Caroline retired, sorry to have displeased one who had shown so much friendly eagerness to serve her, yet not in the least disposed to change her determination. The next day Lady Jane’s morning face boded no good. Mr. and Mrs. Percy in vain endeavoured by all the kind attentions in their power to assuage her feelings, but nothing restored her to that sweet temper in which she had begun the chapter of advice. She soon announced that she had received letters which called her immediately to Tunbridge, and her ladyship quitted the Hills, resolving never more to visit relations who would not be guided by her opinion.
The next persons who came to visit the Percy family in their retirement were Mrs. Hungerford and her daughter, Mrs. Mortimer, who had been friends and near neighbours whilst they resided at Percy-hall, and whose society they had particularly regretted. The distance at which they now lived from Hungerford Castle was such, that they had little hope that any intercourse could be kept up with its inhabitants, especially as Mrs. Hungerford had arrived at that time of life when she was exempted from the ceremony of visiting, and she seldom stirred from home except when she went to town annually to see her daughter Mortimer.
“So,” said Mrs. Hungerford, as Mr. Percy helped her out of her carriage, “my good friend, you are surprised at seeing me, are you?—Ah! you thought I was too old or too lazy to come; but I am happy to be able to convince you that you are mistaken. See what motive will do! You know Mr. Percy says, that people can do any thing they please, and it is certain that it pleased me to do this.”
When she was seated, and Mrs. Percy spoke of the distance from which she had kindly come to see them, she answered, “I hear people talk of a visiting distance; and I understand perfectly well what it means when acquaintance are in question, but for friends there is no visiting distance. Remove to the Land’s End, and, old as I am, I will pursue and overtake you too, tortoise as I seem; and don’t depend upon dark nights, for every night is full moon to me, when I am bent upon a visit to a friend; and don’t depend upon hills—there are no Pyrenees between us.”
These sound, perhaps, like mere civil speeches, but they came from one who always spoke sincerely, and who was no common person. Mrs. Hungerford was, by those who did not know her, thought proud; those who did, knew that she had reason to be proud. She was of noble descent, dignified appearance, polite manners, strong understanding, and high character. Her fortune, connexions, various knowledge, and extraordinary merit, had, during a long life, given her means of becoming acquainted with most of the persons of any celebrity or worth in her own or in foreign countries. No new candidate for fame appeared in any line of life, without desiring to be noticed by Mrs. Hungerford; no traveller of distinction or of literature visited England without providing himself with letters of introduction to Mrs. Hungerford, and to her accomplished daughter, the wife of Admiral Mortimer. In her early youth she had passed some years abroad, and had the vivacity, ease, polish, tact, and esprit de société of a Frenchwoman, with the solidity of understanding, amiable qualities, domestic tastes, and virtues of an Englishwoman. The mutual affection of this mother and daughter not only secured their own happiness, but diffused an additional charm over their manners, and increased the interest which they otherwise inspired. Mrs. Mortimer’s house in London was the resort of the best company, in the best sense of the word: it was not that dull, dismal, unnatural thing, an English conversazione, where people are set, against their will and their nature, to talk wit; or reduced, against their pride and their conscience, to worship idols. This society partook of the nature of the best English and the best French society, judiciously combined: the French mixture of persons of talents and of rank, men of literature and of the world; the French habit of mingling feminine and masculine subjects of conversation, instead of separating the sexes, far as the confines of their prison-room will allow, into hostile parties, dooming one sex to politics, argument, and eternal sense, the other to scandal, dress, and eternal nonsense. Yet with these French manners there were English morals; with this French ease, gaiety, and politeness, English sincerity, confidence, and safety: no simagrée, no espionnage; no intrigue, political or gallant; none of that profligacy, which not only disgraced, but destroyed the reality of pleasure in Parisian society, at its most brilliant era. The persons of whom Mrs. Mortimer’s society was formed were, in their habits and good sense, so thoroughly English, that, even had it been possible for them to put morality and religion out of the question, they would still have thought it quite as convenient and agreeable to love their own husbands and wives as to play at cross-purposes in gallanting their neighbours’. Of consequence, Mrs. Mortimer, in the bloom of youth and height of fashion, instead of being a coquette, “hunting after men with her eyes,” was beloved, almost to adoration, as a daughter, a wife, a mother, a friend. Mrs. Hungerford, at an advanced age, was not a wretched, selfish Madame du Deffand, exacting hommage and attentions, yet disbelieving in the existence of friendship; complaining in the midst of all the luxuries of life, mental and corporeal, of being oppressed by ennui, unable to find any one to love and esteem, or incapable of loving and esteeming any one; Mrs. Hungerford, surrounded
“With all that should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.”
