diff options
Diffstat (limited to '7639-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 7639-0.txt | 18810 |
1 files changed, 18810 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/7639-0.txt b/7639-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb62fb2 --- /dev/null +++ b/7639-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18810 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s The Disowned, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Disowned, Complete + +Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +Release Date: March 16, 2009 [EBook #7639] +Last Updated: August 28, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISOWNED, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + + + + + +THE DISOWNED + +by Edward Bulwer Lytton + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + I’ll tell you a story if you please to attend. G. KNIGHT: + Limbo. + +It was the evening of a soft, warm day in the May of 17--. The sun had +already set, and the twilight was gathering slowly over the large, still +masses of wood which lay on either side of one of those green lanes +so peculiar to England. Here and there, the outline of the trees +irregularly shrunk back from the road, leaving broad patches of waste +land covered with fern and the yellow blossoms of the dwarf furze, and +at more distant intervals thick clusters of rushes, from which came the +small hum of gnats,--those “evening revellers” alternately rising and +sinking in the customary manner of their unknown sports,--till, as +the shadows grew darker and darker, their thin and airy shapes were no +longer distinguishable, and no solitary token of life or motion broke +the voiceless monotony of the surrounding woods. + +The first sound which invaded the silence came from the light, quick +footsteps of a person whose youth betrayed itself in its elastic and +unmeasured tread, and in the gay, free carol which broke out by fits and +starts upon the gentle stillness of the evening. + +There was something rather indicative of poetical taste than musical +science in the selection of this vesper hymn, which always commenced +with,-- + + “‘T is merry, ‘t is merry, in good green wood,” + +and never proceeded a syllable further than the end of the second +line,-- + + “when birds are about and singing;” + +from the last word of which, after a brief pause, it invariably started +forth into joyous “iteration.” + +Presently a heavier, yet still more rapid, step than that of the +youth was heard behind; and, as it overtook the latter, a loud, clear, +good-humoured voice gave the salutation of the evening. The tone in +which this courtesy was returned was frank, distinct, and peculiarly +harmonious. + +“Good evening, my friend. How far is it to W----? I hope I am not out of +the direct road?” + +“To W----, sir?” said the man, touching his hat, as he perceived, +in spite of the dusk, something in the air and voice of his new +acquaintance which called for a greater degree of respect than he was +at first disposed to accord to a pedestrian traveller,--“to W----, sir? +why, you will not surely go there to-night? it is more than eight miles +distant, and the roads none of the best.” + +“Now, a curse on all rogues!” quoth the youth, with a serious sort of +vivacity. “Why, the miller at the foot of the hill assured me I should +be at my journey’s end in less than an hour.” + +“He may have said right, sir,” returned the man, “yet you will not reach +W---- in twice that time.” + +“How do you mean?” said the younger stranger. + +“Why, that you may for once force a miller to speak truth in spite of +himself, and make a public-house, about three miles hence, the end of +your day’s journey.” + +“Thank you for the hint,” said the youth. “Does the house you speak of +lie on the road-side?” + +“No, sir: the lane branches off about two miles hence, and you must then +turn to the right; but till then our way is the same, and if you would +not prefer your own company to mine we can trudge on together.” + +“With all my heart,” rejoined the younger stranger; “and not the less +willingly from the brisk pace you walk. I thought I had few equals +in pedestrianism; but it should not be for a small wager that I would +undertake to keep up with you.” + +“Perhaps, sir,” said the man, laughing, “I’ll have had in the course +of my life a better usage and a longer experience of my heels than you +have.” + +Somewhat startled by a speech of so equivocal a meaning, the youth, +for the first time, turned round to examine, as well as the increasing +darkness would permit, the size and appearance of his companion. He was +not perhaps too well satisfied with his survey. His fellow pedestrian +was about six feet high, and of a corresponding girth of limb and frame, +which would have made him fearful odds in any encounter where bodily +strength was the best means of conquest. Notwithstanding the mildness +of the weather, he was closely buttoned in a rough great-coat, which was +well calculated to give all due effect to the athletic proportions of +the wearer. + +There was a pause of some moments. + +“This is but a wild, savage sort of scene for England, sir, in this +day of new-fashioned ploughs and farming improvements,” said the tall +stranger, looking round at the ragged wastes and grim woods, which lay +steeped in the shade beside and before them. + +“True,” answered the youth; “and in a few years agricultural innovation +will scarcely leave, even in these wastes, a single furze-blossom for +the bee or a tuft of green-sward for the grasshopper; but, however +unpleasant the change may be for us foot-travellers, we must not repine +at what they tell us is so sure a witness of the prosperity of the +country.” + +“They tell us! who tell us?” exclaimed the stranger, with great +vivacity. “Is it the puny and spiritless artisan, or the debased and +crippled slave of the counter and the till, or the sallow speculator +on morals, who would mete us out our liberty, our happiness, our very +feelings by the yard and inch and fraction? No, no, let them follow +what the books and precepts of their own wisdom teach them; let them +cultivate more highly the lands they have already parcelled out by dikes +and fences, and leave, though at scanty intervals, some green patches of +unpolluted land for the poor man’s beast and the free man’s foot.” + +“You are an enthusiast on this subject,” said the younger traveller, not +a little surprised at the tone and words of the last speech; “and if I +were not just about to commence the world with a firm persuasion that +enthusiasm on any matter is a great obstacle to success, I could be as +warm though not so eloquent as yourself.” + +“Ah, sir,” said the stranger, sinking into a more natural and careless +tone, “I have a better right than I imagine you can claim to repine or +even to inveigh against the boundaries which are, day by day and hour +by hour, encroaching upon what I have learned to look upon as my own +territory. You were, just before I joined you, singing an old song; I +honour you for your taste: and no offence, sir, but a sort of fellowship +in feeling made me take the liberty to accost you. I am no very great +scholar in other things; but I owe my present circumstances of life +solely to my fondness for those old songs and quaint madrigals. And +I believe no person can better apply to himself Will Shakspeare’s +invitation,-- + + ‘Under the greenwood tree + Who loves to lie with me, + And tune his merry note + Unto the sweet bird’s throat, + Come hither, come hither, come hither, + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather.’” + +Relieved from his former fear, but with increased curiosity at this +quotation, which was half said, half sung, in a tone which seemed to +evince a hearty relish for the sense of the words, the youth replied,-- + +“Truly, I did not expect to meet among the travellers of this wild +country with so well-stored a memory. And, indeed, I should have +imagined that the only persons to whom your verses could exactly have +applied were those honourable vagrants from the Nile whom in vulgar +language we term gypsies.” + +“Precisely so, sir,” answered the tall stranger, indifferently; +“precisely so. It is to that ancient body that I belong.” + +“The devil you do!” quoth the youth, in unsophisticated surprise; “the +progress of education is indeed astonishing!” + +“Why,” answered the stranger, laughing, “to tell you the truth, sir, +I am a gypsy by inclination, not birth. The illustrious Bamfylde Moore +Carew is not the only example of one of gentle blood and honourable +education whom the fleshpots of Egypt have seduced.” + +“I congratulate myself,” quoth the youth, in a tone that might have +been in jest, “upon becoming acquainted with a character at once so +respectable and so novel; and, to return your quotation in the way of +a compliment, I cry out with the most fashionable author of Elizabeth’s +days,-- + + ‘O for a bowl of fat Canary, + Rich Palermo, sparkling Sherry,’ + +in order to drink to our better acquaintance.” + +“Thank you, sir,--thank you,” cried the strange gypsy, seemingly +delighted with the spirit with which his young acquaintance appeared to +enter into his character, and his quotation from a class of authors at +that time much less known and appreciated than at present; “and if you +have seen already enough of the world to take up with ale when neither +Canary, Palermo, nor Sherry are forthcoming, I will promise, at least, +to pledge you in large draughts of that homely beverage. What say you +to passing a night with us? our tents are yet more at hand than the +public-house of which I spoke to you.” The young man hesitated a moment, +then replied,-- + +“I will answer you frankly, my friend, even though I may find cause to +repent my confidence. I have a few guineas about me, which, though not +a large sum, are my all. Now, however ancient and honourable your +fraternity may be, they labour under a sad confusion, I fear, in their +ideas of meum and tuum.” + +“Faith, sir, I believe you are right; and were you some years older, I +think you would not have favoured me with the same disclosure you have +done now; but you may be quite easy on that score. If you were made of +gold, the rascals would not filch off the corner of your garment as long +as you were under my protection. Does this assurance satisfy you?” + +“Perfectly,” said the youth; “and now how far are we from your +encampment? I assure you I am all eagerness to be among a set of which I +have witnessed such a specimen.” + +“Nay, nay,” returned the gypsy, “you must not judge of all my brethren +by me: I confess that they are but a rough tribe. However, I love them +dearly; and am only the more inclined to think them honest to each +other, because they are rogues to all the rest of the world.” + +By this time our travellers had advanced nearly two miles since they had +commenced companionship; and at a turn in the lane, about three hundred +yards farther on, they caught a glimpse of a distant fire burning +brightly through the dim trees. They quickened their pace, and striking +a little out of their path into a common, soon approached two tents, +the Arab homes of the vagrant and singular people with whom the gypsy +claimed brotherhood and alliance. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + Here we securely live and eat + The cream of meat; + And keep eternal fires + By which we sit and do divine. + HERRICK: Ode to Sir Clipseby Crew. + +Around a fire which blazed and crackled beneath the large seething-pot, +that seemed an emblem of the mystery and a promise of the good cheer +which are the supposed characteristics of the gypsy race, were grouped +seven or eight persons, upon whose swarthy and strong countenances the +irregular and fitful flame cast a picturesque and not unbecoming glow. +All of these, with the exception of an old crone who was tending the +pot, and a little boy who was feeding the fire with sundry fragments of +stolen wood, started to their feet upon the entrance of the stranger. + +“What ho! my bob cuffins,” cried the gypsy guide, “I have brought you a +gentry cove, to whom you will show all proper respect: and hark ye, my +maunders, if ye dare beg, borrow, or steal a single croker,--ay, but a +bawbee of him, I’ll--but ye know me.” The gypsy stopped abruptly, and +turned an eye, in which menace vainly struggled with good-humour, upon +each of his brethren, as they submissively bowed to him and his protege, +and poured forth a profusion of promises, to which their admonitor did +not even condescend to listen. He threw off his great-coat, doubled +it down by the best place near the fire, and made the youth forthwith +possess himself of the seat it afforded. He then lifted the cover of the +mysterious caldron. “Well, Mort,” cried he to the old woman, as he bent +wistfully down, “what have we here?” + +“Two ducks, three chickens, and a rabbit, with some potatoes,” growled +the old hag, who claimed the usual privilege of her culinary office, to +be as ill-tempered as she pleased. + +“Good!” said the gypsy; “and now, Mim, my cull, go to the other tent, +and ask its inhabitants, in my name, to come here and sup; bid them +bring their caldron to eke out ours: I’ll find the lush.” + +With these words (which Mim, a short, swarthy member of the gang, with a +countenance too astute to be pleasing, instantly started forth to obey) +the gypsy stretched himself at full length by the youth’s side, and +began reminding him, with some jocularity and at some length, of his +promise to drink to their better acquaintance. + +Something there was in the scene, the fire, the caldron, the intent +figure and withered countenance of the old woman, the grouping of the +other forms, the rude but not unpicturesque tent, the dark still woods +on either side, with the deep and cloudless skies above, as the stars +broke forth one by one upon the silent air, which (to use the orthodox +phrase of the novelist) would not have been wholly unworthy the bold +pencil of Salvator himself. + +The youth eyed, with that involuntary respect which personal advantages +always command, the large yet symmetrical proportions of his wild +companion; nor was the face which belonged to that frame much less +deserving of attention. Though not handsome, it was both shrewd and +prepossessing in its expression; the forehead was prominent, the brows +overhung the eyes, which were large, dark, and, unlike those of the +tribe in general, rather calm than brilliant; the complexion, though +sun-burnt, was not swarthy, and the face was carefully and cleanly +shaved, so as to give all due advantage of contrast to the brown +luxuriant locks which fell rather in flakes than curls, on either side +of the healthful and manly cheeks. In age, he was about thirty-five, +and, though his air and mien were assuredly not lofty nor aristocratic, +yet they were strikingly above the bearing of his vagabond companions: +those companions were in all respects of the ordinary race of gypsies; +the cunning and flashing eye, the raven locks, the dazzling teeth, the +bronzed colour, and the low, slight, active form, were as strongly their +distinguishing characteristics as the tokens of all their tribe. + +But to these, the appearance of the youth presented a striking and +beautiful contrast. + +He had only just passed the stage of boyhood, perhaps he might have +seen eighteen summers, probably not so many. He had, in imitation of his +companion, and perhaps from mistaken courtesy to his new society, doffed +his hat; and the attitude which he had chosen fully developed the noble +and intellectual turn of his head and throat. His hair, as yet preserved +from the disfiguring fashions of the day, was of a deep auburn, which +was rapidly becoming of a more chestnut hue, and curled in short close +curls from the nape of the neck to the commencement of a forehead +singularly white and high. His brows finely and lightly pencilled, and +his long lashes of the darkest dye, gave a deeper and perhaps softer +shade than they otherwise would have worn to eyes quick and observant +in their expression and of a light hazel in their colour. His cheek +was very fair, and the red light of the fire cast an artificial tint of +increased glow upon a complexion that had naturally rather bloom than +colour; while a dark riding frock set off in their full beauty the fine +outline of his chest and the slender symmetry of his frame. + +But it was neither his features nor his form, eminently handsome as they +were, which gave the principal charm to the young stranger’s appearance: +it was the strikingly bold, buoyant, frank, and almost joyous expression +which presided over all. There seemed to dwell the first glow and life +of youth, undimmed by a single fear and unbaffled in a single hope. +There were the elastic spring, the inexhaustible wealth of energies +which defied in their exulting pride the heaviness of sorrow and the +harassments of time. It was a face that, while it filled you with some +melancholy foreboding of the changes and chances which must, in the +inevitable course of fate, cloud the openness of the unwrinkled brow, +and soberize the fire of the daring and restless eye, instilled also +within you some assurance of triumph, and some omen of success,--a vague +but powerful sympathy with the adventurous and cheerful spirit which +appeared literally to speak in its expression. It was a face you might +imagine in one born under a prosperous star; and you felt, as you gazed, +a confidence in that bright countenance, which, like the shield of +the British Prince, [Prince Arthur.--See “The Faerie Queene.”] seemed +possessed with a spell to charm into impotence the evil spirits who +menaced its possessor. + +“Well, sir,” said his friend, the gypsy, who had in his turn been +surveying with admiration the sinewy and agile frame of his young guest, +“well, sir, how fares your appetite? Old Dame Bingo will be mortally +offended if you do not do ample justice to her good cheer.” + +“If so,” answered our traveller, who, young as he was, had learnt +already the grand secret of making in every situation a female friend, +“if so, I shall be likely to offend her still more.” + +“And how, my pretty master?” said the old crone with an iron smile. + +“Why, I shall be bold enough to reconcile matters with a kiss, Mrs. +Bingo,” answered the youth. + +“Ha! Ha!” shouted the tall gypsy; “it is many a long day since my old +Mort slapped a gallant’s face for such an affront. But here come our +messmates. Good evening, my mumpers; make your bows to this gentleman +who has come to bowse with us to-night. ‘Gad, we’ll show him that old +ale’s none the worse for keeping company with the moon’s darlings. Come, +sit down, sit down. Where’s the cloth, ye ill-mannered loons, and the +knives and platters? Have we no holiday customs for strangers, think +ye? Mim, my cove, off to my caravan; bring out the knives, and all other +rattletraps; and harkye, my cuffin, this small key opens the inner hole, +where you will find two barrels; bring one of them. I’ll warrant it of +the best, for the brewer himself drank some of the same sort but two +hours before I nimm’d them. Come, stump, my cull, make yourself wings. +Ho, Dame Bingo, is not that pot of thine seething yet? Ah, my young +gentleman, you commence betimes; so much the better; if love’s a +summer’s day, we all know how early a summer morning begins,” added +the jovial Egyptian in a lower voice (feeling perhaps that he was only +understood by himself), as he gazed complacently on the youth, who, with +that happy facility of making himself everywhere at home so uncommon +to his countrymen, was already paying compliments suited to their +understanding to two fair daughters of the tribe who had entered with +the new-comers. Yet had he too much craft or delicacy, call it which you +will, to continue his addresses to that limit where ridicule or jealousy +from the male part of the assemblage might commence; on the contrary, he +soon turned to the men, and addressed them with a familiarity so frank +and so suited to their taste that he grew no less rapidly in their +favour than he had already done in that of the women, and when the +contents of the two caldrons were at length set upon the coarse but +clean cloth which in honour of his arrival covered the sod, it was in +the midst of a loud and universal peal of laughter which some broad +witticism of the young stranger had produced that the party sat down to +their repast. + +Bright were the eyes and sleek the tresses of the damsel who placed +herself by the side of the stranger, and many were the alluring glances +and insinuated compliments which replied to his open admiration +and profuse flattery; but still there was nothing exclusive in his +attentions; perhaps an ignorance of the customs of his entertainers, and +a consequent discreet fear of offending them, restrained him; or perhaps +he found ample food for occupation in the plentiful dainties which his +host heaped before him. + +“Now tell me,” said the gypsy chief (for chief he appeared to be), “if +we lead not a merrier life than you dreamt of? or would you have us +change our coarse fare and our simple tents, our vigorous limbs and +free hearts, for the meagre board, the monotonous chamber, the diseased +frame, and the toiling, careful, and withered spirit of some miserable +mechanic?” + +“Change!” cried the youth, with an earnestness which, if affected, was +an exquisite counterfeit, “by Heaven, I would change with you myself.” + +“Bravo, my fine cove!” cried the host, and all the gang echoed their +sympathy with his applause. + +The youth continued: “Meat, and that plentiful; ale, and that strong; +women, and those pretty ones: what can man desire more?” + +“Ay,” cried the host, “and all for nothing,--no, not even a tax; who +else in this kingdom can say that? Come, Mim, push round the ale.” + +And the ale was pushed round, and if coarse the merriment, loud at least +was the laugh that rang ever and anon from the old tent; and though, at +moments, something in the guest’s eye and lip might have seemed, to +a very shrewd observer, a little wandering and absent, yet, upon the +whole, he was almost as much at ease as the rest, and if he was not +quite as talkative he was to the full as noisy. + +By degrees, as the hour grew later and the barrel less heavy, the +conversation changed into one universal clatter. Some told their feats +in beggary; others, their achievements in theft; not a viand they had +fed on but had its appropriate legend; even the old rabbit, which had +been as tough as old rabbit can well be, had not been honestly taken +from his burrow; no less a person than Mim himself had purloined it from +a widow’s footman who was carrying it to an old maid from her nephew the +Squire. + +“Silence,” cried the host, who loved talking as well as the rest, and +who for the last ten minutes had been vainly endeavouring to obtain +attention. “Silence! my maunders, it’s late, and we shall have the queer +cuffins [magistrates] upon us if we keep it up much longer. What, ho, +Mim, are you still gabbling at the foot of the table when your betters +are talking? As sure as my name’s King Cole, I’ll choke you with your +own rabbit skin, if you don’t hush your prating cheat,--nay, never look +so abashed: if you will make a noise, come forward, and sing us a gypsy +song. You see, my young sir,” turning to his guest, “that we are not +without our pretensions to the fine arts.” + +At this order, Mim started forth, and taking his station at the right +hand of the soi-disant King Cole, began the following song, the chorus +of which was chanted in full diapason by the whole group, with the +additional force of emphasis that knives, feet, and fists could +bestow:-- + + THE GYPSY’S SONG. + + The king to his hall, and the steed to his stall, + And the cit to his bilking board; + But we are not bound to an acre of ground, + For our home is the houseless sward. + We sow not, nor toil; yet we glean from the soil + As much as its reapers do; + And wherever we rove, we feed on the cove + Who gibes at the mumping crew. + CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc. + + We care not a straw for the limbs of the law, + Nor a fig for the cuffin queer; + While Hodge and his neighbour shall lavish and labour, + Our tent is as sure of its cheer. + CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc. + + The worst have an awe of the harman’s [constable] claw, + And the best will avoid the trap; [bailiff] + But our wealth is as free of the bailiff’s see + As our necks of the twisting crap. [gallows] + CHORUS.--So the king to his hall, etc. + + They say it is sweet to win the meat + For the which one has sorely wrought; + But I never could find that we lacked the mind + For the food that has cost us nought! + CHRUS.--So the king to his hall, etc. + + And when we have ceased from our fearless feast + Why, our jigger [door] will need no bars; + Our sentry shall be on the owlet’s tree, + And our lamps the glorious stars. + + CHORUS. + So the king to his hall, and the steed to his stall, + And the cit to his bilking board; + But we are not bound to an acre of ground, + For our home is the houseless sward. + +Rude as was this lawless stave, the spirit with which it was sung atoned +to the young stranger for its obscurity and quaintness; as for his host, +that curious personage took a lusty and prominent part in the chorus; +nor did the old woods refuse their share of the burden, but sent back a +merry echo to the chief’s deep voice and the harsher notes of his jovial +brethren. + +When the glee had ceased, King Cole rose, the whole band followed +his example, the cloth was cleared in a trice, the barrel--oh! what a +falling off was there!