The Chevaliers: a tale, with a true account of an American revival

Chapter I

Not far from the Great Metropolis stood a house of some pretensions in its own grounds, which, though really small in extent, yet, from the large advan tages taken of their natural capabilities, and from the appliances of art, presented the many attractions and diversities of a spacious domain, and gave it all the appearance and the charm of a fine old English man sion in a rural district. It was large, substantially built, commodious, and fitted up with all the luxury of modern taste. The ground-floor apartments opened on a broad terrace of choicest flowers ; wide low steps, adorned with sculptured urns, descended to a lawn of velvet green, in the centre of which a magnificent weeping ash lent its graceful shade to some prettily ornamented seats below. On one side of the drawing room was a conservatory of rare exotics, in which a marble fountain, vieing in whiteness with the queen of flowers, the highly perfumed magnolia, was so constructed, that a tube being attached to one of the jets, any plant might be washed at will ; and so gratefully refreshing was it, that as, in the sultry summer days, it played its crystal waters amongst the fragrant flowers, you might imagine it was richly scented water.

Many singing birds, having the range of the building, added their liquid melody to enhance the B loveliness of the place. The lawn sloped gently down to a broad sheet of water, supplied by two or three small streams, which nearly encircled this miniature park ; on its glassy surface reposed innumerable water-lilies, the deep green leaves in striking contrast to the heavy white waxen blossoms. The small streams, mingling together in the lake, emerged, at its inferior margin, into one larger stream, wliich, entering a thickly wooded copse, called the Dingle, was lost to view. On crossing a slight rustic bridge, a narrow path led you, under the deep shadows of some fine old elms, whose umbrageous arms protected you alike from the piercing rays of the sun and the prying gaze of curiosity, into a sweet sequestered mossy nook, whose silence was unbroken save by the babbling murmurs of a crystal spring, that, gushing from its subterranean prison, came leaping and sparkling over artificial rocks, as if joying in its freedom, into a marble reservoir below ; thence taking its course through a lovely glade, its sides clustered with the blue-eyed forget-me-not, and the pale lily ; till its tiny murmurs of discontent at leaving its fairy home to toil for the miller in the distance were lost in its meeting with the larger piece of water, and being hurried in an impetuous dash, formed a pretty cascade in the vale below.

You could not view this pleasant retreat without feeling the owner to be a person of refined taste. It was on a lovely afternoon, late in May — a day of unusual beauty in our land of inconstant skies — that, seated under the ash, and enjoying the first fine summer's day, was a lady about forty, who still possessed great personal attractions, stout but comely in figure, her complexion good, her features regular ; but her beauty was of that passive kind which speaks a mind of mediocre power. She was one of those many women who exist but for themselves. Easy and thoughtless, they take all things as subservient to their own will and pleasure, leaving every care, first to fond indulgent parents, and then to loving and con fiding husbands — and often, from the cradle to the grave, their pathway is smooth and unruffled.

With such Time ever deals gently. She was engaged with some fancy-work ; and beside her, on the greensward, half lying, half sitting, reclined a lovely girl, — she was dazzlingly fair, having large blue eyes that portrayed deep feeling, though passion and pride was the predo minant expression ; — her forehead high, the nose deli cately formed. Her Httle aristocratic mouth and curling Hp, added to the scorn in her eye, in so young a child, almost pained you, — her light and luxuriant hair hung in long clustering ringlets down to her waist. She was exquisitely formed, but slender almost to a fault, her hands and feet appearing too smaU for her height. She was diaphanously pale, the redness of the lips alone giving evidence of health. She was dressed in Hght blue muslin, and held a book open, which she was trying to understand, as with a per plexed look she laid it by her side, and asked the elder lady, — " Mamma, what is self-discipline?"

