Zanoni — Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Every household has its little disagreements, nona fewer than that of Mr. and Mrs. Mervale. Mrs. Mervale, without being improperly fond of dress, paid due attention to it. She was never seen out of her chamber with papers in her hair, nor in that worst of dis-illusions, — a morning wrapper.
At half-past eight every morning Mrs. Mervale was dressed for the day, — that is, till she re-dressed for dinner, — her stays well laced, her cap prim, her gowns, winter and summer, of a thick, handsome silk. Ladies at that time wore very short waists; so did Mrs. Mervale.
Her morning ornaments were a thick, gold chain, to which was suspended a gold watch, — none of those fragile dwarfs of mechanism that look so pretty and go so ill, but a handsome repeater which chronicled Father Time to a moment; also a mosaic brooch; also a miniature of her uncle, the admiral, set in a bracelet. For the evening she had two handsome sets,— necklace, earrings, and bracelets complete,— one of amethysts, the other topazes.
With these, her costume for the most part was a gold-colored satin and a turban, in which last her picture had been taken. Mrs. Mervale had an aquiline nose, good teeth, fair hair, and light eyelashes, rather a high complexion, what is generally called a fine bust; full cheeks; large useful feet made for walking; large, white hands with filbert nails, on which not a speck of dust had, even in childhood, ever been known to alight.
She looked a little older than she really was; but that might arise from a certain air of dignity and the aforesaid aquiline nose. She generally wore short mittens. She never read any poetry but Goldsmith’s and Cowper’s. She was not amused by novels, though she had no prejudice against them. She liked a play and a pantomime, with a slight supper afterwards. She did not like concerts nor operas. At
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the beginning of the winter she selected some book to read, and some piece of work to commence. The two lasted her till the spring, when, though she continued to work, she left off reading. Her favorite study was history, which she read through the medium of Dr. Goldsmith. Her favorite author in the belles lettres was, of course, Dr. Johnson. A worthier woman, or one more respected, was not to be found, except in an epitaph! It was an autumn night. Mr. and Mrs. Mervale, lately returned from an excursion to Weymouth, are in the drawing-room, — “the dame sat on this side, the man sat on that.” “Yes, I assure you, my dear, that Glyndon, with all his eccentricities, was a very engaging, amiable fellow. You would certainly have liked him, — all the women did.” “My dear Thomas, you will forgive the remark, — but that expression of yours, ‘ all the women’ —” “T beg your pardon,— you are right. I meant to say that he was a general favorite with your charming sex.” “T understand, — rather a frivolous character.” “Frivolous! no, not exactly; a little unsteady, — very odd, but certainly not frivolous; presumptuous and headstrong in character, but modest and shy in his manners, rather too much so, —just what you like. However, to return; I am seriously uneasy at the accounts I have heard of him to-day. He has been living, it seems, a very strange and irregular life, travelling from place to place, and must have spent already a great deal of money.” “ Apropos of money,” said Mrs. Mervale; “I fear we must change our butcher; he is certainly in league with the cook.”
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“That is a pity; his beef is remarkably fine. These London servants are as bad as the Carbonari. But, as I was saying, poor Glyndon — ” Here a knock was heard at the door. “ Bless me,” said Mrs. Mervale, “it is past ten! Who can that possibly be?” “ Perhaps your uncle, the admiral,” said the husband, with a slight peevishness in his accent. “He generally favors us about this hour.” “T hope, my love, that none of my relations are unwelcome visitors at your house. The admiral is a most entertaining man, and his fortune is entirely at his own disposal.” “No one I respect more,” said Mr. Mervale, with emphasis. The servant threw open the door, and announced Mr. Glyndon. “Mr. Glyndon! —what an extraordinary —” exclaimed Mrs. Mervale; but before she could conclude the sentence, Glyndon was in the room. The two friends greeted each other with all the warmth of early recollection and long absence. An appropriate and proud presentation to Mrs. Mervale ensued; and Mrs. Mervale, with a dignified smile, and a furtive glance at his boots, bade her husband’s friend welcome to England, Glyndon was greatly altered since Mervale had seen him last. Though less than two years had elapsed since then, his fair complexion was more bronzed and manly. Deep lines of care, or thought, or dissipation, had replaced the smooth contour of happy youth. To a manner once gentle and polished had succeeded a certain recklessness of mien, tone, and bearing, which bespoke the habits of a society that cared little for the calm
p. 349
Every household has its little disagreements, nona fewer than that of Mr. and Mrs. Mervale. Mrs. Mervale, without being improperly fond of dress, paid due attention to it. She was never seen out of her chamber with papers in her hair, nor in that worst of dis-illusions, — a morning wrapper.
