“Exceeding fair she was not, and yet fair,
In that she never studied to be fairer
Than nature made her.”
Chapman.
In pursuance of the arrangement proposed the preceding evening, Mr. Martindale and his guest, immediately after an early breakfast, went out in search of Richard Smith’s cottage. They had some little difficulty to find the place; for, though the old man had lived several years at Brigland, he was of such retired habits that he was comparatively unknown in the parish: some persons knew him by sight who did not know his name, and others had heard his name, who were unacquainted with his person.
The cottage in which he lived seemed to have been selected for its very retired situation. It stood in a narrow lane, which, before the building of the great house, had served as a thoroughfare from Brigland Common to the meadows, which, since the erection of the Abbey, had been included in the park. The cottage, though apparently so secluded and almost embowered in wood, was by no means a gloomy abode; for through a natural vista in the wood before it there was an extensive view of highly-cultivated scenery, which showed between the over-arching trees like a beautiful painting in a rustic frame. The light which shone through this opening, drew the eyes of Markham and his companion to notice the beauty of the landscape.
There is a peculiar and almost indescribable effect produced on the mind by the sight of well-known scenery taken from a new point, or viewed with some variety or novelty of accompaniment. The feeling thus excited, has not all its interest from novelty alone, nor is it indebted for its interest to association. In viewing this scene, Mr. Martindale enjoyed this pleasure: he had lived for many years in Brigland, and had long been in possession of this estate, but here was a beauty he had never seen before.
While they were both admiring the scene before them, Horatio Markham fancied that he could hear a distant sound of music, and stood for a moment in a listening attitude. Presently the sound caught the ear of Mr. Martindale; and the two companions looked at each other in mute astonishment, when the faint tinkling of the unknown instrument was accompanied with the human voice in notes of indescribable sweetness. The voice was near enough to be distinctly audible; and Markham, who had a more acute sense of hearing, and a more extensive knowledge of music than his friend Mr. Martindale, soon perceived that neither the words nor the melody were English. It was presently obvious that the music was in the cottage of old Richard Smith. The two listeners waited till the voice was silent, and then, without the ceremony of tapping at the door, entered the poor man’s humble dwelling.
The interior of the cottage was perfectly neat and clean, as might have been anticipated from the style and appearance of the old man; but there was in it more than neatness—there were symptoms that its present tenants had seen better days. There were several articles of furniture and embellishment which cottagers have neither means nor inclination to purchase. Symptoms indeed of better days are to be continually met with in many humble, even in many miserable dwellings; but such symptoms consist generally of those articles which cannot find purchasers, or which are in daily use, or of indispensable utility, or which have an imaginary value far beyond their real value. And the poor people are sometimes proud of these mementos of their high descent. They can perhaps show, in an old black frame, and drawn on durable vellum, their family-arms:—they may have large unwieldy portraits of ancestors who were distinguished somehow or other in former days, but they know not when, and have perhaps forgotten their very names:—they still retain pieces of fine needlework, which make it manifest that some female ancestor had received a boarding-school education; and many a poor old couple eat their daily scanty meal on the remains of the fine porcelain which some of their progenitors used and exhibited only on days of high festivity.
But the articles in Richard Smith’s cottage were of a different character, and of much more recent date than such as those alluded to above. There hung upon the walls some landscapes, which indeed a person in poverty might have drawn, but which no poor man would keep or would embellish with handsome modern frames. There were also several engravings, which had not been published more than sixteen or seventeen years. Instead of the usual cottage clock with clumsily painted figures and elm-case, there stood on a bracket a neat time-piece, with the name of a celebrated Parisian maker. Upon a set of hanging-shelves there lay several volumes of fancifully and apparently foreign bound books. These were for the most part Italian, but a few were French.