The Parent's Assistant; Or, Stories for Children by Maria Edgeworth
THE MIMIC.
CHAPTER I.
MR. and Mrs. Montague spent the summer of the year 1795 at Clifton withtheir son Frederick, and their two daughters Sophia and Marianne. Theyhad taken much care of the education of their children; nor were theyever tempted, by any motive of personal convenience or temporaryamusement, to hazard the permanent happiness of their pupils.
Sensible of the extreme importance of early impressions, and of thepowerful influence of external circumstances in forming the charactersand the manners, they were now anxious that the variety of new ideas andnew objects which would strike the minds of their children should appearin a just point of view.
“Let children see and judge for themselves,” is often inconsideratelysaid. Where children see only a part they cannot judge of the whole; andfrom the superficial view which they can have in short visits anddesultory conversation, they can form only a false estimate of theobjects of human happiness, a false notion of the nature of society, andfalse opinions of characters.
For the above reasons, Mr. and Mrs. Montague were particularly cautiousin the choice of their acquaintances, as they were well aware thatwhatever passed in conversation before children became part of theireducation.
When they came to Clifton they wished to have a house entirely tothemselves, but, as they came late in the season, almost all the lodginghouses were full, and for a few weeks they were obliged to remain in ahouse where some of the apartments were already occupied.
During the first fortnight they scarcely saw or heard anything of one ofthe families who lodged on the same floor with them. An elderly quaker,and his sister Bertha, were their silent neighbours. The bloomingcomplexion of the lady had indeed attracted the attention of thechildren, as they caught a glimpse of her face when she was getting intoher carriage to go out upon the Downs. They could scarcely believe thatshe came to the Wells on account of her health.
Besides her blooming complexion, the delicate white of her garments hadstruck them with admiration; and they observed that her brother carefullyguarded her dress from the wheel of the carriage, as he handed her in.From this circumstance, and from the benevolent countenance of the oldgentleman, they concluded that he was very fond of his sister, and thatthey were certainly very happy, except that they never spoke, and couldbe seen only for a moment.
Not so the maiden lady who occupied the ground floor. On the stairs, inthe passages, at her window, she was continually visible; and sheappeared to possess the art of being present in all these places at once.Her voice was eternally to be heard, and it was not particularlymelodious. The very first day she met Mrs. Montague’s children on thestairs, she stopped to tell Marianne that she was a charming dear, and acharming little dear; to kiss her, to inquire her name, and to inform herthat her own name was “Mrs. Theresa Tattle,” a circumstance of whichthere was little danger of their long remaining in ignorance; for, in thecourse of one morning, at least twenty single and as many double raps atthe door were succeeded by vociferations of “Mrs. Theresa Tattle’sservant!” “Mrs. Theresa Tattle at home?” “Mrs. Theresa Tattle not athome!”
No person at the Wells was oftener at home and abroad than Mrs. Tattle.She had, as she deemed it, the happiness to have a most extensiveacquaintance residing at Clifton. She had for years kept a register ofarrivals. She regularly consulted the subscriptions to the circulatinglibraries, and the lists at the Ball and the Pump-rooms: so that, with amemory unencumbered with literature, and free from all domestic cares,she contrived to retain a most astonishing and correct list of births,deaths and marriages, together with all the anecdotes, amusing,instructive, or scandalous, which are necessary to the conversation of awater drinking place, and essential to the character of a “very pleasantwoman.”
“A very pleasant woman,” Mrs. Tattle was usually called; and, consciousof her accomplishments, she was eager to introduce herself to theacquaintance of her new neighbours; having, with her ordinary expedition,collected from their servants, by means of her own, all that could beknown, or rather, all that could be told about them. The name ofMontague, at all events, she knew was a good name, and justified incourting the acquaintance. She courted it first by nods, and becks andsmiles at Marianne whenever she met her; and Marianne, who was a verylittle girl, began presently to nod and smile in return, persuaded that alady who smiled so much, could not be ill-natured. Besides, Mrs.Theresa’s parlour door was sometimes left more than half open, to afforda view of a green parrot. Marianne sometimes passed very slowly by thisdoor. One morning it was left quite wide open, when she stopped to say“Pretty Poll”; and immediately Mrs. Tattle begged she would do her thehonour to walk in and see “Pretty Poll,” at the same time taking theliberty to offer her a piece of iced plum-cake.
