Read Ebook: Penelope: or Love's Labour Lost Volume 1 (of 3) by Scargill William Pitt

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Ebook has 560 lines and 63202 words, and 12 pages

Release date: December 16, 2023

Original publication: London: Hunt & Clarke, 1828

PENELOPE:

OR,

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

PENELOPE:

OR,

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

A NOVEL.

IN THREE VOLUMES.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR HUNT AND CLARKE, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.

LONDON: PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL. BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.

PENELOPE:

OR,

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

Six days out of seven, and nine hours out of twenty-four, the reverend and learned Dr Gregory Greendale sat surrounded with open volumes, and immersed in profound thoughts, which ever and anon he committed to writing. For twenty years had this been his regular practice, and to this dull monotony of being nothing could have reconciled him but a strong sense of duty, seasoned with a little spice of theological ambition. But his ambition was not for worldly honour or for filthy lucre. His aspirings were not after mitres, stalls, and deaneries, nor was his anticipated recompense compounded, in his mind, of pounds, shillings, and pence. Far purer and sublimer motives prompted his diligence and filled his hopes. It was his ambition to occupy a distinguished station among the defenders of the faith, and to be hereafter celebrated in the records of ecclesiastical history as the most irrefragable polemic that ever wrote or reasoned. It was his opinion, that the church established by law was the best and purest in Christendom; and that if its tenets were fully and clearly stated, accompanied with such refutation of sectarian errors as he in his wisdom and logic could furnish, all sects would be converted, and all heresies expire for ever.

In this most laudable pursuit the doctor was not altogether free from obstacles, disappointments, and interruptions. Frequently when he thought that he had only to sail quietly and smoothly into harbour, a fresh breeze of controversy sprung up, driving him out again into the unfathomable ocean. Oftentimes when, after a long, tedious, and multifarious series of references and quotations, he fancied that his argument had been completed, and the key-stone of his logic immoveably fixed, he found that some very unaccountable oversight, some trifling neglect, let the whole fabric sink down in confusion. And very, very many times, was the thread of his argument snapped asunder by the intrusion of the bustling, active, clever, managing, contriving, economical Mrs Greendale. With one of these interruptions our history commences.

As the study door opened, the doctor laid down his pen, pushed up his spectacles and lifted up his eyes, and Mrs Greendale entered courteously, and gracefully smiling and saying--

"My dear, I don't wish to interrupt you, but--"

To which unfinished apologetic introduction the worthy doctor in a more rapid manner, and with greater asperity of tone than became a learned divine and an affectionate husband, replied--

"There now, my dear, you are always so impatient, you will never let me speak."

Mrs Greendale was wrong; the doctor was not always so impatient. But Mrs Greendale was one of that countless myriad of persons who, in their intense feeling of the present, too hastily draw general inferences from particular facts.

"Well, well," said the doctor, "what is it, my dear, that you wish to say to me?"

This was spoken in a more conciliating tone; for the worthy polemic knew that the more gently and quietly such interruptions were received, the more likely they were soon to terminate. And Mrs Greendale having now permission to speak, was accordingly well pleased.

"Why, my dear, I was wishing to consult you and to ask your advice on a subject of which you must be a far better judge than I am."

This was certainly a concession on the part of Mrs Greendale; but unfortunately the concession was not so highly estimated by the receiver as the giver; and that is often the case with concessions of this kind. The doctor was silent, waiting for Mrs Greendale's own enunciation of her own story; for he well knew that impatient questionings rather retard than accelerate the progress of a narrative. Mrs Greendale then proceeded.

"I have been thinking a great deal about Penelope. Now, you know, we have of late heard very little of her father, and there really does not seem to be any prospect that he will ever fulfil the fine promises he has made. And we are not doing justice to the poor girl by bringing her up with expectations that are not likely to be realised; we are giving her an education which is only justifiable under the idea that she should apply that education to the purpose of supporting herself."

