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PRAGMATICS IN LANGUAGE
TEACHING

This innovative book links theory to practice with regard to teaching

pragmatics. In laying out why this is useful, how it is achievable, and what
to teach when it comes to pragmatics, this book outlines the theoretical
background and offers a wide range of hands-on activities. While offering
coverage of timely issues like pragmatics in text messaging, the authors
expertly provide further guidance for developing pragmatics curricula for
learners of different ages and languages, and at different proficiency levels
in a research-based, practical way. This reader-friendly resource gives pre-
and in-service FL/L2 teachers the tools and confidence to understand
and implement these principles in the classroom and beyond. Advanced
students and researchers of applied linguistics, education, and psychology,
as well as curriculum developers, teacher trainers, and aspiring teachers
around the world – and their students – will benefit from this unique
book.

Júlia Barón is Serra Hunter Fellow of Modern Languages & Literatures

and English Studies at the University of Barcelona, Spain.

María Luz Celaya is Senior Lecturer (Associate Professor) of Modern

Languages & Literatures and English Studies at the University of
Barcelona, Spain.

Peter Watkins is Principal Lecturer of English Language and Linguistics at

the University of Portsmouth, UK, and has been an ELT teacher, teacher
trainer, speaker, consultant, and materials developer in many countries for
over 20 years.
Research and Resources in Language Teaching
Series Editors: Anne Burns, University of New South Wales, Australia and Jill Hadfield,
Unitec Institute of Technology, New Zealand

Research and Resources in Language Teaching is a groundbreaking

series that aims to integrate the latest research in language teaching and
learning with innovative classroom practice. Books in the series offer
accessible accounts of current research on a particular topic, linked to a
wide range of practical and immediately usable classroom activities.
Extensive Reading
The Role of Motivation
Sue Leather and Jez Uden
Digital Literacies 2e
Mark Pegrum, Nicky Hockly, and Gavin Dudeney
Sustaining Action Research
A Practical Guide for Institutional Engagement
Anne Burns, Emily Edwards and Neville John Ellis
Initial Language Teacher Education
Gabriel Diaz Maggioli
Critical Thinking
Gregory Hadley and Andrew Boon
Becoming a Reading Teacher
Connecting Research and Practice
Jane Spiro and Amos Paran
Pragmatics in Language Teaching
From Research to Practice
Júlia Barón, María Luz Celaya, and Peter Watkins

For more information about this series, please visit: [Link]/

Research-and-Resources-in-Language-Teaching/book-series/PEARRLT
PRAGMATICS IN
LANGUAGE TEACHING
From Research to Practice

Júlia Barón, María Luz Celaya,

and Peter Watkins
Designed cover image: © Getty Images | scyther5
First published 2024
by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
and by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2024 Júlia Barón, María Luz Celaya, and Peter Watkins
The right of Júlia Barón, María Luz Celaya, and Peter Watkins to be identified as authors
of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. The purchase of this copyright material confers the right on the
purchasing institution to photocopy pages which bear the photocopy icon and copyright
line at the bottom of the page. No other parts of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks,
and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
ISBN: 978-1-032-01821-8 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-032-01820-1 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-18021-0 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9781003180210
Typeset in Galliard
by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India
CONTENTS

Series Editors’ Preface viii

Acknowledgements x

PART I
From research to implications 1
Introduction 1
Section 1. An introduction to pragmatics 2
Defining pragmatics 2
A brief historical overview 4
Culture, society, and context 5
(Im)politeness 7
Identifying pragmatics in speech 8
Excerpt transcript 9
Summary 10
Section 2. Pragmatics in second language learning and teaching 10
Acquiring L2 pragmatics 10
Research on requests: Types and mitigation strategies 11
Research on requests: General findings 12
Research on requests: Two examples 13


vi Contents

Some reflections on research 14

Teaching L2 pragmatics 17
A research overview 17
Two examples 18
Approaches to teaching L2 pragmatics 19
Summary 20

PART II
From implications to application 21
Introduction 21
Section A. Raising pragmatic awareness 25
Section B. Using rich pragmatic input 42
Section C. Eliciting pragmatic output and enhancing interaction 56
Section D. Pragmatics and social media 69
Section E. Pragmatics in the world 79

PART III
From application to implementation 89
Introduction 89
Choosing what and how to teach 89
Assessing pragmatics: How and why 95
Assessing students’ pragmatic awareness and perceptions 95
Assessing students’ pragmatic performance 98
Assessing students’ oral and written production 100
Implementing pragmatics into the classroom and curriculum 101
Summary 105
Further reading 105

PART IV
From implementation to research 106
Introduction 106
From research to practice, and from practice to research:
Building a cycle 107
 Contents vii

Linking theory and practice 107

Designing a study 108
Collecting the data 109
Analysing the data 111
Topics to be investigated 113
Concluding remarks 114

Glossary 117
References 119
Index 122
SERIES EDITORS’ PREFACE

About the series

Research and Resources in Language Teaching is a ground-breaking series
whose aim is to integrate the latest research in language teaching and learn-
ing with innovative classroom practice. The books are written by a part-
nership of writers, who combine research and materials writing skills and
experience. Books in the series offer accessible accounts of current research
on a particular topic, linked to a wide range of practical and immediately
useable classroom activities. Using the series, language educators will be
able both to connect research findings directly to their everyday practice
through imaginative and practical communicative tasks and to realise the
research potential of such tasks in the classroom. We believe the series
represents a new departure in language education publishing, bringing
together the twin perspectives of research and materials writing, illustrat-
ing how research and practice can be combined to provide practical and
useable activities for classroom teachers and at the same time encouraging
researchers to draw on a body of activities that can guide further research.

About the books

All the books in the series follow the same organisational principle:
Part I: From research to implications
Part I contains an account of current research on the topic in question and
outlines its implications for classroom practice.
Part II: From implications to application


 Series Editors’ Preface ix

Part II focuses on transforming research outcomes into classroom practice

by means of practical, immediately useable activities. Short introduc-
tions signpost the path from research into practice
Part III: From application to implementation
Part III contains methodological suggestions for how the activities in
Part II could be used in the classroom, for example, different ways in
which they could be integrated into the syllabus or applied to different
teaching contexts.
Part IV: From implementation to research
Part IV returns to research with suggestions for professional development
projects and action research, often directly based on the materials in
the book. Each book as a whole thus completes the cycle: research into
practice and practice back into research.

About this book

The aim of learning a foreign or second language is to become a competent
speaker who can communicate in a variety of contexts and with differ-
ent interlocutors. As teachers, to help students achieve this goal, we need
to provide them with communicative strategies that go beyond grammar,
vocabulary or pronunciation. It is pragmatics another essential component
of language that can help learners in the process of becoming competent
users of the L2. The objective of this book is to contribute to the body of
research that point towards the need of dealing with pragmatics in the L2
class. The book consists of four parts. The first part provides a theoreti-
cal background on pragmatics and also research carried out in the area of
learning and teaching L2 pragmatics. The second part provides a series of
activities that teachers can use in their language class with students at dif-
ferent ages and proficiency levels. Although this book is addressed to teach-
ers, we also think that researchers interested in instructed learning will find
some food for thought in these pages. The third part aims at guiding teach-
ers when deciding what to teach and how, as well as providing guidance
when incorporating pragmatics in the curriculum. The fourth part creates
an opportunity for teachers to carry out action-research studies in their
classrooms and so explore future needs in the field of teaching pragmatics.
We hope that you will find the series exciting and above all valuable to
your practice and research in language education!
Anne Burns and Jill Hadfield (Series Editors)
Visit [Link]
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To our families and friends who are always there for support.
We would like to thank the editors of the Research and Resources in
Language Teaching series, Anne Burns and Jill Hadfield, for their insight-
ful feedback and suggestions that helped to improve this book.
Júlia Barón would like to thank Dr Alicia Martínez-Flor and Dr Ariadna
Sánchez-Hernández for their support throughout the process of writing
this book. She would like to express her deepest gratitude to Dr Maria Luz
Celaya for her constant guidance and care during all these years of friend-
ship and work, so many times intertwined. Maria Luz Celaya would like
to look backwards in her professional career and acknowledge the support
of Prof Pedro Guardia for introducing her to the field of Linguistics and
for his friendship throughout life; Prof M. Teresa Turell, her PhD supervi-
sor back in 1991, for making her feel passionate about Second Language
Acquisition (SLA) ever since. Her gratitude also goes to all her students
(undergraduates, MA, and PhD) who year after year have become interested
in Interlanguage Pragmatics and in SLA in general; among them Dr Júlia
Barón, her friend and colleague now, who has been an example of com-
mitment, enthusiasm, and good work, both academically and in life. Maria
Luz Celaya and Júlia Barón would also like to thank the GR AL research
group. Peter Watkins would like to thank the teachers and students from
whom he continues to learn – you are a constant source of motivation.


PART I

From research to
implications

Introduction
Second and foreign language teaching occurs worldwide and has many dif-
ferent goals and expectations. As teachers, we may find ourselves teaching
in different contexts and engaging in different types of courses, which will
be associated with our students’ needs. Sometimes, we find ourselves pre-
paring our students to pass an official examination; sometimes the course
we teach is compulsory in the school or university curriculum; at other
times, we may teach a language to students who need it for work purposes;
and it may also be the case that we teach languages to students who just
want to know the language for pleasure so that they can travel and commu-
nicate with others in the target language (TL). In relation to materials that
are used, however, even if many curricula nowadays are communication
oriented, it is still very common to find courses, and even textbooks, whose
main focus is on grammar. This is especially the case in courses whose main
objective is to help students to pass an official language exam. Yet, despite
the fact that, for the last few decades, many researchers have been claiming
the benefits of teaching pragmatics in foreign and second language contexts
(González-Lloret, 2019), this area of communication is seldom part of lan-
guage courses.
Regardless of the course objectives, as teachers we may believe that our
ultimate goal is to provide students with strategies to communicate with
both native (NSs) and non-native (NNSs) speakers of the students’ TL.
Mastering grammar, vocabulary, or pronunciation will not guarantee that
communication is going to be successful. Being polite, using the appropriate

DOI: 10.4324/9781003180210-1
2 From research to implications

language depending on who your interlocutor is, adapting the language to

the situation you are in, or knowing about the culture of the language you
are interacting with are all important and necessary factors to communi-
cate with others in a second language (L2) (González-Lloret, 2021). These
features of language are referred to in language study as pragmatics. As
Bardovi-Harlig (2013, p. 68) points out, pragmatics is “the study of how-
to-say-what-to-whom-when”, so if our final objective is to help students to
communicate, dealing with pragmatics in the language class should prob-
ably be one of the main objectives in classroom syllabi.
This book looks at key theoretical perspectives on pragmatics and how
they can be enacted in practice. Part I of this book is divided into two
main sections. Section 1 (An introduction to pragmatics) presents a general
overview that will frame the theoretical background: from definitions and
history of pragmatics, to approaches to pragmatics, culture, social contexts,
and (im)politeness. Section 2 (Pragmatics in second language learning and
teaching) aims to help readers to understand the process of L2 pragmatics
learning as well as to provide an overview of approaches to the teaching of
pragmatics.