The next day Mrs. Theresa Tattle did herself the honour to wait upon Mrs.Montague, “to apologize for the liberty she taken in inviting Mrs.Montague’s charming Miss Marianne into her apartment to see Pretty Poll,and for the still greater liberty she had taken in offering her a pieceof plum-cake—inconsiderate creature that she was!—which might possiblyhave disagreed with her, and which certainly were liberties she nevershould have been induced to take, if she had not been unaccountablybewitched by Miss Marianne’s striking though highly flatteringresemblance to a young gentleman (an officer) with whom she had danced,now nearly twelve years ago, of the name of Montague, a most respectableyoung man, and of a most respectable family, with which, in a remotedegree, she might presume to say, she herself was someway connected,having the honour to be nearly related to the Joneses of Merionethshire,who were cousins to the Mainwarings of Bedfordshire, who married into thefamily of the Griffiths, the eldest branch of which, she understood, hadthe honour to be cousin-german to Mr. Montague; on which account she hadbeen impatient to pay a visit, so likely to be productive of mostagreeable consequences, by the acquisition of an acquaintance whosesociety must do her infinite honour.”
Having thus happily accomplished her first visit, there seemed littleprobability of escaping Mrs. Tattle’s further acquaintance. In thecourse of the first week she only hinted to Mr. Montague that “somepeople thought his system of education rather odd; that she should beobliged to him if he would, some time or other, when he had nothing elseto do, just sit down and make her understand his notions, that she mighthave something to say to her acquaintance, as she always wished to havewhen she heard any friend attacked, or any friend’s opinions.”
Mr. Montague declining to sit down and make this lady understand a systemof education only to give her something to say, and showing unaccountableindifference about the attacks with which he was threatened, Mrs. Tattlenext addressed herself to Mrs. Montague, prophesying, in a most seriouswhisper, “that the charming Miss Marianne would shortly and inevitablygrow quite crooked, if she were not immediately provided with aback-board, a French dancing-master, and a pair of stocks.”
This alarming whisper could not, however, have a permanent effect uponMrs. Montague’s understanding, because three days afterwards Mrs.Theresa, upon the most anxious inspection, entirely mistook the just andnatural proportions of the hip and shoulder.
This danger vanishing, Mrs. Tattle presently, with a rueful length offace, and formal preface, “hesitated to assure Mrs. Montague, that shewas greatly distressed about her daughter Sophy; that she was convincedher lungs were affected; and that she certainly ought to drink the watersmorning and evening; and above all things, must keep one of the patirosalozenges constantly in her mouth, and directly consult Dr. Cardamum, thebest physician in the world, and the person she would send for herselfupon her death-bed; because, to her certain knowledge, he had recovered ayoung lady, a relation of her own, after she had lost one whole _globe_{222} of her lungs.”
The medical opinion of a lady of so much anatomical precision could nothave much weight. Neither was this universal adviser more successful inan attempt to introduce a tutor to Frederick, who, she apprehended, mustwant some one to perfect him in the Latin and Greek, and
All Mrs. Theresa Tattle’s suggestions being lost upon these stoicalparents, her powers were next tried upon the children, and her successsoon became apparent. On Sophy, indeed, she could not make anyimpression, though she had expended on her some of her finest strokes offlattery. Sophy, though very desirous of the approbation of her friends,was not very desirous of winning the favour of strangers. She was aboutthirteen—that dangerous age at which ill educated girls, in their anxietyto display their accomplishments, are apt to become dependent forapplause upon the praise of every idle visitor; when the habits not beingformed, and the attention being suddenly turned to dress and manners,girls are apt to affect and imitate, indiscriminately, everything thatthey conceive to be agreeable.
Sophy, whose taste had been cultivated at the same time with her powersof reasoning, was not liable to fall into these errors. She found thatshe could please those whom she wished to please, without affecting to beanything but what she really was; and her friends listened to what shesaid, though she never repeated the sentiments, or adopted the phrases,which she might easily have copied from the conversation of those whowere older or more fashionable than herself.
This word _fashionable_, Mrs. Theresa Tattle knew, had usually a greateffect, even at thirteen; but she had not observed that it had much powerupon Sophy; nor were her remarks concerning grace and manners muchattended to. Her mother had taught Sophy that it was best to let herselfalone, and not to distort either her person or her mind in acquiringgrimace, which nothing but the fashion of the moment can support, andwhich is always detected and despised by people of real good sense andpoliteness.
“Bless me!” said Mrs. Tattle, to herself, “if I had such a tall daughter,and so unformed, before my eyes from morning to night, it would certainlybreak my poor heart. Thank heaven, I am not a mother! if I were, MissMarianne for me!”