--was rolled into a corner of the tent, and the +crew to whom the awning belonged began to settle themselves to rest; +while those who owned the other encampment marched forth, with King Cole +at their head. Leaning with no light weight upon his guest’s arm, the +lover of ancient minstrelsy poured into the youth’s ear a strain of +eulogy, rather eloquent than coherent, upon the scene they had just +witnessed. + +“What,” cried his majesty in an enthusiastic tone, “what can be so truly +regal as our state? Can any man control us? Are we not above all laws? +Are we not the most despotic of kings? Nay, more than the kings of +earth, are we not the kings of Fairyland itself? Do we not realize the +golden dreams of the old rhymers, luxurious dogs that they were? Who +would not cry out,-- + + ‘Blest silent groves! Oh, may ye be + Forever Mirth’s best nursery! + May pure Contents + Forever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains.’” + +Uttering this notable extract from the thrice-honoured Sir Henry Wotton, +King Cole turned abruptly from the common, entered the wood which +skirted it, and, only attended by his guest and his minister Mim, came +suddenly, by an unexpected and picturesque opening in the trees, upon +one of those itinerant vehicles termed caravans, he ascended the few +steps which led to the entrance, opened the door, and was instantly in +the arms of a pretty and young woman. On seeing our hero (for such we +fear the youth is likely to become), she drew back with a blush not +often found upon regal cheeks. + +“Pooh,” said King Cole, half tauntingly, half fondly, “pooh, Lucy, +blushes are garden flowers, and ought never to be found wild in the +woods:” then changing his tone, he said, “come, put some fresh straw +in the corner, this stranger honours our palace to-night; Mim, unload +thyself of our royal treasures; watch without and vanish from within!” + +Depositing on his majesty’s floor the appurtenances of the regal +supper-table, Mim made his respectful adieus and disappeared; meanwhile +the queen scattered some fresh straw over a mattress in the narrow +chamber, and, laying over all a sheet of singularly snowy hue, made +her guest some apology for the badness of his lodging; this King Cole +interrupted by a most elaborately noisy yawn and a declaration of +extreme sleepiness. “Now, Lucy, let us leave the gentleman to what he +will like better than soft words even from a queen. Good night, sir, we +shall be stirring at daybreak;” and with this farewell King Cole took +the lady’s arm, and retired with her into an inner compartment of the +caravan. + +Left to himself, our hero looked round with surprise at the exceeding +neatness which reigned over the whole apartment. But what chiefly +engrossed the attention of one to whose early habits books had always +been treasures were several volumes, ranged in comely shelves, fenced +with wirework, on either side of the fireplace. “Courage,” thought +he, as he stretched himself on his humble couch, “my adventures have +commenced well: a gypsy tent, to be sure, is nothing very new; but a +gypsy who quotes poetry, and enjoys a modest wife, speaks better than +books do for the improvement of the world!” + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + Hath not old custom made this life more sweet + Than that of painted pomp?--As You Like It. + +The sun broke cheerfully through the small lattice of the caravan, as +the youth opened his eyes and saw the good-humoured countenance of his +gypsy host bending over him complacently. + +“You slept so soundly, sir, that I did not like to disturb you; but my +good wife only waits your rising to have all ready for breakfast.” + +“It were a thousand pities,” cried the guest, leaping from his bed, +“that so pretty a face should look cross on my account, so I will not +keep her waiting an instant.” + +The gypsy smiled, as he answered, “I require no professional help from +the devil, sir, to foretell your fortune.” + +“No!--and what is it?” + +“Honour, reputation, success: all that are ever won by a soft tongue, if +it be backed by a bold heart.” + +Bright and keen was the flash which shot over the countenance of the one +for whom this prediction was made, as he listened to it with a fondness +for which his reason rebuked him. + +He turned aside with a sigh, which did not escape the gypsy, and bathed +his face in the water which the provident hand of the good woman had set +out for his lavations. + +“Well,” said his host, when the youth had finished his brief toilet, +“suppose we breathe the fresh air, while Lucy smooths your bed and +prepares the breakfast?” + +“With all my heart,” replied the youth, and they descended the steps +which led into the wood. It was a beautiful, fresh morning; the air was +like a draught from a Spirit’s fountain, and filled the heart with new +youth and the blood with a rapturous delight; the leaves--the green, +green leaves of spring--were quivering on the trees, among which the +happy birds fluttered and breathed the gladness of their souls in song. +While the dewdrops that-- + + “strewed + A baptism o’er the flowers”-- + +gave back in their million mirrors the reflected smiles of the cloudless +and rejoicing sun. + +“Nature,” said the gypsy, “has bestowed on her children a gorgeous +present in such a morning.” + +“True,” said the youth; “and you, of us two, perhaps only deserve it; as +for me, when I think of the long road of dust, heat, and toil, that lies +before me, I could almost wish to stop here and ask an admission into +the gypsy’s tents.” + +“You could not do a wiser thing!” said the gypsy, gravely. + +“But fate leaves me no choice,” continued the youth, as seriously as +if he were in earnest; “and I must quit you immediately after I have a +second time tasted of your hospitable fare.” + +“If it must be so,” answered the gypsy, “I will see you, at least, a +mile or two on your road.” The youth thanked him for a promise which his +curiosity made acceptable, and they turned once more to the caravan. + +The meal, however obtained, met with as much honour as it could possibly +have received from the farmer from whom its materials were borrowed. + +It was not without complacency that the worthy pair beheld the notice +their guest lavished upon a fair, curly-headed boy of about three years +old, the sole child and idol of the gypsy potentates. But they did not +perceive, when the youth rose to depart, that he slipped into the folds +of the child’s dress a ring of some value, the only one he possessed. + +“And now,” said he, after having thanked his entertainers for their +hospitality, “I must say good-by to your flock, and set out upon my +day’s journey.” + +Lucy, despite her bashfulness, shook hands with her handsome guest; +and the latter, accompanied by the gypsy chief, strolled down to the +encampments. + +Open and free was his parting farewell to the inmates of the two tents, +and liberal was the hand which showered upon all--especially on the +damsel who had been his Thais of the evening feast--the silver coins +which made no inconsiderable portion of his present property. + +It was amidst the oracular wishes and favourable predictions of the +whole crew that he recommenced his journey with the gypsy chief. + +When the tents were fairly out of sight, and not till then, King Cole +broke the silence which had as yet subsisted between them. + +“I suppose, my young gentleman, that you expect to meet some of your +friends or relations at W----? I know not what they will say when they +hear where you have spent the night.” + +“Indeed!” said the youth; “whoever hears my adventures, relation or not, +will be delighted with my description; but in sober earnest, I expect to +find no one at W---- more my friend than a surly innkeeper, unless it be +his dog.” + +“Why, they surely do not suffer a stripling of your youth and evident +quality to wander alone!” cried King Cole, in undisguised surprise. + +The young traveller made no prompt answer, but bent down as if to pluck +a wild-flower which grew by the road-side: after a pause, he said,-- + +“Nay, Master Cole, you must not set me the example of playing the +inquisitor, or you cannot guess how troublesome I shall be. To tell you +the truth, I am dying with curiosity to know something more about you +than you may be disposed to tell me: you have already confessed that, +however boon companions your gypsies may be, it is not among gypsies +that you were born and bred.” + +King Cole laughed: perhaps he was not ill pleased by the curiosity of +his guest, nor by the opportunity it afforded him of being his own hero. + +“My story, sir,” said he, “would be soon told, if you thought it worth +the hearing, nor does it contain anything which should prevent my +telling it.” + +“If so,” quoth the youth, “I shall conceive your satisfying my request a +still greater favour than those you have already bestowed upon me.” + +The gypsy relaxed his pace into an indolent saunter, as he commenced:-- + +“The first scene that I remember was similar to that which you witnessed +last night. The savage tent, and the green moor; the fagot blaze; the +eternal pot, with its hissing note of preparation; the old dame who +tended it, and the ragged urchins who learned from its contents the +first reward of theft and the earliest temptation to it,--all these +are blended into agreeable confusion as the primal impressions of my +childhood. The woman who nurtured me as my mother was rather capricious +than kind, and my infancy passed away, like that of more favoured scions +of fortune, in alternate chastisement and caresses. In good truth, +Kinching Meg had the shrillest voice and the heaviest hand of the whole +crew; and I cannot complain of injustice, since she treated me no worse +than the rest. Notwithstanding the irregularity of my education, I grew +up strong and healthy, and my reputed mother had taught me so much fear +for herself that she left me none for anything else; accordingly, I +became bold, reckless, and adventurous, and at the age of thirteen +was as thorough a reprobate as the tribe could desire. At that time +a singular change befell me: we (that is, my mother and myself) were +begging not many miles hence at the door of a rich man’s house in which +the mistress lay on her death-bed. That mistress was my real mother, +from whom Meg had stolen me in the first year of existence. Whether it +was through the fear of conscience or the hope of reward, no sooner had +Meg learnt the dangerous state of my poor mother, the constant grief, +which they said had been the sole though slow cause of her disease, and +the large sums which had been repeatedly offered for my recovery; no +sooner, I say, did Meg ascertain all these particulars than she fought +her way up to the sick-chamber, fell on her knees before the bed, owned +her crime, and produced myself. Various little proofs of time, place, +circumstance; the clothing I had worn when stolen, and which was still +preserved, joined to the striking likeness I bore to both my parents, +especially to my father, silenced all doubt and incredulity: I was +welcomed home with a joy which it is in vain to describe. My return +seemed to recall my mother from the grave; she lingered on for many +months longer than her physicians thought it possible, and when she died +her last words commended me to my father’s protection.” + +“My surviving parent needed no such request. He lavished upon me all +that superfluity of fondness and food of which those good people who are +resolved to spoil their children are so prodigal. He could not bear the +idea of sending me to school; accordingly he took a tutor for me,--a +simple-hearted, gentle, kind man, who possessed a vast store of +learning rather curious than useful. He was a tolerable, and at least an +enthusiastic antiquarian, a more than tolerable poetaster; and he had a +prodigious budget full of old ballads and songs, which he loved +better to teach and I to learn, than all the ‘Latin, Greek, geography, +astronomy, and the use of the globes,’ which my poor father had so +sedulously bargained for.” + +“Accordingly, I became exceedingly well-informed in all the ‘precious +conceits’ and ‘golden garlands’ of our British ancients, and continued +exceedingly ignorant of everything else, save and except a few of +the most fashionable novels of the day, and the contents of six lying +volumes of voyages and travels, which flattered both my appetite for the +wonderful and my love of the adventurous. My studies, such as they were, +were not by any means suited to curb or direct the vagrant tastes my +childhood had acquired: on the contrary, the old poets, with their +luxurious description of the ‘green wood’ and the forest life; the +fashionable novelists, with their spirited accounts of the wanderings +of some fortunate rogue, and the ingenious travellers, with their wild +fables, so dear to the imagination of every boy, only fomented within +me a strong though secret regret at my change of life, and a restless +disgust to the tame home and bounded roamings to which I was condemned. +When I was about seventeen, my father sold his property (which he had +become possessed of in right of my mother), and transferred the purchase +money to the security of the Funds. Shortly afterwards he died; the bulk +of his fortune became mine; the remainder was settled upon a sister, +many years older than myself, whom, in consequence of her marriage and +residence in a remote part of Wales, I had never yet seen.” + +“Now, then, I was perfectly free and unfettered; my guardian lived in +Scotland, and left me entirely to the guidance of my tutor, who was both +too simple and too indolent to resist my inclinations. I went to London, +became acquainted with a set of most royal scamps, frequented the +theatres and the taverns, the various resorts which constitute the +gayeties of a blood just above the middle class, and was one of the +noisiest and wildest ‘blades’ that ever heard the ‘chimes by midnight’ +and the magistrate’s lecture for matins. I was a sort of leader among +the jolly dogs I consorted with.” + +“My earlier education gave a raciness and nature to my delineations of +‘life’ which delighted them. But somehow or other I grew wearied of this +sort of existence. About a year after I was of age my fortune was more +than three parts spent; I fell ill with drinking and grew dull with +remorse: need I add that my comrades left me to myself? A fit of +the spleen, especially if accompanied with duns, makes one wofully +misanthropic; so, when I recovered from my illness, I set out on a tour +through Great Britain and France,--alone, and principally on foot. Oh, +the rapture of shaking off the half friends and cold formalities of +society and finding oneself all unfettered, with no companion but +Nature, no guide but youth, and no flatterer but hope!” + +“Well, my young friend, I travelled for two years, and saw even in that +short time enough of this busy world to weary and disgust me with +its ordinary customs. I was not made to be polite, still less to be +ambitious. I sighed after the coarse comrades and the free tents of my +first associates; and a thousand remembrances of the gypsy wanderings, +steeped in all the green and exhilarating colours of childhood, +perpetually haunted my mind. On my return from my wanderings I found a +letter from my sister, who, having become a widow, had left Wales, and +had now fixed her residence in a well visited watering-place in the west +of England. I had never yet seen her, and her letter was a fine-ladylike +sort of epistle, with a great deal of romance and a very little sense, +written in an extremely pretty hand, and ending with a quotation from +Pope (I never could endure Pope, nor indeed any of the poets of the days +of Anne and her successors). It was a beautiful season of the year: I +had been inured to pedestrian excursions; so I set off on foot to see +my nearest surviving relative. On the way, I fell in (though on a very +different spot) with the very encampment you saw last night. By heavens, +that was a merry meeting to me! I joined, and journeyed with them for +several days: never do I remember a happier time. Then, after many years +of bondage and stiffness, and accordance with the world, I found myself +at ease, like a released bird; with what zest did I join in the rude +jokes and the knavish tricks, the stolen feasts and the roofless nights +of those careless vagabonds!” + +“I left my fellow-travellers at the entrance of the town where my sister +lived. Now came the contrast. Somewhat hot, rather coarsely clad, and +covered with the dust of a long summer’s day, I was ushered into a +little drawing-room, eighteen feet by twelve, as I was afterwards +somewhat pompously informed. A flaunting carpet, green, red, and yellow, +covered the floor. A full-length picture of a thin woman, looking most +agreeably ill-tempered, stared down at me from the chimney-piece; +three stuffed birds--how emblematic of domestic life!--stood stiff +and imprisoned, even after death, in a glass cage. A fire-screen and a +bright fireplace; chairs covered with holland, to preserve them from +the atmosphere; and long mirrors, wrapped as to the frame-work in +yellow muslin, to keep off the flies,--finish the panorama of this +watering-place mansion. The door opened, silks rustled, a voice shrieked +‘My Brother!’ and a figure, a thin figure, the original of the picture +over the chimney-piece, rushed in.” + +“I can well fancy her joy,” said the youth. + +“You can do no such thing, begging your pardon, sir,” resumed King Cole. +“She had no joy at all: she was exceedingly surprised and disappointed. +In spite of my early adventures, I had nothing picturesque or romantic +about me at all. I was very thirsty, and I called for beer; I was very +tired, and I lay down on the sofa; I wore thick shoes and small buckles; +and my clothes were made God knows where, and were certainly put on God +knows how. My sister was miserably ashamed of me: she had not even the +manners to disguise it. In a higher rank of life than that which she +held she would have suffered far less mortification; for I fancy great +people pay but little real attention to externals. Even if a man of rank +is vulgar, it makes no difference in the orbit in which he moves: but +your ‘genteel gentlewomen’ are so terribly dependent upon what Mrs. +Tomkins will say; so very uneasy about their relations and the opinion +they are held in; and, above all, so made up of appearances and clothes; +so undone if they do not eat, drink, and talk a la mode,--that I can +fancy no shame like that of my poor sister at having found, and being +found with, a vulgar brother.” + +“I saw how unwelcome I was and I did not punish myself by a long visit. +I left her house and returned towards London. On my road, I again met +with my gypsy friends: the warmth of their welcome enchanted me; you +may guess the rest. I stayed with them so long that I could not bear +to leave them; I re-entered their crew: I am one among them. Not that +I have become altogether and solely of the tribe: I still leave +them whenever the whim seizes me, and repair to the great cities and +thoroughfares of man. There I am soon driven back again to my favourite +and fresh fields, as a reed upon a wild stream is dashed back upon the +green rushes from which it has been torn. You perceive that I have many +comforts and distinctions above the rest; for, alas, sir, there is no +society, however free and democratic, where wealth will not create +an aristocracy; the remnant of my fortune provides me with my +unostentatious equipage and the few luxuries it contains; it repays +secretly to the poor what my fellow-vagrants occasionally filch from +them; it allows me to curb among the crew all the grosser and heavier +offences against the law to which want might otherwise compel them; +and it serves to keep up that sway and ascendency which my superior +education and fluent spirits enabled me at first to attain. Though not +legally their king, I assume that title over the few encampments with +which I am accustomed to travel; and you perceive that I have given my +simple name both to the jocular and kingly dignity of which the old song +will often remind you. My story is done.” + +“Not quite,” said his companion: “your wife? How came you by that +blessing?” + +“Ah! thereby hangs a pretty and a love-sick tale, which would not +stand ill in an ancient ballad; but I will content myself with briefly +sketching it. Lucy is the daughter of a gentleman farmer: about four +years ago I fell in love with her. I wooed her clandestinely, and at +last I owned I was a gypsy: I did not add my birth nor fortune; no, I +was full of the romance of the Nut-brown Maid’s lover, and attempted +a trial of woman’s affection, which even in these days was not +disappointed. Still her father would not consent to our marriage, till +very luckily things went bad with him; corn, crops, cattle,--the deuce +was in them all; an execution was in his house, and a writ out against +his person. I settled these matters for him, and in return received a +father-in-law’s blessing, and we are now the best friends in the world. +Poor Lucy is perfectly reconciled to her caravan and her wandering +husband, and has never, I believe, once repented the day on which she +became the gypsy’s wife!” + +“I thank you heartily for your history,” said the youth, who had +listened very attentively to this detail; “and though my happiness and +pursuits are centred in that world which you despise, yet I confess that +I feel a sensation very like envy at your singular choice; and I would +not dare to ask of my heart whether that choice is not happier, as it is +certainly more philosophical, than mine.” + +They had now reached a part of the road where the country assumed a +totally different character; the woods and moors were no longer visible, +but a broad and somewhat bleak extent of country lay before them. Here +and there only a few solitary trees broke the uniformity of the wide +fields and scanty hedgerows, and at distant intervals the thin spires +of the scattered churches rose, like the prayers of which they were the +symbols, to mingle themselves with heaven. + +The gypsy paused: “I will accompany you,” said he, “no farther; your way +lies straight onwards, and you will reach W---- before noon; farewell, +and may God watch over you!” + +“Farewell!” said the youth, warmly pressing the hand which was extended +to him. “If we ever meet again, it will probably solve a curious riddle; +namely, whether you are not disgusted with the caravan and I with the +world!” + +“The latter is more likely than the former,” said the gypsy, for one +stands a much greater chance of being disgusted with others than with +one’s self; so changing a little the old lines, I will wish you adieu +after my own fashion, namely, in verse,-- + + ‘Go, set thy heart on winged wealth, + Or unto honour’s towers aspire; + But give me freedom and my health, + And there’s the sum of my desire!’” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + The letter, madam; have you none for me?--The Rendezvous. + Provide surgeons.--Lover’s Progress. + +Our solitary traveller pursued his way with the light step and gay +spirits of youth and health. + +“Turn gypsy, indeed!” he said, talking to himself; “there is something +better in store for me than that. Ay, I have all the world before me +where to choose--not my place of rest. No, many a long year will pass +away ere any place of rest will be my choice! I wonder whether I shall +find the letter at W----; the letter, the last letter I shall ever have +from home but it is no home to me now; and I--I, insulted, reviled, +trampled upon, without even a name--well, well, I will earn a still +fairer one than that of my forefathers. They shall be proud to own +me yet.” And with these words the speaker broke off abruptly, with a +swelling chest and a flashing eye; and as, an unknown and friendless +adventurer, he gazed on the expanded and silent country around him, he +felt like Castruccio Castrucani that he could stretch his hands to the +east and to the west and exclaim, “Oh, that my power kept pace with my +spirit, then should it grasp the corners of the earth!” + +The road wound at last from the champaign country, through which it had +for some miles extended itself, into a narrow lane, girded on either +side by a dead fence. As the youth entered this lane, he was somewhat +startled by the abrupt appearance of a horseman, whose steed leaped the +hedge so close to our hero as almost to endanger his safety. The rider, +a gentleman of about five-and-twenty, pulled up, and in a tone of +great courtesy apologized for his inadvertency; the apology was readily +admitted, and the horseman rode onwards in the direction of W----. + +Trifling as this incident was, the air and mien of the stranger were +sufficient to arrest irresistibly the thoughts of the young traveller; +and before they had flowed into a fresh channel he found himself in the +town and at the door of the inn to which his expedition was bound. He +entered the bar; a buxom landlady and a still more buxom daughter were +presiding over the spirits of the place. + +“You have some boxes and a letter for me, I believe,” said the young +gentleman to the comely hostess. + +“To you, sir!