Frank Frankfort Moore

“ Long is alive to-day,” said Dick.
“I perceive that you and he have entered into a compact to keep the affair a secret,” said she. “Well, though I think that you might make an exception of me, I cannot but acknowledge that you have good taste on your side.”
“I have the mirror of good taste at my side when Mrs. Cholmondeley honours me by stopping her chair while I am in the act of passing her,” said Dick.
“Oh, sir, you are monstrous civil. But if you think that you can keep the details of your duel secret at Bath, you compliment yourself rather than your acquaintance in this town.” ”

“ And you—would you be content to lose her—to lose Elizabeth Linley?”
“I would be content to lose her if I were sure that she did not love me,” said Mr. Long.
“What? what? Ah, you do not love her!” she cried contemptuously.
“I love her so well as to have implicit confidence in her,” said he. “There will be no running away so far as Miss Linley is concerned—rest assured of that, my dear madam, and take my word for it, Dick Sheridan is too honourable to entertain such a design.”
“Ah, honourable! what does honour mean to a man when he is in love—ay, or to a woman either?” she cried. ”

“ When the autumn winds have garnered their harvest from the boughs of the woodland, their aftermath begins in the meadow. But, my Beloved, neither you nor I can be altogether melancholy among the autumn hedgerows, for, through the signs of the year’s decay, the Hope that is in us seems to break more abundantly into bloom. We feel that death is not for all things that made life beautiful; Love and Faith and Truth are not among the spoils of Time. We are lifted up and strengthened by this reflection as we retrace our steps amid the slowly gathering shadows of the evening. ”

“ Long in order to escape from it. Now you know why I have given him my promise. It is because I cannot live the life that is imposed on me—because I feel that if I were to continue leading this life I must one day throw myself into the Avon, seeking for rest. I hate the fame which has put my name into the mouth of every one. Oh, Dick, if you could know how all these years my heart has been singing that one anthem, ‘Oh for the wings of a dove—the wings of a dove, to fly away and be at rest!’ I have heard the boys in the Abbey sing it, but they did not know what the words meant. ”

“ I asked you just now whence happiness sprang to any one. Dear Betsy, that question has been answered since I heard you speak. Happiness comes by self-sacrifice. Happiness comes to those who seek not their own good, but the good of others. That is why I can hope that you will be happy, my dear one.”
“Indeed, that is what is in my heart, Dick,” she said. “I feel that I can now do something for the ones I love—for my sisters—for my brothers. Mr. Long is kind and generous. He will, I am assured, help us all. Poor father is obliged to work so hard, and mother is a drudge. ”

“ Mathews considers himself insulted, sir?” asked Mr. Long.
The Irishman’s jaw fell. He was stupefied. His lips moved, but it was a long time before a word came.
“An insult—an ins—— Hivins above us, sir, where is it that y’have lived at all?” he managed to say at last. “An insult—an ins—— Oh, the humour of it! Flaying a man alive with a postillion’s whip; not even a coachman’s whip,—there’s some dignity in a coachman’s whip,—but a common postillion’s! sir, the degradation of the act passes language, so it does. ’Tis an insult that can only be washed out by blood—blood, sir—a river of blood! ”

“ More than once she had actually fainted on reaching the concert-room; and these were the occasions when she had thrilled every one present with the divine charm of her voice.
She was the most sensitive instrument that ever the spirit of music breathed through; but the cruelty of the matter was, that although without this sensitiveness she would never have been able to move the hearts of every man and woman who heard her sing, yet possessing it unfitted her for the rôle of a great singer.
This was the paradox of the life of this woman of genius. ”

“ Long,” said Dick.
“Nay, my friend, I debated the question of telling you when I had worked out my plans of campaign, and I came to the conclusion that you must know nothing of—of—of what I know,” said Mr. Long. “You hope to write a play one of these days? Well, sir, there is no discipline equal to that of one’s daily life for a man who aspires to write a comedy dealing with the follies of the time. The comedy of the duel has never been rightly dealt with. Behold your chance, sir.” ”

“ He is full of your praises, Dick. Oh, I must love him! He is the worthiest man in the world to be loved. And I believe that I do love him. I sometimes believe that I do.”
“My poor Betsy,” he said, “I might give you counsel on this matter if it would be of any value to you. Alas! dear, I know that nothing that I could say to you would avail against the promptings of your own true heart. It was you who first taught me the lesson which I think I have since learned more fully—the lesson of the meaning of love. Who am I that I should offer any counsel to such as you? ”

“ His knowledge of women was never very profound. He was slightly afraid of this enigma enwrapped—but not too laboriously—in brocade and misty lace.
“I think that you are a very kind woman, Mrs. Abington,” said he at last. “’Twas very kind of you to come here solely because—because—well, solely out of the goodness of your own heart; and if you call this being a fool——”
He was startled by her outburst of laughter—really merry, spontaneous actress’s laughter; it almost amounted to a paroxysm as she lay back on the pretty gilded sofa in the most charming attitude of self-abandonment. ”

“ It is all to be seen in her face as we can see it on the canvases of Gainsborough and Reynolds—two of the greatest pictures ever painted by the hand of man. If the face of Miss Linley in Gainsborough’s picture is divine, the face of Sir Joshua’s “Saint Cecilia” is sublime. In both one may perceive the shrinking of a sensitive soul from anything less divine than itself.
And her father, an excellent man, who had made himself a musician in spite of many difficulties, insisted on her singing in public as frequently as he thought consistent with the preservation of her voice. ”