Section 1. An introduction to pragmatics

Defining pragmatics
Yule’s (1996, p. 3) definition of pragmatics gives a general working over-
view of the term. He points out that pragmatics is the “study of the speak-
er’s meaning”, as well as “contextual meaning”, that is, to know what a
speaker really means in a particular context. For example, if someone says
‘Some fresh air would be nice now’ after being closed in a room for a very
long time, what the speaker really means is ‘let’s get out of here’. Pragmatics
shows us “how more gets communicated than is said” which means that we
cannot rely only on the literal meaning of sentences, but we need to further
understand the implied meanings of utterances, as in the previous exam-
ple. Finally, according to Yule, pragmatics also expresses “relative distance”
which refers to the relationship between speakers when communicating.
The language we use with our friends or family members will not be the
same as when we communicate with people from work; we might choose
more informal language in the first situation, and more formal language in
the second one.
Therefore, as Yule suggests, when dealing with pragmatics, we are not
only focusing on what the speaker is literally saying; we need to go further
and try to infer what the speaker’s meaning really is. Not only that, but also
the context or situation in which something is said is an important aspect
 From research to implications 3

to consider, since it may affect the meaning of the utterance. Furthermore,

who we are interacting with will play a major role in what we say: talking to
a friend is not the same as talking to a boss.
Another working definition of pragmatics is the one by Crystal (1997,
p. 301) who defined it as “the study of language from the point of view of
users, especially of the choices they make, the constraints they encounter in
using language in social interaction, and the effects their use of language
has on other participants in the act of communication”. This definition
includes some key aspects that play an important role in pragmatics. The
first one is the word ‘choices’. According to this definition, pragmatics does
not only refer to what speakers say, but how they find themselves choosing
which linguistic strategy is more appropriate according to the situation in
which it is being said. That can sometimes be problematic: what if we do
not choose the appropriate one? What if we make a request which is too
direct in a context and culture in which a more indirect one would be
expected? Then, ‘interaction’ will probably fail from a pragmatic perspec-
tive. Thus, ‘interaction’ is another key term in pragmatics, since pragmatic
exchanges always take place in interaction and communication. Nowadays,
when we refer to interaction, we no longer mean only face-to-face com-
munication, but also online communication, text messaging, or texting in
social media. Finally, the word ‘effect’ in Crystal’s definition is another
important aspect that needs to be considered. If pragmatic exchanges take
place in interaction, this means that what we say is not only relevant from
an individual perspective, but also from the interlocutor’s reaction towards
what we say. As in the example provided earlier, if we say ‘it is hot in here’
and somebody opens a window or turns on an air conditioner or fan, it will
mean that the hint we have made has had the expected effect that we had
hoped for. If, on the contrary, nobody reacts, we may need to change the
way we request it, and perhaps become more direct, with something like
‘would you mind opening the window?’
As we can see in the definitions above, pragmatics plays an important
role in interaction, a role that is important in our first language (L1) as
well. The norms and behaviours of our L1 pragmatics are acquired from
childhood, since from very early stages we are told by our parents, caregiv-
ers, or teachers what is appropriate and what is not in different situations
in our daily life: for example, we can be told that we must say ‘thank you’
when somebody gives us a present, that we must apologise if we do some-
thing wrong, that elderly people must be treated with respect, and so on.
Of course, we are not born pragmatically appropriate; it is through contact
and interaction with pragmatically experienced speakers that we become
pragmatically competent in our L1. This takes time.
4 From research to implications

But what happens when we are learning an L2, when our interactions
with L2 pragmatically proficient learners are narrower, and the exposure
to the L2 culture and pragmatic norms is scarce? Even if we are attending
classes, are materials and course curriculum providing enough information
about the L2 pragmatics? These are some of the questions that we will deal
with in Section 2 of Part I. Before moving to L2 learning, though, we need
to know more about where the term pragmatics comes from, as an impor-
tant aspect of language.

A brief historical overview

Pragmatics is not a new field in linguistics. It can be traced back to Charles
Morris (1938) who first put forward the term to refer to how users of a
language interpret linguistic signs. However, it was not until the 1960s
and 1970s that pragmatics became of interest for many researchers and
philosophers. Pragmatics was born as a reaction to Noam Chomsky’s claim
(1957) that language should be understood as syntax-based. In opposition
to this, philosophers such as John Austin (1962) and John Searle (1969)
(Speech Act Theory) and Paul Grice (1989) (Cooperative Principle) argued
that language goes beyond grammar and syntax, and conceptualised lan-
guage as the means of communication between speakers. Following these
initial ideas, pragmatics is now understood as the study of language from
the users’ perspective while interacting with others in specific social and
cultural contexts. As we saw above, pragmatics also involves the linguistic
and non-linguistic features that speakers use, and their effects on the inter-
locutors (Crystal, 1997).
Pragmatics is a very broad field and has, thus, been investigated from dif-
ferent perspectives. On the one hand, approaches such as contrastive prag-
matics and cross-cultural pragmatics compare how speech acts are realised
in different languages and cultures. Speech acts refer to those utterances
that we make to request, accept, refuse, apologise, and compliment, among
many others. They are acts used in communication by all interactants of a
conversation. On the other hand, interlanguage pragmatics (ILP) focuses
on how learners of an L2 acquire and develop the pragmatics of that lan-
guage. Let us have a quick look at these approaches.
In the case of contrastive pragmatics, its main focus is on the more lin-
guistic side of pragmatics. The aim of such an approach is to compare how
speech acts are realised in different languages and to see how they may
differ from one language to another (Yule, 1996). In contrast, cross-cul-
tural pragmatics focuses on how culture-specific variables influence the way
speech acts are realised in different languages. Cross-cultural pragmatics
 From research to implications 5

emphasises the fact that, in order to be pragmatically appropriate in a lan-

guage, it is necessary to know the cultural values and norms, and how they
are portrayed in linguistic forms (Trosborg, 1995).
On the other hand, ILP focuses on the acquisition of the pragmatics
of the L2. According to Kasper and Blum-Kulka (1993), ILP should be
considered as a “hybrid” of interlanguage, or the learners’ language as they
acquire an L2 (see Section 2 for a more detailed definition) and pragmatics.
Since ILP aims at studying the acquisition of the pragmatics of the L2, the
focus of such studies is the non-native speaker or L2 learner. More specifi-
cally, ILP studies the learners’ knowledge, perception, comprehension, and
acquisition of the L2 pragmatics, on the one hand, and, on the other, the
use and production of L2 pragmatics, both in second and foreign language
contexts (Alcón, 2008).
In this book our main focus is the learner, as we will see in Section 2; we
will follow most of the premises from research carried out in ILP, since it is
what can provide us with more information on how to deal with pragmat-
ics in classroom contexts across levels and ages, also bearing in mind that
learners have different first languages. However, we believe that cross-cul-
tural perspectives are important to consider even in an ILP approach, espe-
cially in the current era, in which interconnectivity (online or face-to-face)
between people across the globe with a variety of cultural and linguistic
backgrounds has become the norm in communication. Therefore, before
moving to students’ learning contexts, we devote the following discussion
in this section to reflecting on aspects such as culture, society, and further
exploring what we mean by context and interaction.

Culture, society, and context

Pragmatics cannot be separated from culture. How to act pragmatically
appropriate in each language will be determined not only by how much we
know about the language but also by how much we know about its cul-
ture. By culture is meant how beliefs, behavioural values, assumptions, and
social norms are perceived and shared by a particular community (Hinkel,
2014; Spencer-Oatey, 2000). Let us think of an example, such as kiss-
ing. There are some cultures in which, when people meet, they kiss, even
if they meet for the first time or in a formal situation. This is the case,
for instance, in Spain. When friends or colleagues meet for lunch, they
tend to give one another a kiss on each cheek, which is an accepted and
expected behaviour in this culture. This act, however, might be seen as
inappropriate in cultures where that action is not done in those same con-
texts. For second language learners, such cross-cultural differences may
6 From research to implications

FIGURE 1.1 
Salutations in different cultures (image by Roberto Barón).

be very helpful for them to know, in order not to seem rude, inappropri-
ate, or impolite. What would happen if an L1 Spanish speaker goes to an
English-speaking country and is introduced to new people whose primary
language is English and starts kissing them? What would be the English
speaker’s reactions? How would the L1 Spanish speaker react to the L1
English speaker’s reaction? We could expect to find these people involved
in a weird and uncomfortable situation.​
Knowing about these differences can definitely help learners to find
themselves in more successful communicative situations. As teachers, we
can help learners to reflect on cultural differences between languages, pay-
ing attention to the L2s but also to the L1s. Another important aspect is
to know culture is not static, but dynamic and affected by social and envi-
ronmental factors. For example, going back to the example of kissing, the
effects of the COVID-19 pandemic have made many people in Spain stop
kissing each other. Instead, people keep a social distance and just say ‘hi’,
or touch elbows. Therefore, it is important to bear in mind that even if we
explain the cultural differences between languages to our students, we need
to be prepared for changes in a particular society or even worldwide.
According to Ishihara with Cohen (2022), when dealing with culture it
is important to distinguish between three types of norms: 1) social norms,
which refer to what a group of people agree should or should not be said in
a given context; 2) cultural norms, which refer to the values and traditions
that influence how people behave and interpret other people’s actions and
behaviours; 3) pragmatic norms, which refer to the type of language that is
most preferred in the L2 community.
 From research to implications 7

(Im)politeness
Following a recent definition by Leech (2014, p. 3), (im)politeness can be
seen as “a form of communicative behaviour found generally in human
languages and among human cultures; indeed it has been claimed as a
universal phenomenon of human society”. However, since the study of
politeness has been extensively researched in different fields and from the
different perspectives of sociolinguistics, pragmatics, and discourse analy-
sis (see Locher & Larina, 2019), the concept of politeness is not so clear-
cut. Politeness theories were born in the 1960s–1970s, such as Brown and
Levinson (1987), who conceptualised (im)politeness from a Western per-
spective, even if they claimed that politeness was governed by some uni-
versal principles. Moreover, their analysis of (im)politeness mainly focused
on the speaker’s actions rather than on the hearer’s reactions, and context
was not considered. This approach means that the picture of (im)politeness
is incomplete, as it focuses on the individuals’ acts, rather than on other
factors that may be affecting the individuals’ use of (im)politeness. Recent
research on (im)politeness has indeed aimed at analysing it from a more
contextual perspective, seeing (im)politeness as jointly constructed by the
different participants in a conversation, and taking into account a variety
of factors that come into play when interaction takes place: for example,
the contextual situation, the L1 culture, and the identity of the speakers,
among others. However, this discursive approach has also been considered
problematic, since it does not allow researchers and teachers to generalise
behaviours, as they might be subjected to a subjective interpretation.
An important factor that was addressed in Brown and Levinson’s theory
was the notion of face, a concept created by Goffmann (1967), who consid-
ered face as how one represents him/herself in relation to others, and how
a specific behaviour is expected in such representation. This concept was
adapted by Brown and Levinson through the terms positive and negative
politeness: the former understood as one’s representation being approved
by others (i.e., using L2 pragmatics to sound pragmatically appropriate in
the L2, so as to be accepted by the target community), and the latter, as
the freedom to choose how to represent one’s own image in front of others
(i.e., keeping one’s identity and L1 pragmatics even if that is not pragmati-
cally acceptable in the target community). Hence, the concept of face has
been used in pragmatics to classify speech acts into those which threaten
face and those which do not. For instance, requests or refusals have often
been considered as face-threatening acts (FTAs) since, depending on the
strategies used to convey them, problems in communication may arise.
This is because in some languages and cultures, direct requests and certain
refusals are considered as impolite, when used in some contexts and with
8 From research to implications