To which she peevishly replied, " Why do you bore me with such teasing questions, Mary? keep them for your governess." " Everything I ask always bores you," said the little girl, half contemptuously; when, Hstening, she caught the sound of carriage wheels. Springing to her feet, and throwing back the rich masses of her hair, the look of irritation giving place to a glow of affection, with a joyful cry she exclaims, " It is papa ! " — and then she bounded like a young fawn into the house. b The elderly lady, foUowing in quiet dignity, leisurely ascended to the terrace, where her husband and child appeared to meet her — for it was Mr. Trevelyan, returned from the city rather earlier than usual, — and after an affectionate greeting,which she received and returned in her usual icy manner, she passed into the house to make her toilette.

She did not notice the unusual look of anxious care that shaded his fine open brow, but which gave place to an expression of boundless affection as he stooped down to renew the caressing of his treasured child, who, with aU the im petuosity of her impulsive and Hi-governed nature, was lavishing her love on the only being who reaUy had any influence over her, or over whom she did not herself tyrannize. " Dearest papa, how kind of you to come home so early ! Why do you not always do so, when you know how much I want you ? And then, what nice times we should have ! And now it is such a lovely day, wiU you not go with me to the dingle to gather May lilies ? To-morrow wiU be the last day of May, and then those lovely Hlies of the vaUey wiU aU fade ; and you have promised me so many times. Come away, dearest papa !

" " My darHng, there is not time to reach the dingle before dinner, and Annette wiU be waiting to put these disordered tresses in trim, or mamma will scold. See, here she comes, seeking you." " Miss Mary, wiH you please come to be dressed?" " I wHl presently, — I am talking to papa." " But, Miss Mary, the first beU has already rung, and there wHl scarcely be time ; pray come at once." " Co away, — I wiU not come yet," said the spoUed and wilful chdd, stamping her tiny feet. " Mary darling, wiH you not go with Annette ? " said this too indulgent father ; " and then I will go with you to the dingle to-morrow morning, and we wiH bring home some cresses for mamma's breakfast, as weU as lilies." Twining her thin white arms round his neck, and kissing her thanks, she bounded away in great glee with the servant.

Mr. Trevelyan stood watching tiU the sylph-Hke form of his cliHd had disappeared. " She has many exceUent quaUties, so full of love and deep affection, with an inteUect far beyond her years," he mentaUy ejaculated, " and yet so wild, so imperious, so way ward, always acting from mere impulse ; but now that she is getting stronger and healthy, there must be a wise and judicious restraint exercised." Then came the painful thought, " How unequal is her mother to train such a high-spirited being ! " And he inwardly resolved to devote himseH to the culture of his child's mind and affections. Mr. Trevelyan was above the middle height, erect and slender, with a fine inteUectual countenance, dark hair, penetrating grey eyes, the features aU finely carved and full of benevolence, but the mouth was wanting in firmness, and indicated the great foible in his character — inability to refuse another a kindness, even to his own injury.

None could come in contact with him without loving him ; his famiHar associates always respected him, and those whom he loved could never ask amiss. His tastes were refined, but ex pensive, and too often led him into extravagance. He married early in life a young lady of great personal attractions and good fortune, but with few ideas beyond seH-gratification. She was of that easy indolent temper, which, encouraged by a life of luxury and absence of restraint, had degenerated into absolute selfishness. Her fortune in no way influenced him : her beauty had captivated his heart, and he married her after a short courtship. And though he proposed that her fortune should be settled on herself, yet, in the romantic wilfulness of a girl of eighteen, she had as obstinately refused. She had no parents, no near relatives ; and Mr. Trevelyan, thinking that, as her husband, he would perhaps make a better guardian than any less interested person, aUowed her to have her own way.

She had been brought up in very luxurious habits, accustomed to have every whim and caprice indulged, and although at the time of her marriage her husband possessed an income of two thousand a-year, yet she began with an estabHshment which required double that amount to maintain. Every objection which her young admiring husband ventured to oppose to her extravagance was met with the answer, that it should be supported from her own private purse; and whilst preparations were being made for their reception in town, they traveUed in Germany, Switzerland, and Prance, where, having dis missed her English maid, she took in that capacity a French tyrant, one mademoiselle Mulare. Poor Mr. Trevelyan soon found the French waiting-woman rendered his handsome wife far more difficult to ma nage than ever.