--the name, if you please?” + +“To--to--to C---- L----,” said the youth; “the initials C. L., to be +left till called for.” + +“Yes, sir, we have some luggage; came last night by the van; and a +letter besides, sir, to C. L. also.” + +The daughter lifted her large dark eyes at the handsome stranger, +and felt a wonderful curiosity to know what the letter to C. L. could +possibly be about; meanwhile mine hostess, raising her hand to a shelf +on which stood an Indian slop-basin, the great ornament of the bar at +the Golden Fleece, brought from its cavity a well-folded and well-sealed +epistle. + +“That is it,” cried the youth; “show me a private room instantly.” + +“What can he want a private room for?” thought the landlady’s daughter. + +“Show the gentleman to the Griffin, No. 4, John Merrylack,” said the +landlady herself. + +With an impatient step the owner of the letter followed a slipshod and +marvellously unwashed waiter into No. 4,--a small square asylum for town +travellers, country yeomen, and “single gentlemen;” presenting, on the +one side, an admirable engraving of the Marquis of Granby, and on the +other an equally delightful view of the stable-yard. + +Mr. C. L. flung himself on a chair (there were only four chairs in No. +4), watched the waiter out of the room, seized his letter, broke open +the seal, and read--yea, reader, you shall read it too--as follows:-- + +“Enclosed is the sum to which you are entitled; remember, that it is all +which you can ever claim at my hands; remember also that you have made +the choice which now nothing can persuade me to alter. Be the name you +have so long iniquitously borne henceforth and always forgotten; upon +that condition you may yet hope from my generosity the future assistance +which you must want, but which you could not ask from my affection. +Equally by my heart and my reason you are forever DISOWNED.” + +The letter fell from the reader’s hands. He took up the inclosure: it +was an order payable in London for 1,000 pounds; to him it seemed like +the rental of the Indies. + +“Be it so!” he said aloud, and slowly; “be it so! With this will I carve +my way: many a name in history was built upon a worse foundation!” + +With these words he carefully put up the money, re-read the brief note +which enclosed it, tore the latter into pieces, and then, going towards +the aforesaid view of the stable-yard, threw open the window and +leaned out, apparently in earnest admiration of two pigs which marched +gruntingly towards him, one goat regaling himself upon a cabbage, and a +broken-winded, emaciated horse, which having just been what the hostler +called “rubbed down,” was just going to be what the hostler called +“fed.” + +While engaged in this interesting survey, the clatter of hoofs was +suddenly heard upon the rough pavement, a bell rang, a dog barked, the +pigs grunted, the hostler ran out, and the stranger, whom our hero had +before met on the road, trotted into the yard. + +It was evident from the obsequiousness of the attendants that the +horseman was a personage of no mean importance; and indeed there was +something singularly distinguished and highbred in his air and carriage. + +“Who can that be?” said the youth, as the horseman, having dismounted, +turned towards the door of the inn: the question was readily answered, +“There goes pride and poverty!” said the hostler, “Here comes Squire +Mordaunt!” said the landlady. + +At the farther end of the stable-yard, through a narrow gate, the youth +caught a glimpse of the green sward and the springing flowers of a small +garden. Wearied with the sameness of No. 4 rather than with his journey, +he sauntered towards the said gate, and, seating himself in a small +arbour within the garden, surrendered himself to reflection. + +The result of this self-conference was a determination to leave the +Golden Fleece by the earliest conveyance which went to that great object +and emporium of all his plans and thoughts, London. As, full of +this resolution and buried in the dream which it conjured up, he +was returning with downcast eyes and unheeding steps through the +stable-yard, to the delights of No. 4, he was suddenly accosted by a +loud and alarmed voice,-- + +“For God’s sake, sir, look out, or--” + +The sentence was broken off, the intended warning came too late, our +hero staggered back a few steps, and fell, stunned and motionless, +against the stable door. Unconsciously he had passed just behind the +heels of the stranger’s horse, which being by no means in good humour +with the clumsy manoeuvres of his shampooer, the hostler, had taken +advantage of the opportunity presented to him of working off his +irritability, and had consequently inflicted a severe kick upon the +right shoulder of Mr. C. L. + +The stranger, honoured by the landlady with the name and title of +Squire Mordaunt, was in the yard at the moment. He hastened towards the +sufferer, who as yet was scarcely sensible, and led him into the house. +The surgeon of the village was sent for and appeared. This disciple of +Galen, commonly known by the name of Jeremiah Bossolton, was a gentleman +considerably more inclined to breadth than length. He was exactly five +feet one inch in height, but thick and solid as a milestone; a wig of +modern cut, carefully curled and powdered, gave somewhat of a modish +and therefore unseemly grace to a solemn eye; a mouth drawn down at +the corners; a nose that had something in it exceedingly consequential; +eyebrows sage and shaggy; ears large and fiery; and a chin that would +have done honour to a mandarin. Now Mr. Jeremiah Bossolton had a certain +peculiarity of speech to which I shall find it difficult to do +justice. Nature had impressed upon his mind a prodigious love of the +grandiloquent; Mr. Bossolton, therefore, disdained the exact language of +the vulgar, and built unto himself a lofty fabric of words in which his +sense managed very frequently to lose itself. Moreover, upon beginning +a sentence of peculiar dignity, Mr. Bossolton was, it must be +confessed, sometimes at a loss to conclude it in a period worthy of the +commencement; and this caprice of nature which had endowed him with +more words than thoughts (necessity is, indeed, the mother of invention) +drove him into a very ingenious method of remedying the deficiency; this +was simply the plan of repeating the sense by inverting the sentence. + +“How long a period of time,” said Mr. Bossolton, “has elapsed since +this deeply-to-be-regretted and seriously-to-be-investigated accident +occurred?” + +“Not many minutes,” said Mordaunt; “make no further delay, I beseech +you, but examine the arm; it is not broken, I trust?” + +“In this world, Mr. Mordaunt,” said the practitioner, bowing very low, +for the person he addressed was of the most ancient lineage in the +county, “in this world, Mr. Mordaunt, even at the earliest period of +civilization, delay in matters of judgment has ever been considered of +such vital importance, and--and such important vitality, that we find +it inculcated in the proverbs of the Greeks and the sayings of the +Chaldeans as a principle of the most expedient utility, and--and--the +most useful expediency!” + +“Mr. Bossolton,” said Mordaunt, in a tone of remarkable and even +artificial softness and civility, “have the kindness immediately to +examine this gentleman’s bruises.” + +Mr. Bossolton looked up to the calm but haughty face of the speaker, +and without a moment’s hesitation proceeded to handle the arm, which was +already stripped for his survey. + +“It frequently occurs,” said Mr. Bossolton, “in the course of my +profession, that the forcible, sudden, and vehement application of any +hard substance, like the hoof of a quadruped, to the soft, tender, +and carniferous parts of the human frame, such as the arm, occasions a +pain--a pang, I should rather say--of the intensest acuteness, and--and +of the acutest intensity.” + +“Pray, Mr. Bossolton, is the bone broken?” asked Mordaunt. + +By this time the patient, who had been hitherto in that languor which +extreme pain always produces at first, especially on young frames, was +sufficiently recovered to mark and reply to the kind solicitude of +the last speaker: “I thank you, sir,” said he with a smile, “for your +anxiety, but I feel that the bone is not broken; the muscles are a +little hurt, that is all.” + +“Young gentleman,” said Mr. Bossolton, “you must permit me to say that +they who have all their lives been employed in the pursuit, and the +investigation, and the analysis of certain studies are in general better +acquainted with those studies than they who have neither given them any +importance of consideration--nor--nor any consideration of importance. +Establishing this as my hypothesis, I shall now proceed to--” + +“Apply immediate remedies, if you please, Mr. Bossolton,” interrupted +Mr. Mordaunt, in that sweet and honeyed tone which somehow or other +always silenced even the garrulous practitioner. + +Driven into taciturnity, Mr. Bossolton again inspected the arm, and +proceeded to urge the application of liniments and bandages, which he +promised to prepare with the most solicitudinous despatch and the most +despatchful solicitude. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + Your name, Sir! + Ha! my name, you say--my name? + ‘T is well--my name--is--nay, I must consider.--Pedrillo. + +This accident occasioned a delay of some days in the plans of the young +gentleman, for whom we trust very soon, both for our own convenience and +that of our reader, to find a fitting appellation. + +Mr. Mordaunt, after seeing every attention paid to him both surgical +and hospitable, took his departure with a promise to call the next day; +leaving behind him a strong impression of curiosity and interest to +serve our hero as some mental occupation until his return. The bonny +landlady came up in a new cap, with blue ribbons, in the course of the +evening, to pay a visit of inquiry to the handsome patient, who was +removed from the Griffin, No. 4, to the Dragon, No. 8,--a room whose +merits were exactly in proportion to its number, namely, twice as great +as those of No. 4. + +“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Taptape, with a courtesy, “I trust you find +yourself better.” + +“At this moment I do,” said the gallant youth, with a significant air. + +“Hem,” quoth the landlady. + +A pause ensued. In spite of the compliment, a certain suspicion suddenly +darted across the mind of the hostess. Strong as are the prepossessions +of the sex, those of the profession are much stronger. + +“Honest folk,” thought the landlady, “don’t travel with their initials +only; the last ‘Whitehall Evening’ was full of shocking accounts of +swindlers and cheats; and I gave nine pounds odd shillings for the +silver teapot John has brought him up,--as if the delft one was not good +enough for a foot traveller!” + +Pursuing these ideas, Mrs. Taptape, looking bashfully down, said,-- + +“By the by, sir; Mr. Bossolton asked me what name he should put down in +his book for the medicines; what would you please me to say, sir?” + +“Mr. who?” said the youth, elevating his eyebrows. + +“Mr. Bossolton, sir, the apothecary.” + +“Oh! Bossolton! very odd name that,--not near so pretty as--dear me, +what a beautiful cap that is of yours!” said the young gentleman. + +“Lord, sir, do you think so? The ribbon is pretty enough; but--but, as +I was saying, what name shall I tell Mr. Bossolton to put in his book?” + “This,” thought Mrs. Taptape, “is coming to the point.” + +“Well!” said the youth, slowly, and as if in a profound reverie, “well, +Bossolton is certainly the most singular name I ever heard; he does +right to put it in a book: it is quite a curiosity! is he clever?” + +“Very, sir,” said the landlady, somewhat sharply; “but it is your name, +not his, that he wishes to put into his book.” + +“Mine?” said the youth, who appeared to have been seeking to gain time +in order to answer a query which most men find requires very little +deliberation, “mine, you say; my name is Linden--Clarence Linden--you +understand?” + +“What a pretty name!” thought the landlady’s daughter, who was listening +at the keyhole; “but how could he admire that odious cap of Ma’s!” + +“And, now, landlady, I wish you would send up my boxes; and get me a +newspaper, if you please.” + +“Yes, sir,” said the landlady, and she rose to retire. + +“I do not think,” said the youth to himself, “that I could have hit on a +prettier name, and so novel a one too!--Clarence Linden,--why, if I were +that pretty girl at the bar I could fall in love with the very words. +Shakspeare was quite wrong when he said,-- + + ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’” + +“A rose by any name would not smell as sweet; if a rose’s name was +Jeremiah Bossolton, for instance, it would not, to my nerves at least, +smell of anything but an apothecary’s shop!” + +When Mordaunt called the next morning, he found Clarence much better, +and carelessly turning over various books, part of the contents of the +luggage superscribed C. L. A book of whatever description was among the +few companions for whom Mordaunt had neither fastidiousness nor reserve; +and the sympathy of taste between him and the sufferer gave rise to +a conversation less cold and commonplace than it might otherwise have +been. And when Mordaunt, after a stay of some length, rose to depart, +he pressed Linden to return his visit before he left that part of the +country; his place, he added, was only about five miles distant from +W----. Linden, greatly interested in his visitor, was not slow in +accepting the invitation, and, perhaps for the first time in his life, +Mordaunt was shaking hands with a stranger he had only known two days. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + While yet a child, and long before his time, + He had perceived the presence and the power + Of greatness. + ..... + But eagerly he read, and read again. + ..... + Yet still uppermost + Nature was at his heart, as if he felt, + Though yet he knew not how, a wasting power + In all things that from her sweet influence + Might seek to wean him. Therefore with her hues, + Her forms, and with the spirit of her forms, + He clothed the nakedness of austere truth. + WORDSWORTH. + +Algernon Mordaunt was the last son of an old and honourable race, which +had centuries back numbered princes in its line. His parents had had +many children, but all (save Algernon, the youngest) died in their +infancy. His mother perished in giving him birth. Constitutional +infirmity and the care of mercenary nurses contributed to render +Algernon a weakly and delicate child: hence came a taste for loneliness +and a passion for study; and from these sprung, on the one hand, the +fastidiousness and reserve which render us apparently unamiable, and, on +the other, the loftiness of spirit and the kindness of heart which are +the best and earliest gifts of literature, and more than counterbalance +our deficiencies in the “minor morals” due to society by their tendency +to increase our attention to the greater ones belonging to mankind. Mr. +Mordaunt was a man of luxurious habits and gambling propensities: wedded +to London, he left the house of his ancestors to moulder into desertion +and decay; but to this home Algernon was constantly consigned during +his vacations from school; and its solitude and cheerlessness gave to +a disposition naturally melancholy and thoughtful those colours which +subsequent events were calculated to deepen, not efface. + +Truth obliges us to state, despite our partiality to Mordaunt, that, +when he left his school after a residence of six years, it was with the +bitter distinction of having been the most unpopular boy in it. Why, +nobody could exactly explain, for his severest enemies could not accuse +him of ill-nature, cowardice, or avarice, and these make the three +capital offences of a school-boy; but Algernon Mordaunt had already +acquired the knowledge of himself, and could explain the cause, though +with a bitter and swelling heart. His ill health, his long residence at +home, his unfriended and almost orphan situation, his early habits of +solitude and reserve, all these, so calculated to make the spirit shrink +within itself, made him, on his entrance at school, if not unsocial, +appear so: this was the primary reason of his unpopularity; the second +was that he perceived, for he was sensitive (and consequently acute) to +the extreme, the misfortune of his manner, and in his wish to rectify +it, it became doubly unprepossessing; to reserve, it now added +embarrassment, to coldness, gloom; and the pain he felt in addressing or +being addressed by another was naturally and necessarily reciprocal, for +the effects of sympathy are nowhere so wonderful, yet so invisible, as +in the manners. + +By degrees he shunned the intercourse which had for him nothing but +distress, and his volatile acquaintances were perhaps the first to set +him the example. Often in his solitary walks he stopped afar off to gaze +upon the sports which none ever solicited him to share; and as the shout +of laughter and of happy hearts came, peal after peal, upon his ear, he +turned enviously, yet not malignantly away, with tears, which not all +his pride could curb, and muttered to himself, “And these, these hate +me!” + +There are two feelings common to all high or affectionate natures,--that +of extreme susceptibility to opinion and that of extreme bitterness at +its injustice. These feelings were Mordaunt’s: but the keen edge which +one blow injures, the repetition blunts; and by little and little, +Algernon became not only accustomed, but, as he persuaded himself, +indifferent, to his want of popularity; his step grew more lofty, and +his address more collected, and that which was once diffidence gradually +hardened into pride. + +His residence at the University was neither without honour nor profit. +A college life was then, as now, either the most retired or the most +social of all others; we need scarcely say which it was to Mordaunt, but +his was the age when solitude is desirable, and when the closet forms +the mind better than the world. Driven upon itself, his intellect became +inquiring and its resources profound; admitted to their inmost recesses, +he revelled among the treasures of ancient lore, and in his dreams of +the Nymph and Naiad, or his researches after truth in the deep wells of +the Stagyrite or the golden fountains of Plato, he forgot the loneliness +of his lot and exhausted the hoarded enthusiasm of his soul. + +But his mind, rather thoughtful than imaginative, found no idol like +“Divine Philosophy.” It delighted to plunge itself into the mazes of +metaphysical investigation; to trace the springs of the intellect; to +connect the arcana of the universe; to descend into the darkest caverns, +or to wind through the minutest mysteries of Nature, and rise, step +by step, to that arduous elevation on which Thought stands dizzy and +confused, looking beneath upon a clouded earth, and above upon an +unfathomable heaven. + +Rarely wandering from his chamber, known personally to few and +intimately by none, Algernon yet left behind him at the University +the most remarkable reputation of his day. He had obtained some of the +highest of academical honours, and by that proverbial process of vulgar +minds which ever frames the magnificent from the unknown, the seclusion +in which he lived and the recondite nature of his favourite pursuits +attached to his name a still greater celebrity and interest than all the +orthodox and regular dignities he had acquired. There are few men who +do not console themselves for not being generally loved, if they can +reasonably hope that they are generally esteemed. Mordaunt had now grown +reconciled to himself and to his kind. He had opened to his interest a +world in his own breast, and it consoled him for his mortification in +the world without. But, better than this, his habits as well as studies +had strengthened the principles and confirmed the nobility of his mind. +He was not, it is true, more kind, more benevolent, more upright than +before; but those virtues now emanated from principle, not emotion: +and principle to the mind is what a free constitution is to a people; +without that principle or that free constitution, the one may be for +the moment as good, the other as happy; but we cannot tell how long the +goodness and the happiness will continue. + +On leaving the University, his father sent for him to London. He stayed +there a short time, and mingled partially in its festivities; but the +pleasures of English dissipation have for a century been the same, +heartless without gayety, and dull without refinement. Nor could +Mordaunt, the most fastidious, yet warm-hearted of human beings, +reconcile either his tastes or his affections to the cold insipidities +of patrician society. His father’s habits and evident distresses +deepened his disgust to his situation; for the habits were incurable and +the distresses increasing; and nothing but a circumstance which Mordaunt +did not then understand prevented the final sale of an estate already +little better than a pompous incumbrance. + +It was therefore with the half painful, half pleasurable sensation with +which we avoid contemplating a ruin we cannot prevent that Mordaunt +set out upon that Continental tour deemed then so necessary a part of +education. His father, on taking leave of him, seemed deeply affected. +“Go, my son,” said he, “may God bless you, and not punish me too +severely. I have wronged you deeply, and I cannot bear to look upon your +face.” + +To these words Algernon attached a general, but they cloaked a peculiar, +meaning: in three years, he returned to England; his father had been +dead some months, and the signification of his parting address was +already deciphered,--but of this hereafter. + +In his travels Mordaunt encountered an Englishman whose name I will not +yet mention: a person of great reputed wealth; a merchant, yet a man +of pleasure; a voluptuary in life, yet a saint in reputation; or, to +abstain from the antithetical analysis of a character which will not +be corporeally presented to the reader till our tale is considerably +advanced, one who drew from nature a singular combination of shrewd +but false conclusions, and a peculiar philosophy, destined hereafter to +contrast the colours and prove the practical utility of that which was +espoused by Mordaunt. + +There can be no education in which the lessons of the world do not form +a share. Experience, in expanding Algernon’s powers, had ripened his +virtues. Nor had the years which had converted knowledge into wisdom +failed in imparting polish to refinement. His person had acquired a +greater grace, and his manners an easier dignity than before. His noble +and generous mind had worked its impress upon his features and his mien; +and those who could overcome the first coldness and shrinking hauteur of +his address found it required no minute examination to discover the real +expression of the eloquent eye and the kindling lip. + +He had not been long returned before he found two enemies to his +tranquillity,--the one was love, the other appeared in the more +formidable guise of a claimant to his estate. Before Algernon was aware +of the nature of the latter he went to consult with his lawyer. + +“If the claim be just, I shall not, of course, proceed to law,” said +Mordaunt. + +“But without the estate, sir, you have nothing!” + +“True,” said Algernon, calmly. + +But the claim was not just, and to law he went. + +In this lawsuit, however, he had one assistant in an old relation, who +had seen, indeed, but very little of him, but who compassionated his +circumstances, and above all hated his opponent. This relation was rich +and childless; and there were not wanting those who predicted that his +money would ultimately discharge the mortgages and repair the house of +the young representative of the Mordaunt honours. But the old kinsman +was obstinate, self-willed, and under the absolute dominion of patrician +pride; and it was by no means improbable that the independence of +Mordaunt’s character would soon create a disunion between them, by +clashing against the peculiarities of his relation’s temper. + +It was a clear and sunny morning when Linden, tolerably recovered of his +hurt, set out upon a sober and aged pony, which after some natural pangs +of shame he had hired of his landlord, to Mordaunt Court. + +Mordaunt’s house was situated in the midst of a wild and extensive park, +surrounded with woods, and interspersed with trees of the stateliest +growth, now scattered into irregular groups, now marshalled into +sweeping avenues; while, ever and anon, Linden caught glimpses of +a rapid and brawling rivulet, which in many a slight but sounding +waterfall gave a music strange and spirit-like to the thick copses and +forest glades through which it went exulting on its way. The deer lay +half concealed by the fern among which they couched, turning their +stately crests towards the stranger, but not stirring from their rest; +while from the summit of beeches which would have shamed the pavilion +of Tityrus the rooks--those monks of the feathered people--were loud in +their confused but not displeasing confabulations. + +As Linden approached the house, he was struck with the melancholy air +of desolation which spread over and around it: fragments of stone, +above which clomb the rank weed, insolently proclaiming the triumph of +Nature’s meanest offspring over the wrecks of art; a moat dried up; a +railing once of massive gilding, intended to fence a lofty terrace on +the right from the incursions of the deer, but which, shattered and +decayed, now seemed to ask with the satirist,-- + + “To what end did our lavish ancestors + Erect of old these stately piles of ours?” + +--a chapel on the left, perfectly in ruins,--all appeared strikingly +to denote that time had outstripped fortune, and that the years, which +alike hallow and destroy, had broken the consequence, in deepening the +antiquity, of the House of Mordaunt. + +The building itself agreed but too well with the tokens of decay around +it; most of the windows were shut up, and the shutters of dark oak, +richly gilt, contrasted forcibly with the shattered panes and mouldered +framing of the glass. It was a house of irregular architecture. +Originally built in the fifteenth century, it had received its last +improvement, with the most lavish expense, during the reign of Anne; and +it united the Gallic magnificence of the latter period with the strength +and grandeur of the former; it was in a great part overgrown with ivy, +and, where that insidious ornament had not reached, the signs of decay, +and even ruin, were fully visible. The sun itself, bright and cheering +as it shone over Nature, making the green sod glow like emeralds, and +the rivulet flash in its beam, like one of those streams of real light, +imagined by Swedenborg in his visions of heaven, and clothing tree and +fell, brake and hillock, with the lavish hues of infant summer,--the sun +itself only made more desolate, because more conspicuous, the venerable +fabric, which the youthful traveller frequently paused more accurately +to survey, and its laughing and sportive beams