specific interlocutors. Therefore, according to Brown and Levinson’s the-

ory, FTAs should always be avoided, if successful communication is desired.
Together with the concept of face, and following Brown and Levinson’s
idea of politeness as a universal phenomenon, three social variables affect
politeness behaviour all of which should be taken into account to convey
(im)politeness: 1) power (P), the social hierarchy between people; 2) social
distance (D), that is the degree of familiarity between the interlocutors; 3)
imposition (I), which stands for the gravity of the situation in a particular
culture.
An important aspect to bear in mind is that Brown and Levison’s
Politeness Theory was developed in the 1970s and 1980s, and the world
was not as connected as it is nowadays. Consequently, there are other issues
at play. First, we live in a globalised world, in which English has become
an international language (EIL), spoken among NSs and NNSs, where we
are no longer dealing with target politeness norms, but with new politeness
rules developed by interculturally competent speakers. Second, the dichot-
omy between oral and written communication is nowadays much more
complex than forty years ago. We find ourselves immersed in a wide variety
of interaction modes every day, both via face-to-face (FTF) and computer-
mediated communication (CMC). These changes have not only affected the
means of communication, but the language and the (im)politeness norms
that are used in these different interaction modes. However, even as the
world changes, terms such as (im)politeness are key for the teaching of prag-
matics. As mentioned earlier in relation to culture, we need to be aware that
these are dynamic elements. It is useful to bear these changes in mind if we
are to teach what is currently used in the L2 that our students are learning.

Identifying pragmatics in speech

Having reviewed some of the main theoretical concepts, how can we iden-
tify pragmatics in language? The easiest identifiable pragmatic moves are
speech acts (Austin, 1962; Searle, 1969). These are declarations, requests,
suggestions, apologies, orders, refusals, acceptances, compliments, compli-
ment responses, and greetings, among many others. Apart from speech
acts, elements such as pragmatic markers (i.e., yeah, well, okay), and the use
of humour, irony, sarcasm, and implicature can also be identified in writ-
ten or oral performance. In this section, we aim to examine how pragmatic
exchanges take place in interaction, bearing in mind the concepts men-
tioned in the previous sections.
The following excerpt is taken from ‘Did you hear about the Morgans?’.
The film is about a separated couple (Paul and Meryl Morgan) who wit-
ness a murder. Since the murderer has seen them, they are forced to enter
 From research to implications 9

a witness protection programme with new identities and are sent to a small
town. In this town, they are under the supervision and protection of the
town’s sheriff and his wife (Clay and Emma), with whom they live for a few
days. The following excerpt comes from a scene in which Paul and Meryl
arrive at the sheriff’s house for the first time.

Excerpt transcript
Emma:… I’ll show you to your room.
Meryl: Ok.
Emma: Hope you will be comfortable here, we fixed up this, your bed-
room, not exactly the Ritz. We usually have one witness at a time.
Clay: The last time was Vitto the Butcher.
Paul: So, you actually do this all the time?
Clay: Yeah, about ten years ago the government asked if we would have
someone for a week, ever since then a couple of times a year they bring
somebody by. It’s kind of interesting, actually. Now they want me to retire.
So, you two are gonna be our last.
Meryl: Oh, well, it’s an honor, and it’s a lovely guest room, but Mr. Morgan,
ehm Mr. Foster and I are separating.
Paul: We are thinking of seeing a therapist.
Emma: So how do you want to handle the sleeping arrangements?
Meryl: Well, I can sleep on the couch.

Let us now analyse the excerpt following some of the important terms that
we mentioned earlier that are key to understanding pragmatic exchanges.
We will focus on a very indirect request made by Meryl. First, we need
to contextualise the scene and identify what is affecting the way Meryl
makes the request. Meryl does not want to sleep in the same bed with
Paul since they are separating. However, this is something that Clay and
Emma do not know. As mentioned before, the way we produce speech
acts such as requests are affected by three social variables: Power, Distance,
and Imposition. Regarding Power, the Morgans are at the house of the
sheriff, who is in a higher power position in relation to them, as the sheriff
represents authority in Western culture. For Distance, the scene represents
a moment in which they have just met for the first time. Thus, the relation-
ship between them is not close; they are still strangers to each other. Finally,
for Imposition, the seriousness of the situation is not that high (requesting
to sleep in separate rooms). However, taking into account that they do not
know each other, and the sheriff and his wife are in a high-power situation,
Meryl opts for a very indirect way of requesting, saying that they are sepa-
rating, which implies that they do not want to sleep in the same bed. Emma
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10 From research to implications

understands the request, because of the situation and the polite rejection of
the arrangements, and asks for an alternative.
Of course, this is just one example of how an indirect request can be
made in this type of situation, but we need to take into account that dif-
ferent languages and cultures may handle this pragmatic exchange in a dif-
ferent way.

Summary
The aim of Section 1 was to provide some existing definitions for the term
pragmatics and to provide an overview of key concepts in the field. As we
have seen, pragmatics is an essential aspect in communication, not only
when learning an L2 but also in our L1. When interacting with others we
are constantly using speech acts (i.e., requests, apologies, complaints, and
so on), acts that are co-constructed by all the participants when commu-
nicating. Not knowing how speech acts (or other pragmatic moves such as
humour or sarcasm) are used in the L2 may lead to communicative break-
downs. Thus, pragmatic errors might sometimes be more serious than
grammar or vocabulary mistakes. The following section focuses on how
pragmatics is acquired in foreign and second language contexts and how it
can be taught in the classroom context.

Section 2. Pragmatics in second language learning and teaching

Acquiring L2 pragmatics
Learning an L2 is not an easy task. We have all probably been language
learners at some point in our lives. What was the most difficult thing for
you to learn? Was it grammar, vocabulary, pronunciation? These are the
components of language that we usually think of when we reflect on our
own language learning process. However, as was mentioned in Section 1,
pragmatics is another important aspect that we need to learn and under-
stand to overcome problems in communication. Sounding rude and impo-
lite happens even in our L1, so if we do not know about the pragmatics
and culture of the L2 that we are learning, we may be headed towards
communicative failure.
As we saw earlier, the field of research within pragmatics and second
language acquisition (SLA) that investigates how L2 learners use, pro-
duce, acquire, and develop the pragmatics of the TL is ILP. As Kasper and
Blum-Kulka (1993) claimed, ILP is a “hybrid” between interlanguage and
pragmatics. The term interlanguage (IL) was coined by Selinker (1972),
 From research to implications 11

who defined it as the learners’ own form of the language, with character-
istics coming from the L1, the L2, and from other languages known. The
process of acquiring an L2 is not linear, and it is not easy. IL could be
represented as a long road trip from Chicago (L1) to Los Angeles (TL).
During that trip, we go through different towns, cities, and villages (stages
of L2 development). On the road, we always learn new things from the
different places we visit. Sometimes, though, we will stay longer in some
towns; some other times, we will keep going. There will also be times
when we will accidentally take the wrong way (making mistakes), or keep
making the wrong choice several times, because we may have not learnt
the way well (developmental errors). But sooner or later, we will get to
LA. We may not stay in the city centre, but we might make it close. We
do not need to become Angelenos, since we may keep our own identity,
which is totally acceptable. Apart from such a long trip, to become a prag-
matically competent speaker will not be an easy task since we will need to
be both pragmalinguistically correct (knowing the linguistic strategies to
perform pragmatic moves) and sociopragmatically correct (knowing when
and with whom to use such linguistic strategies). As teachers, knowing
how we acquire languages, what aspects of language are learnt first or later,
and what mistakes or errors are due to the L1, might help us to adjust our
classes and class curriculum.

Research on requests: Types and mitigation strategies

Scholars became interested in learners’ acquisition of pragmatics in the
1980s and especially at the end of the 1990s and early 2000s. Most of
the studies carried out during those years focused on speech acts, since, as
mentioned earlier, using speech acts in an ‘inappropriate’ way may lead to
communication breakdowns. The aim of such studies was to examine how
learners of an L2 produced and developed speech acts over time. The most
widely studied speech act in both L1 and L2 acquisition has been requests,
classified as a directive in Searle’s Taxonomy of Speech Acts (1969) and
considered as a face-threatening act in Brown and Levison’s Politeness the-
ory (1987). When requesting, what the speaker aims at is to get the listener
to do something. In order to know how learners acquire requests, first it
is important to know what types of requests are commonly used by NSs
and how they are softened when necessary. Let us think of English, since
English requests have been widely studied to date. The most straightfor-
ward classification of requests is between direct and indirect. In a direct
request the literal meaning is easily understood (i.e., Shut up), whereas
with indirect requests we need to process the conveyed meaning and pay
12 From research to implications

attention to the context in which it is produced (i.e., It is a little bit loud

in here) (Ervin-Tripp, Strage, Lampert & Bell, 1987). We seem to process
both literal and conveyed meanings and take advantage of the context to
interpret such speech acts appropriately (Takahashi & Roitblat, 1994).
Regarding types of requests, a well-known project in the 1980s devel-
oped a categorisation that has been widely used in research. This was car-
ried out by The Cross-Cultural Study of Speech Act Realisation Patterns
(CCSARP), which examined the differences among languages in the use
of requests and apologies. As can be seen in Table 1.1, their classification
of requests goes from those which are more direct (at the top) to those
that are more indirect (at the bottom). In an English-speaking context, the
more direct a request is, the more face-threatening it may sound. This is the
reason why more indirect requests are preferred to get the interlocutor to
do something.
Apart from using indirect requests, we can also use other strategies to
mitigate them: internal and external modification. These are linguistic ele-
ments that appear either inside the request (i.e., Could you possibly open the
window?) or outside the request (i.e., Could you open the window, please?).
The former is called internal modification and the latter is called external
modification. As with request types, researchers have developed categories
for both internal and external modification. Table 1.2 shows one of the
classifications provided by Alcón-Soler and Safont (2005).