Miss Marianne had heard so often from Mrs. Tattle that she was verycharming, that she could not help believing it; and from being a verypleasing, unaffected little girl, she in a short time grew so conceited,that she could neither speak, look, nor be silent without imagining thateverybody was, or ought to be, looking at her; and when Mrs. Theresa sawthat Mrs. Montague looked very grave upon these occasions, she, to repairthe ill she had done, would say, after praising Marianne’s hair or hereyes, “Oh, but little ladies should never think about their beauty, youknow. Nobody loves anybody for being handsome, but for being good.”People must think children are very silly, or else they can never havereflected upon the nature of belief in their own minds, if they imaginethat children will believe the words that are said to them, by way ofmoral, when the countenance, manner, and every concomitant circumstancetell them a different tale. Children are excellent physiognomists—theyquickly learn the universal language of looks; and what is said _of_ themalways makes a greater impression than what is said _to_ them, a truth ofwhich those prudent people surely cannot be aware who comfort themselves,and apologize to parents, by saying, “Oh, but I would not say so and soto the child.”
Mrs. Theresa had seldom said to Frederick Montague, “that he had a vastdeal of drollery, and was a most incomparable mimic;” but she had said soof him in whispers, which magnified the sound to his imagination, if notto his ear. He was a boy of much vivacity, and had considerableabilities; but his appetite for vulgar praise had not yet been surfeited.Even Mrs. Theresa Tattle’s flattery pleased him, and he exerted himselffor her entertainment so much that he became quite a buffoon. Instead ofobserving characters and manners, that he might judge of them, and formhis own, he now watched every person he saw, that he might detect somefoible, or catch some singularity in their gesture or pronunciation,which he might successfully mimic.
Alarmed by the rapid progress of these evils, Mr. and Mrs. Montague, who,from the first day that they had been honoured with Mrs. Tattle’s visit,had begun to look out for new lodgings, were now extremely impatient todecamp. They were not people who, from the weak fear of offending asilly acquaintance, would hazard the happiness of their family. They hadheard of a house in the country which was likely to suit them, and theydetermined to go directly to look at it. As they were to be absent allday, they foresaw that their officious neighbour would probably interferewith their children. They did not choose to exact any promise from themwhich they might be tempted to break, and therefore they only said atparting, “If Mrs. Theresa Tattle should ask you to come to her, do as youthink proper.”
Scarcely had Mrs. Montague’s carriage got out of hearing when a note wasbrought, directed to “Frederick Montague, Junior, Esq.,” which heimmediately opened, and read as follows:—
“Mrs. Theresa Tattle presents her very best compliments to the entertaining Mr. Frederick Montague; she hopes he will have the charity to drink tea with her this evening, and bring his charming sister, Miss Marianne, with him, as Mrs. Theresa will be quite alone with a shocking headache, and is sensible her nerves are affected; and Dr. Cardamum says that (especially in Mrs. T. T.’s case) it is downright death to nervous patients to be alone an instant. She therefore trusts Mr. Frederick will not refuse to come and make her laugh. Mrs. Theresa has taken care to provide a few macaroons for her little favourite, who said she was particularly fond of them the other day. Mrs. Theresa hopes they will all come at six, or before, not forgetting Miss Sophy, if she will condescend to be of the party.”
At the first reading of this note, “the entertaining” Mr. Frederick, andthe “charming” Miss Marianne laughed heartily, and looked at Sophy, as ifthey were afraid that she should think it possible they could like suchgross flattery; but upon a second perusal, Marianne observed that itcertainly was very good-natured of Mrs. Theresa to remember themacaroons; and Frederick allowed that it was wrong to laugh at the poorwoman because she had the headache. Then twisting the note in hisfingers, he appealed to Sophy:—
“Well, Sophy, leave off drawing for an instant,” said Frederick, “andtell us what answer can we send?”
“Can!—we can send what answer we please.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Frederick. “I would refuse if I could; but weought not to do anything rude, should we? So I think we might as wellgo, because we could not refuse, if we would, I say.”
“You have made such confusion,” replied Sophy, “between ‘couldn’t’ and‘wouldn’t’ and ‘shouldn’t,’ that I can’t understand you; surely they areall different things.”
“Different! no,” cried Frederick—“could, would, should, might, and ought,are all the same thing in the Latin grammar; all of ’em signs of thepotential mood, you know.”
Sophy, whose powers of reasoning were not to be confounded, even byquotations from the Latin grammar, looked up soberly from her drawing,and answered “that very likely those words might be signs of the samething in the Latin grammar, but she believed that they meant perfectlydifferent things in real life.”
“That’s just as people please,” said her sophistical brother. “You knowwords mean nothing in themselves. If I choose to call my hat mycadwallader, you would understand me just as well, after I had onceexplained it to you, that by cadwallader I meant this black thing that Iput upon my head; cadwallader and hat would then be just the same thingto you.”
“Then why have two wor
“I wanted to prove,” interrupted Frederick, “that it’s not worth while todispute for two hours about two words. Do keep to the point, Sophy, anddon’t dispute with me.”
“I was not disputing, I was reasoning.”
“Well, reasoning or disputing. Women have no business to do either; for,how should they know how to chop logic like men?”