"Certainly, Mrs Greendale, it is with that view, you know, that we have given her the kind of instruction of which you speak."

"Yes, I know it is, but--but--"

"But what, my dear?"

"Why I was going to say, that though it may be very proper that Penelope should have these accomplishments, yet it may not be altogether right that she should be introduced into the society of persons of rank, on terms of equality and intimacy."

"Persons of rank, my dear--what do you mean? What persons of rank are we likely to introduce her to? Surely we are not in the way of doing her any injury in this respect."

"I don't know that, my dear; for you know that we are to have a party to-morrow evening, and Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop have consented to come."

The doctor did not laugh aloud; nor did he visibly smile at this last speech of his active, bustling, managing partner. And it would have been indeed excusable had the reverend divine at least relaxed his features into a smile, at the dexterity with which Mrs Greendale converted the above-named lady and gentleman into persons of rank. As these names have been mentioned, it is proper that our readers should know something of the parties.

Honoria Letitia Spoonbill was a maiden lady of some forty, fifty, sixty, or seventy years old; but in whose cranium the organ of number was so slightly developed, that she could not say which of the above numbers came nearest to the truth. In person not fascinating, in manners not commanding, in wealth not abounding, in temper not prepossessing, in understanding not profound; but in pride and vanity almost more than superabounding. Her rank not the deepest herald could ascertain, but it was very true that for many years she had been accustomed to claim kindred with the lord of Smatterton Castle, always speaking of and addressing the Earl of Smatterton as her cousin.

Colonel Crop was only Colonel Crop; he enjoyed the rank of colonel, and that was all the rank that he could boast; he was tolerated at the castle; he dined occasionally with his lordship; and occasionally partook of the pleasure of shooting the birds which were cultivated on his lordship's estate. In town, he patronised the Countess's routs, and in the country he was a companion for the Earl, when not otherwise engaged. He was proud of the Earl's acquaintance, though he was not weak enough to suppose that he was more than tolerated. The haughtiest of the great do sometimes pick up such acquaintances as Colonel Crop, and they cannot easily get rid of them. At the village of Smatterton, of which Dr Greendale was rector, Colonel Crop was only known as the intimate friend of my lord; but the doctor knowing the humble rank which the colonel held in his lordship's estimation, was amused at the gravity with which Mrs Greendale spoke of this gentleman and Miss Spoonbill, as persons of rank, and as too magnificent for the society of Penelope Primrose. With a slightly ironical expression he therefore said--

"I quite agree with you, Mrs Greendale, that it would not be very desirable to have our niece intimate with such persons of rank as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop."

"Well, I am glad you think as I do, my dear; but how shall we manage about the party to-morrow? How can we best get rid of Penelope? For really I cannot help observing that, notwithstanding her dependent situation, she begins to assume the airs of a lady."

Mrs Greendale was going on with all the fluency of which she was capable, and that was no trifle, to recommend the exclusion of the young lady from the impending party which threatened on the morrow to grace the rectory-house of the village of Smatterton; but suddenly the loudness of her tones abated, and the words came slower, and her countenance looked blank with an expression of interrogation; for, as she was speaking, the worthy rector drew himself up to full sitting length, opened his eyes unusually wide, compressed his lips unusually close, and placing his hands in the arms of his chair, before his spouse had ceased speaking, he exclaimed--

"My good woman, what are you talking about?"

"Mrs Greendale certainly thought herself a very good woman, but she did not like to be so called. She was therefore somewhat confounded, and she replied with an expression of confusion--

"But, my dear, did not you say yourself that you did not wish your niece to be introduced to persons of such high rank as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop?"

Speaking more slowly, and in a tone of expostulation, the good man replied--

"I did say, Mrs Greendale, that I had no wish to introduce my niece to an intimacy with such persons of rank as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop. It is not to their rank I object, but I am of opinion that from such an intimacy Penelope would not derive any benefit, nor add to her respectability; I look upon her as above them, and not upon them as above her."