He had, indeed, long since discovered, that she possessed an obstinate self-wiH, with out ever making any effort to subdue it, so that it was impossible to convince her of an error, or turn her from her own preconceived ideas. Neither was firmness a characteristic of his own disposition ; and there soon appeared a cause to induce him for the present to treat his wilful lady with every indulgence, to which he was only too glad to yield, resolving, however, when all anxiety was passed, to exercise a firm but wholesome authority, and to curtail his own extravagances and hers. He fondly hoped, too, that maternal cares and pleasures might one day lead her to set a Hghter value on many of her now most ex pensive folHes. Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan had been very much longer from home than they at first contemplated ; and as their new home was now ready for their reception, Mr. Trevelyan was anxious to hasten his arrival there, that his expected heir might claim the high privUege of an Englishman.

Chapter II

They arrived at home about six weeks before the expected joyful event aUuded to in our last chapter. A month of that time was spent between the lady and her maid in consultation, and in purchases of the paraphernaHa for the unconscious stranger, whose fragUe existence was reckoned on so confidently ; but speedHy there was an arrival of as much consequence as mademoiseUe herself; no less a personage than that which sometimes, though rarely, proves to be a scourge to aU quietness in cottage or mansion, — the monthly nurse. There was no end to altercation between mademoiseUe and Mrs. Wylam, who both ran with their tales and complaints to their lady. The nurse wished to know, what business a lady's maid had to interfere with her who had nursed a real countess ; and mademoiseUe said that the imperti nence of such low ill-bred people was unbearable : but what could one expect from a monthly nurse ?

These wranglings and annoyances became more and more frequent, till the poor lady was really distressed, and the house was in a continual state of warfare. After a fiercer scene than usual between these worthies, Mr. Trevelyan expressed himself warmly on the subject, and ventured to suggest the propriety of the maid ceasing to interfere with the duties of the nurse ; and he commands the maid no more to annoy her mistress with such irritating complaints. This rebuke was received with a torrent of words, a few affected tears, and a notice to leave that day month. Poor Mr. Trevelyan, to use his own words, saw he "had put his foot into it." He felt Hke a guilty thing, and dared scarcely raise his eyes to his wife, who was sitting with a countenance as fidl of astonished indignation as it was possible for her passive features to express.

As the door closed with a slam behind the outraged waiting-woman, she found her voice, and began : — " I did not wish to tell you before mademoiselle, that she should not go ; but go she shaU not ! I did not marry you to lord it over me in this way, neither wHl I endure it. " Mr. Trevelyan tried to be heard : " Dearest Laura, listen for one moment to reason :" — But she continued, " I imagine it is nothing to you what maids I keep, as long as they give me satisfaction, i" can pay her salary without your as sistance. One would think you had married your cook, instead of a lady who brought you a large fortune." And then, at the sense of her wrongs, she shed two or three indignant tears. Poor Mr. Trevelyan was nearly beside himseH, to think he had been incon siderate enough to hazard a word that might give pain to his dear wife at this critical time.

He threw himseH on his knees, and taking her in his arms implored her forgiveness, reproaching himself for having thus unwittingly grieved her; adding, that his only motive was to consult her own comfort and peace of mind; he thought these petty annoyances would do her harm. After giving vent to her feeUngs (for she reaUy loved her husband as much as she was capable of loving anything except herself), and tyrannizing over him to her heart's content, she accepted this concession, and quiet was restored. Most thankful was Mr. Trevelyan that so perfect a reconciHation had taken place between them ; for scarcely had he retired for the night when a knock aroused him, and the nurse begged that the doctor might be sent for immediately. Mr. Trevelyan' lost no time in obey ing orders ; and it was not long before the carriage returned with the much wished-for gentleman.