Research on requests: General findings

What studies in ILP have found regarding request types is that learners tend
to use more direct requests in early stages of acquisition and more indi-
rect requests in higher stages (i.e., Achiba, 2003; Barón, 2015; Ellis, 1992;
Félix-Brasdefer, 2007). These findings seem to follow a similar pattern to

TABLE 1.1 
Blum-Kulka and Olshtain (1989, p. 202)

Type Example

Mood derivable Leave me alone

Explicit performative I am asking you to dress up the mess
Hedge performative I would like to ask you to give …
Locution derivable Madam, you’ll have to move your car
Scope stating I wish you’d stop bothering me
Suggestory formulas So, why don’t you clean …
Reference to preparatory conditions Could you clean up the kitchen, please?
Strong hints You’ve left the kitchen in a right mess
Mild hints I am a nun
 From research to implications 13

TABLE 1.2 
Internal and external modification by Alcón-Soler and Safont (2005, p. 17)

Type Sub-type Example

Internal Openers Do you think you could open the window?

modification Would you mind opening the window?
Softeners Understatement Could you open the window for a
moment?
Downtoner Could you possibly open the
window?
Hedge Could you kind of open the window?
Intensifiers You really must open the window.
I’m sure you wouldn’t mind opening the window.
Filters Hesitators I er, erm, er – I wonder if you could
open the window.
Cajolers You know, you see, I mean.
Appealers OK?, Right?, Yeah.
Attention-getters Excuse me …; Hello …; Look …;
Tom, …; Mr. Edwards, …; Father
…
External Preparators May I ask you a favour? Could you open the
modifications window?
Grounders It seems it is quite hot here. Could you open the
window?
Disarmers I hate bothering you but could you open the
window?
Expanders Would you mind opening the window? … Once
again, could you open the window?
Promise of reward Could you open the window? If you open it, I
promise to bring you to the cinema.
Please Would you mind opening the window, please?

L1 acquisition (Carrell, 1981). As for request modification, internal modi-

fication seems to be acquired before external modification (Schauer, 2006,
2007). In some cases, it has been found that modification is overused by
means of one strategy like the use of please (Ellis, 1992).

Research on requests: Two examples

Two studies in ILP research that have been the most cited so far are those
by Ellis (1992) and Achiba (2003). These two studies followed the par-
ticipants’ L2 acquisition over a long period of time. Based on these two
studies, Kasper and Rose (2003) created five stages of development of L2
pragmatic acquisition that have been used in many studies within the field
(i.e., Barón, 2015; Félix-Brasdefer, 2007).
In the case of Ellis (1992), he followed the development of two English-
as-a-second-language (ESL) beginners in London, aged 10 and 11, in a
14 From research to implications

classroom setting during 15–21 months. As has already been mentioned,

the results supported the movement from a direct to an indirect use of
requests. However, the two learners failed to develop most of the differ-
ent request types as well as the linguistic means to perform them. Ellis
argued that the sociopragmatic instruction that learners had received in
class (explaining how and when to use the different strategies taught) was
not realistic, and this may have been an explanation for their failure in
sociopragmatic competence.
The study by Achiba (2003) presented a longitudinal case study of
her daughter Yao, a 7-year-old Japanese girl, who spent 17 months in
Australia. In the course of the 17 months, Yao went through four devel-
opmental phases. In the first phase (first 12 weeks in Australia), she mainly
used formulaic utterances, such as routines and patterns. In the second
phase (from week 13 to week 31), there was still a use of formulaic lan-
guage, that is, patterns were used, but every time they were more elabo-
rate. Indirect strategies started to arise, probably thanks to the acquisition
of new linguistic forms which enabled her to use such strategies. She also
started to present grammatical and sociocultural awareness of the tar-
get language and community, which enabled her to start developing her
pragmatic ability. From week 32 to 61, the third phase, requests started
to be more and more elaborate due to the increase of her L2 competence.
Modals started to be used for more polite requests, since she made use of
politeness with addressees of higher ranks. In the last phase, week 62 to
week 75, more complex structures appeared as well as new strategies and
mitigation.
As mentioned above, five stages of development were created by
Kasper and Rose (2003) based on these two studies. Table 1.3 shows the
developmental stages suggested by Kasper and Rose. Knowing the stages
of development that learners go through can help us to design input and
activities adapted to what they know and what is going to be acquired
afterwards.
As both the studies reviewed and the stages of development presented
above show, learners of second languages will also go through a series of
stages of development. Some will go faster than others and many factors
will have different types of influence on the way, but they will ultimately
arrive at their destination.

Some reflections on research

How can the categories and studies mentioned in this section help us in
our L2 lessons? The class curriculum is tight and we usually follow a text-
book or specific materials that are designed for the courses we are teaching.
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of births, marriages, and deaths. "My moral death will not be
recorded here," she thought, "and yet, I shall be more dead than
any of these." The thought in her mind remained as it were
truncated; her eye was arrested—a paleness came over her—the
pulses of her heart paused, and then beat tumultuously—how
strange—how fatal were the words she read!—
"Died suddenly at the inn at the Mola di Gaeta, on her way from
Naples, Clorinda, the wife of the honourable Horatio Saville, in the
twenty-second year of her age."
Her drawing-room door was opened, the butler announced Miss
Derham, while her eyes still were fixed on the paragraph: her head
swam round—the world seemed to slide from under her. Fanny's
calm clear voice recalled her. She conquered her agitation—she
spoke as if she had not just crossed a gulf—not been transported to
a new world; and, again, swifter than light, brought back to the old
one. She conversed with Fanny for some time; giving some kind of
explanation for not having been to see Ethel, begging her young
friend to press her invitation, and speaking as if in autumn they
should all meet again. Fanny, philosophic as she was, regarded Lady
Lodore with a kind of idolatry. The same charm that had fascinated
the unworldly and abstracted Saville, she exercised over the
thoughtful and ingenuous mind of the fair young student. It was the
attraction of engaging manners, added now to the sense of right,
joined to the timid softness of a woman, who trembled on acting
unsupported, even though her conscience approved her deeds. It
was her loveliness which had gained in expression what it had lost in
youth, and kindness of heart was the soul of the enchantment.
Fanny ventured to remonstrate against her sudden departure. "O we
shall soon meet again," said Cornelia; but her thoughts were more
of heaven than earth, as the scene of meeting; for her heart was
chilled—her head throbbed—the words she had read operated a
revolution in her frame, more allied to sickness and death, than hope
or triumph.
Fanny at length took her leave, and Lady Lodore was again alone.
She took up the newspaper—hastily she read again the tidings; she
sunk on the sofa, burying her face in the pillow, trying not to think,
while she was indeed the prey to the wildest thoughts.
"Yes," thus ran her reflections, "he is free—he is no longer married!
Fool, fool! he is still lost to you!—an outcast and a beggar, shall I
solicit his love! which he believes that I rejected when prosperous.
Rather never, never, let me see him again. My beauty is tarnished,
my youth flown; he would only see me to wonder how he had ever
loved me. Better hide beneath the mountains among which I am
soon to find a home—better, far better, die, than see Saville and read
no love in his eyes.
"Yet thus again I cast happiness from me. What then would I do?
Unweave the web—implore Mr. Villiers to endure my presence—
reveal my state of beggary—ask thanks for my generosity, and
humbly wait for a kind glance from Saville, to raise me to wealth as
well as to happiness.—Cornelia, awake!—be not subdued at the last
—act not against your disposition, the pride of your soul—the
determinations you have formed—do not learn to be humble in
adversity—you, who were disdainful in happier days—no! if they
need me—if they love me—if Saville still remembers the worship—
the heart's entire sacrifice which once he made to me—will a few
miles—the obscurity of my abode—or the silence and mystery that
surrounds me, check his endeavours that we should once again
meet?
"No!" she said, rising, "my destiny is in other and higher hands than
my own. It were vain to endeavour to controul it. Whatever I do,
works against me; now let the thread be spun to the end, while I do
nothing; I can but endure the worst patiently; and how much better
to bear in silence, than to struggle vainly with the irrevocable
decree! I submit. Let Providence work out its own ends, and God
dispose of the being he has made—whether I reap the harvest in
this world or in the next, my part is played, I will strive no more!"
She believed in her own singleness of purpose as she said this, and
yet she was never more deceived. While she boasted of her
resignation, she was yielding not to a high moral power, but to the
pride of her soul. Her resolutions were in accordance with the
haughtiness of her disposition, and she felt satisfied, not because
she was making a noble sacrifice, but because she thus adorned
more magnificently the idol she set up for worship, and believed
herself to be more worthy of applause and love. Yet who could
condemn even errors that led to such unbending and heroic
forgetfulness of all the baser propensities of our nature. Nor was this
feeling of triumph long-lived; the wounding and humiliating realities
of life, soon degraded her from her pedestal, and made her feel, as
it were, the disgrace and indignities of abdication.
Her travelling chariot drove up to the door, and, after a few
moments' preparation, she was summoned. Again she looked round
the room; her heart swelled high with impatience and repining, but
again she conquered herself. She took up her miniature—that now
she might possess—for she could remember without sin—she took
up the newspaper, which did or did not contain the fiat of her fate;
but this action appeared to militate against the state of resignation
she had resolved to attain, so she threw it down: she walked down
the stairs, and passed out from her house for the last time—she got
into the carriage—the door was closed—the horses were in motion—
all was over.
Her head felt sick and heavy; she leaned back in her carriage half
stupified. When at last London and its suburbs were passed, the
sight of the open country a little revived her—but she soon drooped
again. Nothing presented itself to her thoughts with any clearness,
and the exultation which had supported her vanished totally. She
only knew that she was alone, poor, forgotten; these words hovered
on her lips, mingled with others, by which she endeavoured to
charm away her despondency. Fortitude and resignation for herself—
freedom and happiness for Ethel. "O yes, she is free and happy—it
matters not then what I am!" No tears flowed to soften this thought.
The bright green country—the meadows mingled with unripe corn-
fields—the tufted woods—the hedgerows full of flowers, could not
attract her eye; pangs every now and then seized upon her heart—
she had talked of resignation, but she was delivered up to despair.
At length she sank into a kind of stupor. She was accompanied by
one servant only; she had told him where she intended to remain
that night. It was past eleven before they arrived at Reading; the
night was chill, and she shivered while she felt as if it were
impossible to move, even to draw up the glasses of her chariot.
When she arrived at the inn where she was to pass the night, she
felt keenly the discomfort of having no female attendant. It was new
—she felt as if it were disgraceful, to find herself alone among
strangers, to be obliged to give orders herself, and to prepare alone
for her repose.
All night she could not sleep, and she became aware at last that she
was ill. She burnt with fever—her whole frame was tormented by
aches, by alternate hot and shivering fits, and by a feeling of
sickness. When morning dawned, it was worse. She grew impatient
—she rose. She had arranged that her servant should quit her at this
place. He had been but a short time with her, and was easily
dismissed under the idea, that she was to be joined by a man
recommended by a friend, who was accustomed to the continent,
whither it was supposed that she was going. She had dismissed him
the night before, he was already gone, when on the morrow she
ordered the horses.—She paid the bills herself—and had to answer
questions about luggage; all these things are customary to the poor,
and to the other sex. But take a high-born woman and place her in
immediate contact with the rough material of the world, and see
how like a sensitive plant she will shrink, close herself up and droop,
and feel as if she had fallen from her native sphere into a spot
unknown, ungenial, and full of storms.
The illness that oppressed Lady Lodore, made these natural feelings
even more acute, till at last they were blunted by the same cause.
She now wondered what it was that ailed her, and became terrified
at the occasional wanderings that interrupted her torpor. Once or
twice she wished to speak to the post-boy, but her voice failed her.
At length they drove up to the inn at Newbury; fresh horses were
called for, and the landlady came up to the door of the carriage, to
ask whether the lady had breakfasted—whether she would take
anything. There was something ghastly in Lady Lodore's appearance,
which at once frightened the good woman, and excited her
compassion. She renewed her questions, which Lady Lodore had not
at first heard, adding, "You seem ill, ma'am; do take something—had
you not better alight?"
"O yes, far better," said Cornelia, "for I think I must be very ill."
The change of posture and cessation of motion a little revived her,
and she began to think that she was mistaken, and that it was all
nothing, and that she was well. She was conducted into the parlour
of the inn, and the landlady left her to order refreshment. "How
foolish I am," she thought; "this is mere fancy; there is nothing the
matter with me;" and she rose to ring the bell, and to order horses.
When suddenly, without any previous warning, struck as by a bolt,
she fainted, and fell on the floor, without any power of saving
herself. The sound of her fall quickened the steps of the landlady,
who was returning; all the chamber-maids were summoned, a
doctor sent for, and when Lady Lodore opened her eyes she saw
unknown faces about her, a strange place, and voices yet stranger.
She did not speak, but tried to collect her thoughts, and to unravel
the mystery, as it appeared, of her situation. But soon her thoughts
wandered, and fever and weakness made her yield to the
solicitations of those around. The doctor came, and could make out
nothing but that she was in a high fever: he ordered her to be put to
bed. And thus—Saville, and Ethel, and all hopes and fears, having
vanished from her thoughts,—given up to delirium and suffering,
poor Lady Lodore, alone, unknown, and unattended, remained for
several weeks at a country inn—under the hands of a village doctor
—to recover, if God pleased, if not, to sink, unmourned and unheard
of, into an untimely grave.
 CHAPTER XIV

But if for me thou dost forsake

Some other maid, and rudely break
Her worshipped image from its base,
To give to me the ruined place—

Then fare thee well—I'd rather make

My bower upon some icy lake,
When thawing suns begin to shine,
Than trust to love so false as thine!

LALLA ROOKH.

On the same day Mr. and Mrs. Villiers left their sad dwelling to take
possession of lady Lodore's house. The generosity and kindness of
her mother, such as it appeared, though she knew but the smallest
portion of it, charmed Ethel. Her heart, which had so long struggled
to love her, was gladdened by the proofs given that she deserved
her warmest affection. The truest delight beamed from her lovely
countenance. Even she had felt the gloom and depression of
adversity. The sight of misery or vice in those around her tarnished
the holy fervour with which she would otherwise have made every
sacrifice for Edward's sake. There is something in this world, which
even while it gives an unknown grace to rough, and hard, and mean
circumstances, contaminates the beauty and harmony of the noble
and exalted. Ethel had been aware of this; she dreaded its sinister
influence over Villiers, and in spite of herself she pined; she had felt
with a shudder that in spite of love and fortitude, a sense, chilling
and deponding, was creeping over her, making her feel the earth
alien to her, and calling her away from the sadness of the scene
around to a world bright and pure as herself. Her very despair thus
dressed itself in the garb of religion; and though these visitations of
melancholy only came during the absence of Villiers and were never
indulged in, yet they were too natural a growth of their wretched
abode to be easily or entirely dismissed. Even now that she was
restored to the fairer scenes of life, compassion for the unfortunate
beings she quitted haunted her, and her feelings were too keenly
alive to the miseries which her fellow-creatures suffered, to permit
her to be relieved from all pain by her own exemption. She turned
from such reflections to the image of her dear kind mother with
delight. The roof that sheltered her was hallowed as hers; all the
blessings of life which she enjoyed came to her from the same
source as life itself. She delighted to trace the current of feeling
which had occasioned her to give up so much, and to imagine the
sweetness of disposition, the vivacity of mind, the talents and
accomplishments which her physiognomy expressed, and the taste
manifested in her house, and all the things which she had collected
around her, evinced.
In less than a month after their liberation, she gave birth to son. The
mingled danger and rejoicing attendant on this event, imparted fresh
strength to the attachment that united Edward to her; and the little
stranger himself was a new object of tenderness and interest. Thus
their days of mourning were exchanged for a happiness most natural
and welcome to the human heart. At this time also Horatio Saville
returned from Italy with his little girl. She was scarcely more than a
year old, but displayed an intelligence to be equalled only by her
extraordinary beauty. Her golden silken ringlets were even then
profuse, her eyes were as dark and brilliant as her mother's, but her
complexion was fair, and the same sweet smile flitted round her
infant mouth, as gave the charm to her father's face. He idolized her,
and tried by his tenderness and attention to appease, as it were, the
manes of the unfortunate Clorinda.
She, poor girl, had been the victim of the violence of passion and ill-
regulated feelings native to her country, excited into unnatural force
by the singularity of her fate. When Saville saw her first in her
convent, she was pining for liberty; she did not think of any joy
beyond escaping the troublesome impertinence of the nuns and the
monotonous tenor of monastic life, of associating with people she
loved, and enjoying the common usages of life, unfettered by the
restrictions that rendered her present existence a burthen. But
though she desired no more, her disgust for the present, her longing
for a change, was a powerful passion. She was adorned by talents,
by genius; she was eloquent and beautiful, and full of enthusiasm
and feeling. Saville pitied her; he lamented her future fate among
her unworthy countrymen; he longed to cherish, to comfort, and to
benefit her. His heart, so easily won to tenderness, gave her readily
a brother's regard. Others, seeing the active benevolence and lively
interest that this sentiment elicited, might have fancied him inspired
by a warmer feeling; but he well knew the difference, he ardently
desired her happiness, but did not seek his own in her.
He visited her frequently, he brought her books, he taught her
English. They were allowed to meet daily in the parlour of the
convent, in the presence of a female attendant; and his admiration
of her talents, her imagination, her ardent comprehensive mind,
increased on every interview. They talked of literature—the poets—
the arts; Clorinda sang to him, and her fine voice, cultivated by the
nicest art, was a source of deep pleasure and pain to her auditor. His
sensibility was awakened by the tones of love and rapture—
sensibility, not alas! for her who sang, but for the false and absent.
While listening, his fancy recalled Lady Lodore's image; the hopes
she had inspired, the rapture he had felt in her presence—the warm
vivifying effect her voice and looks had on him were remembered,
and his heart sank within him to think that all this sweetness was
deceptive, fleeting, lost. Once, overcome by these thoughts, he
resolved to return suddenly to England, to make one effort more to
exchange unendurable wretchedness for the most transporting
happiness;—absence from Cornelia, to the joy of pouring out the
overflowing sentiments of his heart at her feet. While indulging in
this idea, a letter from his sister Lucy caused a painful revulsion; she
painted the woman of the world given up to ambition and fashion,
rejoicing in his departure, and waiting only the moment when she
might with decency become the wife of another. Saville was almost
maddened—he did not visit Clorinda for three days. She received
him, when at last he came, without reproach, but with transport;
she saw that sadness, even sickness, dimmed his eye; she soothed
him, she hung over him with fondness, she sung to him her
sweetest, softest airs; his heart melted, a tear stole from his eye.
Clorinda saw his emotion; it excited hers; her Neapolitan vivacity
was not restrained by shame nor fear,—she spoke of her love for him
with the vehemence she felt, and youth and beauty hallowed the
frankness and energy of her expressions. Saville was touched and
pleased,—he left her to meditate on this new state of things—for
free from passion himself, he had never suspected the growth of it in
her heart. He reflected on all her admirable qualities, and the pity it
was that they should be cast at the feet of one of her own
unrefined, uneducated countrymen, who would be incapable of
appreciating her talents—even her love—so that at last she would
herself become degraded, and sink into that system of depravity
which makes a prey of all that is lovely or noble in our nature. He
could save her—she loved him, and he could save her; lost as he
was to real happiness, it were to approximate to it, if he consecrated
his life to her welfare.
Yet he would not deceive her. The excess of love which she
bestowed demanded a return which he could not give. She must
choose whether, such as he was, he were worth accepting. Actuated
by a sense of justice, he opened his heart to her without disguise:
he told her of his ill-fated attachment to another—of his self-
banishment, and misery—he declared his real and earnest affection
for her—his desire to rescue her from her present fate, and to
devote his life to her. Clorinda scarcely heard what he said,—she felt
only that she might become his—that he would marry her; her
rapture was undisguised, and he enjoyed the felicity of believing that
one so lovely and excellent would at once owe every blessing of life
to him, and that the knowledge of this must ensure his own content.
The consent of her parents was easily yielded,—the Pope is always
ready to grant a dispensation to a Catholic wife marrying a
Protestant husband,—the wedding speedily took place—and Saville
became her husband.
Their mutual torments now began. Horatio was a man of high and
unshrinking principle. He never permitted himself to think of Lady
Lodore, and the warmth and tenderness of his heart led him to
attach himself truly and affectionately to his wife. But this did not
suffice for the Neapolitan. Her marriage withdrew the veil of life—
she imagined that she distinguished the real from the fictitious, but
her new sense of discernment was the source of torture. She desired
to be loved as she loved; she insisted that her rival should be hated
—she was shaken by continual tempests of jealousy, and the
violence of her temper, restrained by no reserve of disposition,
displayed itself frightfully. Saville reasoned, reproached,
reprehended, without any avail, except that when her violence had
passed its crisis, she repented, and wept, and besought forgiveness.
Ethel's visit had been a blow hard to bear. She was the daughter of
her whom Saville loved—whom he regretted—on whom he
expended that passion and idolatry, to attain which she would have
endured the most dreadful tortures. These were the reflections, or
rather, these were the ravings, of Clorinda. She had never been so
furious in her jealousy, or so frequent in her fits of passion, as
during the visit of the unconscious and gentle Ethel.
The birth of her child operated a beneficial change for a time; and
except when Saville spoke of England, or she imagined that he was
thinking of it, she ceased to torment him. He was glad; but the
moment was passed when she could command his esteem, or excite
his spontaneous sympathy. He pitied and he loved her; but it was
almost as we may become attached to an unfortunate and lovely
maniac; less than ever did he seek his happiness in her. He loved his
infant daughter now better than any other earthly thing. Clorinda
rejoiced in this tie, though she soon grew jealous even of her own
child.
The arrival of Lord Maristow and his daughters was at first full of
benefit to the discordant pair. Clorinda was really desirous of
obtaining their esteem, and she exerted herself to please: when they
talked of her return to England with them, it only excited her to try
to render Italy so agreeable as to induce them to remain there. They
were not like Ethel. They were good girls, but fashionable and fond
of pleasure. Clorinda devised a thousand amusements—concerts,
tableaux, the masquerades of the carnival, were all put in
requisition. They carried their zeal for amusement so far as to take
up their abode for a day or two at Pompeii, feigning to be its ancient
inhabitants, and, bringing the corps operatique to their aid, got up
Rossini's opera of the Ultimi Giorni di Pompeii among the ruins,
ending their masquerade by a mimic eruption. These gaieties did not
accord with the classic and refined tastes of Saville; but he was glad
to find his wife and sisters agree so well, and under the blue sky,
and in the laughing land of Naples, it was impossible not to find
beauty and enjoyment even in extravagance and folly.
Still, like a funeral bell heard amidst a feast, the name of England,
and the necessity of her going thither, struck on the ear and chilled
the heart of the Neapolitan. She resolved never to go; but how could
she refuse to accompany her husband's sisters? how resist the
admonitions and commands of his father? She did not refuse
therefore—she seemed to consent—while she said to Saville,
"Poison, stab me—cast me down the crater of the mountain—
exhaust your malice and hatred on me as you please here—but you
shall never take me to England but as a corpse."
Saville replied, "As you will." He was tired of the struggle, and left
the management of his departure to others.
One day his sisters described the delights of a London season, and
strove to win Clorinda by the mention of its balls, parties, and opera;
they spoke of Almack's, and the leaders of fashion; they mentioned
Lady Lodore. They were unaware that Clorinda knew any thing of
their brother's attachment, and speaking of her as one of the most
distinguished of their associates in the London world, made their
sister-in-law aware, that when she made a part of it, she would
come into perpetual contact with her rival. This allusion caused one
of her most violent paroxysms of rage as soon as she found herself
alone with her husband. So frantic did she seem, that Horatio spoke
seriously to his father, and declared he knew of no argument nor
power which could induce Clorinda to accompany them to England.
"Then you must go without her," said Lord Maristow; "your career,
your family, your country, must not be sacrificed to her unreasonable
folly." And then, wholly unaware of the character of the person with
whom he had to deal, he repeated the same thing to Clorinda. "You
must choose," he said, "between Naples and your husband—he must
go; do you prefer being left behind?"
Clorinda grew pale, even livid. She returned home. Horatio was not
there; she raved through her house like a maniac; her servants even
hid her child from her, and she rushed from room to room tearing
her hair, and calling for Saville. At length he entered; her eyes were
starting from her head, her frame working with convulsive violence;
she strove to speak—to give utterance to the vehemence pent up