At half-past eight every morning Mrs. Mervale was dressed for the day, — that is, till she re-dressed for dinner, — her stays well laced, her cap prim, her gowns, winter and summer, of a thick, handsome silk. Ladies at that time wore very short waists; so did Mrs. Mervale.
Her morning ornaments were a thick, gold chain, to which was suspended a gold watch, — none of those fragile dwarfs of mechanism that look so pretty and go so ill, but a handsome repeater which chronicled Father Time to a moment; also a mosaic brooch; also a miniature of her uncle, the admiral, set in a bracelet. For the evening she had two handsome sets,— necklace, earrings, and bracelets complete,— one of amethysts, the other topazes.
With these, her costume for the most part was a gold-colored satin and a turban, in which last her picture had been taken. Mrs. Mervale had an aquiline nose, good teeth, fair hair, and light eyelashes, rather a high complexion, what is generally called a fine bust; full cheeks; large useful feet made for walking; large, white hands with filbert nails, on which not a speck of dust had, even in childhood, ever been known to alight.
She looked a little older than she really was; but that might arise from a certain air of dignity and the aforesaid aquiline nose. She generally wore short mittens. She never read any poetry but Goldsmith’s and Cowper’s. She was not amused by novels, though she had no prejudice against them. She liked a play and a pantomime, with a slight supper afterwards. She did not like concerts nor operas. At
p. 347
the beginning of the winter she selected some book to read, and some piece of work to commence. The two lasted her till the spring, when, though she continued to work, she left off reading. Her favorite study was history, which she read through the medium of Dr. Goldsmith. Her favorite author in the belles lettres was, of course, Dr. Johnson. A worthier woman, or one more respected, was not to be found, except in an epitaph! It was an autumn night. Mr. and Mrs. Mervale, lately returned from an excursion to Weymouth, are in the drawing-room, — “the dame sat on this side, the man sat on that.” “Yes, I assure you, my dear, that Glyndon, with all his eccentricities, was a very engaging, amiable fellow. You would certainly have liked him, — all the women did.” “My dear Thomas, you will forgive the remark, — but that expression of yours, ‘ all the women’ —” “T beg your pardon,— you are right. I meant to say that he was a general favorite with your charming sex.” “T understand, — rather a frivolous character.” “Frivolous! no, not exactly; a little unsteady, — very odd, but certainly not frivolous; presumptuous and headstrong in character, but modest and shy in his manners, rather too much so, —just what you like. However, to return; I am seriously uneasy at the accounts I have heard of him to-day. He has been living, it seems, a very strange and irregular life, travelling from place to place, and must have spent already a great deal of money.” “ Apropos of money,” said Mrs. Mervale; “I fear we must change our butcher; he is certainly in league with the cook.”
p. 348
“That is a pity; his beef is remarkably fine. These London servants are as bad as the Carbonari. But, as I was saying, poor Glyndon — ” Here a knock was heard at the door. “ Bless me,” said Mrs. Mervale, “it is past ten! Who can that possibly be?” “ Perhaps your uncle, the admiral,” said the husband, with a slight peevishness in his accent. “He generally favors us about this hour.” “T hope, my love, that none of my relations are unwelcome visitors at your house. The admiral is a most entertaining man, and his fortune is entirely at his own disposal.” “No one I respect more,” said Mr. Mervale, with emphasis. The servant threw open the door, and announced Mr. Glyndon. “Mr. Glyndon! —what an extraordinary —” exclaimed Mrs. Mervale; but before she could conclude the sentence, Glyndon was in the room. The two friends greeted each other with all the warmth of early recollection and long absence. An appropriate and proud presentation to Mrs. Mervale ensued; and Mrs. Mervale, with a dignified smile, and a furtive glance at his boots, bade her husband’s friend welcome to England, Glyndon was greatly altered since Mervale had seen him last. Though less than two years had elapsed since then, his fair complexion was more bronzed and manly. Deep lines of care, or thought, or dissipation, had replaced the smooth contour of happy youth. To a manner once gentle and polished had succeeded a certain recklessness of mien, tone, and bearing, which bespoke the habits of a society that cared little for the calm
p. 349
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