Mr. Trevelyan scarcely gave himseH time to shake him by the hand, before he ushered him into his wHe's room, and retfred to pass as anxious an interval as an affectionate and fond husband is doomed to know. Presently, Dr. Middleton entered Mr. Trevelyan's library, and removed his suspense by telling him, that he was blessed with a son and heir, — " and may you have seven more such fine Httle feUows ! " he very significantly added, and then he exploded in a violent fit of laughter. Mr. Trevelyan looked somewhat puzzled, and in quiringly exclaimed, " Why seven ? because it is a mystical number ? " " Pray excuse me," repUed he ; " but mentioning the number seven brought to my mind a most ludi crous story, in which our poor curate figures con spicuously, of the finale to which I was myself an eye-witness this morning."

"You mean Charley Forster. I never thought him possessed of too much sense ; yet he is an innocent weU-meaning man. But what of him?" " WeU," said the doctor, " I wiU give you the story as I heard it. It appears that our friend Charley, having found it was not good for man to be alone, entertained serious thoughts of taking to himseH a wife; and being, as he always expressed himself, 'a poor curate on eighty pounds a year, without burial or other fees, and no expectations from my father,' he cast about for a wife with a fortune, that wTould make up the deficiency. It was not long before he fancied that he had discovered the treasure he so anxiously sought, in the person of a lady, the daughter of Captain Harper. The lady, though not very young nor very beautiful, was comely, and reported to have a large fortune.

This was the greatest consideration with our really poor curate ; and accordingly, as Captain Harper attended the church where he occasionaUy officiated, the curate became very solicitous for the spiritual welfare of the famdy, engaging Miss Harper to become a tract dis tributor, and enlisting her in all his schemes for the weHare of the needy and destitute of the parish; generaUy accompanying her, and paying her marked attentions, which the lady received with evident satisfaction. He also became a frequent visitor at the house, always making it his home on the Sundays when it was his turn to officiate there. After having thoroughly satisfied himseH as to the lady's eligibiHty to make a good and suitable wife, he called upon her one day, and asked permission to accompany her in her daily walk in the park, as he had a very important communication to make to her.

The lady, with a little confusion, consented, feeling certain that he meant nothing less than a confession of his love, and havino fuUy made up her mind to accept him, she dressed herseH with unusual care ere she presented herself to accompany him. Having reached the park, he cau tiously came to the point nearest his heart, which was the subject of her fortune. The lady frankly told him she had but fifteen hundred pounds, which would be paid on her wedding-day, and that the remainder of her father's property was entaUed on her brother. And great was her amazement at witnessing the look of disappointment that came upon her mercenary suitor. " ' I am surprised — I am astonished — at the false hoods people teU ! I have repeatedly heard that you had fifteen hundred pounds down, and a yearly in come of three hundred pounds from the estate —and you have only fifteen hundred pounds ; in aU, fifteen hundred?

And I, a poor curate, with only eighty pounds a year, without burial or other fees, and no expectations from my father. What is fifteen hun dred pounds to keep a wife and seven chUdren !' " Here the lady (whose affections could not have been very deeply engaged, but who was reaUy very good-natured) lost her indignation, and burst into a fit of merriment, which greatly added to the poor man's confusion, who could only repeat, ' What are fifteen hundred pounds to keep a wife and seven children ; and I, a poor curate, on eighty pounds a year, and no expectations !' At length the lady recovered her gravity, and said, ' Surely I am not to blame for the reports that have reached your ears ; rumour generaUy exaggerates everything. But I must say, I think as regards the wife and seven children, that you may yourself be exaggerating.' ' Oh, no ! no !

Miss Harper, you are a very likely person to have a large family ;' — upon which, flushing crimson, she turned on her heel, and hurried home, leaving him muttering to himself — ' Only fifteen hundred pounds to keep a wife, &c.' So fairly bewUdered was the poor man, that he suffered her to walk home alone, a distance of nearly two miles ; which so exasperated her brother, that he swore he would give him a good horsewhip ping the next time he met him. " As I was riding into town this morning, I had the good fortune to come up just at the moment they were crossing each other's path, and to witness the fun. The young fellow, weU mounted, saw our solemn friend at some little distance, and riding briskly up to him, and looking as fierce as though he had been leading his men into the thick of a battle, he flourished his whip over his head, and told him he had come to give him a sound thrashing, for his rude and unmanly conduct to his sister.