playing over chink and +crevice, seemed almost as insolent and untimeous as the mirth of the +young mocking the silent grief of some gray-headed and solitary mourner. + +Clarence had now reached the porch, and the sound of the shrill bell he +touched rang with a strange note through the general stillness of the +place. A single servant appeared, and ushered Clarence through a screen +hall, hung round with relics of armour, and ornamented on the side +opposite the music gallery with a solitary picture of gigantic size, and +exhibiting the full length of the gaunt person and sable steed of that +Sir Piers de Mordaunt who had so signalized himself in the field in +which Henry of Richmond changed his coronet for a crown. Through this +hall Clarence was led to a small chamber clothed with uncouth and +tattered arras, in which, seemingly immersed in papers, he found the +owner of the domain. + +“Your studies,” said Linden, after the salutations of the day, “seem to +harmonize with the venerable antiquity of your home;” and he pointed to +the crabbed characters and faded ink of the papers on the table. + +“So they ought,” answered Mordaunt, with a faint smile; “for they are +called from their quiet archives in order to support my struggle for +that home. But I fear the struggle is in vain, and that the quibbles of +law will transfer into other hands a possession I am foolish enough to +value the more from my inability to maintain it.” + +Something of this Clarence had before learned from the communicative +gossip of his landlady; and less desirous to satisfy his curiosity than +to lead the conversation from a topic which he felt must be so unwelcome +to Mordaunt, he expressed a wish to see the state apartments of the +house. With something of shame at the neglect they had necessarily +experienced, and something of pride at the splendour which no neglect +could efface, Mordaunt yielded to the request, and led the way up a +staircase of black oak, the walls and ceiling of which were covered with +frescoes of Italian art, to a suite of apartments in which time and dust +seemed the only tenants. Lingeringly did Clarence gaze upon the rich +velvet, the costly mirrors, the motley paintings of a hundred ancestors, +and the antique cabinets, containing, among the most hoarded relics of +the Mordaunt race, curiosities which the hereditary enthusiasm of a line +of cavaliers had treasured as the most sacred of heirlooms, and which, +even to the philosophical mind of Mordaunt, possessed a value he did not +seek too minutely to analyze. Here was the goblet from which the first +prince of Tudor had drunk after the field of Bosworth. Here the ring +with which the chivalrous Francis the First had rewarded a signal feat +of that famous Robert de Mordaunt, who, as a poor but adventurous +cadet of the house, had brought to the “first gentleman of France” + the assistance of his sword. Here was the glove which Sir Walter had +received from the royal hand of Elizabeth, and worn in the lists upon +a crest which the lance of no antagonist in that knightly court could +abase. And here, more sacred than all, because connected with the memory +of misfortune, was a small box of silver which the last king of a fated +line had placed in the hands of the gray-headed descendant of that Sir +Walter after the battle of the Boyne, saying, “Keep this, Sir Everard +Mordaunt, for the sake of one who has purchased the luxury of gratitude +at the price of a throne!” + +As Clarence glanced from these relics to the figure of Mordaunt, who +stood at a little distance leaning against the window, with arms folded +on his breast and with eyes abstractedly wandering over the noble woods +and extended park, which spread below, he could not but feel that if +birth had indeed the power of setting its seal upon the form, it was +never more conspicuous than in the broad front and lofty air of the last +descendant of the race by whose memorials he was surrounded. Touched by +the fallen fortunes of Mordaunt, and interested by the uncertainty which +the chances of law threw over his future fate, Clarence could not resist +exclaiming, with some warmth and abruptness,-- + +“And by what subterfuge or cavil does the present claimant of these +estates hope to dislodge their rightful possessor?” + +“Why,” answered Mordaunt, “it is a long story in detail, but briefly +told in epitome. My father was a man whose habits greatly exceeded +his fortune, and a few months after his death, Mr. Vavasour, a distant +relation, produced a paper, by which it appeared that my father had, +for a certain sum of ready money, disposed of his estates to this Mr. +Vavasour, upon condition that they should not be claimed nor the treaty +divulged till after his death; the reason for this proviso seems to +have been the shame my father felt for his exchange, and his fear of the +censures of that world to which he was always devoted.” + +“But how unjust to you!” said Clarence. + +“Not so much so as it seems,” said Mordaunt, deprecatingly; “for I was +then but a sickly boy, and according to the physicians, and I sincerely +believe according also to my poor father’s belief, almost certain of a +premature death. In that case Vavasour would have been the nearest heir; +and this expectancy, by the by, joined to the mortgages on the property, +made the sum given ridiculously disproportioned to the value of the +estate. I must confess that the news came upon me like a thunderbolt. +I should have yielded up possession immediately, but was informed by my +lawyers that my father had no legal right to dispose of the property; +the discussion of that right forms the ground of the present lawsuit. +But,” continued Mordaunt, proudly, yet mournfully, “I am prepared for +the worst; if, indeed, I should call that the worst which can affect +neither intellect nor health nor character nor conscience.” + +Clarence was silent, and Mordaunt after a brief pause once more resumed +his guidance. Their tour ended in a large library filled with books, and +this Mordaunt informed his guest was his chosen sitting-room. + +An old carved table was covered with works which for the most part +possessed for the young mind of Clarence, more accustomed to imagine +than reflect, but a very feeble attraction; on looking over them, he, +however, found, half hid by a huge folio of Hobbes, and another of +Locke, a volume of Milton’s poems; this paved the way to a conversation +in which both had an equal interest, for both were enthusiastic in the +character and genius of that wonderful man, for whom “the divine and +solemn countenance of Freedom” was dearer than the light of day, and +whose solitary spell, accomplishing what the whole family of earth +once vainly began upon the plain of Shinar, has built of materials more +imperishable than “slime and brick” “a city and a tower whose summit has +reached to heaven.” + +It was with mutual satisfaction that Mordaunt and his guest continued +their commune till the hour of dinner was announced to them by a bell, +which, formerly intended as an alarum, now served the peaceful purpose +of a more agreeable summons. + +The same servant who had admitted Clarence ushered them through the +great hall into the dining-room, and was their solitary attendant during +their repast. + +The temper of Mordaunt was essentially grave and earnest, and his +conversation almost invariably took the tone of his mind; this made +their conference turn upon less minute and commonplace topics than one +between such new acquaintances, especially of different ages, usually +does. + +“You will positively go to London to-morrow, then?” said Mordaunt, as +the servant, removing the appurtenances of dinner, left them alone. + +“Positively,” answered Clarence. “I go there to carve my own fortunes, +and, to say truth, I am impatient to begin.” Mordaunt looked earnestly +at the frank face of the speaker, and wondered that one so young, so +well-educated, and, from his air and manner, evidently of gentle blood, +should appear so utterly thrown upon his own resources. + +“I wish you success,” said he, after a pause; “and it is a noble part +of the organization of this world that, by increasing those riches which +are beyond fortune, we do in general take the surest method of obtaining +those which are in its reach.” + +Clarence looked inquiringly at Mordaunt, who, perceiving it, continued, +“I see that I should explain myself further. I will do so by using the +thoughts of a mind not the least beautiful and accomplished which this +country has produced. ‘Of all which belongs to us,’ said Bolingbroke, +‘the least valuable parts can alone fall under the will of others. +Whatever is best is safest; lies out of the reach of human power; can +neither be given nor taken away. Such is this great and beautiful work +of Nature, the world. Such is the mind of man, which contemplates +and admires the world whereof it makes the noblest part. These are +inseparably ours, and as long as we remain in one we shall enjoy the +other.’” + +“Beautiful, indeed!” exclaimed Clarence, with the enthusiasm of a young +and pure heart, to which every loftier sentiment is always beautiful. + +“And true as beautiful!” said Mordaunt. “Nor is this all, for the mind +can even dispense with that world ‘of which it forms a part’ if we can +create within it a world still more inaccessible to chance. But (and I +now return to and explain my former observation) the means by which we +can effect this peculiar world can be rendered equally subservient to +our advancement and prosperity in that which we share in common with +our race; for the riches which by the aid of wisdom we heap up in the +storehouses of the mind are, though not the only, the most customary +coin by which external prosperity is bought. So that the philosophy +which can alone give independence to ourselves becomes; under the name +of honesty, the best policy in commerce with our kind.” + +In conversation of this nature, which the sincerity and lofty enthusiasm +of Mordaunt rendered interesting to Clarence, despite the distaste +to the serious so ordinary to youth, the hours passed on, till the +increasing evening warned Linden to depart. + +“Adieu!” said he to Mordaunt. “I know not when we shall meet again, +but if we ever do, I will make it my boast, whether in prosperity or +misfortune, not to have forgotten the pleasure I have this day enjoyed!” + +Returning his guest’s farewell with a warmth unusual to his manner, +Mordaunt followed him to the door and saw him depart. + +Fate ordained that they should pursue in very different paths their +several destinies; nor did it afford them an opportunity of meeting +again, till years and events had severely tried the virtue of one and +materially altered the prospects of the other. + +The next morning Clarence Linden was on his road to London. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + “Upon my word,” cries Jones, “thou art a very odd fellow, + and I like thy humour extremely.”--FIELDING. + +The rumbling and jolting vehicle which conveyed Clarence to the +metropolis stopped at the door of a tavern in Holborn. Linden was +ushered into a close coffee-room and presented with a bill of fare. +While he was deliberating between the respective merits of mutton chops +and beefsteaks, a man with a brown coat, brown breeches, and a brown +wig, walked into the room; he cast a curious glance at Clarence and then +turned to the waiter. + +“A pair of slippers!” + +“Yes, sir,” and the waiter disappeared. + +“I suppose,” said the brown gentleman to Clarence, “I suppose, sir, you +are the gentleman just come to town?” + +“You are right, sir,” said Clarence. + +“Very well, very well indeed,” resumed the stranger, musingly. “I took +the liberty of looking at your boxes in the passage; I knew a lady, sir, +a relation of yours, I think.” + +“Sir!” exclaimed Linden, colouring violently. + +“At least I suppose, for her name was just the same as yours, only, at +least, one letter difference between them: yours is Linden I see, sir; +hers was Minden. Am I right in my conjecture that you are related to +her?” + +“Sir,” answered Clarence, gravely, “notwithstanding the similarity of +our names, we are not related.” + +“Very extraordinary,” replied the stranger. + +“Very,” repeated Linden. + +“I had the honour, sir,” said the brown gentleman, “to make Mrs. Minden +many presents of value, and I should have been very happy to have +obliged you in the same manner, had you been in any way connected with +that worthy gentlewoman.” + +“You are very kind,” said Linden, “you are very kind; and since such +were your intentions, I believe I must have been connected with +Mrs. Minden. At all events, as you justly observe, there is only the +difference of a letter between our names, a discrepancy too slight, I am +sure, to alter your benevolent intentions.” + +Here the waiter returned with the slippers. + +The stranger slowly unbuttoned his gaiters. “Sir,” said he to Linden, +“we will renew our conversation presently.” + +No sooner had the generous friend of Mrs. Minden deposited his feet in +their easy tenements than he quitted the room. “Pray,” said Linden +to the waiter, when he had ordered his simple repast, “who is that +gentleman in brown?” + +“Mr. Brown,” replied the waiter. + +“And who or what is Mr. Brown?” asked our hero. + +Before the waiter could reply, Mr. Brown returned, with a large bandbox, +carefully enveloped in a blue handkerchief. “You come from ----, sir?” + said Mr. Brown, quietly seating himself at the same table as Linden. + +“No, sir, I do not.” + +“From ----, then?” + +“No, sir,--from W----.” + +“W----?--ay--well. I knew a lady with a name very like W---- (the late +Lady Waddilove) extremely well. I made her some valuable presents: her +ladyship was very sensible of it.” + +“I don’t doubt it, sir,” replied Clarence; “such instances of general +beneficence rarely occur!” + +“I have some magnificent relics of her ladyship in this box,” returned +Mr. Brown. + +“Really! then she was no less generous than yourself, I presume?” + +“Yes, her ladyship was remarkably generous. About a week before she died +(the late Lady Waddilove was quite sensible of her danger), she called +me to her,--‘Brown,’ said she, ‘you are a good creature; I have had my +most valuable things from you. I am not ungrateful: I will leave you--my +maid! She is as clever as you are and as good.’ I took the hint, sir, +and married. It was an excellent bargain. My wife is a charming woman; +she entirely fitted up Mrs. Minden’s wardrobe and I furnished the house. +Mrs. Minden was greatly indebted to us.” + +“Heaven help me!” thought Clarence, “the man is certainly mad.” + +The waiter entered with the dinner; and Mr. Brown, who seemed to have a +delicate aversion to any conversation in the presence of the Ganymede +of the Holborn tavern, immediately ceased his communications; meanwhile, +Clarence took the opportunity to survey him more minutely than he had +hitherto done. + +His new acquaintance was in age about forty-eight; in stature, rather +under the middle height; and thin, dried, withered, yet muscular withal, +like a man who, in stinting his stomach for the sake of economy, does +not the less enjoy the power of undergoing any fatigue or exertion that +an object of adequate importance may demand. We have said already that +he was attired, like twilight, “in a suit of sober brown;” and there +was a formality, a precision, and a cat-like sort of cleanliness in +his garb, which savoured strongly of the respectable coxcombry of the +counting-house. His face was lean, it is true, but not emaciated; and +his complexion, sallow and adust, harmonized well with the colours of +his clothing. An eye of the darkest hazel, sharp, shrewd, and flashing +at times, especially at the mention of the euphonious name of Lady +Waddilove,--a name frequently upon the lips of the inheritor of her +abigail,--with a fire that might be called brilliant, was of that +modest species which can seldom encounter the straightforward glance +of another; on the contrary, it seemed restlessly uneasy in any settled +place, and wandered from ceiling to floor, and corner to corner, with +an inquisitive though apparently careless glance, as if seeking for +something to admire or haply to appropriate; it also seemed to be the +especial care of Mr. Brown to veil, as far as he was able, the vivacity +of his looks beneath an expression of open and unheeding good-nature, an +expression strangely enough contrasting with the closeness and sagacity +which Nature had indelibly stamped upon features pointed, aquiline, and +impressed with a strong mixture of the Judaical physiognomy. The manner +and bearing of this gentleman partook of the same undecided character +as his countenance: they seemed to be struggling between civility and +importance; a real eagerness to make the acquaintance of the person +he addressed, and an assumed recklessness of the advantages which that +acquaintance could bestow;--it was like the behaviour of a man who is +desirous of having the best possible motives imputed to him, but is +fearful lest that desire should not be utterly fulfilled. At the first +glance you would have pledged yourself for his respectability; at the +second, you would have half suspected him to be a rogue; and, after you +had been half an hour in his company, you would confess yourself in the +obscurest doubt which was the better guess, the first or the last. + +“Waiter!” said Mr. Brown, looking enviously at the viands upon which +Linden, having satisfied his curiosity, was now with all the appetite of +youth regaling himself. “Waiter!” + +“Yes, sir!” + +“Bring me a sandwich--and--and, waiter, see that I have plenty +of--plenty of--” + +“What, sir?” + +“Plenty of mustard, waiter.” + +“Mustard” (and here Mr. Brown addressed himself to Clarence) “is a very +wonderful assistance to the digestion. By the by, sir, if you want any +curiously fine mustard, I can procure you some pots quite capital,--a +great favour, though,--they were smuggled from France, especially for +the use of the late Lady Waddilove.” + +“Thank you,” said Linden, dryly; “I shall be very happy to accept +anything you may wish to offer me.” + +Mr. Brown took a pocket-book from his pouch. “Six pots of mustard, +sir,--shall I say six?” + +“As many as you please,” replied Clarence; and Mr. Brown wrote down “Six +pots of French mustard.” + +“You are a very young gentleman, sir,” said Mr. Brown, “probably +intended for some profession: I don’t mean to be impertinent, but if I +can be of any assistance--” + +“You can, sir,” replied Linden, “and immediately--have the kindness to +ring the bell.” + +Mr. Brown, with a grave smile, did as he was desired; the waiter +re-entered, and, receiving a whispered order from Clarence, again +disappeared. + +“What profession did you say, sir?” renewed Mr. Brown, artfully. + +“None!” replied Linden. + +“Oh, very well,--very well indeed. Then as an idle, independent +gentleman, you will of course be a bit of a beau; want some shirts, +possibly; fine cravats, too; gentlemen wear a particular pattern now; +gloves, gold, or shall I say gilt chain, watch and seals, a ring or two, +and a snuff-box?” + +“Sir, you are vastly obliging,” said Clarence, in undisguised surprise. + +“Not at all, I would do anything for a relation of Mrs. Minden.” + +The waiter re-entered; “Sir,” said he to Linden, “your room is quite +ready.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said Clarence, rising. “Mr. Brown, I have the +honour of wishing you a good evening.” + +“Stay, sir--stay; you have not looked into these things belonging to the +late Lady Waddilove.” + +“Another time,” said Clarence, hastily. + +“To-morrow, at ten o’clock,” muttered Mr. Brown. + +“I am exceedingly glad I have got rid of that fellow,” said Linden to +himself, as he stretched his limbs in his easy-chair, and drank off +the last glass of his pint of port. “If I have not already seen, I have +already guessed, enough of the world, to know that you are to look to +your pockets when a man offers you a present; they who ‘give,’ also +‘take away.’ So here I am in London, with an order for 1000 pounds in my +purse, the wisdom of Dr. Latinas in my head, and the health of eighteen +in my veins; will it not be my own fault if I do not both enjoy and make +myself--” + +And then, yielding to meditations of future success, partaking strongly +of the inexperienced and sanguine temperament of the soliloquist, +Clarence passed the hours till his pillow summoned him to dreams no less +ardent and perhaps no less unreal. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + “Oh, how I long to be employed!”--Every Man in his Humour. + +Clarence was sitting the next morning over the very unsatisfactory +breakfast which tea made out of broomsticks, and cream out of chalk +(adulteration thrived even in 17--) afforded, when the waiter threw open +the door and announced Mr. Brown. + +“Just in time, sir, you perceive,” said Mr. Brown; “I am punctuality +itself: exactly a quarter of a minute to ten. I have brought you the +pots of French mustard, and I have some very valuable articles which you +must want, besides.” + +“Thank you, sir,” said Linden, not well knowing what to say; and Mr. +Brown, untying a silk handkerchief, produced three shirts, two pots +of pomatum, a tobacco canister with a German pipe, four pair of silk +stockings, two gold seals, three rings, and a stuffed parrot! + +“Beautiful articles these, sir,” said Mr. Brown, with a snuffle “of +inward sweetness long drawn out,” and expressive of great admiration of +his offered treasures; “beautiful articles, sir, ar’n’t they?” + +“Very, the parrot in particular,” said Clarence. + +“Yes, sir,” returned Mr. Brown, “the parrot is indeed quite a jewel; it +belonged to the late Lady Waddilove; I offer it to you with considerable +regret, for--” + +“Oh!” interrupted Clarence, “pray do not rob yourself of such a jewel; +it really is of no use to me.” + +“I know that, sir,--I know that,” replied Mr. Brown; “but it will be of +use to your friends; it will be inestimable to any old aunt, sir, any +maiden lady living at Hackney, any curious elderly gentleman fond of a +knack-knack. I knew you would know some one to send it to as a present, +even though you should not want it yourself.” + +“Bless me!” thought Linden, “was there ever such generosity? Not content +with providing for my wants, he extends his liberality even to any +possible relations I may possess!” + +Mr. Brown now re-tied “the beautiful articles” in his handkerchief. +“Shall I leave them, sir?” said he. + +“Why, really,” said Clarence, “I thought yesterday that you were in +jest; but you must be aware that I cannot accept presents from any +gentleman so much,--so much a stranger to me as you are.” + +“No, sir, I am aware of that,” replied Mr. Brown; “and in order to +remove the unpleasantness of such a feeling, sir, on your part,--merely +in order to do that, I assure you with no other view, sir, in the +world,--I have just noted down the articles on this piece of paper; but +as you will perceive, at a price so low as still to make them actually +presents in everything but the name. Oh, sir, I perfectly understand +your delicacy, and would not for the world violate it.” + +So saying, Mr. Brown put a paper into Linden’s hands, the substance +of which a very little more experience of the world would have enabled +Clarence to foresee; it ran thus:-- + + CLARENCE LINDEN, ESQ., DR. + TO Mr. MORRIS BROWN. + l. s. d. + To Six Pots of French Mustard......... 1 4 0 + To Three Superfine Holland Shirts, with Cambric Bosoms, + Complete................ 4 1 0 + To Two Pots of Superior French Pomatum...... 0 10 0 + To a Tobacco Canister of enamelled Tin, with a finely + Executed Head of the Pretender; slight flaw in the same. 0 12 6 + To a German Pipe, second hand, as good as new, belonging + to the late Lady Waddilove.......... 1 18 0 + To Four Pair of Black Silk Hose, ditto, belonging to her + Ladyship’s Husband............. 2 8 0 + To Two Superfine Embossed Gold Watch Seals, with a + Classical Motto and Device to each, namely, Mouse Trap, + and “Prenez Garde,” to one, and “Who the devil can this + be from?” [One would not have thought these ingenious + devices had been of so ancient a date as the year 17--.] + to the other............... 1 1 0 + To a remarkably fine Antique Ring, having the head of a + Monkey................. 0 16 6 + A ditto, with blue stones........... 0 12 6 + A ditto, with green ditto........... 0 12 6 + A Stuffed Green Parrot, a remarkable favourite of the late + Lady W................. 2 2 0 + -------- + Sum Total............... 15 18 0 + Deduction for Ready Money.......... 0 13 6 + -------- + 15 4 6 + Mr. Brown’s Profits for Brokerage........ 1 10 0 + -------- + Sum Total............... 16 14 6 + + Received of Clarence Linden, Esq., this day of 17--. + +It would have been no unamusing study to watch the expression of +Clarence’s face as it lengthened over each article until he had reached +the final conclusion. He then carefully folded up the paper, restored it +to Mr. Brown, with a low bow, and said, “Excuse me, sir, I will not take +advantage of your generosity; keep your parrot and other treasures for +some more worthy person. I cannot accept of what you are pleased to term +your very valuable presents!” + +“Oh, very well, very well,” said Mr. Brown, pocketing the paper, and +seeming perfectly unconcerned at the termination of his proposals; +“perhaps I can serve you in some other way?” + +“In none, I thank you,” replied Linden. + +“Just consider, sir!