displeasing the other, what can they become but wretched little hypocrites, or detestable little tyrants?
Mr. and Mrs. Germaine had two children, a boy and a girl. From the moment of their birth, they became subjects of altercation and jealousy. The nurses were obliged to decide whether the infants were most like the father or the mother: two nurses lost their places, by giving what was, in Mr. Germaine’s opinion, an erroneous decision upon this important question. Every stranger who came to pay a visit was obliged to submit to a course of interrogations on this subject; and afterwards, to their utter confusion, saw biting of lips, and tossing of heads, either on the paternal or maternal side. At last, it was established that Miss Maude was the most like her mamma, and master Charles the most like his papa. Miss Maude, of course, became the faultless darling of her mother, and master Charles the mutinous favourite of his father. A comparison between their features, gestures, and manners, was daily instituted, and always ended in words of scorn, from one party or the other. Even whilst they were pampering these children with sweetmeats, or inflaming them with wine, the parents had always the same mean and selfish views. The mother, before she would let her Maude taste the sweetmeats, insisted upon the child’s lisping out that she loved mamma best; and before the little Charles was permitted to carry the bumper of wine to his lips, he was compelled to say he loved papa best. In all their childish quarrels, Maude ran roaring to her mamma, and Charles sneaked up to his papa.
As the interests of the children were so deeply concerned in the question, it was quickly discovered who ruled in the house with the strongest hand. Mr. Germaine’s influence over his son diminished, as soon as the boy was clearly convinced that his sister, by adhering to her mamma, enjoyed a larger share of the good things. He was wearied out by the incessant rebuffs of the nursery-maids, who were all in their lady’s interests; and he endeavoured to find grace in their sight, by recanting all the declarations he had made in his father’s favour. “I don’t like papa best now: I love mamma best to-day.”
“Yes, master, but you must love mamma best every day, or it won’t do, I promise you.”
By such a course of nursery precepts, these unfortunate children were taught equivocation, falsehood, envy, jealousy, and every fault of temper which could render them insupportable to themselves, and odious to others. Those who have lived in the house with spoiled children must have a lively recollection of the degree of torment they can inflict upon all who are within sight or hearing. These domestic plagues became more and more obnoxious; and Mrs. Germaine, in the bitterness of her heart, was heard to protest she wished she had never had a child! Children were pretty things at three years old, but began to be great plagues at six, and were quite intolerable at ten.