Then bringing the whip for ward with a swinging sound, he would have dealt him such a lash, had not Forster stepped aside to avoid it ; and, putting up his hand in a solemn man ner, he said, in slow and measured tones, ' Strike me not ! strike me not ! strike me not ! I conjure you !' which so tickled young Harper, that, bursting out laughing in his face, as his sister had done, he turned to me and said, ' Doctor, it would be unmanly to harm such a creature ;' so he contented himself by saying, ' Go your way, and for woman's sake, take St. Paul's advice.' ' The doctor having finished his story, went up-stairs again, and finding aU progressing most favourably, took his leave for the night. MademoiseUe, after her passion had subsided, repented of the hasty notice she had given, and as no remonstrance was made, nor hint from her mistress to request her to stay, she fretted herself into an ill-humour, which brought on a fit of iUness.

An nette declared that mademoiseUe was seriously in disposed ; and Mr. Trevelyan (as it was her mistress's wish to retain mademoiseUe) gave instructions that Dr. Middleton, when he came the next morning, should see her. The doctor found her suffering from a sUght bUious attack, attended with great irritabUity of the nervous system ; but when he began to ques tion her as to her feelings, she became so excited that she could not carry on the conversation in English, but delivered herseH most volubly in her native tongue. The doctor, who knew no more of French than a chUd taking his first lesson, was totally ignorant of what she was saying ; but being a humorist, he listened very gravely, answering every time she paused for a reply, " Je twig — twiggez vous ? Twig_jez vous parrywack-bang, mademoiseUe?"

Then pro mising to send her something to relieve her, she was soothed. The doctor returned to the drawing-room, and had a hearty laugh with Mr. Trevelyan over his French. But the doctor's lady patient did not regain her strength as soon as might be expected. Slow and tedious was her progress towards convalescence, and as soon as she could bear removal, he recommended change of air. Hence, the purchase of the present little estate which Mr. Trevelyan's fine taste had rendered so charming. As the invalid advanced to wards recovery, her caprices and fancies were number less. Alas, for Mr. Trevelyan's firm resolves to re trench his expenses. They continued to increase alarmingly, so that he found he was compeUed to take from his principal to meet the present emer gencies, always intending, when his wife regained her strength, to make a radical change in his domestic arrangements, but her delicate state of health now preventing him.

Years roUed on : his son continued to grow in strength and beauty ; he was reaUy a fine boy, but so idolized by his mother, and petted by the whole household, that he had already become a spoded child. And although his father saw and re gretted all tins, the same weak good-nature and in dulgence that prevented him from exerting his authority to stay his wHe's lavish expenditure, led him also to procrastinate any interference with his child. But as regarded his finances, he found he could no longer put off the evH day. Year after year but increased, instead of diminishing, his ex penses, and had aHeady made such inroads into his fortune that he was compelled to invest his remaining capital in a large mercantile house as partner, to the immense disgust of his wife, but to the considerable increase of his income, thereby enabHng him to maintain her in the splendour and luxury without which she would not Uve, although the means of obtaining it she despised.

The boy had now become a youth, and at the age of nineteen was sent to coUege, when the Httle girl now first introduced to the reader was born. Mrs. Trevelyan had never loved this infant as she did her first-born. A delicate and puny child from her birth, she had failed to win the love of her vain and weak-minded mother, who left her almost entirely to the care of nurses. Consequently she was suffered to grow up without proper control ; thrown almost always upon herself for amusement, with nothing to enlist her sympathies or claim her love, excepting a Httle dog which had been her constant and petted companion, (but had recently died,) and the occasional half-hour she enjoyed with her papa at dessert. But mamma was subject to nervous headaches which often caused this privUege to be denied.

