The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)Burney, Fanny
History
The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)
Burney, Fanny
France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Refugees -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Refugees -- Fiction; War stories
With a mind revolting from a measure which, while prudence, if not
necessity, dictated, choice and feeling opposed, she now quitted her
mantua-maker's abode, to set out for her new destination; seeking to
cheer herself that, at least, by this step, she should be secured from
the licentious pursuit of Sir Lyell Sycamore; the envenomed shafts of
calumny of the enraged Brinvilles; the perpetual terrour of debts; and
the cruel apprehension of want.
She had not far to go; but the mortifications, for which she prepared
herself, began by the very sight of the dwelling into which she was to
enter. Mrs Ireton had taken the house of Mrs Howel:--that house in which
Juliet had first, after her arrival in England, received consolation in
her distresses; been melted by kindness; or animated by approbation.
There, too, indeed, she had experienced the pain which she had felt the
most severely; for there all the soothing consideration, so precious to
her sorrows, had abruptly been broken off, to give place to an assault
the most shocking upon her intentions, her probity, her character.
Here, too, she had suffered the cruel affront, and heartfelt grief, of
seeing the ingenuous, amiable Lord Melbury forget what was due to the
rights of hospitality; to his own character; and to the respect due to
his sister: and here she had witnessed his sincere and candid
repentance; here had been softened, touched, and penetrated by the
impressive anguish of his humiliation.
These remembrances, and the various affecting and interesting ideas by
which they were accompanied, gave a dejection to her thoughts, and a
sadness to her air, that would have awakened an interest in her favour,
in any one whose heart had been open to the feelings of others: but the
person under whose protection she was now to place herself, was a
stranger to every species of sensation that was not personal. And where
the calls of self upon sensibility are unremitting, what must be the
stock that will gift us, also, with supply sufficient for our
fellow-creatures?
She found Mrs Ireton reclining upon a sofa; at the side of which, upon a
green velvet cushion, lay a tiny old lap dog, whom a little boy,
evidently too wanton to find pleasure but in mischief, was secretly
tormenting, by displaying before him the breast bone of a chicken, which
he had snatched from the platter of the animal; and which, the moment
that he made it touch the mouth of the cur, he hid, with all its fat and
its grease, in his own waistcoat pocket.
Near to these two almost equally indulged and spoilt animals, stood a
nursery maid, with a duster and an hearth-broom in her hands, who was
evidently incensed beyond her pittance of patience, from clearing away,
repeatedly, their joint litter and dirt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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