“ Major O’Teague, mystified to a point of distraction, turned to Mathews; but he failed to catch his eye, the fact being that Mathews was gazing at Mr. Long as a man gazes at another who has just amazed him by a sudden revelation.
“Am I asleep or awake—that’s what I want to know?” cried Major O’Teague. “And I want to know it badly too, for what’s the drift of all these hints and all this aimless talk baffles me. Look you here, Mr. Long, you tell me you crossed swords with Captain Mathews quite lately; well, sir, if that is the truth, will you tell me why you should object to fight with him now?” ”

“ I am too young,” cried Polly demurely, as she rose from her chair and went to the door.
“Polly has become insufferable,” said Tom in a tone of irritation. “Of course, any one who has studied music knows that it is a science.”
“It is assuredly a science. Language is a science, I have often heard my father assert; and since music can interpret the language of love into phrases that can be easily understood, it must be granted a place among the sciences,” said Dick. “But is’t possible that Mrs. Abington would not listen to your demonstration of this science on your violin?” ”

“ Dick, dear Dick, I can be a good woman for your sake. I know that I am older than you by some years—oh, what do the years matter when the heart has not grown old? Dick, there is not a grey hair in my heart. I have been vain, I know; I have loved seeing men make fools of themselves, but none of them all has ever made a fool of me. No, don’t tell me that I am making a fool of myself before you now! ”

“ The consciousness of cherishing it—that was enough for such as were strong enough to cherish it for its own sake; to take it into one’s life, and to guard one’s life rigidly—jealously—because it is in one’s life; to guard one’s life for its sake as one guards the casket that contains a great treasure.
Dick felt that this was the sum of what Mr. Long had sought to impress upon him, and he also felt that this great truth had long ago been revealed to Betsy Linley. It was in the spirit of this spirit of love that she had kissed him the previous evening ”

“ Abington—oh, she is undoubtedly a charming creature!—that’s where the danger lies. You know her, Dick; tell me what it is that she means to do in regard to Tom.”
“Oh, sir! she has taken a passing fancy to Tom—that’s all. You know what ’tis to possess the soul of an artist, sir. So far as I can gather, that soul is full of whimsies. The only comforting thought in connection with suchlike is that none of their whims lasts long. Their inconstancy is their greatest charm. Mrs. Abington will soon have done with Tom, sir.” ”

“ Long, the husband who is punctilious in his treatment of his wife is, you may be sure, not in love with her, and the lover who—— Ah, sir! I have had my experiences, Heaven help me! and I am now in the position of the doctor who knows the condition of a patient the moment he looks into his face. Sir, I have had my finger on Dick Sheridan’s pulse, so to speak, for the past week, and though he has tried hard to deceive me into the belief that he loves me, he has not succeeded. ”

“ Betsy Linley awoke in the morning with a feeling of having been disappointed about something, and she was disappointed with herself for being so weak as to be conscious of such an impression. In short, she was disappointed with herself for awaking in disappointment. She should have felt gladness, only gladness, to think that the brother, who had ever been so dear to her, had escaped all the perils of the years he had spent among the artistic barbarians of Italy, all the perils of the long journey through the land of brigands to land of highwaymen. ”

“ She knew what it meant—she knew that that light was the light which men call genius, and she shuddered. She knew that to have genius is only to have a greater capacity for suffering than other men. What she did not know was that people saw the same light in her eyes when she was singing, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”
“What do you say?” cried the father, springing from his chair with a hand upraised. “What do you say, my son?”
“I say, sir, that we talk of music because there is nothing else in the world worth talking about,” said Tom stoutly. ”

“ Thrale.
“There is philosophy in your suggestion, madam,” said he. “’Twas feeble of me to make the attempt to fall in with the general tone of the comments of my friends. Still, there is but one Miss Linley in the world.”
“And you are ungenerous enough, sir, to seek to deprive the world of that one,” cried Mrs. Thrale.
She had failed to perceive the tendency of his remark.
“What, Mrs. Thrale! is’t possible that you are weak enough to look for generosity in a lover?” said Garrick. “Good lud, madam! the very soul of true love is the most ungenerous essence on earth.” ”

“ I had it first from my dear Maestro. He used to urge us daily, ‘Play your best at all times; even though you fancy you are alone in the room, be assured that the true musician can never be alone. Who can tell what an audience the spirit world gives to him? He must remember that his playing is not merely a distraction for the crowd in the concert-room, it is an act of devotion—an act of worship.’ That is what the Maestro said, and every day I recall his words.”
“They are words which no true artist should forget,” said she. “The sentiment which they convey should be the foundation of every art. ”

“ She felt that she occupied quite a secondary place in his affections compared with music—that he loved music with the passionate devotion of a lover, while to her he could only give the cold, calculable affection of a brother. She felt all the sting of jealousy which an affectionate sister feels when her brother, in her presence, looks into the eyes of the woman whom he loves and puts his arm about her. ”

“ The flowers of compliment are ever more welcome when tied with a riband of wit.”
“O Queen, live for ever!” cried Selwyn.
“Nay, sir, that is not a reply to my question,” said the duchess. “I asked you what return I can make for your compliments?”
“True, madam, and I reply, ‘O Queen, live for ever!’ in other words, give Mr. Gainsborough an order to paint your portrait,” said Mr. Selwyn.
“Ah, now ’tis Mr. Gainsborough whom you are complimenting,” said the duchess. “Alas! that we poor women must be dependent for immortality upon the pigments of a painter!” ”

“ Have you proved yourself to be a genius or only an artist?”
“Ah, you remember how I replied to the bishop who had heard Betsy sing, and thought it only civil to inquire if I was musical also: ‘Yes, sir, we are all geniuses’?”
“It has become the household jest,” said Polly. “But my own belief is, that mother is the only genius among us; you shall taste one of her pies before you are an hour older. If you say that you tasted a better one in all Italy, you will prove yourself no judge of cookery.” ”