was, as she often declared, with gratitude to Providence, happier in age than she had been even in youth. With warm affections, and benevolence guided and governed in its objects by reason and religion; indulgent to human nature in general, and loving it, but not with German cosmopolitism—first and best, loving her daughter, her family, comprising a wide and happy extent of relations and connexions, sons and nephews in the army and navy, or in different employments in the state: many of these young men already distinguished, others wanting only opportunity to do equal honour to their name.
During the summer, Mrs. Mortimer usually spent some months at Hungerford Castle, and generally took with her from town some friends whose company she thought would peculiarly suit her mother’s taste. Mrs. Hungerford had always been in the habit of inviting the Percy family, whenever she had any body with her whom she thought they would wish to see or hear; and thus the young people, though living retired in the country, had enjoyed the advantages of becoming early acquainted with many celebrated literary and public characters, and of living in the best society; these were advantages which they obtained from their education and their merit; for assuredly Mrs. Hungerford would never have troubled herself with them merely because they were her neighbours, possessing so many thousand pounds a year, and representatives of the Percy interest in the county.—A proof of which, if any were wanting, is, that she never took the least notice of those who now held their place at Percy-hall; and the first visit she paid when she came to the country, the first visit she had been known to pay for years, was to her friends the Percys, after they had lost their thousands per annum. So completely was it themselves and not their fortune which she had always considered, that she never condoled with them, and scarcely seemed to advert to any change in their circumstances. She perceived, to be sure, that she was not at Percy-hall; she discovered, probably, that she was in a small instead of a large room; the change of prospect from the windows struck her eye, and she remarked that this part of the country was more beautiful than that to which she had been accustomed.—As to the more or less of show, of dress, or equipage, these things did not merely make no difference in Mrs. Hungerford’s estimation of persons, but in fact scarcely made any impression upon her senses or attention. She had been so much accustomed to magnificence upon a large scale, that the different subordinate degrees were lost upon her; and she had seen so many changes of fashion and of fortune, that she attached little importance to these. Regardless of the drapery of objects, she saw at once what was substantial and essential. It might, she thought, be one man’s taste to visit her in a barouche and four, with half-a-dozen servants, and another person’s pleasure to come without parade or attendants—this was indifferent to her. It was their conversation, their characters, their merit, she looked to; and many a lord and lady of showy dress and equipage, and vast importance in their own opinions, shrunk into insignificance in the company of Mrs. Hungerford; and, though in the room with her, passed before her eyes without making a sufficient sensation upon her organs to attract her notice, or to change the course of her thoughts.
All these peculiarities in this lady’s character rendered her particularly agreeable to the Percy family in their present circumstances. She pressed them to pay her a long visit.
“You see,” said Mrs. Hungerford, “that I had the grace to forbear asking this favour till I had possession of my daughter Mortimer, and could bring her with me to entice you.—And my dear young friends, you shall find young friends too, as well as old ones, at my house: my nieces, the Lady Pembrokes, are to be with me; and Lady Angelica Headingham, who will entertain you, though, perhaps, you will sometimes be tired for her, she works so hard aux galères de bel-esprit. I acknowledge she has a little too much affectation. But we must have charity for affectation and its multitude of foibles; for, you know, Locke says that it is only a mistaken desire to please. Angelica will find out her mistakes in time, and after trying all manners, will hold fast by the best—that is, the most natural: in the mean time, do you, my dear young friends, come and admire her as an inimitable actress. Then, Mr. Percy, I have for you three temptations—a man of letters, a man of science, and a man of sense. And, for the climax of my eloquence, I have reserved,” continued she turning to Mrs. Percy, “my appeal to the mother’s feelings. Know, then, that my son, my eldest hope, my colonel, has arrived from the continent—landed last night—I expect him home in a few days, and you must come and flatter me that he is prodigiously improved by the service he has seen, and the wounds which he can show, and assure me that, next to your own Godfrey, you would name my Gustavus, of all the officers in the army, as most deserving to be our commander-in-chief.”