The Draytons and the Davenants : $b A story of the Civil WarsCharles, Elizabeth Rundle
History
The Draytons and the Davenants : $b A story of the Civil Wars
Charles, Elizabeth Rundle
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
Allusions to Greek and Roman history, and to new discoveries in art
and science, and even to stories of modern European wars, which were
as natural to us as household words, were plainly an unknown tongue
to them. Even on the lute and the harpsichord, Lattice's
instructions had fallen short of those my father had procured for me,
although her sweet clear voice, and her graceful way of doing
everything, made all she did seem done better than any one else could
have done it.
The brothers, for the most part, laughed off their deficiencies, and
often made them seem for the moment a kind of gentlemanlike
distinction, bantering Roger as if learning were but a little better
kind of servile labour, beneath the attention of any but those who
had to earn their bread. All that kind of thing, they said, was
going out of the mode. The late King James had tired the court out
with overmuch pedantry and learning; the present king indeed was a
grave and accomplished gentleman, but merrier days would come in with
the French queen's court and the young princes, when the "gay
science" would be the only one much worth cultivating by men of
condition. Meantime the elder brothers paid me many choice and
graceful compliments on my hands and my hair, my eyes and my
eye-lashes, my learning and my accomplishments, jesting now and then
in a courtly way on my sober attire; and, child that I was, sent me
looking with much interest and wonder at myself in the long glass in
Lady Lucy's drawing-chamber, to see if what they said was true. I
remember, one noon, after a long survey of myself, I concluded that
much of it was, and thanked God that evening for having made me
pleasant to look at. A few years later, the danger would have been
different.
But Lettice was of a different nature from all her brothers except
one. Generously alive to whatever was to be loved or admired in
others, and ready to depreciate herself, she wanted Roger and me to
teach her all we knew. She made him hunt out the books which would
instruct her in Sir Walter's neglected library. She sat patiently
three sunny mornings trying to learn from Roger the Italian grammar,
which she had pleaded hard he should teach her, she made him read the
poetry to her, and said it was sweeter than her mother's lute. But
on the fourth morning her patience was exhausted;--she declared it
was a wicked prodigality to waste the sunny hours in-doors, and
danced us away to the woods; and all Roger's remonstrances could not
bring her back to such unwonted work. Indeed the more he
remonstrated, the more idle and indifferent she chose to be,
insisting instead on showing him some new French dance or singing him
some snatch of French song she had learned from the Queen's ladies,
until he gave up in despair; when she declared that but for his want
of patience she had been fairly on the way to become a feminine
Solomon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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