At this contemptuous sarcasm upon her sex, Sophy’s colour rose.
“There!” cried Frederick, exulting, “now we shall see a philosopheress ina passion; I’d give sixpence, half-price, for a harlequin entertainment,to see Sophy in a passion. Now, Marianne, look at her brush dabbing sofast in the water!”
Sophy, who could not easily bear to be laughed at, with some littleindignation, said, “Brother, I wish—”
“There! there!” cried Frederick, pointing to the colour which rose in hercheeks almost to her temples—“rising! rising! rising! look at thethermometer! blood heat! blood! fever heat! boiling water heat!Marianne.”
“Then,” said Sophy, smiling, “you should stand a little farther off, bothof you. Leave the thermometer to itself a little while. Give it time tocool. It will come down to ‘temperate’ by the time you look again.”
“Oh, brother!” cried Marianne, “she’s so good-humoured, don’t tease herany more, and don’t draw heads upon her paper, and don’t stretch herindia-rubber, and don’t let us dirty any more of her brushes. See! thesides of her tumbler are all manner of colours.”
“Oh, I only mixed red, blue, green and yellow, to show you, Marianne,that all colours mixed together make white. But she is temperate now,and I won’t plague her; she shall chop logic, if she likes it, though sheis a woman.”
“But that’s not fair, brother,” said Marianne, “to say ‘woman’ in thatway. I’m sure Sophy found out how to tie that difficult knot, which papashowed us yesterday, long before you did, though you are a man.”
“Not long,” said Frederick. “Besides, that was only a conjuring trick.”
“It was very ingenious, though,” said Marianne; “and papa said so.Besides, she understood the ‘Rule of Three,’ which was no conjuringtrick, better than you did, though she is a woman; and she can reason,too, mamma says.”
“Very well, let her reason away,” said the provoking wit. “All I have tosay is, that she’ll never be able to make a pudding.”
“Why not, pray, brother?” inquired Sophy, looking up again, very gravely.
“Why, you know papa himself, the other day at dinner, said that the womanwho talks Greek and Latin as well as I do, is a fool after all; and thatshe had better have learned something useful; and Mrs. Tattle said, she’danswer for it she did not know how to make a pudding.”
“Well! but I am not talking Greek and Latin, am I?”
“No, but you are drawing, and that’s the same thing.”
“The same thing! Oh, Frederick!” said little Marianne, laughing.
“You may laugh; but I say it is the same sort of thing. Women who arealways drawing and reasoning, never know how to make puddings. Mrs.Theresa Tattle said so, when I showed her Sophy’s beautiful drawingyesterday.”
“Mrs. Theresa Tattle might say so,” replied Sophy, calmly; “but I do notperceive the reason, brother, why drawing should prevent me from learninghow to make a pudding.”
“Well, I say you’ll never learn how to make a good pudding.”
“I have learned,” continued Sophy, who was mixing her colours, “to mixsuch and such colours together to make the colour that I want; and whyshould I not be able to learn to mix flour and butter, and sugar and egg,together, to produce the taste that I want.”
“Oh, but mixing will never do, unless you know the quantities, like acook; and you would never learn the right quantities.”
“How did the cook learn them? Cannot I learn them as she did?”
“Yes, but you’d never do it exactly, and mind the spoonfuls right, by therecipe, like a cook.”
“Indeed! indeed! but she would,” cried Marianne, eagerly: “and a greatdeal more exactly, for mamma has taught her to weigh and measure thingsvery carefully: and when I was ill she always weighed the bark in nicely,and dropped my drops so carefully: better than the cook. When mamma tookme down to see the cook make a cake once, I saw her spoonfuls, and herounces, and her handfuls: she dashed and splashed without mindingexactness or the recipe, or anything. I’m sure Sophy would make a muchbetter pudding, if exactness only were wanting.”
“Well, granting that she could make the best pudding in the whole world,what does that signify? I say she never would: so it comes to the samething.”
“Never would! how can you tell that, brother?”
“Why, now look at her, with her books, and her drawings, and all thisapparatus. Do you think she would ever jump up, with all her nicety,too, and put by all these things, to go down into the greasy kitchen, andplump up to the elbows in suet, like a cook, for a plum-pudding?”
“I need not plump up to the elbows, brother,” said Sophy, smiling: “noris it necessary that I should be a cook: but, if it were necessary, Ihope I should be able to make a pudding.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Marianne, warmly; “and she would jump up, and put byall her things in a minute if it were necessary, and run down stairs andup again like lightning, or do anything that was ever so disagreeable toher, even about the suet, with all her nicety, brother, I assure you, asshe used to do anything, everything for me, when I was ill last winter.Oh, brother, she can do anything; and she could make the bestplum-pudding in the whole world, I’m sure, in a minute, if it werenecessary.”