--you will want lodgings; I can find them for you +cheaper than you can yourself; or perhaps you would prefer going into a +nice, quiet, genteel family where you can have both board and lodging, +and be treated in every way as the pet child of the master?” + +A thought crossed Linden’s mind. He was going to stay in town some time; +he was ignorant of its ways; he had neither friends nor relations, at +least none whom he could visit and consult; moreover, hotels, he +knew, were expensive; lodgings, though cheaper, might, if tolerably +comfortable, greatly exceed the sum prudence would allow him to expend +would not this plan proposed by Mr. Brown, of going into a “nice quiet +genteel family,” he the most advisable one he could adopt? The generous +benefactor of the late and ever-to-be-remembered Lady Waddilove +perceived his advantage, and making the most of Clarence’s hesitation, +continued,-- + +“I know of a charming little abode, sir, situated in the suburbs +of London, quite rus in urbe, as the scholars say; you can have a +delightful little back parlour, looking out upon the garden, and all to +yourself, I dare say.” + +“And pray, Mr. Brown,” interrupted Linden, “what price do you think +would be demanded for such enviable accommodation? If you offer me them +as ‘a present,’ I shall have nothing to say to them.” + +“Oh, sir,” answered Mr. Brown, “the price will be a trifle,--a mere +trifle; but I will inquire, and let you know the exact sum in the course +of the day: all they want is a respectable gentlemanlike lodger; and I +am sure so near a relation of Mrs. Minden will upon my recommendation +be received with avidity. Then you won’t have any of these valuable +articles, sir? You’ll repent it, sir; take my word for it--hem! + +“Since,” replied Clarence, dryly, “your word appears of so much more +value than your articles, pardon me, if I prefer taking the former +instead of the latter.” + +Mr. Brown forced a smile,--“Well, sir, very well, very well indeed. You +will not go out before two o’clock? and at that time I shall call upon +you respecting the commission you have favoured me with.” + +“I will await you,” said Clarence; and he bowed Mr. Brown out of the +room. + +“Now, really,” said Linden to himself, as he paced the narrow limits of +his apartment, “I do not see what better plan I can pursue; but let me +well consider what is my ultimate object. A high step in the world’s +ladder! how is this to be obtained? First, by the regular method +of professions; but what profession should I adopt? The Church is +incompatible with my object, the army and navy with my means. Next come +the irregular methods of adventure and enterprise, such as marriage with +a fortune,”--here he paused and looked at the glass,--“the speculation +of a political pamphlet, or an ode to the minister; attendance on some +dying miser of my own name, without a relation in the world; or, in +short, any other mode of making money that may decently offer itself. +Now, situated as I am, without a friend in this great city, I might as +well purchase my experience at as cheap a rate and in as brief a time +as possible, nor do I see any plan of doing so more promising than that +proposed by Mr. Brown.” + +These and such like reflections, joined to the inspiriting pages of the +“Newgate Calendar” and “The Covent Garden Magazine,” two works which +Clarence dragged from their concealment under a black tea-tray, afforded +him ample occupation till the hour of two, punctual to which time Mr. +Morris Brown returned. + +“Well, sir,” said Clarence, “what is your report?” + +The friend of the late Lady W. wiped his brow and gave three long sighs +before he replied: “A long walk, sir--a very long walk I have had; but I +have succeeded. No thanks, sir,--no thanks,--the lady, a most charming, +delightful, amiable woman, will receive you with pleasure; you will have +the use of a back parlour (as I said) all the morning, and a beautiful +little bedroom entirely to yourself; think of that, sir. You will +have an egg for breakfast, and you will dine with the family at three +o’clock: quite fashionable hours you see, sir.” + +“And the terms?” said Linden, impatiently. + +“Why, sir,” replied Mr. Brown, “the lady was too genteel to talk to +me about them; you had better walk with me to her house and see if you +cannot yourself agree with her.” + +“I will,” said Clarence. “Will you wait here till I have dressed?” + +Mr. Brown bowed his assent. + +“I might as well,” thought Clarence, as he ascended to his bedroom, +“inquire into the character of this gentleman to whose good offices I +am so rashly intrusting myself.” He rang his bell; the chambermaid +appeared, and was dismissed for the waiter. The character was soon +asked, and soon given. For our reader’s sake we will somewhat enlarge +upon it. + +Mr. Morris Brown originally came into the world with the simple +appellation of Moses, a name which his father--honest man--had, as +the Minories can still testify, honourably borne before him. Scarcely, +however, had the little Moses attained the age of five, when his father, +for causes best known to himself, became a Christian. Somehow or other +there is a most potent connection between the purse and the conscience, +and accordingly the blessings of Heaven descended in golden showers upon +the proselyte. “I shall die worth a plum,” said Moses the elder (who had +taken unto himself the Christian cognomen of Brown); “I shall die worth +a plum,” repeated he, as he went one fine morning to speculate at the +Exchange. A change of news, sharp and unexpected as a change of wind, +lowered the stocks and blighted the plum. Mr. Brown was in the “Gazette” + that week, and his wife in weeds for him the next. He left behind him, +besides the said wife, several debts and his son Moses. Beggared by the +former, our widow took a small shop in Wardour Street to support +the latter. Patient, but enterprising--cautious of risking pounds, +indefatigable in raising pence--the little Moses inherited the +propensities of his Hebrew ancestors; and though not so capable as +his immediate progenitor of making a fortune, he was at least far less +likely to lose one. In spite, however, of all the industry both of +mother and son, the gains of the shop were but scanty; to increase +them capital was required, and all Mr. Moses Brown’s capital lay in his +brain. “It is a bad foundation,” said the mother, with a sigh. “Not at +all!” said the son, and leaving the shop, he turned broker. Now a broker +is a man who makes an income out of other people’s funds,--a gleaner of +stray extravagances; and by doing the public the honour of living upon +them may fairly be termed a little sort of state minister in his way. +What with haunting sales, hawking china, selling the curiosities of one +old lady and purchasing the same for another, Mr. Brown managed to enjoy +a very comfortable existence. Great pains and small gains will at last +invert their antithesis, and make little trouble and great profit; so +that by the time Mr. Brown had attained his fortieth year, the petty +shop had become a large warehouse; and, if the worthy Moses, now +christianized into Morris, was not so sanguine as his father in the +gathering of plums, he had been at least as fortunate in the collecting +of windfalls. To say truth, the abigail of the defunct Lady Waddilove +had been no unprofitable helpmate to our broker. As ingenious as +benevolent, she was the owner of certain rooms of great resort in the +neighbourhood of St. James’s,--rooms where caps and appointments were +made better than anywhere else, and where credit was given and character +lost upon terms equally advantageous to the accommodating Mrs. Brown. + +Meanwhile her husband, continuing through liking what he had begun +through necessity, slackened not his industry in augmenting his fortune; +on the contrary, small profits were but a keener incentive to large +ones,--as the glutton only sharpened by luncheon his appetite for +dinner. Still was Mr. Brown the very Alcibiades of brokers, the +universal genius, suiting every man to his humour. Business of whatever +description, from the purchase of a borough to that of a brooch, was +alike the object of Mr. Brown’s most zealous pursuit: taverns, where +country cousins put up; rustic habitations, where ancient maidens +resided; auction or barter; city or hamlet,--all were the same to that +enterprising spirit, which made out of every acquaintance--a commission! +Sagacious and acute, Mr. Brown perceived the value of eccentricity in +covering design, and found by experience that whatever can be laughed at +as odd will be gravely considered as harmless. Several of the broker’s +peculiarities were, therefore, more artificial than natural; and +many were the sly bargains which he smuggled into effect under the +comfortable cloak of singularity. No wonder, then, that the crafty +Morris grew gradually in repute as a person of infinite utility and +excellent qualifications; or that the penetrating friends of his +deceased sire bowed to the thriving itinerant, with a respect which they +denied to many in loftier professions and more general esteem. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + Trust me you have an exceeding fine lodging here,--very neat + and private.--BEN JONSON. + +It was a tolerably long walk to the abode of which the worthy broker +spoke in such high terms of commendation. At length, at the suburbs +towards Paddington, Mr. Brown stopped at a very small house; it stood +rather retired from its surrounding neighbours, which were of a loftier +and more pretending aspect than itself, and, in its awkward shape +and pitiful bashfulness, looked exceedingly like a school-boy finding +himself for the first time in a grown up party, and shrinking with all +possible expedition into the obscurest corner he can discover. Passing +through a sort of garden, in which a spot of grass lay in the embraces +of a stripe of gravel, Mr. Brown knocked upon a very bright knocker at a +very new door. The latter was opened, and a foot-boy appeared. + +“Is Mrs. Copperas within?” asked the broker. + +“Yees, sir,” said the boy. + +“Show this gentleman and myself up stairs,” resumed Brown. + +“Yees,” reiterated the lackey. + +Up a singularly narrow staircase, into a singularly diminutive +drawing-room, Clarence and his guide were ushered. There, seated on a +little chair by a little work-table, with one foot on a little stool and +one hand on a little book, was a little--very little lady. + +“This is the young gentleman,” said Mr. Brown; and Clarence bowed low, +in token of the introduction. + +The lady returned the salutation with an affected bend, and said, in +a mincing and grotesquely subdued tone, “You are desirous, sir, of +entering into the bosom of my family. We possess accommodations of a +most elegant description; accustomed to the genteelest circles, enjoying +the pure breezes of the Highgate hills, and presenting to any guest we +may receive the attractions of a home rather than of a lodging, you will +find our retreat no less eligible than unique. You are, I presume, sir, +in some profession, some city avocation--or--or trade?” + +“I have the misfortune,” said he, smiling, “to belong to no profession.” + +The lady looked hard at the speaker, and then at the broker. With +certain people to belong to no profession is to be of no respectability. + +“The most unexceptionable references will be given--and required,” + resumed Mrs. Copperas. + +“Certainly,” said Mr. Brown, “certainly, the gentleman is a relation of +Mrs. Minden, a very old customer of mine.” + +“In that case,” said Mrs. Copperas, “the affair is settled;” and, +rising, she rang the bell, and ordered the foot-boy, whom she addressed +by the grandiloquent name of “De Warens” to show the gentleman the +apartments. While Clarence was occupied in surveying the luxuries of +a box at the top of the house, called a bed-chamber, which seemed just +large and just hot enough for a chrysalis, and a corresponding box +below, termed the back parlour, which would certainly not have been +large enough for the said chrysalis when turned into a butterfly, +Mr. Morris Brown, after duly, expatiating on the merits of Clarence, +proceeded to speak of the terms; these were soon settled, for Clarence +was yielding and the lady not above three times as extortionate as she +ought to have been. + +Before Linden left the house, the bargain was concluded. That night +his trunks were removed to his new abode, and having with incredible +difficulty been squeezed into the bedroom, Clarence surveyed them +with the same astonishment with which the virtuoso beheld the flies in +amber,-- + + “Not that the things were either rich or rare, + He wondered how the devil they got there!” + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + Such scenes had tempered with a pensive grace + The maiden lustre of that faultless face; + Had hung a sad and dreamlike spell upon + The gliding music of her silver tone, + And shaded the soft soul which loved to lie + In the deep pathos of that volumed eye.--O’Neill; or, The Rebel. + + The love thus kindled between them was of no common or + calculating nature: it was vigorous and delicious, and at + times so suddenly intense as to appear to their young hearts + for a moment or so with almost an awful character.-- + Inesilla. + +The reader will figure to himself a small chamber, in a remote wing of +a large and noble mansion. The walls were covered with sketches whose +extreme delicacy of outline and colouring betrayed the sex of the +artist; a few shelves filled with books supported vases of flowers. A +harp stood neglected at the farther end of the room, and just above +hung the slender prison of one of those golden wanderers from the Canary +Isles which bear to our colder land some of the gentlest music of their +skies and zephyrs. The window, reaching to the ground, was open, +and looked, through the clusters of jessamine and honeysuckle which +surrounded the low veranda, beyond upon thick and frequent copses of +blossoming shrubs, redolent of spring and sparkling in the sunny tears +of a May shower which had only just wept itself away. Embosomed in these +little groves lay plots of flowers, girdled with turf as green as ever +wooed the nightly dances of the fairies; and afar off, through one +artful opening, the eye caught the glittering wanderings of water, on +whose light and smiles the universal happiness of the young year seemed +reflected. + +But in that chamber, heedless of all around, and cold to the joy with +which everything else, equally youthful, beautiful, and innocent, seemed +breathing and inspired, sat a very young and lovely female. Her cheek +leaned upon her hand, and large tears flowed fast and burningly over the +small and delicate fingers. The comb that had confined her tresses lay +at her feet, and the high dress which concealed her swelling breast had +been loosened, to give vent to the suffocating and indignant throbbings +which had rebelled against its cincture; all appeared to announce that +bitterness of grief when the mind, as it were, wreaks its scorn upon +the body in its contempt for external seemings, and to proclaim that the +present more subdued and softened sorrow had only succeeded to a burst +far less quiet and uncontrolled. Woe to those who eat the bread of +dependence their tears are wrung from the inmost sources of the heart. + +Isabel St. Leger was the only child of a captain in the army who died +in her infancy; her mother had survived him but a few months; and to the +reluctant care and cold affections of a distant and wealthy relation +of the same name the warm-hearted and penniless orphan was consigned. +Major-General Cornelius St. Leger, whose riches had been purchased in +India at the price of his constitution, was of a temper as hot as his +curries, and he wreaked it the more unsparingly on his ward, because the +superior ill-temper of his maiden sister had prevented his giving +vent to it upon her. That sister, Miss Diana St. Leger, was a meagre +gentlewoman of about six feet high, with a loud voice and commanding +aspect. Long in awe of her brother, she rejoiced at heart to find some +one whom she had such right and reason to make in awe of herself; and +from the age of four to that of seventeen Isabel suffered every insult +and every degradation which could be inflicted upon her by the tyranny +of her two protectors. Her spirit, however, was far from being broken +by the rude shocks it received; on the contrary, her mind, gentleness +itself to the kind, rose indignantly against the unjust. It was true +that the sense of wrong did not break forth audibly; for, though +susceptible, Isabel was meek, and her pride was concealed by the outward +softness and feminacy of her temper: but she stole away from those who +had wounded her heart or trampled upon its feelings, and nourished with +secret but passionate tears the memory of the harshness or injustice she +had endured. Yet she was not vindictive: her resentment was a noble +not a debasing feeling; once, when she was yet a child, Miss Diana was +attacked with a fever of the most malignant and infectious kind; her +brother loved himself far too well to risk his safety by attending her; +the servants were too happy to wreak their hatred under the pretence +of obeying their fears; they consequently followed the example of their +master; and Miss Diana St. Leger might have gone down to her ancestors +“unwept, unhonoured, and unsung,” if Isabel had not volunteered and +enforced her attendance. Hour after hour her fairy form flitted around +the sick-chamber; or sat mute and breathless by the feverish bed; she +had neither fear for contagion nor bitterness for past oppression; +everything vanished beneath the one hope of serving, the one +gratification of feeling herself, in the wide waste of creation, not +utterly without use, as she had been hitherto without friends. + +Miss St. Leger recovered. “For your recovery, in the first place,” said +the doctor, “you will thank Heaven; in the second, you will thank your +young relation;” and for several days the convalescent did overwhelm the +happy Isabel with her praises and caresses. But this change did not last +long: the chaste Diana had been too spoiled by the prosperity of many +years for the sickness of a single month to effect much good in her +disposition. Her old habits were soon resumed; and though it is probable +that her heart was in reality softened towards the poor Isabel, that +softening by no means extended to her temper. In truth, the brother and +sister were not without affection for one so beautiful and good, but +they had been torturing slaves all their lives, and their affection was, +and could be, but that of a taskmaster or a planter. + +But Isabel was the only relation who ever appeared within their walls; +and among the guests with whom the luxurious mansion was crowded, she +passed no less for the heiress than the dependant; to her, therefore, +was offered the homage of many lips and hearts, and if her pride was +perpetually galled and her feelings insulted in private, her vanity (had +that equalled her pride and her feelings in its susceptibility) would +in no slight measure have recompensed her in public. Unhappily, however, +her vanity was the least prominent quality she possessed; and the +compliments of mercenary adulation were not more rejected by her heart +than despised by her understanding. + +Yet did she bear within her a deep fund of buried tenderness, and a +mine of girlish and enthusiastic romance,--dangerous gifts to one so +situated, which, while they gave to her secret moments of solitude a +powerful but vague attraction, probably only prepared for her future +years the snare which might betray them into error or the delusion which +would colour them with regret. + +Among those whom the ostentatious hospitality of General St. Leger +attracted to his house was one of very different character and +pretensions to the rest. Formed to be unpopular with the generality of +men, the very qualities that made him so were those which principally +fascinate the higher description of women of ancient birth, which +rendered still more displeasing the pride and coldness of his mien; of +talents peculiarly framed to attract interest as well as esteem; of +a deep and somewhat morbid melancholy, which, while it turned from +ordinary ties, inclined yearningly towards passionate affections; of +a temper where romance was only concealed from the many to become more +seductive to the few; unsocial, but benevolent; disliked, but respected; +of the austerest demeanour, but of passions the most fervid, though +the most carefully concealed,--this man united within himself all that +repels the common mass of his species, and all that irresistibly wins +and fascinates the rare and romantic few. To these qualities were added +a carriage and bearing of that high and commanding order which men +mistake for arrogance and pretension, and women overrate in proportion +to its contrast to their own. Something of mystery there was in the +commencement of the deep and eventful love which took place between this +person and Isabel, which I have never been able to learn whatever it +was, it seemed to expedite and heighten the ordinary progress of love; +and when in the dim twilight, beneath the first melancholy smile of +the earliest star, their hearts opened audibly to each other, that +confession had been made silently long since and registered in the +inmost recesses of the soul. + +But their passion, which began in prosperity, was soon darkened. Whether +he took offence at the haughtiness of Isabel’s lover, or whether +he desired to retain about him an object which he could torment and +tyrannize over, no sooner did the General discover the attachment of his +young relation than he peremptorily forbade its indulgence, and assumed +so insolent and overbearing an air towards the lover that the latter +felt he could no longer repeat his visits to or even continue his +acquaintance with the nabob. + +To add to these adverse circumstances, a relation of the lover, from +whom his expectations had been large, was so enraged, not only at the +insult his cousin had received, but at the very idea of his forming an +alliance with one in so dependent a situation and connected with +such new blood as Isabel St. Leger, that, with that arrogance which +relations, however distant, think themselves authorized to assume, he +enjoined his cousin, upon pain of forfeiture of favour and fortune, to +renounce all idea of so disparaging an alliance. The one thus addressed +was not of a temper patiently to submit to such threats: he answered +them with disdain; and the breach, so dangerous to his pecuniary +interest, was already begun. + +So far had the history of our lover proceeded at the time in which we +have introduced Isabel to the reader, and described to him the chamber +to which, in all her troubles and humiliations, she was accustomed to +fly, as to a sad but still unviolated sanctuary of retreat. + +The quiet of this asylum was first broken by a slight rustling among +the leaves; but Isabel’s back was turned towards the window, and in +the engrossment of her feelings she heard it not. The thick copse that +darkened the left side of the veranda was pierced, and a man passed +within the covered space, and stood still and silent before the window, +intently gazing upon the figure, which (though the face was turned +from him) betrayed in its proportions that beauty which in his eyes had +neither an equal nor a fault. + +The figure of the stranger, though not very tall, was above the ordinary +height, and gracefully rather than robustly formed. He was dressed in +the darkest colours and the simplest fashion, which rendered yet more +striking the nobleness of his mien, as well as the clear and almost +delicate paleness of his complexion; his features were finely and +accurately formed; and had not ill health, long travel, or severe +thought deepened too much the lines of the countenance, and sharpened +its contour, the classic perfection of those features would have +rendered him undeniably and even eminently handsome. As it was, the +paleness and the somewhat worn character of his face, joined to an +expression at first glance rather haughty and repellent, made him lose +in physical what he certainly gained in intellectual beauty. His eyes +were large, deep, and melancholy, and had the hat which now hung over +his brow been removed, it would have displayed a forehead of remarkable +boldness and power. + +Altogether, the face was cast in a rare and intellectual mould, and, +if wanting in those more luxuriant attractions common to the age of the +stranger, who could scarcely have attained his twenty-sixth year, it +betokened, at least, that predominance of mind over body which in some +eyes is the most requisite characteristic of masculine beauty. + +With a soft and noiseless step, the stranger moved from his station +without the window, and, entering the room, stole towards the spot on +which Isabel was sitting. He leaned over her chair, and his eye rested +upon his own picture, and a letter in his own writing, over which the +tears of the young orphan flowed fast. + +A moment more of agitated happiness for one, of unconscious and +continued sadness for the other,-- + + “‘T is past, her lover’s at her feet.” + +And what indeed “was to them the world beside, with all its changes +of time and tide”? Joy, hope, all blissful and bright sensations, lay +mingled, like meeting waters, in one sunny stream of heartfelt and +unfathomable enjoyment; but this passed away, and the remembrance of +bitterness and evil succeeded. + +“Oh, Algernon!” said Isabel, in a low voice, “is this your promise?” + +“Believe me,” said Mordaunt, for it was indeed he, “I have struggled +long with my feelings, but in vain; and for both our sakes, I rejoice at +the conquest they obtained. I listened only to a deceitful delusion when +I imagined I was obeying the dictates of reason. Ah, dearest, why should +we part for the sake of dubious and distant evils, when the misery of +absence is the most certain, the most unceasing evil we can endure?” + +“For your sake, and therefore for mine!” interrupted Isabel, struggling +with her tears. “I am a beggar and an outcast. You must not link your +fate with mine. I could bear, Heaven knows how willingly, poverty and +all its evils for you and with you; but I cannot bring them upon you.” + +“Nor will you,” said Mordaunt, passionately, as he covered the hand he +held with his burning kisses. “Have I not enough for both of us? It is +my love, not poverty, that I beseech you to share.” + +“No! Algernon, you cannot deceive me; your own estate will be torn from +you by the law: if you marry me, your cousin will not assist you; I, you +know too well, can command nothing; and I shall see you, for whom in +my fond and bright dreams I have presaged everything great and exalted, +buried in an obscurity from which your talents can never rise, and +suffering the pangs of poverty and dependence and humiliation like +my own; and--and--I--should be the wretch who caused you all. Never, +Algernon, never!