To these haH hours with her papa she looked forward with ecstacy, and as she grew older this love for him increased to devotion when she saw her mother lavish all her love upon her brother, who was selfish, exacting, and overbearing, repeUing her sensitive, proud, but affec tionate nature. She had never been loved or under stood save by her father. Can we wonder, then, that her enthusiastic nature made him the object of ido latry, and that all her young affections were centred in him ?

Chapter III

At the time we write, Mr. Trevelyan had been greatly disturbed and harassed by the faUure of several large foreign houses, by which also his own firm had lost to such an extent, that he was seriously resolving to withdraw his capital and retire from the concern, before it was too late. He found that he must also reduce his establishment, and devote himseH to the education of his dearly loved, but much neglected daughter. After a sumptuous dinner had been discussed, an elegant dessert laid on the table, and the servants had left the room, he resolved to speak to his wife on the subject of retrenching, and Hving in a more quiet humble manner on his means. But this was the greatest trial in the accompHshment of his plan : so he helped his lady and Httle girl, praised the pine, but could not find courage to come to the point, when Mary unconsciously came to his assistance by saying — "Dear papa, when you came in this morning, I wanted to ask you, what was the meaning of selfdiscipline ; but talking of the dingle made me quite forget it."

" SeH-discipline, my child, is just the very thing I wish you not only to know, but to practise : it is just the reverse of such pettish wiHulness as my little daughter displayed this morning to Annette. It is seH-control — the government of our passions ; if we feel mclined to be angry, to stamp our foot, as some Httle girl I know, it is to caU into exercise the reason which God has given us, in resisting the impulse, and answering mildly and kindly." " But, dear papa, how can I speak kindly, if I am very angry ? if I was to speak kindly, I should not be angry : but when I am annoyed and in a passion, I cannot help it." " You may find it difficult at first ; but every time we resist an evil habit, its power over us is weakened. Suppose you promise me to try. Begin by first counting ten, when next in a passion, before you speak ; if very angry, twenty or even fifty before you speak ; by the end of that time you wiU remember your promise, and how very unbecoming it is for a lady to speak rudely and unkindly to any one, more especiaHy to servants who are constantly doing kind offices for them."

" Dear papa, I wiU do anything you wish." " Pray, Mr. Trevelyan," interrupted his wife, " how long have you been your daughter's governess ? I reaUy am quite sick of this. Please to remember I am not at school, and that Mary bores me quite enough by her tiresome questions. I am thinking of getting her a governess, and I have told her to keep these ridiculous questions for her." " My dear Laura, I have been seriously thinking of undertaking Mary's education myself, and devoting some hours a day to her. If I lay a substantial foun dation, she can easdy acquire the more feminine ac complishments from others." ' Well, that surpasses aU I ever heard," replied Mrs. Trevelyan ; " are you beside yourseH? or do you in tend devoting aU your evenings to Mary ? She has nearly aU your time already, since you would have her dining with us when she ought to be in the nursery."

" Mary, darting, you may leave us now. I have some serious business to talk over with mamma." She looked wistfully at him, as he took her hand, and bade her wish mamma good night. " Oh, pray don't send her away, if your talk is to be serious — you know I hate serious talk, and care nothing of business," said Mrs. Trevelyan. But as her father led her to the door, Mary sprang to his neck, and whispering, " You will not forget the dingle to-morrow, dearest papa?" she disappeared. Mr. Trevelyan took a seat by his wife, and taking her hand, said, " My dear Laura, I have long wished to talk to you on a disagreeable subject, but have de ferred it as long as possible, fearing it would give you pain and annoyance." " Then pray say nothing about it," interrupted this unsympathizing wife. " See here, I have just received a letter from our dear boy, and he wants a cheque for the purchase of a boat, and I want " " Dear Laura," said Mr. Trevelyan, " wiU you wait a little, and give me your serious attention for once.