Mrs Greendale was angry; and surely it was enough to provoke a saint to hear such disrespectful language applied to those persons of whose acquaintance the worthy lady was especially and peculiarly proud. Bridling up therefore, and assuming in her turn a high tone, she replied--

"Well, my dear, if you think it beneath your niece's dignity to meet such persons, you had perhaps better send word to say that you do not wish to have their company: I dare say they will not require much persuasion to stay away."

"I wish, my dear, you would not talk such nonsense. Penelope will not become very intimate with these people of rank by meeting them in a party. Have your party quietly, and let the poor girl enjoy it, if she can; it will be time enough for her to feel the bitterness of servitude when she is actually in that condition; while she is under my roof she shall be treated as if she were my own."

There was in this last speech a tone of authority and decision to which Mrs Greendale was in the habit of submitting without an audible murmur or expostulation. She therefore left the doctor's apartment, merely muttering to herself, "I don't think you would indulge a child of your own as you indulge this pert conceited creature. I am very glad she is no niece of mine."

The doctor returned to his studies, and Mrs Greendale to her domestic occupations. The doctor soon forgot what was past, losing himself amidst the perplexities and intricacies of theological discussions and doctrinal controversies. But Mrs Greendale brooded over the obstinacy of her spouse, and the pride of her niece, and the mortifications of her own pride. She could not imagine what her husband could mean by speaking so disrespectfully of persons of such high consideration as Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop. Ever since the high-born spinster had taken up her residence at Smatterton, for the sake of living near to her cousin the Earl, Mrs Greendale had been paying homage to her for the purpose of obtaining her illustrious notice and patronage. It was a concern of the utmost moment to have the honour of Miss Spoonbill's company at the rectory; for the wife of the rector of Smatterton was very jealous of the superior glory of the wife of the rector of Neverden, whose parties were graced by the presence of the great man of the parish, Sir George Aimwell, Bart. Mrs Darnley, the lady alluded to, was not indeed quite so much gratified by the distinction as Mrs Greendale was mortified by it. Now it was some pleasure to the latter that the great man in her husband's parish was an Earl, whereas the great man in Mr Darnley's parish was only a commoner; for Mrs Greendale always caused it to be understood, that baronet was not a title of nobility. Still, however, it was a mortification that the Earl would not condescend to visit at the rectory. But when Miss Spoonbill and Colonel Crop had accepted an invitation to Mrs Greendale's party, it was a matter of high exultation to her; it was therefore not very agreeable to her to hear these distinguished personages spoken of so slightingly by her reverend spouse. But Dr Greendale was an odd sort of man, that everybody allowed; and he used to say the strangest things imaginable. Being so studious a man, was quite enough to account for his oddities.

Fourteen years had Penelope spent under the roof of the worthy and benevolent rector of Smatterton. To her uncle she had ever looked up as to a father. Of her own father she knew but little; and in all the thoughts she entertained concerning him, there was mingled a feeling of pity. It was highly creditable to Dr Greendale, that his manner of speaking of Mr Primrose should have produced this impression on his daughter's mind. There certainly was in the conduct of Penelope's father enough of the blameable to justify the doctor in declaiming against him as a profligate and thoughtless man, who had brought ruin upon himself and family. But censoriousness was not by any means the doctor's forte. He was rather a moral physician than a moral quack, and he had found in his own parish that the gentleness of fatherly admonition was more effectual than the indignant eloquence of angry rebuke.

As the mind and feelings of Penelope Primrose were impelled in different directions by her natural constitution, and by her accidental situation, a greater degree of interest was thus attached to her character. There is in our nature a feeling, from whatever source arising, which loves not monotony, but delights in contrast. The tear which is always flowing moves not our sympathy so strongly as that which struggles through a smile; and the sun never shines so sweetly as when it gleams through the drops of an April shower.

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