--I love you too--too well!” + +But the effort which wrung forth the determination of the tone in which +these words were uttered was too violent to endure; and, as the full +desolation of her despair crowded fast and dark upon the orphan’s mind, +she sank back upon her chair in very sickness of soul, nor heeded, in +her unconscious misery, that her hand was yet clasped by her lover and +that her head drooped upon his bosom. + +“Isabel,” he said, in a low, sweet tone, which to her ear seemed the +concentration of all earthly music,--“Isabel, look up,--my own, my +beloved,--look up and hear me. Perhaps you say truly when you tell me +that the possessions of my house shall melt away from me, and that my +relation will not offer to me the precarious bounty which, even if he +did offer, I would reject; but, dearest, are there not a thousand +paths open to me,--the law, the state, the army?--you are silent, +Isabel,--speak!” + +Isabel did not reply, but the soft eyes which rested upon his told, in +their despondency, how little her reason was satisfied by the arguments +he urged. + +“Besides,” he continued, “we know not yet whether the law may not decide +in my favour: at all events years may pass before the judgment is given; +those years make the prime and verdure of our lives; let us not waste +them in mourning over blighted hopes and severed hearts; let us snatch +what happiness is yet in our power, nor anticipate, while the heavens +are still bright above us, the burden of the thunder or the cloud.” + +Isabel was one of the least selfish and most devoted of human beings, +yet she must be forgiven if at that moment her resolution faltered, and +the overpowering thought of being in reality his forever flashed upon +her mind. It passed from her the moment it was formed; and, rising from +a situation in which the touch of that dear hand and the breath of +those wooing lips endangered the virtue and weakened the strength of her +resolves, she withdrew herself from his grasp, and while she averted her +eyes, which dared not encounter his, she said in a low but firm voice,-- + +“It is in vain, Algernon; it is in vain. I can be to you nothing but a +blight or burden, nothing but a source of privation and anguish. Think +you that I will be this?--no, I will not darken your fair hopes and +impede your reasonable ambition. Go (and here her voice faltered for a +moment, but soon recovered its tone), go, Algernon, dear Algernon; and +if my foolish heart will not ask you to think of me no more, I can at +least implore you to think of me only as one who would die rather than +cost you a moment of that poverty and debasement, the bitterness of +which she has felt herself, and who for that very reason tears herself +away from you forever.” + +“Stay, Isabel, stay!” cried Mordaunt, as he caught hold of her robe, +“give me but one word more, and you shall leave me. Say that if I can +create for myself a new source of independence; if I can carve out a +road where the ambition you erroneously impute to me can be gratified, +as well as the more moderate wishes our station has made natural to us +to form,--say, that if I do this, I may permit myself to hope,--say, +that when I have done it, I may claim you as my own!” + +Isabel paused, and turned once more her face towards his own. Her lips +moved, and though the words died within her heart, yet Mordaunt read +well their import in the blushing cheek and the heaving bosom, and the +lips which one ray of hope and comfort was sufficient to kindle into +smiles. He gazed, and all obstacles, all difficulties, disappeared; the +gulf of time seemed passed, and he felt as if already he had earned and +won his reward. + +He approached her yet nearer; one kiss on those lips, one pressure +of that thrilling hand, one long, last embrace of that shrinking and +trembling form,--and then, as the door closed upon his view, he felt +that the sunshine of Nature had passed away, and that in the midst of +the laughing and peopled earth he stood in darkness and alone. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + He who would know mankind must be at home with all men. + STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + +We left Clarence safely deposited in his little lodgings. Whether +from the heat of his apartment or the restlessness a migration of beds +produces in certain constitutions, his slumbers on the first night of +his arrival were disturbed and brief. He rose early and descended to the +parlour; Mr. de Warens, the nobly appellatived foot-boy, was laying +the breakfast-cloth. From three painted shelves which constituted the +library of “Copperas Bower,” as its owners gracefully called their +habitation, Clarence took down a book very prettily bound; it was “Poems +by a Nobleman.” No sooner had he read two pages than he did exactly what +the reader would have done, and restored the volume respectfully to its +place. He then drew his chair towards the window, and wistfully eyed +sundry ancient nursery maids, who were leading their infant charges to +the “fresh fields and pastures new” of what is now the Regent’s Park. + +In about an hour Mrs. Copperas descended, and mutual compliments were +exchanged; to her succeeded Mr. Copperas, who was well scolded for his +laziness: and to them, Master Adolphus Copperas, who was also chidingly +termed a naughty darling for the same offence. Now then Mrs. Copperas +prepared the tea, which she did in the approved method adopted by all +ladies to whom economy is dearer than renown, namely, the least possible +quantity of the soi-disant Chinese plant was first sprinkled by the +least possible quantity of hot water; after this mixture had become as +black and as bitter as it could possibly be without any adjunct from the +apothecary’s skill, it was suddenly drenched with a copious diffusion, +and as suddenly poured forth--weak, washy, and abominable,--into four +cups, severally appertaining unto the four partakers of the matutinal +nectar. + +Then the conversation began to flow. Mrs. Copperas was a fine lady, and +a sentimentalist,--very observant of the little niceties of phrase and +manner. Mr. Copperas was a stock-jobber and a wit,--loved a good hit +in each capacity; was very round, very short, and very much like a John +Dory; and saw in the features and mind of the little Copperas the exact +representative of himself. + +“Adolphus, my love,” said Mrs. Copperas, “mind what I told you, and sit +upright. Mr. Linden, will you allow me to cut you a leetle piece of this +roll?” + +“Thank you,” said Clarence, “I will trouble you rather for the whole of +it.” + +Conceive Mrs. Copperas’s dismay! From that moment she saw herself eaten +out of house and home; besides, as she afterwards observed to her friend +Miss Barbara York, the “vulgarity of such an amazing appetite!” + +“Any commands in the city, Mr. Linden?” asked the husband; “a coach will +pass by our door in a few minutes,--must be on ‘Change in half an hour. +Come, my love, another cup of tea; make haste; I have scarcely a +moment to take my fare for the inside, before coachee takes his for the +outside. Ha! ha! ha! Mr. Linden.” + +“Lord, Mr. Copperas,” said his helpmate, “how can you be so silly? +setting such an example to your son, too; never mind him, Adolphus, my +love; fie, child! a’n’t you ashamed of yourself? never put the spoon +in your cup till you have done tea: I must really send you to school to +learn manners. We have a very pretty little collection of books +here, Mr. Linden, if you would like to read an hour or two after +breakfast,--child, take your hands out of your pockets,--all the best +English classics I believe,--‘Telemachus,’ and Young’s ‘Night Thoughts,’ +and ‘Joseph Andrews,’ and the ‘Spectator,’ and Pope’s Iliad, and +Creech’s Lucretius; but you will look over them yourself! This is +Liberty Hall, as well as Copperas Bower, Mr. Linden!” + +“Well, my love,” said the stock-jobber, “I believe I must be off. Here +Tom,” Tom (Mr. de Warens had just entered the room with some more hot +water, to weaken still further “the poor remains of what was once”--the +tea!), “Tom, just run out and stop the coach; it will be by in five +minutes.” + +“Have not I prayed and besought you, many and many a time, Mr. +Copperas,” said the lady, rebukingly, “not to call De Warens by his +Christian name? Don’t you know that all people in genteel life, who only +keep one servant, invariably call him by his surname, as if he were the +butler, you know?” + +“Now, that is too good, my love,” said Copperas. “I will call poor Tom +by any surname you please, but I really can’t pass him off for a butler! +Ha--ha--ha--you must excuse me there, my love!” + +“And pray, why not, Mr. Copperas? I have known many a butler bungle +more at a cork than he does; and pray tell me who did you ever see wait +better at dinner?” + +“He wait at dinner, my love! it is not he who waits.” + +“Who then, Mr. Copperas?” + +“Why we, my love; it’s we who wait for dinner; but that’s the cook’s +fault, not his.” + +“Pshaw! Mr. Copperas; Adolphus, my love, sit upright, darling.” + +Here De Warens cried from the bottom of the stairs,--“Measter, the coach +be coming up.” + +“There won’t be room for it to turn then,” said the facetious Mr. +Copperas, looking round the apartment as if he took the words literally. + +“What coach is it, boy?” + +Now that was not the age in which coaches scoured the city every half +hour, and Mr. Copperas knew the name of the coach as well as he knew his +own. + +“It be the Swallow coach, sir.” + +“Oh, very well: then since I have swallowed in the roll, I will now roll +in the Swallow--ha--ha--ha! Good-by, Mr. Linden.” + +No sooner had the witty stock-jobber left the room than Mrs. Copperas +seemed to expand into a new existence. “My husband, sir,” said she, +apologetically, “is so odd, but he’s an excellent sterling character; +and that, you know, Mr. Linden, tells more in the bosom of a family than +all the shining qualities which captivate the imagination. I am sure, +Mr. Linden, that the moralist is right in admonishing us to prefer the +gold to the tinsel. I have now been married some years, and every year +seems happier than the last; but then, Mr. Linden, it is such a pleasure +to contemplate the growing graces of the sweet pledge of our mutual +love.--Adolphus, my dear, keep your feet still, and take your hands out +of your pockets!” + +A short pause ensued. + +“We see a great deal of company,” said Mrs. Copperas, pompously, “and of +the very best description. Sometimes we are favoured by the society +of the great Mr. Talbot, a gentleman of immense fortune and quite the +courtier: he is, it is true, a little eccentric in his dress: but then +he was a celebrated beau in his young days. He is our next neighbour; +you can see his house out of the window, just across the garden--there! +We have also, sometimes, our humble board graced by a very elegant +friend of mine, Miss Barbara York, a lady of very high connections, her +first cousin was a lord mayor.--Adolphus, my dear, what are you about? +Well, Mr. Linden, you will find your retreat quite undisturbed; I +must go about the household affairs; not that I do anything more +than superintend, you know, sir; but I think no lady should be above +consulting her husband’s interests; that’s what I call true old English +conjugal affection. Come, Adolphus, my dear.” + +And Clarence was now alone. “I fear,” thought he, “that I shall get on +very indifferently with these people. But it will not do for me to be +misanthropical, and (as Dr. Latinas was wont to say) the great merit of +philosophy, when we cannot command circumstances, is to reconcile us to +them.” + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + A retired beau is one of the most instructive spectacles in the world. + STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + +It was quite true that Mrs. Copperas saw a great deal of company, for +at a certain charge, upon certain days, any individual might have the +honour of sharing her family repast; and many, of various callings, +though chiefly in commercial life, met at her miscellaneous board. +Clarence must, indeed, have been difficult to please, or obtuse +of observation, if, in the variety of her guests, he had not found +something either to interest or amuse him. Heavens! what a motley +group were accustomed, twice in the week, to assemble there! the little +dining-parlour seemed a human oven; and it must be owned that Clarence +was no slight magnet of attraction to the female part of the guests. +Mrs. Copperas’s bosom friend in especial, the accomplished Miss Barbara +York, darted the most tender glances on the handsome young stranger; +but whether or not a nose remarkably prominent and long prevented the +glances from taking full effect, it is certain that Clarence seldom +repaid them with that affectionate ardour which Miss Barbara York had +ventured to anticipate. The only persons indeed for whom he felt any +sympathetic attraction were of the same sex as himself. The one was +Mr. Talbot, the old gentleman whom Mrs. Copperas had described as the +perfect courtier; the other, a young artist of the name of Warner. +Talbot, to Clarence’s great astonishment (for Mrs. Copperas’s eulogy had +prepared him for something eminently displeasing) was a man of birth, +fortune, and manners peculiarly graceful and attractive. It is true, +however, that, despite of his vicinity, and Mrs. Copperas’s urgent +solicitations, he very seldom honoured her with his company, and he +always cautiously sent over his servant in the morning to inquire the +names and number of her expected guests; nor was he ever known to +share the plenteous board of the stock-jobber’s lady whenever any +other partaker of its dainties save Clarence and the young artist were +present. The latter, the old gentleman really liked; and as for one +truly well born and well bred there is no vulgarity except in the mind, +the slender means, obscure birth, and struggling profession of Warner +were circumstances which, as they increased the merit of a gentle manner +and a fine mind, spoke rather in his favour than the reverse. Mr. Talbot +was greatly struck by Clarence Linden’s conversation and appearance; +and indeed there was in Talbot’s tastes so strong a bias to aristocratic +externals that Clarence’s air alone would have been sufficient to win +the good graces of a man who had, perhaps, more than most courtiers of +his time, cultivated the arts of manner and the secrets of address. + +“You will call upon me soon?” said he to Clarence, when, after dining +one day with the Copperases and their inmate, he rose to return home. +And Clarence, delighted with the urbanity and liveliness of his new +acquaintance, readily promised that he would. + +Accordingly the next day Clarence called upon Mr. Talbot. The house, as +Mrs. Copperas had before said, adjoined her own, and was only separated +from it by a garden. It was a dull mansion of brick, which had disdained +the frippery of paint and whitewashing, and had indeed been built +many years previously to the erection of the modern habitations which +surrounded it. It was, therefore, as a consequence of this priority +of birth, more sombre than the rest, and had a peculiarly forlorn and +solitary look. As Clarence approached the door, he was struck with the +size of the house; it was of very considerable extent, and in the more +favourable situations of London, would have passed for a very desirable +and spacious tenement. An old man, whose accurate precision of dress +bespoke the tastes of the master, opened the door, and after ushering +Clarence through two long, and, to his surprise, almost splendidly +furnished rooms, led him into a third, where, seated at a small +writing-table, he found Mr. Talbot. That person, one whom Clarence then +little thought would hereafter exercise no small influence over his +fate, was of a figure and countenance well worthy the notice of a +description. + +His own hair, quite white, was carefully and artificially curled, and +gave a Grecian cast to features whose original delicacy, and exact +though small proportions, not even age could destroy. His eyes were +large, black, and sparkled with almost youthful vivacity; and his mouth, +which was the best feature he possessed, developed teeth white and +even as rows of ivory. Though small and somewhat too slender in the +proportions of his figure, nothing could exceed the ease and the grace +of his motions and air; and his dress, though singularly rich in +its materials, eccentric in its fashion, and from its evident study, +unseemly to his years, served nevertheless to render rather venerable +than ridiculous a mien which could almost have carried off any +absurdity, and which the fashion of the garb peculiarly became. The tout +ensemble was certainly that of a man who was still vain of his exterior, +and conscious of its effect; and it was as certainly impossible to +converse with Mr. Talbot for five minutes without merging every less +respectful impression in the magical fascination of his manner. + +“I thank you, Mr. Linden,” said Talbot, rising, “for your accepting so +readily an old man’s invitation. If I have felt pleasure in discovering +that we were to be neighbours, you may judge what that pleasure is +to-day at finding you my visitor.” + +Clarence, who, to do him justice, was always ready at returning a fine +speech, replied in a similar strain, and the conversation flowed on +agreeably enough. There was more than a moderate collection of books +in the room, and this circumstance led Clarence to allude to literary +subjects; these Mr. Talbot took up with avidity, and touched with a +light but graceful criticism upon many of the then modern and some of +the older writers. He seemed delighted to find himself understood and +appreciated by Clarence, and every moment of Linden’s visit served +to ripen their acquaintance into intimacy. At length they talked upon +Copperas Bower and its inmates. + +“You will find your host and hostess,” said the gentleman, “certainly of +a different order from the persons with whom it is easy to see you +have associated; but, at your happy age, a year or two may be very well +thrown away upon observing the manners and customs of those whom, in +later life, you may often be called upon to conciliate or perhaps to +control. That man will never be a perfect gentleman who lives only with +gentlemen. To be a man of the world, we must view that world in every +grade and in every perspective. In short, the most practical art of +wisdom is that which extracts from things the very quality they least +appear to possess; and the actor in the world, like the actor on the +stage, should find ‘a basket-hilted sword very convenient to carry milk +in.’ [See the witty inventory of a player’s goods in the “Tatler.”] As +for me, I have survived my relations and friends. I cannot keep late +hours, nor adhere to the unhealthy customs of good society; nor do +I think that, to a man of my age and habits, any remuneration would +adequately repay the sacrifice of health or comfort. I am, therefore, +well content to sink into a hermitage in an obscure corner of this great +town, and only occasionally to revive my ‘past remembrances of higher +state,’ by admitting a few old acquaintances to drink my bachelor’s tea +and talk over the news of the day. Hence, you see, Mr. Linden, I pick +up two or three novel anecdotes of state and scandal, and maintain my +importance at Copperas Bower by retailing them second-hand. Now that +you are one of the inmates of that abode, I shall be more frequently its +guest. By the by, I will let you into a secret: know that I am somewhat +a lover of the marvellous, and like to indulge a little embellishing +exaggeration in any place where there is no chance of finding me +out. Mind, therefore, my dear Mr. Linden, that you take no ungenerous +advantage of this confession; but suffer me, now and then, to tell my +stories my own way, even when you think truth would require me to tell +them in another.” + +“Certainly,” said Clarence, laughing; “let us make an agreement: you +shall tell your stories as you please, if you will grant me the same +liberty in paying my compliments; and if I laugh aloud at the stories, +you shall promise me not to laugh aloud at the compliments.” + +“It is a bond,” said Talbot; “and a very fit exchange of service it is. +It will be a problem in human nature to see who has the best of it: you +shall pay your court by flattering the people present, and I mine by +abusing those absent. Now, in spite of your youth and curling locks, I +will wager that I succeed the best; for in vanity there is so great a +mixture of envy that no compliment is like a judicious abuse: to enchant +your acquaintance, ridicule his friends.” + +“Ah, sir,” said Clarence, “this opinion of yours is, I trust, a little +in the French school, where brilliancy is more studied than truth, and +where an ill opinion of our species always has the merit of passing for +profound.” + +Talbot smiled, and shook his head. “My dear young friend,” said he, “it +is quite right that you, who are coming into the world, should think +well of it; and it is also quite right that I, who am going out of it, +should console myself by trying to despise it. However, let me tell you, +my young friend, that he whose opinion of mankind is not too elevated +will always be the most benevolent, because the most indulgent, to +those errors incidental to human imperfection: to place our nature in +too flattering a view is only to court disappointment, and end in +misanthropy. The man who sets out with expecting to find all his +fellow-creatures heroes of virtue will conclude by condemning them as +monsters of vice; and, on the contrary, the least exacting judge of +actions will be the most lenient. If God, in His own perfection, did not +see so many frailties in us, think you He would be so gracious to our +virtues?” + +“And yet,” said Clarence, “we remark every day examples of the highest +excellence.” + +“Yes,” replied Talbot, “of the highest but not of the most constant +excellence. He knows very little of the human heart who imagines we +cannot do a good action; but, alas! he knows still less of it who +supposes we can be always doing good actions. In exactly the same ratio +we see every day the greatest crimes are committed; but we find no +wretch so depraved as to be always committing crimes. Man cannot be +perfect even in guilt.” + +In this manner Talbot and his young visitor conversed, till Clarence, +after a stay of unwarrantable length, rose to depart. + +“Well,” said Talbot, “if we now rightly understand each other, we shall +be the best friends in the world. As we shall expect great things from +each other sometimes, we will have no scruple in exacting a heroic +sacrifice every now and then; for instance, I will ask you to punish +yourself by an occasional tete-a-tete with an ancient gentleman; and, as +we can also by the same reasoning pardon great faults in each other, if +they are not often committed, so I will forgive you, with all my heart, +whenever you refuse my invitations, if you do not refuse them often. And +now farewell till we meet again.” + +It seemed singular and almost unnatural to Linden that a man like +Talbot, of birth, fortune, and great fastidiousness of taste and temper, +should have formed any sort of acquaintance, however slight and distant, +with the facetious stock-jobber and his wife; but the fact is easily +explained by a reference to the vanity which we shall see hereafter +made the ruling passion of Talbot’s nature. This vanity, which +branching forth into a thousand eccentricities, displayed itself in the +singularity of his dress, the studied yet graceful warmth of his +manner, his attention to the minutiae of life, his desire, craving and +insatiate, to receive from every one, however insignificant, his obolus +of admiration,--this vanity, once flattered by the obsequious homage it +obtained from the wonder and reverence of the Copperases, reconciled his +taste to the disgust it so frequently and necessarily conceived; and, +having in great measure resigned his former acquaintance and wholly +outlived his friends, he was contented to purchase the applause +which had become to him a necessary of life at the humble market more +immediately at his command. + +There is no dilemma in which Vanity cannot find an expedient to develop +its form, no stream of circumstances in which its buoyant and light +nature will not rise to float upon the surface. And its ingenuity is as +fertile as that of the player who (his wardrobe allowing him no other +method of playing the fop) could still exhibit the prevalent passion for +distinction by wearing stockings of different colours. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + Who dares + Interpret then my life for me as ‘t were + One of the undistinguishable many? + COLERIDGE: Wallenstein. + +The first time Clarence had observed the young artist, he had taken a +deep interest in his appearance. Pale, thin, undersized, and slightly +deformed, the sanctifying mind still shed over the humble frame a spell +more powerful than beauty. Absent in manner, melancholy in air, and +never conversing except upon subjects on which his imagination was +excited, there was yet a gentleness about him which could not fail to +conciliate and prepossess; nor did Clarence omit any opportunity +to soften his reserve, and wind himself into his more intimate +acquaintance. Warner, the only support of an aged and infirm grandmother +(who had survived her immediate children), was distantly related to Mrs. +Copperas; and that lady extended to him, with ostentatious benevolence, +her favour and support. It is true that she did not impoverish the +young Adolphus to enrich her kinsman, but she allowed him a seat at her +hospitable board, whenever it was not otherwise filled; and all that she +demanded in return was a picture of herself, another of Mr. Copperas, +a third of Master Adolphus, a fourth of the black cat, and from time to +time sundry other lesser productions of his genius, of which, through +the agency of Mr. Brown, she secretly disposed at a price that +sufficiently remunerated her for whatever havoc the slender appetite of +the young painter was able to effect. + +By this arrangement, Clarence had many opportunities of gaining that +intimacy with Warner which had become to him an object; and though the +painter, constitutionally diffident and shy, was at first averse to, and +even awed by, the ease, boldness, fluent speech, and confident address +of a man much younger than himself, yet at last he could not resist the +being decoyed into familiarity; and the youthful pair gradually advanced +from companionship into friendship. There was a striking contrast +between the two: Clarence was bold and frank, Warner close and timid. +Both had superior abilities; but the abilities of Clarence were for +action, those of Warner for art: both were ambitious; but the ambition +of Clarence was that of circumstances rather than character. Compelled +to carve his own fortunes without sympathy or aid, he braced his mind to +the effort, though naturally too gay for the austerity, and too genial +for the selfishness of ambition. But the very essence of Warner’s nature +was the feverish desire of fame: it poured through his veins like lava; +it preyed as a worm upon his cheek; it corroded his natural sleep; +it blackened the colour of his thoughts; it shut out, as with an +impenetrable wall, the wholesome energies and enjoyments and objects of +living men; and, taking from him all the vividness of the present, all +the tenderness of the past, constrained his heart to dwell forever and +forever amidst the dim and shadowy chimeras of a future he was fated +never to enjoy. + +But these differences of character, so far from disturbing, rather +cemented their friendship; and while Warner (notwithstanding his +advantage of age) paid involuntary deference to the stronger character +of Clarence, he, in his turn, derived that species of pleasure by which +he was most gratified, from the affectionate and unenvious interest +Clarence took in his speculations of future distinction, and the +unwearying admiration with which he would sit by his side, and watch the +colours start from the canvas, beneath the real though uncultured genius +of the youthful painter. + +Hitherto, Warner had bounded his attempts to some of the lesser efforts +of the art; he had now yielded to the urgent enthusiasm of his nature, +and conceived the plan of an historical picture. Oh! what sleepless +nights, what struggles of the teeming fancy with the dense brain, what +labours of the untiring thought wearing and intense as disease itself, +did it cost the ambitious artist to work out in the stillness of his +soul, and from its confused and conflicting images, the design of this +long meditated and idolized performance! But when it was designed; +when shape upon shape grew and swelled, and glowed from the darkness of +previous thought upon the painter’s mind; when, shutting his eyes in the +very credulity of delight, the whole work arose before him, glossy with +its fresh hues, bright, completed, faultless, arrayed as it were, and +decked out for immortality,--oh! then what a full and gushing moment of +rapture broke like a released stream upon his soul! What a recompense +for wasted years, health, and hope! What a coronal to the visions and +transports of Genius: brief, it is true, but how steeped in the very +halo of a light that might well be deemed the glory of heaven! + +But the vision fades, the gorgeous shapes sweep on into darkness, and, +waking from his revery, the artist sees before him only the dull walls +of his narrow chamber; the canvas stretched a blank upon its frame; the +works, maimed, crude, unfinished, of an inexperienced hand, lying idly +around; and feels himself--himself, but one moment before the creator of +a world of wonders, the master spirit of shapes glorious and majestical +beyond the shapes of men--dashed down from his momentary height, and +despoiled both of his sorcery and his throne. + +It was just in such a moment that Warner, starting up, saw Linden (who +had silently entered his room) standing motionless before him. + +“Oh, Linden!” said the artist, “I have had so superb a dream,--a dream +which, though I have before snatched some such vision by fits and +glimpses, I never beheld so realized, so perfect as now; and--but you +shall see, you shall judge for yourself; I will sketch out the design +for you;” and, with a piece of chalk and a rapid hand, Warner conveyed +to Linden the outline of his conception. His young friend was eager in +his praise and his predictions of renown, and Warner listened to him +with a fondness which spread over his pale cheek a richer flush than +lover ever caught from the whispers of his beloved. + +“Yes,” said he, as he rose, and his sunken and small eye flashed out +with a feverish brightness, “yes, if my hand does not fail my thought, +it shall rival even--” Here the young painter stopped short, abashed at +that indiscretion of enthusiasm about to utter to another the hoarded +vanities hitherto locked in his heart of hearts as a sealed secret, +almost from himself. + +“But come,” said Clarence, affectionately, “your hand is feverish and +dry, and of late you have seemed more languid than you were wont,--come, +Warner, you want exercise: it is a beautiful evening, and you shall +explain your picture still further to me as we walk.” + +Accustomed to yield to Clarence, Warner mechanically and abstractedly +obeyed; they walked out into the open streets. + +“Look around us,” said Warner, pausing, “look among this toiling and +busy and sordid mass of beings who claim with us the fellowship of clay. +The poor labour; the rich feast: the only distinction between them is +that of the insect and the brute; like them they fulfil the same end and +share the same oblivion; they die, a new race springs up, and the very +grass upon their graves fades not so soon as their memory. Who that is +conscious of a higher nature would not pine and fret himself away to be +confounded with these? Who would not burn and sicken and parch with +a delirious longing to divorce himself from so vile a herd? What have +their petty pleasures and their mean aims to atone for the abasement of +grinding down our spirits to their level? Is not the distinction from +their blended and common name a sufficient recompense for all that +ambition suffers or foregoes? Oh, for one brief hour (I ask no more) of +living honour, one feeling of conscious, unfearing certainty that Fame +has conquered Death! and then for this humble and impotent clay, this +drag on the spirit which it does not assist but fetter, this wretched +machine of pains and aches, and feverish throbbings, and vexed +inquietudes, why, let the worms consume it, and the grave hide--for Fame +there is no grave.” + +At that moment one of those unfortunate women who earn their polluted +sustenance by becoming the hypocrites of passions abruptly accosted +them. + +“Miserable wretch!” said Warner, loathingly, as he pushed her aside; but +Clarence, with a kindlier feeling, noticed that her haggard cheek was +wet with tears, and that her frame, weak and trembling, could scarcely +support itself; he, therefore, with that promptitude of charity which +gives ere it discriminates put some pecuniary assistance in her hand and +joined his comrade. + +“You would not have spoken so tauntingly to the poor girl had you +remarked her distress,” said Clarence. + +“And why,” said Warner, mournfully, “why be so cruel as to prolong, +even for a few hours, an existence which mercy would only seek to bring +nearer to the tomb? That unfortunate is but one of the herd, one of the +victims to pleasures which debase by their progress and ruin by their +end. Yet perhaps she is not worse than the usual followers of love,--of +love, that passion the most worshipped, yet the least divine,--selfish +and exacting,--drawing its aliment from destruction, and its very nature +from tears.” + +“Nay,” said Clarence, “you confound the two loves, the Eros and the +Anteros; gods whom my good tutor was wont so sedulously to distinguish: +you surely do not inveigh thus against all love?” + +“I cry you mercy,” said Warner, with something of sarcasm in his +pensiveness of tone. “We must not dispute; so I will hold my peace: but +make love all you will; what are the false smiles of a lip which a few +years can blight as an autumn leaf? what the homage of a heart as feeble +and mortal as your own? Why, I, with a few strokes of a little hair +and an idle mixture of worthless colours, will create a beauty in whose +mouth there shall be no hollowness, in whose lip there shall be no +fading; there, in your admiration, you shall have no need of flattery +and no fear of falsehood; you shall not be stung with jealousy nor +maddened with treachery; nor watch with a breaking heart over the waning +bloom, and departing health, till the grave open, and your perishable +paradise is not. No: the mimic work is mightier than the original, for +it outlasts it; your love cannot wither it, or your desertion destroy; +your very death, as the being who called it into life, only stamps it +with a holier value.” + +“And so then,” said Clarence, “you would seriously relinquish, for the +mute copy of the mere features, those affections which no painting can +express?” + +“Ay,” said the painter, with an energy unusual to his quiet manner, and +slightly wandering in his answer from Clarence’s remark, “ay, one serves +not two mistresses: mine is the glory of my art. Oh! what are the +cold shapes of this tame earth, where the footsteps of the gods have +vanished, and left no trace, the blemished forms, the debased brows, and +the jarring features, to the glorious and gorgeous images which I can +conjure up at my will? Away with human beauties, to him whose nights +are haunted with the forms of angels and wanderers from the stars, the +spirits of all things lovely and exalted in the universe: the universe +as it was; when to fountain, and stream, and hill, and to every tree +which the summer clothed, was allotted the vigil of a Nymph! when +through glade, and by waterfall, at glossy noontide, or under the silver +stars, the forms of Godhead and Spirit were seen to walk; when the +sculptor modelled his mighty work from the beauty and strength of +Heaven, and the poet lay in the shade to dream of the Naiad and the +Faun, and the Olympian dwellers whom he walked in rapture to behold; +and the painter, not as now, shaping from shadow and in solitude the dim +glories of his heart, caught at once his inspiration from the glow of +earth and its living wanderers, and, lo, the canvas breathed! Oh! what +are the dull realities and the abortive offspring of this altered and +humbled world--the world of meaner and dwarfish men--to him whose realms +are peopled with visions like these?” + +And the artist, whose ardour, long excited and pent within, had at last +thus audibly, and to Clarence’s astonishment, burst forth, paused, as +if to recall himself from his wandering enthusiasm. Such moments of +excitement were indeed rare with him, except when utterly alone, and +even then, were almost invariably followed by that depression of spirit +by which all over-wrought susceptibility is succeeded. A change came +over his face, like that of a cloud when the sunbeam which gilded leaves +it; and, with a slight sigh and a subdued tone, he resumed,-- + +“So, my friend, you see what our art can do even for the humblest +professor, when I, a poor, friendless, patronless artist, can thus +indulge myself by forgetting the present. But I have not yet explained +to you the attitude of my principal figure;” and Warner proceeded once +more to detail the particulars of his intended picture. It must be +confessed that he had chosen a fine though an arduous subject: it was +the Trial of Charles the First; and as the painter, with the enthusiasm +of his profession and the eloquence peculiar to himself, dwelt upon +the various expressions of the various forms which that extraordinary +judgment-court afforded, no wonder that Clarence forgot, with the artist +himself, the disadvantages Warner had to encounter in the inexperience +of an unregulated taste and an imperfect professional education. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + All manners take a tincture from our own, + Or come discoloured through our passions shown.--POPE. + +What! give up liberty, property, and, as the Gazeteer says, lie down to +be saddled with wooden shoes?--Vicar of Wakefield. + +There was something in the melancholy and reflective character of Warner +resembling that of Mordaunt; had they lived in these days perhaps both +the artist and the philosopher had been poets. But (with regard to the +latter) at that time poetry was not the customary vent for deep thought +or passionate feeling. Gray, it is true, though unjustly condemned as +artificial and meretricious in his style, had infused into the scanty +works which he has bequeathed to immortality a pathos and a richness +foreign to the literature of the age; and, subsequently, Goldsmith, +in the affecting yet somewhat enervate simplicity of his verse, had +obtained for Poetry a brief respite from a school at once declamatory +and powerless, and led her forth for a “Sunshine Holiday” into the +village green and under the hawthorn shade. But, though the softer and +meeker feelings had struggled into a partial and occasional vent, those +which partook more of passion and of thought, the deep, the wild, the +fervid, were still without “the music of a voice.” For the after century +it was reserved to restore what we may be permitted to call the spirit +of our national literature; to forsake the clinquant of the French +mimickers of classic gold; to exchange a thrice-adulterated Hippocrene +for the pure well of Shakspeare and of Nature; to clothe philosophy +in the gorgeous and solemn majesty of appropriate music; and to invest +passion with a language as burning as its thought and rapid as +its impulse. At that time reflection found its natural channel in +metaphysical inquiry or political speculation; both valuable, perhaps, +but neither profound. It was a bold, and a free, and an inquisitive age, +but not one in which thought ran over its set and stationary banks, and +watered even the common flowers of verse: not one in which Lucretius +could have embodied the dreams of Epicurus; Shakspeare lavished the +mines of a superhuman wisdom upon his fairy palaces and enchanted isles; +or the Beautifier [Wordsworth] of this common earth have called forth + + “The motion of the spirit that impels + All thinking things, all objects of all thought;” + +or Disappointment and Satiety have hallowed their human griefs by a +pathos wrought from whatever is magnificent and grand and lovely in +the unknown universe; or the speculations of a great but visionary mind +[Shelley] have raised, upon subtlety and doubt, a vast and irregular +pile of verse, full of dim-lighted cells, and winding galleries, in +which what treasures lie concealed! That was an age in which poetry +took one path and contemplation another; those who were addicted to the +latter pursued it in its orthodox roads; and many, whom Nature, perhaps +intended for poets, the wizard Custom converted into speculators or +critics. + +It was this which gave to Algernon’s studies their peculiar hue; while, +on the other hand, the taste for the fine arts which then universally +prevailed, directed to the creations of painting, rather than those of +poetry, more really congenial to his powers, the intense imagination and +passion for glory which marked and pervaded the character of the artist. + +But as we have seen that that passion for glory made the great +characteristic difference between Clarence and Warner, so also did +that passion terminate any resemblance which Warner bore to Algernon +Mordaunt. With the former a rank and unwholesome plant, it grew up to +the exclusion of all else; with the latter, subdued and regulated, it +sheltered, not withered, the virtues by which it was surrounded. With +Warner, ambition was a passionate desire to separate himself by fame +from the herd of other men; with Mordaunt, to bind himself by charity +yet closer to his kind: with the one, it produced a disgust to his +species; with the other, a pity and a love: with the one, power was the +badge of distinction; with the other, the means to bless! But our story +lingers. + +It was now the custom of Warner to spend the whole day at his work, and +wander out with Clarence, when the evening darkened, to snatch a brief +respite of exercise and air. Often, along the lighted and populous +streets, would the two young and unfriended competitors for this world’s +high places roam with the various crowd, moralizing as they went or +holding dim conjecture upon their destinies to be. And often would they +linger beneath the portico of some house where, “haunted with great +resort,” Pleasure and Pomp held their nightly revels, to listen to the +music that, through the open windows, stole over the rare exotics with +which wealth mimics the southern scents, and floated, mellowing by +distance, along the unworthy streets; and while they stood together, +silent and each feeding upon separate thoughts, the artist’s pale +lip would curl with scorn, as he heard the laugh and the sounds of a +frivolous and hollow mirth ring from the crowd within, and startle the +air from the silver spell which music had laid upon it. “These,” would +he say to Clarence, “these are the dupes of the same fever as ourselves: +like us, they strive and toil and vex their little lives for a +distinction from their race. Ambition comes to them, as to all: but they +throw for a different prize than we do; theirs is the honour of a day, +ours is immortality; yet they take the same labour and are consumed by +the same care. And, fools that they are, with their gilded names and +their gaudy trappings, they would shrink in disdain from that comparison +with us which we, with a juster fastidiousness, blush at this moment to +acknowledge.” + +From these scenes they would rove on, and, both delighting in contrast, +enter some squalid and obscure quarter of the city. There, one night, +quiet observers of their kind, they paused beside a group congregated +together by some common cause of obscene merriment or unholy +fellowship--a group on which low vice had set her sordid and hideous +stamp--to gaze and draw strange humours or a motley moral from that +depth and ferment of human nature into whose sink the thousand streams +of civilization had poured their dregs and offal. + +“You survey these,” said the painter, marking each with the curious eye +of his profession: “they are a base horde, it is true; but they have +their thirst of fame, their aspirations even in the abyss of crime or +the loathsomeness of famished want. Down in yon cellar, where a farthing +rushlight glimmers upon haggard cheeks, distorted with the idiotcy +of drink; there, in that foul attic, from whose casement you see the +beggar’s rags hang to dry, or rather to crumble in the reeking and +filthy air; farther on, within those walls which, black and heavy as the +hearts they hide, close our miserable prospect,--there, even there, in +the mildewed dungeon, in the felon’s cell, on the very scaffold’s self, +Ambition hugs her own hope or scowls upon her own despair. Yes! the +inmates of those walls had their perilous game of honour, their ‘hazard +of the die,’ in which vice was triumph and infamy success. We do but +share their passion, though we direct it to a better object.” + +Pausing for a moment, as his thoughts flowed into a somewhat different +channel of his character, Warner continued, “We have now caught a +glimpse of the two great divisions of mankind; they who riot in palaces, +and they who make mirth hideous in rags and hovels: own that it is but +a poor survey in either. Can we be contemptible with these or loathsome +with those? Or rather have we not a nobler spark within us, which +we have but to fan into a flame that shall burn forever, when these +miserable meteors sink into the corruption from which they rise?” + +“But,” observed Clarence, “these are the two extremes; the pinnacle of +civilization, too worn and bare for any more noble and vigorous fruit, +and the base upon which the cloud descends in rain and storm. Look to +the central portion of society; there the soil is more genial, and its +produce more rich.” + +“Is it so, in truth?” answered Warner; “pardon me, I believe not: the +middling classes are as human as the rest. There is the region, the +heart, of Avarice,--systematized, spreading, rotting, the very fungus +and leprosy of social states; suspicion, craft, hypocrisy, servility to +the great, oppression to the low, the waxlike mimicry of courtly vices, +the hardness of flint to humble woes; thought, feeling, the faculties +and impulses of man, all ulcered into one great canker, Gain,--these +make the general character of the middling class, the unleavened mass of +that mediocrity which it has been the wisdom of the shallow to applaud. +Pah! we too are of this class, this potter’s earth, this paltry mixture +of mud and stone; but we, my friend, we will knead gold into our clay.” + +“But look,” said Clarence, pointing to the group before them, “look, yon +wretched mother, whose voice an instant ago uttered the coarsest accents +of maudlin and intoxicated prostitution, is now fostering her infant, +with a fondness stamped upon her worn cheek and hollow eye, which might +shame the nice maternity of nobles; and there, too, yon wretch whom, in +the reckless effrontery of hardened abandonment, we ourselves heard a +few minutes since boast of his dexterity in theft, and openly exhibit +its token,--look, he is now, with a Samaritan’s own charity, giving the +very goods for which his miserable life was risked to that attenuated +and starving stripling! No, Warner, no! even this mass is not +unleavened. The vilest infamy is not too deep for the Seraph Virtue to +descend and illumine its abyss!” + +“Out on the weak fools!” said the artist, bitterly: “it would be +something, if they could be consistent even in crime!” and, placing his +arm in Linden’s, he drew him away. + +As the picture grew beneath the painter’s hand, Clarence was much struck +with the outline and expression of countenance given to the regicide +Bradshaw. + +“They are but an imperfect copy of the living original from whom I have +borrowed them,” said Warner, in answer to Clarence’s remark upon the +sternness of the features. “But that original--a relation of mine, is +coming here to-day: you shall see him.” + +While Warner was yet speaking, the person in question entered. His +were, indeed, the form and face worthy to be seized by the painter. +The peculiarity of his character made him affect a plainness of dress +unusual to the day, and approaching to the simplicity, but not the +neatness, of Quakerism. His hair--then, with all the better ranks, a +principal object of cultivation--was wild, dishevelled, and, in wiry +flakes of the sablest hue, rose abruptly from a forehead on which either +thought or passion had written its annals with an iron pen; the lower +part of the brow, which overhung the eye, was singularly sharp and +prominent; while the lines, or rather furrows, traced under the eyes and +nostrils, spoke somewhat of exhaustion and internal fatigue. But this +expression was contrasted and contradicted by the firmly compressed lip; +the lighted, steady, stern eye; the resolute and even stubborn front, +joined to proportions strikingly athletic and a stature of uncommon +height. + +“Well, Wolfe,” said the young painter to the person we have described, +“it is indeed a kindness to give me a second sitting.” + +“Tusk, boy!” answered Wolfe, “all men have their vain points, and I own +that I am not ill pleased that these rugged features should be assigned, +even in fancy, to one of the noblest of those men who judged the +mightiest cause in which a country was ever plaintiff, a tyrant +criminal, and a world witness!” While Wolfe was yet speaking his +countenance, so naturally harsh, took a yet sterner aspect, and the +artist, by a happy touch, succeeded in transferring it to the canvas. + +“But, after all,” continued Wolfe, “it shames me to lend aid to an art +frivolous in itself, and almost culpable in times when Freedom wants the +head to design, and perhaps the hand to execute, far other and nobler +works than the blazoning of her past deeds upon perishable canvas.” + +A momentary anger at the slight put upon his art crossed the pale brow +of the artist; but he remembered the character of the man and continued +his work in silence. “You consider then, sir, that these are times in +which liberty is attacked?” said Clarence. + +“Attacked!” repeated Wolfe,--“attacked!” and then suddenly sinking his +voice into a sort of sneer, “why, since the event which this painting +is designed to commemorate, I know not if we have ever had one solitary +gleam of liberty break along the great chaos of jarring prejudice and +barbarous law which we term forsooth a glorious constitution. Liberty +attacked! no, boy; but it is a time when liberty may be gained.” + +Perfectly unacquainted with the excited politics of the day, or the +growing and mighty spirit which then stirred through the minds of men, +Clarence remained silent; but his evident attention flattered the fierce +republican, and he proceeded. + +“Ay,” he said slowly, and as if drinking in a deep and stern joy from +his conviction in the truth of the words he uttered,--“ay, I have +wandered over the face of the earth, and I have warmed my soul at the +fires which lay hidden under its quiet surface; I have been in the city +and the desert,--the herded and banded crimes of the Old World, and the +scattered but bold hearts which are found among the savannahs of the +New; and in either I have beheld that seed sown which, from a mustard +grain, too scanty for a bird’s beak, shall grow up to be a shelter and +a home for the whole family of man. I have looked upon the thrones of +kings, and lo, the anointed ones were in purple and festive pomp; and +I looked beneath the thrones, and I saw Want and Hunger, and despairing +Wrath gnawing the foundations away. I have stood in the streets of that +great city where Mirth seems to hold an eternal jubilee, and beheld the +noble riot while the peasant starved; and the priest built altars to +Mammon, piled from the earnings of groaning Labour and cemented with +blood and tears. But I looked farther, and saw, in the rear, chains +sharpened into swords, misery ripening into justice, and famine +darkening into revenge; and I laughed as I beheld, for I knew that the +day of the oppressed was at hand.” + +Somewhat awed by the prophetic tone, though revolted by what seemed to +him the novelty and the fierceness of the sentiments of the republican, +Clarence, after a brief pause, said,-- + +“And what of our own country?” + +Wolfe’s brow darkened. “The oppression here,” said he, “has not been +so weighty, therefore the reaction will be less strong; the parties +are more blended, therefore their separation will be more arduous; the +extortion is less strained, therefore the endurance will be more meek; +but, soon or late, the struggle must come: bloody will it be, if the +strife be even; gentle and lasting, if the people predominate.” + +“And if the rulers be the strongest?” said Clarence. + +“The struggle will be renewed,” replied Wolfe, doggedly. + +“You still attend those oratorical meetings, cousin, I think?” said +Warner. + +“I do,” said Wolfe; “and if you are not so utterly absorbed in your vain +and idle art as to be indifferent to all things nobler, you will learn +yourself to take interest in what concerns--I will not say your +country, but mankind. For you, young man” (and the republican turned to +Clarence), “I would fain hope that life has not already been diverted +from the greatest of human objects; if so, come to-morrow night to our +assembly, and learn from worthier lips than mine the precepts and the +hopes for which good men live or die.” + +“I will come at all events to listen, if not to learn,” said Clarence, +eagerly, for his curiosity was excited. And the republican, having now +fulfilled the end of his visit, rose and departed. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + Bound to suffer persecution + And martyrdom with resolution, + T’oppose himself against the hate + And vengeance of the incensed state.--Hudibras. + +Born of respectable though not wealthy parents, John Wolfe was one +of those fiery and daring spirits which, previous to some mighty +revolution, Fate seems to scatter over various parts of the earth, even +those removed from the predestined explosion,--heralds of the events in +which they are fitted though not fated to be actors. The period at which +he is presented to the reader was one considerably prior to that French +Revolution so much debated and so little understood. But some such +event, though not foreseen by the common, had been already foreboded +by the more enlightened, eye; and Wolfe, from a protracted residence +in France among the most discontented of its freer spirits, had brought +hope to that burning enthusiasm which had long made the pervading +passion of his existence. + +Bold to ferocity, generous in devotion to folly in self-sacrifice, +unflinching in his tenets to a degree which rendered their ardour +ineffectual to all times, because utterly inapplicable to the present, +Wolfe was one of those zealots whose very virtues have the semblance +of vice, and whose very capacities for danger become harmless from the +rashness of their excess. + +It was not among the philosophers and reasoners of France that Wolfe had +drawn strength to his opinions: whatever such companions might have +done to his tenets, they would at least have moderated his actions. The +philosopher may aid or expedite a change; but never does the philosopher +in any age or of any sect countenance a crime. But of philosophers Wolfe +knew little, and probably despised them for their temperance: it was +among fanatics--ignorant, but imaginative--that he had strengthened the +love without comprehending the nature of republicanism. Like Lucian’s +painter, whose flattery portrayed the one-eyed prince in profile, he +viewed only that side of the question in which there was no defect, and +gave beauty to the whole by concealing the half. Thus, though on +his return to England herding with the common class of his reforming +brethren, Wolfe possessed many peculiarities and distinctions of +character which, in rendering him strikingly adapted to the purpose of +the novelist, must serve as a caution to the reader not to judge of the +class by the individual. + +With a class of Republicans in England there was a strong tendency to +support their cause by reasoning. With Wolfe, whose mind was little +wedded to logic, all was the offspring of turbulent feelings, which, in +rejecting argument, substituted declamation for syllogism. This effected +a powerful and irreconcilable distinction between Wolfe and the better +part of his comrades; for the habits of cool reasoning, whether true or +false, are little likely to bias the mind towards those crimes to which +Wolfe’s unregulated emotions might possibly urge him, and give to the +characters to which they are a sort of common denominator something of +method and much of similarity. But the feelings--those orators which +allow no calculation and baffle the tameness of comparison--rendered +Wolfe alone, unique, eccentric in opinion or action, whether of vice or +virtue. + +Private ties frequently moderate the ardour of our public enthusiasm. +Wolfe had none. His nearest relation was Warner, and it may readily +be supposed that with the pensive and contemplative artist he had very +little in common. He had never married, nor had ever seemed to wander +from his stern and sterile path, in the most transient pursuit of the +pleasures of sense. Inflexibly honest, rigidly austere,--in his moral +character his bitterest enemies could detect no flaw,--poor, even to +indigence, he had invariably refused all overtures of the government; +thrice imprisoned and heavily fined for his doctrines, no fear of a +future, no remembrance of the past punishment could ever silence his +bitter eloquence or moderate the passion of his distempered zeal; +kindly, though rude, his scanty means were ever shared by the less +honest and disinterested followers of his faith; and he had been known +for days to deprive himself of food, and for nights of shelter, for the +purpose of yielding food and shelter to another. + +Such was the man doomed to forsake, through a long and wasted life, +every substantial blessing, in pursuit of a shadowy good; with the +warmest benevolence in his heart, to relinquish private affections, and +to brood even to madness over public offences; to sacrifice everything +in a generous though erring devotion for that freedom whose cause, +instead of promoting, he was calculated to retard; and, while he +believed himself the martyr of a high and uncompromising virtue, to +close his career with the greatest of human crimes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + Faith, methinks his humour is good, and his purse will buy + good company.--The Parson’s Wedding. + +When Clarence returned home, after the conversation recorded in our last +chapter, he found a note from Talbot, inviting him to meet some friends +of the latter at supper that evening. It was the first time Clarence had +been asked, and he looked forward with some curiosity and impatience to +the hour appointed in the note. + +It is impossible to convey any idea of the jealous rancour felt by Mr. +and Mrs. Copperas on hearing of this distinction,--a distinction which +“the perfect courtier” had never once bestowed upon themselves. + +Mrs. Copperas tossed her head, too indignant for words; and the +stock-jobber, in the bitterness of his soul, affirmed, with a meaning +air, “that he dared say, after all, that the old gentleman was not so +rich as he gave out.” + +On entering Talbot’s drawing-room, Clarence found about seven or eight +people assembled; their names, in proclaiming the nature of the party, +indicated that the aim of the host was to combine aristocracy and +talent. The literary acquirements and worldly tact of Talbot, joined +to the adventitious circumstances of birth and fortune, enabled him to +effect this object, so desirable in polished society, far better than +we generally find it effected now. The conversation of these guests was +light and various. The last bon mot of Chesterfield, the last sarcasm +of Horace Walpole, Goldsmith’s “Traveller,” Shenstone’s “Pastorals,” and +the attempt of Mrs. Montagu to bring Shakspeare into fashion,--in all +these subjects the graceful wit and exquisite taste of Talbot shone +pre-eminent; and he had almost succeeded in convincing a profound critic +that Gray was a poet more likely to live than Mason, when the servant +announced supper. + +That was the age of suppers! Happy age! Meal of ease and mirth; when +Wine and Night lit the lamp of Wit! Oh, what precious things were said +and looked at those banquets of the soul! There epicurism was in the +lip as well as the palate, and one had humour for a hors d’oeuvre and +repartee for an entremet. At dinner there is something too pompous, too +formal, for the true ease of Table Talk. One’s intellectual appetite, +like the physical, is coarse but dull. At dinner one is fit only for +eating; after dinner only for politics. But supper was a glorious relic +of the ancients. The bustle of the day had thoroughly wound up the +spirit, and every stroke upon the dial-plate of wit was true to the +genius of the hour. The wallet of diurnal anecdote was full, and craved +unloading. The great meal--that vulgar first love of the appetite--was +over, and one now only flattered it into coquetting with another. +The mind, disengaged and free, was no longer absorbed in a cutlet or +burdened with a joint. The gourmand carried the nicety of his physical +perception to his moral, and applauded a bon mot instead of a bonne +bouche. + +Then, too, one had no necessity to keep a reserve of thought for the +after evening; supper was the final consummation, the glorious funeral +pyre of day. One could be merry till bedtime without an interregnum. +Nay, if in the ardour of convivialism one did,--I merely hint at the +possibility of such an event,--if one did exceed the narrow limits of +strict ebriety, and open the heart with a ruby key, one had nothing to +dread from the cold, or, what is worse, the warm looks of ladies in the +drawing-room; no fear that an imprudent word, in the amatory fondness +of the fermented blood, might expose one to matrimony and settlements. +There was no tame, trite medium of propriety and suppressed confidence, +no bridge from board to bed, over which a false step (and your wine-cup +is a marvellous corrupter of ambulatory rectitude) might precipitate +into an irrecoverable abyss of perilous communication or unwholesome +truth. One’s pillow became at once the legitimate and natural bourne +to “the overheated brain;” and the generous rashness of the coenatorial +reveller was not damped by untimeous caution or ignoble calculation. + +But “we have changed all that now.” Sobriety has become the successor +of suppers; the great ocean of moral encroachment has not left us one +little island of refuge. Miserable supper-lovers that we are, like the +native Indians of America, a scattered and daily disappearing race, we +wander among strange customs, and behold the innovating and invading +Dinner spread gradually over the very space of time in which the majesty +of Supper once reigned undisputed and supreme! + + O, ye heavens, be kind, + And feel, thou earth, for this afflicted race.--WORDSWORTH. + +As he was sitting down to the table, Clarence’s notice was arrested by +a somewhat suspicious and unpleasing occurrence. The supper room was +on the ground floor, and, owing to the heat of the weather, one of the +windows, facing the small garden, was left open. Through this window +Clarence distinctly saw the face of a man look into the room for +one instant, with a prying and curious gaze, and then as instantly +disappear. As no one else seemed to remark this incident, and the +general attention was somewhat noisily engrossed by the subject +of conversation, Clarence thought it not worth while to mention a +circumstance for which the impertinence of any neighbouring servant or +drunken passer-by might easily account. An apprehension, however, of a +more unpleasant nature shot across him, as his eye fell upon the costly +plate which Talbot rather ostentatiously displayed, and then glanced to +the single and aged servant, who was, besides his master, the only male +inmate of the house. Nor could he help saying to Talbot, in the course +of the evening, that he wondered he was not afraid of hoarding so many +articles of value in a house at once so lonely and ill guarded. + +“Ill guarded!” said Talbot, rather affronted, “why, I and my servant +always sleep here!” + +To this Clarence thought it neither prudent nor well-bred to offer +further remark. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + Meetings or public calls he never missed, + To dictate often, always to assist. + ..... + To his experience and his native sense, + He joined a bold, imperious eloquence; + The grave, stern look of men informed and wise, + A full command of feature, heart and eyes, + An awe-compelling frown, and fear-inspiring size.--CRABBE. + +The next evening Clarence, mindful of Wolfe’s invitation, inquired from +Warner (who repaid the contempt of the republican for the painter’s +calling by a similar feeling for the zealot’s) the direction of the +oratorical meeting, and repaired there alone. It was the most celebrated +club (of that description) of the day, and well worth attending, as a +gratification to the curiosity, if not an improvement to the mind. + +On entering, he found himself in a long room, tolerably well lighted, +and still better filled. The sleepy countenances of the audience, the +whispered conversation carried on at scattered intervals, the listless +attitudes of some, the frequent yawns of others, the eagerness with +which attention was attracted to the opening door, when it admitted some +new object of interest, the desperate resolution with which some of the +more energetic turned themselves towards the orator, and then, with a +faint shake of the head, turned themselves again hopelessly away,--were +all signs that denoted that no very eloquent declaimer was in possession +of the “house.” It was, indeed, a singularly dull, monotonous voice +which, arising from the upper end of the room, dragged itself on towards +the middle, and expired with a sighing sound before it reached the end. +The face of the speaker suited his vocal powers; it was small, mean, and +of a round stupidity, without anything even in fault that could possibly +command attention or even the excitement of disapprobation: the very +garments of the orator seemed dull and heavy, and, like the Melancholy +of Milton, had a “leaden look.” Now and then some words, more emphatic +than others,--stones breaking, as it were with a momentary splash, +the stagnation of the heavy stream,--produced from three very quiet, +unhappy-looking persons seated next to the speaker, his immediate +friends, three single isolated “hears!” + + “The force of friendship could no further go.” + +At last, the orator having spoken through, suddenly stopped; the whole +meeting seemed as if a weight had been taken from it; there was a +general buzz of awakened energy, each stretched his limbs, and resettled +himself in his place,-- + + “And turning to his neighbour said, + ‘Rejoice!’” + +A pause ensued, the chairman looked round, the eyes of the meeting +followed those of the president, with a universal and palpable +impatience, towards an obscure corner of the room: the pause deepened +for one moment, and then was broken; a voice cried “Wolfe!” and at that +signal the whole room shook with the name. The place which Clarence had +taken did not allow him to see the object of these cries, till he rose +from his situation, and, passing two rows of benches, stood forth in the +middle space of the room; then, from one to one went round the general +roar of applause; feet stamped, hands clapped, umbrellas set their sharp +points to the ground, and walking-sticks thumped themselves out of shape +in the universal clamour. Tall, gaunt, and erect, the speaker possessed, +even in the mere proportions of his frame, that physical power which +never fails, in a popular assembly, to gain attention to mediocrity +and to throw dignity over faults. He looked very slowly round the room, +remaining perfectly still and motionless, till the clamour of applause +had entirely subsided, and every ear, Clarence’s no less eagerly than +the rest, was strained, and thirsting to catch the first syllables of +his voice. + +It was then with a low, very deep, and somewhat hoarse tone, that he +began; and it was not till he had spoken for several minutes that the +iron expression of his face altered, that the drooping hand was raised, +and that the suppressed, yet powerful, voice began to expand and vary +in its volume. He had then entered upon a new department of his subject. +The question was connected with the English constitution, and Wolfe was +now preparing to put forth, in long and blackened array, the alleged +evils of an aristocratical form of government. Then it was as if the +bile and bitterness of years were poured forth in a terrible and stormy +wrath,--then his action became vehement, and his eye flashed forth +unutterable fire: his voice, solemn, swelling, and increasing with each +tone in its height and depth, filled, as with something palpable +and perceptible, the shaking walls. The listeners,--a various and +unconnected group, bound by no tie of faith or of party, many attracted +by curiosity, many by the hope of ridicule, some abhorring the tenets +expressed, and nearly all disapproving their principles or doubting +their wisdom,--the listeners, certainly not a group previously formed +or moulded into enthusiasm, became rapt and earnest; their very breath +forsook them. + +Linden had never before that night heard a public speaker; but he was +of a thoughtful and rather calculating mind, and his early habits of +decision, and the premature cultivation of his intellect, rendered +him little susceptible, in general, to the impressions of the vulgar: +nevertheless, in spite of himself, he was hurried away by the stream, +and found that the force and rapidity of the speaker did not allow him +even time for the dissent and disapprobation which his republican maxims +and fiery denunciations perpetually excited in a mind aristocratic both +by creed and education. At length after a peroration of impetuous and +magnificent invective, the orator ceased. + +In the midst of the applause that followed, Clarence left the assembly; +he could not endure the thought that any duller or more commonplace +speaker should fritter away the spell which yet bound and engrossed his +spirit. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + At the bottom of the staircase was a small door, which gave + way before Nigel, as he precipitated himself upon the scene + of action, a cocked pistol in one hand, etc.--Fortunes of + Nigel. + +The night, though not utterly dark, was rendered capricious and dim by +alternate wind and rain; and Clarence was delayed in his return homeward +by seeking occasional shelter from the rapid and heavy showers which +hurried by. It was during one of the temporary cessations of the rain +that he reached Copperas Bower; and, while he was searching in his +pockets for the key which was to admit him, he observed two men +loitering about his neighbour’s house. The light was not sufficient +to give him more than a scattered and imperfect view of their motions. +Somewhat alarmed, he stood for several moments at the door, watching +them as well as he was able; nor did he enter the house till the +loiterers had left their suspicious position, and, walking onwards, were +hid entirely from him by the distance and darkness. + +“It really is a dangerous thing for Talbot,” thought Clarence, as he +ascended to his apartment, “to keep so many valuables, and only one +servant, and that one as old as himself too. However, as I am by no +means sleepy, and my room is by no means cool, I may as well open my +window, and see if those idle fellows make their re-appearance.” Suiting +the action to the thought, Clarence opened his little casement, and +leaned wistfully out. + +He had no light in his room, for none was ever left for him. This +circumstance, however, of course enabled him the better to penetrate the +dimness and haze of the night; and, by the help of the fluttering lamps, +he was enabled to take a general though not minute survey of the scene +below. + +I think I have before said that there was a garden between Talbot’s +house and Copperas Bower; this was bounded by a wall, which confined +Talbot’s peculiar territory of garden, and this wall, describing a +parallelogram, faced also the road. It contained two entrances,--one the +principal adytus, in the shape of a comely iron gate, the other a wooden +door, which, being a private pass, fronted the intermediate garden +before mentioned and was exactly opposite to Clarence’s window. + +Linden had been more than ten minutes at his post, and had just begun to +think his suspicions without foundation and his vigil in vain, when he +observed the same figures he had seen before advance slowly from the +distance and pause by the front gate of Talbot’s mansion. + +Alarmed and anxious, he redoubled his attention; he stretched himself, +as far as his safety would permit, out of the window; the lamps, +agitated by the wind, which swept by in occasional gusts, refused to +grant to his straining sight more than an inaccurate and unsatisfying +survey. Presently, a blast, more violent than ordinary, suspended as +it were the falling columns of rain and left Clarence in almost total +darkness; it rolled away, and the momentary calm which ensued enabled +him to see that one of the men was stooping by the gate, and the other +standing apparently on the watch at a little distance. Another gust +shook the lamps and again obscured his view; and when it had passed +onward in its rapid course, the men had left the gate, and were in the +garden beneath his window. They crept cautiously, but swiftly, along +the opposite wall, till they came to the small door we have before +mentioned; here they halted, and one of them appeared to occupy himself +in opening the door. Now, then, fear was changed into certainty, and +it seemed without doubt that the men, having found some difficulty or +danger in forcing the stronger or more public entrance, had changed +their quarter of attack. No more time was to be lost; Clarence shouted +aloud, but the high wind probably prevented the sound reaching the ears +of the burglars, or at least rendered it dubious and confused. The next +moment, and before Clarence could repeat his alarm, they had opened the +door, and were within the neighbouring garden, beyond his view. Very +young men, unless their experience has outstripped their youth, seldom +have much presence of mind; that quality, which is the opposite to +surprise, comes to us in those years when nothing seems to us strange or +unexpected. But a much older man than Clarence might have well been at +a loss to know what conduct to adopt in the situation in which our +hero was placed. The visits of the watchman to that (then) obscure and +ill-inhabited neighborhood were more regulated by his indolence than his +duty; and Clarence knew that it would be in vain to listen for his cry +or tarry for his assistance. He himself was utterly unarmed, but the +stock-jobber had a pair of horse-pistols, and as this recollection +flashed upon him, the pause of deliberation ceased. + +With a swift step he descended the first flight of stairs, and pausing +at the chamber door of the faithful couple, knocked upon its panels with +a loud and hasty summons. The second repetition of the noise produced +the sentence, uttered in a very trembling voice, of “Who’s there?” + +“It is I, Clarence Linden,” replied our hero; “lose no time in opening +the door.” + +This answer seemed to reassure the valorous stock-jobber. He slowly +undid the bolt, and turned the key. + +“In Heaven’s name, what do you want, Mr. Linden?” said he. + +“Ay,” cried a sharp voice from the more internal recesses of the +chamber, “what do you want, sir, disturbing us in the bosom of our +family and at the dead of night?” + +With a rapid voice, Clarence repeated what he had seen, and requested +the broker to accompany him to Talbot’s house, or at least to lend him +his pistols. + +“He shall do no such thing,” cried Mrs. Copperas. “Come here, Mr. C., +and shut the door directly.” + +“Stop, my love,” said the stock-jobber, “stop a moment.” + +“For God’s sake,” cried Clarence, “make no delay; the poor old man may +be murdered by this time.” + +“It’s no business of mine,” said the stock-jobber. “If Adolphus had not +broken the rattle I would not have minded the trouble of springing it; +but you are very much mistaken if you think I am going to leave my warm +bed in order to have my throat cut.” + +“Then give me your pistols,” cried Clarence; “I will go alone.” + +“I shall commit no such folly,” said the stock-jobber; “if you are +murdered, I may have to answer it to your friends and pay for your +burial. