Christabel Coleridge - Hugh Crichton's Romance

“Ah, Flossy,” said Mrs Crichton, “I thought we should see you to-night. I suppose Miss Venning told you of what she saw?”

“Yes,” returned Flossy, rather shyly; “so I came to see Mysie.”

“Mysie is somewhere. I have told them they must wait in secrecy and silence till Hugh comes home, or he will never forgive us.”

“Then you don’t object, Mrs Crichton?” said Flossy, eagerly.

“No. Mysie might do better, perhaps, but there is no use in making her miserable if she does not think so herself. Surely people must choose for themselves in these matters,” said Mrs Crichton, uttering this sentiment – so often practically ignored – as if it were such a truism that Flossy felt as if life was really so easy as to be quite flat.

“I am sure Arthur will get on,” she said.

“Oh, yes; and I don’t know a nicer fellow anywhere. Dear children, how surprised Hugh will be! I wish he would follow their example. But, dear me! I cannot expect him to see with my eyes. There is Arthur!”

Arthur came up and exchanged a hearty squeeze of the hand and delighted smile with Flossy.

“Mysie is in the garden,” he said; “do come and find her.”

“Oh, Arthur, I am so glad,” cried Flossy, impulsively, as she walked away with him. “I am so glad that Mrs Crichton – ”

“Aunt Lily? I prepared several irresistible arguments, and felt as if – well, as if I might have kept them for Hugh. How kind she is! But, now, Flossy, you are unprejudiced; don’t you think I shall make Mysie as happy as that swell in the air who is supposed to loom in the future?”

“Now, how angry you would be if I did not say yes! How can you expect me to sacrifice your friendship to a disinterested regard for truth?”

“I want somebody to convince! I feel as if I had been reading hard and the examiners had asked me to decline ‘Dominus.’”

“Oh, Arthur, anyone may see where you have been lately. How ungrateful you are!”

“No, I am not, Flossy,” said Arthur; “but I really feel as if I ought to object to myself as a duty to the family.”

“Do wait for your cousin,” said Flossy; “he will do that duty for you, no doubt. No, I am very glad.”

“Thank you – thank you,” said Arthur, pleased at the hearty sympathy in her voice. “Ah, there’s Mysie, picking roses.”

“Now, Arthur, do stay away for five minutes. How can we talk with you there to listen?”

“Well – make haste.”

Flossy ran away from him and seized Mysie in a warm, and – considering their respective sizes – somewhat overwhelming embrace.

“My little darling, it’s delightful. I always meant you to have a fairy prince, and to think it should be Arthur!”

“I am very glad he is not a fairy prince,” said Mysie, smiling.

“What is he, then?” cried Flossy.

“Why, Flossy,” said Mysie, “I think he’s only what old Miss Rogers used to call ‘Mr Right.’”

“Go back, my lord, across the moor!”

Signor Mattei was coming out from a rehearsal. He often told Violante that her work was nothing to his; and, indeed, his violin was always in its place in the orchestra. His work was his life, he would have been miserable without it; and yet, with a not uncommon inconsistency, he liked to pity himself for having got it to do. He was a man with an ideal, with a dream that was very difficult of fulfilment; and, perhaps, did not need sympathy less than the girl who suffered so much and disappointed him so sorely. Whatever may have been Signor Mattei’s youthful hopes, in the days when he had thrown away the chance of a more eligible profession to follow the art he so loved, he had long been forced to limit them to making a fair livelihood by it. Aspirations are not always capabilities; and, spite of self-devotion and enthusiasm and much technical skill, he was not destined to rise to the top of the tree. He was not, indeed, great enough to do as he liked; and his temper and touchiness often brought good engagements to a premature end; and, though he had never hitherto failed in obtaining fresh ones, there was an element of uncertainty in his fortunes. However different things might be with him from what he had once desired, Signor Mattei had not been a discontented man. Small successes which he would once have despised were much pleasanter than small failures; and he had grown to limit his desires to such as were possible of fulfilment; when ambition, desire of gain, and burning enthusiasm were all reawakened by the discovery of Violante’s wonderful voice. Here was his chance again. His daughter’s name should be heard in every capital in Europe: the fortunes of the whole family should be assured. What sacrifices were too great, what toil too arduous by which the possessor of this glorious gift could turn it to account! If such a voice had belonged to Violante’s father how he would have gloried and rejoiced, how he would have worked early and late, how intoxicating would have been the success that crowned his efforts! People bear much harder on each other by the inevitable workings of their alien natures than by wilful selfishness or cruelty. Violante and her father made each other miserable; yet he was anxious to give her what would have been to himself the greatest good, and she wore herself out in trying to obey and to please him. It is not easy for a bystander to judge between distaste and incapacity; it is difficult to say which is the most provoking. No amount of idleness on Violante’s part would have so provoked her father as did her unenthusiastic performance of the amount of study required of her, her tears and terror when she achieved a success. Such folly must be curable by a sufficient amount of scolding and argument. A person must enjoy what is enjoyable when the advantage is pointed out to them with sufficient strength. And Violante had been just successful enough to make her father believe that it entirely depended on herself to succeed better still. Violante thought this belief cruel; and Rosa, standing between both, while she prevented either from feeling the very sharpest edge of the other’s opinion, if she pitied her little sister the most, to a certain extent sympathised with Signor Mattei.

So much for sentiment. Violante was unworthy of her gift, but she possessed it, and it brought substantial gains, much needed; for in a life with so many ups and downs Signor Mattei had not held himself free from debt. Besides, no engagement had ever suited him so well as his present one, and was not that confirmed to him by Signor Vasari’s interest in his young prima donna ? If Violante married the manager her success was certain, and the fortunes of the whole family were assured; but if Vasari were offended there was an end of everything.

Her gains for her present engagement would belong to her father; and he felt, though he would not own, that there was enough uncertainty about her future to make the solid good of her marriage most desirable. And Signor Vasari had just made the flattering suggestion that Mdlle. Mattei’s timidity and reluctance might be in part owing to a maidenly coyness and consciousness towards himself. Once acknowledged as his promessa sposa she would gain courage and self-confidence. Signor Mattei joyously pledged himself to do everything in his power to favour the manager’s views. Art, fame, and fortune all smiled upon him; and no experience could make Signor Mattei believe that Violante was so unlike other girls as not to view such a proposal with rapture. Full of this pleasing prospect he was walking hastily home from the theatre to his own dwelling, when he was accosted by Hugh Crichton, who begged the favour of a few words with him.