within her. She darted towards him; when suddenly, as if shot to the
heart, she fell on the marble pavement of her chamber, and a red
stream poured from her lips—she had burst a blood-vessel.
For many days she was not allowed to speak nor move. Saville
nursed her unremittingly—he watched by her at night—he tried to
soothe her—he brought her child to her side—his sweetness, and
gentleness, and real tenderness were all expended on her. Although
violent, she was not ungenerous. She was touched by his attentions,
and the undisguised solicitude of his manner. She resolved to
conquer herself, and in a fit of heroism formed the determination to
yield, and to go to England. Her first words, when permitted to
speak, were to signify her assent. Saville kissed and thanked her.
She had half imagined that he would imitate her generosity, and give
up the journey. No such thought crossed his mind; her distaste was
too unreasonable to elicit the smallest sympathy, and consequently
any concession. He thanked her warmly, it is true; and looked
delighted at this change, but without giving her time to retract, he
hurried to communicate to his relations the agreeable tidings.
As she grew better she did not recede, but she felt miserable. The
good spirits and ready preparations of Horatio were all acts of
treason against her: sometimes she felt angry—but she checked
herself. Like all Italians, Clorinda feared death excessively; besides
that, to die was to yield the entire victory to her rival. She struggled
therefore, and conquered herself; and neither expressed her angry
jealousy nor her terrors. She had many causes of fear; she was
again in a situation to increase her family within a few months; and
while her safety depended on her being able to attain a state of
calm, she feared a confinement in England, and believed that it was
impossible that she should survive.
She was worn to a skeleton—her large eyes were sunk and ringed
with black, while they burnt with unnatural brilliancy, for her vivacity
did not desert her, and that deceived those around; they fancied that
she was convalescent, and would soon recover strength and good
looks, while she nourished a deep sense of wrong for the slight
attention paid to her sufferings. She wept over herself and her
friendless state. Her husband was not her friend, for he was not her
countryman: and full as Saville was of generous sympathy and
kindliness for all, the idea of returning to England, to his home and
friends, to the stirring scenes of life, and the society of those who
loved literature, and were endowed with the spirit of liberal inquiry
and manly habits of thinking, so absorbed and delighted him, that
he could only thank Clorinda again and again—caress her, and
entreat her to get well, that she might share his pleasures. His
words chilled her, and she shrunk from his caresses. "He is thinking
of her, and of seeing her again," she thought. She did him the most
flagrant injustice. Saville was a man of high and firm principle, and
had he been aware of any latent weakness, of any emotion allied to
the master-passion of his soul, he would have conquered it, or have
fled from the temptation. He never thought less of Lady Lodore than
now. The unwonted gentleness and concessions of his wife—his love
for his child, and the presence of his father and dear sisters,
dissipated his regrets,—his conscience was wholly at ease, and he
was happy.
Clorinda dared not complain to her English relatives, but she listened
to the lamentations of her Neapolitan friends with a luxury of woe.
They mourned over her as if she were going to visit another sphere;
they pointed out the little island on a map, and seated far off as it
was amidst the northern sea, night and storms, they averred,
perpetually brooded over it, while from the shape of the earth they
absolutely proved that it was impossible to get there. It is true that
Lord Maristow and his daughters, and Saville himself, had come
thence—that was nothing—it was easy to come away. "You see,"
they said, "the earth slopes down, and the sun is before them; but
when they have to go back, ah! it is quite another affair; the Alps
rise, and the sea boils over, and they have to toil up the wall of the
world itself into winter and darkness. It is tempting God to go there.
O stay, Clorinda, stay in sunny Italy. Orazio will return: do not go to
die in that miserable birth-place of night and frost."
Clorinda wept yet more bitterly over her hard fate, and the
impossibility of yielding to their wishes. "Would to God," she
thought, "I could abandon the ingrate, and let him go far from Italy
and Clorinda, to die in his wretched country! Would I could forget,
hate, desert him! Ah, why do I idolize one born in that chilly land,
where love and passion are unknown or despised!"
At length the day arrived when they left Naples. It was the month of
May, and very warm. No imagination could paint the glorious beauty
of this country of enchantment, on the completion of spring, before
the heats of summer had withered its freshness. The sparkling
waves of the blue Mediterranean encircled the land, and contrasted
with its hues: the rich foliage of the trees—the festooning of the
luxuriant vines, and the abundant vegetation which sprung fresh
from the soil, decorating the rocks, and mantling the earth with
flowers and verdure, were all in the very prime and blossoming of
beauty. The sisters of Saville expressed their admiration in warm and
enthusiastic terms; the words trembled on poor Clorinda's lips; she
was about to say, "Why then desert this land of bliss?" but Horatio
spoke instead: "It is splendid, I own, and once I felt all that you
express. Now a path along a grassy field—a hedge-row—a copse
with a rill murmuring through it—a white cottage with simple palings
enclosing a flower-garden—the spire of a country church rising from
among a tuft of elms—the skies all shadowy with soft clouds—and
the homesteads of a happy thriving peasantry—these are the things
I sigh for. A true English home-scene seems to me a thousand times
more beautiful, as it must be a thousand times dearer than the
garish showy splendour of Naples."
Clorinda's thoughts crept back into her chilled heart; large tear-drops
rose in her eyes, but she concealed them, and shrinking into a
corner of the carriage, she felt more lonely and deserted than she
would have done among strangers who had loved Italy, and
participated in her feelings.
They arrived at the inn called the Villa di Cicerone, at the Mola di
Gaeta. All the beauty of the most beautiful part of the Peninsula
seems concentered in that enchanting spot—the perfume of orange
flowers filled the air—the sea was at their feet—the vine-clad hills
around. All this excess of loveliness only added to the unutterable
misery of the Neapolitan girl. Her companions talked and laughed,
while she felt her frame convulsed by internal combats, and the
unwonted command she exercised over her habitual vehemence.
Horatio conversed gaily with his sisters, till catching a glimpse of the
pale face of his wretched wife, her mournful eyes and wasted
cheeks, he drew near her. "You are fatigued, dearest Clorinda," he
said, "will you not go to rest?"
He said this in a tender caressing tone, but she felt, "He wants to
send me away—to get rid even of the sight of me." But he sat down
by her, and perceiving her dejection, and guessing partly at its
cause, he soothed her, and talked of their return to her native land,
and cheered her by expressions of gratitude for the sacrifice she was
making. Her heart began to soften, and her tears to flow more
freely, when a man entered, such as haunt the inns in Italy, and
watch for the arrival of rich strangers to make profit in various ways
out of them. This man had a small picture for sale, which he
declared to be an original Carlo Dolce. It was the head of a seraph
painted on copper—it was probably a copy, but it was beautifully
executed; besides the depth of colour and grace of design, there
was something singularly beautiful in the expression of the
countenance portrayed,—it symbolized happiness and love; a
beaming softness animated the whole face; a perfect joy, an
ineffable radiance shone out of it. Clorinda took it in her hand—the
representation of heart-felt gladness increased her self-pity; she was
turning towards her husband with a reproachful look, thinking, "Such
smiles you have banished from my face for ever,"—when Sophia
Saville, who was looking over her shoulder, exclaimed, "What an
extraordinary resemblance! there was never any thing so like."
"Who? what?" asked her sister.
"It is Lady Lodore herself," replied Sophia; "her eyes, her mouth, her
very smile."
Lucy gave a quick glance towards her brother. Horatio involuntarily
stepped forward to look, and then as hastily drew back. Clorinda saw
it all—she put down the picture, and left the room—she could not
stay—she could not speak—she knew not what she felt, but that a
fiery torture was eating into her, and she must fly, she knew not
whither. Saville was pained; he hesitated what to do or say—so he
remained; supper was brought in, and Clorinda not appearing, it was
supposed that she had retired to rest. In about an hour and a half
after, Horatio went into her room, and to his horror beheld her
stretched upon the cold bricks of the chamber, senseless; the moon-
beams rested on her pale face, which bore the hues of death. In a
moment the house was alarmed, the village doctor summoned, a
courier dispatched to Naples for an English physician, and every
possible aid afforded the wretched sufferer. She was placed on the
bed,—she still lived; her faint pulse could not be felt, and no blood
flowed when a vein was opened, but she groaned, and now and
then opened her eyes with a ghastly stare, and closed them again as
if mechanically. All was horror and despair—no help—no resource
presented itself; they hung round her, they listened to her groans
with terror, and yet they were the only signs of life that disturbed
her death-like state. At last, soon after the dawn of day, she became
convulsed, her pulse fluttered, and blood flowed from her wounded
arm; in about an hour from this time she gave birth to a dead child.
After this she grew calmer and fainter. The physician arrived, but she
was past mortal cure,—she never opened her eyes more, nor spoke,
nor gave any token of consciousness. By degrees her groans ceased,
and she faded into death: the slender manifestations of lingering
vitality gradually decreasing till all was still and cold. After an hour or
two her face resumed its loveliness, pale and wasted as it was: she
seemed to sleep, and none could regret that repose possessed that
heart, which had been alive only to the deadliest throes of unhappy
passion. Yet Saville did more than regret—he mourned her sincerely
and deeply,—he accused himself of hard-heartedness,—he
remembered what she was when he had first seen her;—how full of
animation, beauty, and love. He did not remember that she had
perished the victim of uncontrolled passion; he felt that she was his
victim. He would have given worlds to restore her to life and
enjoyment. What was a residence in England—the promises of
ambition—the pleasures of his native land—all that he could feel or
know, compared to the existence of one so young, so blessed with
Heaven's choicest gifts of mind and person. She was his victim, and
he could never forgive himself.
For his father's and sisters' sake he subdued the expression of his
grief, for they also loved Clorinda, and were struck with sorrow at
the sudden catastrophe. His strong mind, also, before long,
mastered the false view he had taken of the cause of her death. He
lamented her deeply, but he did not give way to unavailing remorse,
which was founded on his sensibility, and not on any just cause for
repentance. He turned all his thoughts to repairing her errors, rather
than his own, by cherishing her child with redoubled fondness. The
little girl was too young to feel her loss; she had always loved her
father, and now she clung to his bosom and pressed her infant lips
to his cheek, and by her playfulness and caresses repaid him for the
tenderness that he lavished on her.
After some weeks spent in the north of Italy he returned to England
with her. Lord Maristow and his daughters were already there, and
had gone to Maristow Castle. Saville took up his abode with his
cousin Villiers. His situation was new and strange. He found himself
in the very abode of the dreaded Cornelia, yet she was away,
unheard of, almost, it seemed, forgotten. Did he think of her as he
saw the traces of by-gone scenes around? He played with his child—
he secluded himself among his books—he talked with Ethel of what
had happened since their parting, and reproached Villiers bitterly for
not having applied to him in his distress. But a kind of spell sealed
the lips of each, and Lady Lodore, who was the living spirit of the
scene around—the creator of its peace and happiness—seemed to
have passed away from the memory of all. It was in appearance
only. Not an hour, not a minute of the day passed, that did not bring
her idea to their minds, and Saville and Ethel each longed for the
word to be uttered by either, which would permit them to give
expression to the thoughts that so entirely possessed them.

CHAPTER XV

The music
Of man's fair composition best accords,
When 'tis in consort, not in single strains:
My heart has been untuned these many months,
Wanting her presence, in whose equal love
True harmony consisted.
 FORD.

At the beginning of September the whole party assembled at

Maristow Castle. Even Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry was among the
guests. She had not visited Ethel in London, because she would not
enter Lady Lodore's house, but she had the true spinster's desire of
seeing the baby, and thus overcame her reluctance to quitting
Longfield for a few weeks. Fanny Derham also accompanied them,
unable to deny Ethel's affectionate entreaties. Fanny's situation had
been beneficially changed. Sir Gilbert Derham, finding that his
granddaughter associated with people in the world, and being
applied to by Lord Maristow, was induced to withdraw Mrs. Derham
from her mean situation, and to settle a small fortune on each of her
children. Fanny was too young, and too wedded to her platonic
notions of the supremacy of mind, to be fully aware of the invaluable
advantages of pecuniary independence for a woman. She fancied
that she could enter on the career—the only career permitted her
sex—of servitude, and yet possess her soul in freedom and power.
She had never, indeed, thought much of these things: life was, as it
concerned herself, a system of words only. As always happens to the
young, she only knew suffering through her affections, and the real
chain of life—its necessities and cares—and the sinister influences
exercised by the bad passions of our fellow-creatures—had not yet
begun to fetter her aspiring thoughts. Beautiful in her freedom, in
her enthusiasm, and even in her learning, but, above all, in the lively
kindliness of her heart, she excited the wonder and commanded the
affections of all. Saville had never seen any one like her—she
brought to his recollection his own young feelings before experience
had lifted "the painted veil which those who live call life," or passion
and sorrow had tamed the ardour of his mind; he looked on her with
admiration, and yet with compassion, wondering where and how the
evil spirit of the world would show its power to torment, and
conquer the free soul of the disciple of wisdom.
Yet Saville's own mind was rather rebuked than tamed: he knew
what suffering was, yet he knew also how to endure it, and to turn it
to advantage, deriving thence lessons of fortitude, of forbearance,
and even of hope. It was not, however, till the seal on his lips was
taken off, and the name of Cornelia mentioned, that he became
aware that the same heart warmed his bosom, as had been the
cause at once of such rapture and misery in former times. Yet even
now he did not acknowledge to himself that he still loved,
passionately, devotedly loved, Lady Lodore. The image of the pale
Clorinda stretched on the pavement—his victim—still dwelt in his
memory, and he made a sacrifice at her tomb of every living feeling
of his own. He fancied, therefore, that he spoke coldly of Cornelia,
with speculation only, while in fact, at the very mention of her name
a revulsion took place in his being—his eyes brightened, his face
beamed with animation, his very figure enlarged, his heart was on
fire within him. Villiers saw and appreciated these tokens of passion;
but Ethel only perceived an interest in her mother, shared with
herself, and was half angry that he made no professions of the
constancy of his attachment.
Still, day after day, and soon, all day long, they talked of Lady
Lodore. None but a lover and a daughter could have adhered so
pertinaciously to one subject; and thus Saville and Ethel were often
left to themselves, or joined only by Fanny. Fanny was very
mysterious and alarming in what she said of her beautiful and
interesting favourite. While Ethel lamented her mother's love of the
continent, conjectured concerning her return, and dwelt on the
pleasures of their future intercourse, Fanny shook her head, and
said, "It was strange, very strange, that not one letter had yet
reached them from her." She was asked to explain, but she could
only say, that when she last saw Lady Lodore, she was impressed by
the idea that all was not as it seemed. She tried to appear as if
acting according to the ordinary routine of life, and yet was evidently
agitated by violent and irrepressible feeling. Her manner, she had
herself fancied, to be calm, and yet it betrayed a wandering of
thought, a fear of being scrutinized, manifested in her repetition of
the same phrases, and in the earnestness with which she made
assurances concerning matters of the most trivial import. This was
all that Fanny could say, but she was intimately persuaded of the
correctness of her observation, and lamented that she had not
inquired further and discovered more. "For," she said, "the mystery,
whatever it is, springs from the most honourable motives. There was
nothing personal nor frivolous in the feelings that mastered her;"
and Fanny feared that at that very moment she was sacrificing
herself to some project—some determination, which, while it
benefited others, was injuring herself. Ethel, with all her affection for
her mother, was not persuaded of the justice of these suspicions,
nor could be brought to acknowledge that the mystery of Lady
Lodore's absence was induced by any motives as strange and
forcible as those suggested by Fanny; but believed that her young
friend was carried away by her own imagination and high-flown
ideas. Saville was operated differently upon. He became uneasy,
thoughtful, restless: a thousand times he was on the point of setting
out to find a clue to the mystery, and to discover the abode of the
runaway,—but he was restrained. It is usually supposed that women
are always under the influence of one sentiment, and if Lady Lodore
acted under the direction and for the sake of another, wherefore
should Saville interfere? what right had he to investigate her secrets,
and disturb her arrangements?
Several months passed. Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry returned to
Longfield, and still the mystery concerning Ethel's mother continued,
and the wonder increased, Soon after Christmas Mr. Gayland, who
was also Lord Maristow's solicitor, came down to the Castle for a few
days. He made inquiries concerning Lady Lodore, and was somewhat
surprised at her strange disappearance and protracted absence. He
asked several questions, and seemed to form conclusions in his own
mind; he excited the curiosity of all, yet restrained himself from
satisfying it; he was evidently disquieted by her unbroken silence,
yet feared to betray the origin of his uneasiness.
While he remained curiosity was dominant: when he went he
requested Villiers to be good enough to let him know if any thing
should be heard of Lady Lodore. He asked this more than once, and
required an absolute promise. After his departure, his questions, his
manner, and his last words recurred, exciting even more surprise
than when he had been present. Fanny brought forward all he said
to support her own conjectures; a shadow of disquiet crossed Ethel's
mind; she asked Villiers to take some steps to discover where her
mother was, and on his refusal argued earnestly, though vainly, to
persuade him to comply. Villiers was actuated by the common-place
maxim of not interfering with the actions and projects of others.
"Lady Lodore is not a child," he said, "she knows what she is about
—has she not always avoided you, Ethel? Why press yourself
inopportunely upon her?"
But Ethel was not now to be convinced by the repetition of these
arguments. She urged her mother's kindness and sacrifice; her
having given up her home to them; her house still unclaimed by her,
still at their disposal, and which contained so many things which
must have been endeared by long use and habit, and the
relinquishing of which showed something extraordinary in her
motives. This was a woman's feeling, and made little impression on
Villiers—he was willing to praise and to thank Lady Lodore for her
generosity and kindness, but he suspected nothing beyond her
acknowledged acts.
Saville heard this disquisition; he wished Villiers to be convinced—he
was persuaded that Ethel was right—he was angry at his cousin's
obstinacy—he was miserable at the idea that Cornelia should feel
herself treated with neglect—that she should need protection and
not have it—that she should be alone, and not find assistance
proffered, urged upon her. He mounted his horse and took a solitary
ride, meditating on these things—his imagination became heated,
his soul on fire. He pictured Lady Lodore in solitude and desertion,
and his heart boiled within him. Was she sick, and none near her?—
was she dead, and her grave unvisited and unknown? A lover's fancy
is as creative as a poet's and when once it takes hold of any idea, it
clings to it tenaciously. If it is thus even with ordinary minds, how
much more with Saville, with all energy which was his characteristic,
and the latent fire of love burning in his heart. His resolution was
sudden, and acted on at once. He turned his horse's head towards
London. On reaching the nearest town, he ordered a chaise and four
post horses. He wrote a few hurried lines announcing an absence of
two or three days, and with the rapidity that always attended the
conception of his purposes and their execution, the next morning,
having travelled all night, he was in Mr. Gayland's office, questioning
that gentleman concerning Lady Lodore, and seeking from him all
the light he could throw upon her long-continued and mysterious
absence.
Mr. Gayland had promised Lady Lodore not to reveal her secret to
Mr. or Mrs. Villiers; but he felt himself free to communicate it to any
other person. He was very glad to get rid of the burden and even
the responsibility of being her sole confidant. He related all he knew
to Saville, and the truth flashed on the lover's mind. His imagination
could not dupe him—he could conceive, and therefore believe in her
generosity, her magnanimity. He had before, in some degree, divined
the greatness of mind of which Lady Lodore was capable; though as
far as regarded himself, her pride, and his modesty, had deceived
him. Now he became at once aware that Cornelia had beggared
herself for Ethel's sake. She had disposed of her jointure, given up
the residue of her income, and wandered away, poor and alone, to
avoid the discovery of the extent and consequences of her sacrifices.
Saville left Mr. Gayland's office with a bursting and a burning heart.
At once he paid a warm tribute of admiration to her virtues, and
acknowledged to himself his own passionate love. It became a duty,
in his eyes, to respect, revere, adore one so generous and noble. He
was proud of the selection his heart had made, and of his constancy.
"My own Cornelia," such was his reverie, "how express your merit
and the admiration it deserves!—other people talk of generosity, and
friendship, and parental affection—but you manifest a visible image
of these things; and while others theorize, you embody in your
actions all that can be imagined of glorious and angelic." He
congratulated himself on being able to return to the genuine
sentiments of his heart, and in finding reality give sanction to the
idolatry of his soul.
He longed to pour out his feelings at her feet, and to plead the
cause of his fidelity and affection, to read in her eyes whether she
would see a reward for her sufferings in his attachment. Where was
she, to receive his protestations and vows? He half forgot, in the
fervour of his feelings, that he knew not whither she had retreated,
nor possessed any clue whereby to find her. He returned to Mr.
Gayland to inquire from him; but he could tell nothing; he went to
her house and questioned the servants, they remembered nothings;
at last he found her maid, and learnt from her, where she was
accustomed to hire her post-horses; this was all the information at
which he could arrive.
Going to Newman's, with some difficulty he found the post-boy, who
remembered driving her. By his means he traced her to Reading, but
here all clue was lost. The inn to which she had gone had passed
into other hands, and no one knew any thing about the arrivals and
departures of the preceding summer. He made various perquisitions,
and lighted by chance on the servant she had taken with her to
Reading, and there dismissed. From what he said, and a variety of
other circumstances, he became convinced that she had gone
abroad. He searched the foreign passport-office, and found that one
had been taken out at the French Ambassador's in the month of
April, by a Mrs. Fitzhenry. He persuaded himself that this was proof
that she had gone to Paris. It was most probable that, impoverished
as she was, and desirous of concealing her altered situation, that
she should, as Lodore had formerly done, dismiss a title which would
at once encumber and betray her. He immediately resolved to cross
to France. And yet for a moment he hesitated, and reflected on what
it was best to do.
He had given no intimation of his proceedings to his cousin, and
they were unaware that his journey was connected with Lady
Lodore. He had a lover's wish to find her himself—himself to be the
only source of consolation—the only mediator to restore her to her
daughter and to happiness. But his fruitless attempts at discovery
made him see that his wishes were not to be effected easily. He felt
that he ought to communicate all he knew to his cousins, and even
to ensure their assistance in his researches. Before going abroad,
therefore, he returned to Maristow Castle.
He arrived late in the evening. Lord Maristow and his daughters
were gone out to dinner. The three persons whom Saville especially
wished to see, alone occupied the drawing-room. Edward was
writing to his father, who had advised him, now that he had a son,
entirely to cut off the entail and mortgage a great part of the
property: it was a distasteful task to answer the suggestions of
unprincipled selfishness. While he was thus occupied, Ethel had
taken from her desk her mother's last letter, and was reading it
again and again, weighing every syllable, and endeavouring to
discover a hidden meaning. She went over to the sofa on which
Fanny was sitting, to communicate to her a new idea that had struck
her. The studious girl had got into a corner with her Cicero, and was
reading the Tusculan Questions, which she readily laid aside to enter
on a subject so deeply interesting. Saville opened the door, and
appeared most unexpectedly among them. His manner was eager
and abrupt, and the first words he uttered were, "I am come to
disturb you all, and to beg of you to return to London:—no time
must be lost—can you go to-morrow?"
"Certainly," said Villiers, "if you wish it."
"But why?" asked Ethel.
"You have found Lady Lodore!" exclaimed Fanny.
"You are dreaming, Fanny," said Ethel; "you see Horace shakes his
head. But if we go to-morrow, yet rest to-night. You are fatigued,
pale, and ill, Horace—you have been exerting yourself too much—
explain your wishes, but take repose and refreshment."
Saville was in too excited a state to think of either. He repelled
Ethel's feminine offers, till he had related his story. His listeners
heard him with amazement. Villiers's cheeks glowed with shame,
partly at the injustice of his former conduct—partly at being the
object of so much sacrifice and beneficence on the part of his
mother-in-law. Fanny's colour also heightened; she clasped her
hands in delight, mingling various exclamations with Saville's story.
"Did I not say so? I was sure of it. If you had seen her when I did,
on the day of her going away, you would have been as certain as I."
Ethel wept in silence, her heart was touched to the core, "the
remorse of love" awakened in it. How cold and ungrateful had been
all her actions: engrossed by her love for her husband, she had
bestowed no sympathy, made no demonstrations towards her
mother. The false shame and Edward's oft-repeated arguments
which had kept her back, vanished from her mind. She reproached
herself bitterly for lukewarmness and neglect; she yearned to show
her repentance—to seek forgiveness—to express, however feebly,
her sense of her mother's angelic goodness. Her tears flowed to
think of these things, and that her mother was away, poor and
alone, believing herself wronged in all their thoughts, resenting
perhaps their unkindness, mourning over the ingratitude of her child.
When the first burst of feeling was over, they discussed their future
proceedings. Saville communicated his discoveries and his plan of
crossing to France. Villiers was as eager as his cousin to exert
himself actively in the pursuit. His ingenuous and feeling mind was
struck by his injustice, and he was earnest in his wish to atone for
the past, and to recompense her, if possible, for her sacrifices. As
every one is apt to do with regard to the ideas of others, he was not
satisfied with his cousin's efforts or conclusions; he thought more
questions might be asked—more learnt at the inns on the route
which Lady Lodore had taken. The passport Saville had imagined to
be hers, was taken out for Dover. Reading was far removed from any
road to Kent. They argued this. Horatio was not convinced; but while
he was bent on proceeding to Paris, Edward resolved to visit Reading
—to examine the neighbourhood—to requestion the servants—to put
on foot a system of inquiry which must in the end assure them
whether she was still in the kingdom. It was at once resolved, that
on the morrow they should go to London.
Thither they accordingly went. They repaired to Lady Lodore's
house. Saville on the next morning departed for France, and a letter
soon reached them from him, saying, that he felt persuaded that the
Mrs. Fitzhenry was Lady Lodore, and that he should pursue his way
with all speed to Paris. It appeared, that the lady in question had
crossed to Calais on the eleventh of June, and intimated her design
of going to the Bagneres de Bigorre among the Pyrennees, passing
through Paris on her way. The mention of the Bagneres de Bigorre
clinched Saville's suspicions—it was such a place as one in Lady
Lodore's position might select for her abode—distant, secluded,
situated in sublime and beautiful scenery, singularly cheap, and
seldom visited by strangers; yet the annual resort of the French from
Bordeaux and Lyons, civilized what otherwise had been too rude and
wild for an English lady. It was a long journey thither—the less
wonder that nothing was heard, or seen, or surmised concerning the
absentee by her numerous acquaintances, many of whom were
scattered on the continent. Saville represented all these things, and
expressed his conviction that he should find her. His letter was brief,
for he was hurried, and he felt that it were better to say nothing
than to express imperfectly the conflicting emotions alive in his
heart. "My life seems a dream," he said at the conclusion of his
letter; "a long painful dream, since last I saw her. I awake, she is not
here; I go to seek her—my actions have that single scope—my
thoughts tend to that aim only; I go to find her—to restore her to
Ethel. If I succeed in bestowing this happiness on her, I shall have
my reward, and, whatever happens, no selfish regret shall tarnish
my delight."
He urged Villiers, meanwhile, not to rely too entirely on the
conviction so strong in himself, but to pursue his plan of discovery
with vigour. Villiers needed no spur. His eagerness was fully alive; he
could not rest till he had rescued his mother-in-law from solitude
and obscurity. He visited Reading; he extended his inquiries to
Newbury: here more light broke in on his researches. He heard of
Lady Lodore's illness—of her having resided for several months at a
villa in the neighbourhood, while slowly recovering from a fever by
which for a long time her life had been endangered. He heard also
of her departure, her return to London. Then again all was obscurity.
The innkeepers and letters of post-horses in London, were all visited
in vain—the mystery became as impenetrable as ever. It seemed
most probable that she was living in some obscure part of the
metropolis—Ethel's heart sunk within her at the thought.
Edward wrote to Saville to communicate this intelligence, which put
an end to the idea of her being in France—but he was already gone
on to Bagneres. He himself perambulated London and its outskirts,
but all in vain. The very thought that she should be residing in a
place so sad, nay, so humiliating, without one gilding circumstance
to solace poverty and obscurity, was unspeakably painful both to
Villiers and his wife. Ethel thought of her own abode in Duke street
during her husband's absence, and how miserable and forlorn it had
been—she now wept bitterly over her mother's fate; even Fanny's
philosophy could not afford consolation for these ideas.
An accident, however, gave a new turn to their conjectures. In the
draw of a work-table, Ethel found an advertisement cut out of a
newspaper, setting forth the merits of a cottage to be let near
Rhaiyder Gowy in Radnorshire, and with this, a letter from the agent
at Rhaiyder, dated the 13th of May, in answer to inquiries concerning
the rent and particulars. The letter intimated, that if the account
gave satisfaction, the writer would get the cottage prepared for the
tenant immediately, and the lady might take possession at the time
mentioned, on the 1st of June. The day after finding this letter,
Villiers set out for Wales.
But first he persuaded Ethel to spend the interval of his absence at
Longfield. She had lately fretted much concerning her mother, and
as she was still nursing her baby, Edward became uneasy at her pale
cheeks and thinness. Ethel was anxious to preserve her health for
her child; she felt that her uneasiness and pining would be lessened
by a removal into the country. She was useless in London, and there
was something in her residence in her mother's house—in the aspect
of the streets—in the memory of what she had suffered there, and
the fear that Lady Lodore was enduring a worse repetition of the
same evils, that agitated and preyed upon her. Her aunt had pressed
her very much to come and see her, and she wrote to say, that she
might be expected on the following day. She bade adieu to Villiers
with more of hope with regard to his success than she had formerly
felt. She became half convinced that her mother was not in London.
Fanny supported her in these ideas; they talked continually of all
they knew—of the illness of Lady Lodore—of her firmness of purpose
in not sending for her daughter, or altering her plans in
consequence; they comforted themselves that the air of Wales
would restore her health, and the beauty of the scenery and the
freedom of nature sooth her mind. They were full of hope—of more
—of expectation. Ethel, indeed, had at one time proposed
accompanying her husband, but she yielded to his entreaties, and to
the fear suggested, that she might injure her child's health. Villiers's
motions would be more prompt without her. They separated. Ethel
wrote to Saville a letter to find him at Paris, containing an account of
their new discoveries, and then prepared for her journey to Essex
with Fanny, her baby, and the beautiful little Clorinda Saville, who
had been left under her care, on the following day.

CHAPTER XVI
 I am not One who much or oft delights
To season my Friends with personal talk,—
Of Friends who live within an easy walk,
Or Neighbours, daily, weekly in my sight.
And, for my chance acquaintance, Ladies bright.
Sons, Mothers, Maidens withering on the stalk,
These all wear out of me, like Forms, with chalk
Painted on rich men's floors, for one feast-night.

WORDSWORTH.

Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry returned to Longfield from Maristow Castle

at the end of the month of November. She gladly came back, in all
the dinginess and bleakness of that dismal season, to her beloved
seclusion at Longfield. The weather was dreary, a black frost
invested every thing with its icy chains, the landscape looked
disconsolate, and now and then wintry blasts brought on snow-
storms, and howled loudly through the long dark nights. The
amiable spinster drew her chair close to the fire; with half-shut eyes
she contemplated the glowing embers, and recalled many past
winters just like this, when Lodore was alive and in America; or,
diving yet deeper into memory, when the honoured chair she now
occupied, had been dignified by her father, and she had tried to
sooth his querulous complaints on the continued absence of her
brother Henry. When, instead of these familiar thoughts, the novel
ones of Ethel and Villiers intruded themselves, she rubbed her eyes
to be quite sure that she did not dream. It was a lamentable
change; and who the cause? Even she whose absence had been,
she felt, wickedly lamented at Maristow Castle, Cornelia Santerre—
she, who in an evil hour, had become Lady Lodore, and who would
before God, answer for the disasters and untimely death of her ill-
fated husband.