The Young Lady CHAPTER 11.
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One, two and three years passed from the time Mr. Howard's family experienced the reverse that had thrown them down from their elevated position in the social world, and still Mr. Merlin remained only a clerk, though at a salary advanced to twelve hundred dollars a year. A few of Cecilia's old friends had come back to her, and she occasionally mingled with them in the higher circles. But she could not feel perfectly at home there. She was only the wife of a clerk — and was made to feel this rather oftener than was pleasant to her feelings. Not that she was ashamed because her husband filled the situation of a clerk; but when among those who despised a clerk because he occupied in their eyes a low position, and slighted her on that account — she could not help experiencing unpleasant emotions. This was perfectly natural. The consequence was, that she declined the kind invitations of Mrs. Hartley and others, more frequently than she accepted them. She preferred her own quiet home, and the company of her husband and children — to mirthful assemblages in which few felt themselves called upon to show her attentions, and many deemed her presence intrusive.
By prudent management, and strict economy, the salary of Mr. Merlin enabled them to live comfortably, though, of course, not elegantly. But for the mere elegancies of life — Cecilia had ceased to pine. She was endeavoring to fill truly her place, as a wife and mother, and in this she found enough to occupy her thoughts and affections. Indeed, she was gradually beginning to lose all taste for society, and to turn herself more and more towards her own home as the central point of all duty and affection. This Mrs. Hartley, whose attachment to her remained firm — perceived, and she struggled hard to draw her more into society.
"I have come myself to invite you and your husband to our house on next Wednesday evening, for I was afraid to send you a formal note, lest you would disregard it," Mrs. Hartley said to her, coming in one day about this period.
"You are going to have company, I suppose?" Cecilia returned in an inquiring voice.
"Yes. We have invited some friends."
"Well, I don't think I shall go."
Mrs. Merlin said, half smiling, half serious.
"But you must, my dear Mrs. Merlin. I cannot, and will not take a refusal."
"Indeed, Mrs. Hartley, I have not the slightest desire to mingle in society. It is not pleasant to me, especially when I am thrown among those whose position causes them to look down upon me."
"Nonsense, child! No one looks down upon you."
"There you are mistaken. I have not once been in company at your house, or elsewhere, of late, that I have not been made to feel, sensibly, that I was out of my place. My husband is only a clerk, and therefore, I am not thought entitled to mingle with the wives of merchants and professional men of standing."
"All a mere notion of yours, Mrs. Merlin. You are overly sensitive. I know a great deal better than all that. I know, that so far from your being despised or thought lightly of, you are loved and esteemed by many whom I could name. And their esteem is worth having."
"And I could name a great many more who wish me anywhere else but in a social assemblage of which they make a part. I cannot deceive myself, Mrs. Hartley — and have no wish to do so. In the company of those who are rich and fashionable — I have no pleasure. Home is, to me, a much happier place. Indeed, I feel, every day, less and less inclination to step beyond my own door."
"So I have perceived. But this feeling is not a good one. There are home duties and home pleasures — and these should be faithfully performed and enjoyed. There are, likewise,social duties and social pleasures — and these should not be neglected. The first should be done, and the last not be left undone."
"All that is doubtless true. But where do my social duties lie? The circle for which I am fitted by education, habits, and tastes, excludes me; or admits me only as an intruder."
"That is only your inference, Mrs. Merlin."
"No, Mrs. Hartley, it is not a mere inference. Three times during the last winter I yielded to the pressing invitations of old and kindly considerate friends, yourself among the rest, and threw myself into fashionable assemblies at your houses. What was the result? I found myself passed without notice, or coldly recognized by old acquaintances. Was not this indication enough that I was out of my place? I think so. My husband feels no more at home under such circumstances, than I do. For his sake, then, if not for my own, I ought not to go to your house on next Wednesday evening."
"I am really sorry, my dear young friend!" Mrs. Hartley said, with much feeling, "that you have met with anything of an unpleasant nature at my house, or at the houses of any of the real friends who have asked you to add interest to their company. Certain I am, that neither they nor I would wish to invite anyone in preference to yourself — or would, for a moment, sanction, or pass unnoticed, any marked improper conduct towards you. A mere slight, however, under all the circumstances, should not be allowed to disturb you. You know very well how to estimate the quality of the fountain from which that stream flows."
"True. But still I am human. No one can feel happy in that society which he knows is in the effort to throw him off."
"Such an effort, I am sure, does not exist in the circle of friends who have assembled at my house."
"I have felt, even in your house, a strong sphere of repulsion," Mrs. Merlin replied, calmly — "and even in your house, have met with prideful glances, cold nods, and chillingly formal compliments — from some who could not pass me entirely unnoticed."
"I can only say that I am sorry for it, that is all" — was Mrs. Hartley's reply to this. "But I suppose such things cannot always be helped. Too many who move in the upper circles, value themselves for their wealth alone. These must be tolerated — and tolerated even by you. For I, for one, can never consent to let you withdraw yourself, voluntarily from a circle where the influence of your peculiar spirit is so much needed. If there are those in our circle who, thus far in life, have looked so little below the surface, as not to be able to detect gold from mere gilding — it is fully time that they should be made to see the difference between the exterior, and the intrinsic. And it is your duty to make some little sacrifice of feeling to attain this end. So, without further objections, I shall expect to hear your full and free consent to make one of my social party on Wednesday evening. Uncle Peter is invited, and says he will be there of course. And you know, the kind old gentleman will not see a face there half so dear to him, as that of his little 'Celia."
The invitation of Mrs. Hartley was so pressing, that Mrs. Merlin could not now refuse with any grace. She, therefore, gave a somewhat reluctant consent. Wednesday evening soon came, and dressing herself plainly, but with much neatness and taste, she started with her husband, for the elegant residence of the Hartleys. They found, somewhat to their disappointment, the parlors filled with a mirthful and fashionable company. Mrs. Hartley met them on their entering the rooms, with a smiling welcome, and conducted Cecilia to a place beside one of her old but true friends. She had been seated but a few minutes, when Mrs. Melrose came sweeping across the room towards her, and she half arose to return the supposed friendly intention. But Mrs. Melrose did not see her. Her eyes had fallen upon the lady by her side, the wife of one of the wealthiest merchants in New York, and they could see nothing else. "Good evening, Mrs. Mayberry!" she said, as she took a seat beside her, not noticing Cecilia in the least.
"Good evening, Mrs. Melrose!" returned the lady addressed, smiling, but still with a good deal of formality. Then, she half turned towards her young friend and said, by way ofintroduction — "Mrs. Merlin."
A cold, scarcely perceptible inclination of the head was all the response made by Mrs. Melrose to this, as she half glanced towards Cecilia. The latter observed and felt this a good deal, and during the brief conversation forced upon Mrs. Mayberry by her old bosom friend, arose, and passed across the room to a place beside her old Uncle Peter, whose approving word, and affectionate smile were now like warm sunshine to her heart.
"Isn't it too bad," broke in Mrs. Melrose, somewhat indignantly, as Cecilia passed beyond the sound of her voice — "that Mrs. Hartley will force upon her friends, the society ofsuch people?"
"To whom do you allude?" asked Mrs. Mayberry, looking her in the face with some surprise.
"Why, to such people as the Merlins! They don't belong to our class, and why are we to be annoyed constantly by having them thrust in among us? It really puts me out of all patience every time I meet this Mrs. Merlin in company, as I have been forced to do too frequently of late."
"Has Mrs. Merlin been guilty of immoral conduct?" asked Mrs. Mayberry.
"No — not that I know, or care of — but she doesn't belong to our class — and I, for one, am not disposed to have everyone forced upon me."
"You and she were once on terms of the closest intimacy, I believe?"
"No, not as to any great intimacy. While her family were entitled to move in the upper circles, I used to visit her sometimes. But she has no claim upon my notice now."
"None at all?"
"No, none in the world."
"Is she not, as to intelligence, taste, and moral qualities — as worthy of your regard now as ever?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Perhaps she is, and even more so. But am I bound to associate with everyone who has taste, intelligence, and moral qualities?"
"O no. Of course not, if you don't feel inclined," returned Mrs. Mayberry, drily.
"And there is her insufferable old Uncle Peter, whom I never could bear in the best of times," continued Mrs. Melrose. "From him, there is no escape. Go where I will, hand and glove with the best, is this antiquated specimen of humanity. What claim has he, I would like to know, to mingle, as he does, with the very elite of the city. I can't understand it."
"The reason is, I presume, because he has been long tried and proved. His worth is known."
"Worth! Pray what is he worth?"
"More than some imagine, I am inclined to think," Mrs. Mayberry said half to herself, and then added aloud —
"Plain, and, at times, eccentric as that old man is, Mrs. Melrose — he has few superiors. Those who know him most intimately, cherish for him the highest regard. I would not answer for my husband's politeness, if he were to hear you speak as you have just done. At our house, in the social or family circle, he is ever a welcome guest. And not only at our house, but among the oldest and best families in the city."
"Who and what is he, then?" asked Mrs. Melrose, in some surprise.
"As to who he is, I believe I never troubled myself to ask. — As to what he is, everyone can judge for himself."
"But there is no gentility about him. How in the world, then, is it, that genteel people can tolerate him."
"His gentility is not of the modern, mushroom class!" replied Mrs. Mayberry with some feeling — "all smooth on the outside, but no heart within. Old Uncle Peter, Mrs. Melrose, is one of the few we meet with, who have hearts. If the casket is not of the most elaborate workmanship, depend upon it, the jewels contained in it are of priceless worth."
"Ah! good evening, Mrs. Melrose!" said General Reynolds coming up at the moment — "As lively and good looking as ever, I see. How is Mr. Melrose? And how do you do, Mrs. Mayberry? I have not had the pleasure of meeting you for some time — "
But we will leave General Reynolds and the two ladies, and turn for a moment to Cecilia. On escaping to the side of her Uncle, she felt wounded deeply at the rude indifferencemanifested towards her by Mrs. Melrose. It was not the first time she had been so treated by that self-important personage; but still, she could not help feeling so marked a rebuke for having intruded herself into the company of those who evidently regarded her as occupying a position far below them. That her mind was disturbed, was instantly observed by Uncle Peter.
"Is anything the matter, dear?" the old man asked, kindly.
The tears came to Cecilia's eyes, and for a moment or two she could not trust herself to speak. But she kept down her feelings with an effort, and replied:
"I do not feel at home in such companies as these, Uncle Peter."
"And why not, my child?"
"Because I am not regarded as an equal, and, therefore, am looked upon as a mere intruder."
"Who looks upon you as such?" asked the old man, in a quick, half-angry voice.
"Most of those who are present. Except from a very few, I receive no kind of attention — and some with whom I was once on terms of the closest intimacy, either do not recognize me at all, or treat me with marked indifference. This I cannot bear, Uncle. I feel that I have no right to mingle in these assemblages, and I am sure I have no kind of inclination. If you will tell Theodore to come here, I will quietly retire with him."
"Indeed — you will do no such thing, child. You are as good as any one here, and I'll make them know and feel it too — the upstart gentry!"
"In mercy!" whispered Cecilia, "don't speak so loud, Uncle Peter. I feel badly enough as it is. Don't expose me any more."
"Yes, but I will expose you before the whole of them, and let them see that you are just as good as the best of them, and can hold your head as high, into the bargain. There's your Mrs. Melrose — your very dear friend! She, no doubt, treats you as an intruder here. Isn't so?"
Cecilia was silent.
"Speak, child! Isn't it as I say?"
"Yes," was the hesitating reply, uttered in a deprecating whisper.
"I supposed so. Well, who is she? The wife of a man whose claim to the gold that gives her a place here, is much more than questionable. I would not have his conscience for the wealth of the Indies!"
This was spoken so low that none heard the words but Cecilia, and she did not reply to them. Mrs. Hartley came up at the moment, and said to Uncle Peter, as she offered her arm to his niece, "I cannot allow you to monopolize Mrs. Merlin here. I want her to mingle more with my company, and let my friends and her friends know her better. She has hidden long enough, her light under a bushel."
"So I think, Mrs. Hartley," returned Uncle Peter, with warmth.
"And I am resolved that she shall fill a place as high as ever she did. She is worthy. Tried long in the fire, she has come out pure gold; and that gold shall no longer pass for one half of its real value."
The old man's voice was low, but eloquent, and his face beamed with a new and elevated expression — an expression that Cecilia did not fully understand.
"You have truly said that she is worthy," replied Mrs. Hartley, as she drew Cecilia's arm within her's, and moved across the room.
"Let me introduce my young friend, Mrs. Merlin," Mrs. Hartley said, a few moments afterwards, presenting Cecilia to a group of four or five ladies, two of whom, at least, had known her well in former times, and one had been a school-mate. "I wish to make you better acquainted with her — and for your mutual advantage."
One or two of the ladies received Cecilia with genuine good feeling, the rest were stiff, cold and formal. In a little while, she was in earnest conversation with a single lady of the group. The rest had moved to other parts of the rooms.
"Abominable!" muttered one of these, in an undertone, to the friend by her side.
"Really," chimed in the other, "if I am to be annoyed in this way, I won't attend another party at Mrs. Hartley's. Mrs. Merlin is no company for me. Let the poor clerk's wife go among clerks' wives, not thrust herself into our circles. I can't understand what Mrs. Hartley means by introducing this woman at her parties."
"Didn't I hear you say, that you once went to school with her?"
"Yes. That is, we went to the same school. But I would be sorry if I were compelled to associate with all my old school-mates!"
"So would I."
"I never imagined her much, however. There was always something vulgar about her."
"That is true. You know how little real refinement she manifested after she grew up. While her father was in good circumstances, we frequently met in company."
"O yes. And glad enough I was to get rid of her."
These two ladies had been among the most intimate of Cecilia's friends, and had visited her constantly for several years. But their memories were not particularly tenacious.
It did not escape the eye of Mrs. Hartley, that the presence of her young friend in the group of ladies, had effectually dispersed them. Nor had Uncle Peter failed to notice the same fact. It pained her — but it made the old man burn with ill-restrained indignation. As for Cecilia, she had become so much absorbed in an interesting conversation with one who noted her cold and ill-natured reception, and knew well the cause, as to have nearly forgotten its unpleasant effect upon her.
Thus passed the evening. A few could fully appreciate Mrs. Merlin's worth, and find pleasure in her society. But nearly all of her old friends shunned her, as they had frequently done before, and tacitly blamed Mrs. Hartley for having invited her. Some thought it a downright insult. Others tossed their heads indifferently, avowing unequivocally that they were not going to countenance the ambitious lady — while others smiled at Mrs. Hartley's singular taste, but said, good-naturedly — "Let her enjoy her whim. Mrs. Merlin don't hurt me. I shall not visit her, nor invite her to my house, that is certain. She does well enough, I suppose, for those who fancy her. I do not — and there the matter ends as far as I am concerned."
"As for Cecilia, she left the richly furnished, brilliantly lighted parlors of Mrs. Hartley, and went back to her humble dwelling, the sight of which was pleasant to her eyes, fully determined never again to yield to any sort of inducement to make one of a fashionable company in the upper walks of life.
"Home is home, be it ever so homely," she said, in a tone of satisfaction, as she laid aside her bonnet, on gaining their snug little parlor. "To me there is no place so pleasant as home. In this little spot I am content — and why should I seek for happiness beyond these peaceful precincts?"
"Truly said. Why should you? Neither of us is wanted in these mirthful companies. Few there have any feeling in common with us. Many despise our humble condition, and the greater number look upon us with perfect indifference."
"I know that well," returned Cecilia. "And I am fully resolved, that this night shall be the last one of trial to me in this respect."
"I am glad you have made that good resolution," replied Mr. Merlin. "We have no business at such places. It is a mistaken kindness in Mrs. Hartley which leads her to urge you to go."
More than ever content with their humble lot, did Mr. and Mrs. Merlin lay their heads at night upon their pillows. Their desires had been narrowed down to their resources, and they had, therefore, no impatient yearnings after a higher condition. Taught in the school of adversity, they had learned wisdom under hard instructors — but their tasks had been well learned, and were now of great use to them. Their minds had a much more even tone; their affections did not go out as once they did — after empty vanities. And in regard to the true ends of life, they had imbibed a sound philosophy. The painful reverses they had experienced, were felt indeed to have been blessings in disguise.
For as long a time as Cecilia could remember, Uncle Peter had boarded in an old-fashioned house, the gable end fronting the street, with an old widow lady, of as ancient a date as the tenement they occupied. On this night, long after both Cecilia and her husband had sunk to sleep, the old man sat by an open desk, busy in overlooking sundry papers, and occasionally tracing with his unsteady hand, memoranda and calculations. It was about two o'clock when he arose from his long continued labors, and commenced pacing slowly the floor, with his thumbs in the arm holes of his waistcoat. The expression of his countenance was not troubled. His face wore, rather, a look of deep satisfaction and triumph. After walking the floor about ten minutes, he sat down by his still open desk, and lifting from it a picture, bearing the likeness of Cecilia, kissed it fondly, murmuring as he did so —
"Yes — yes! She has been well tried and proved, dear girl! And now she shall have her reward."
Then kissing again the sweet image of her he loved so tenderly, the old man replaced it in his desk, which he closed and locked, and then sought his lonely pillow.
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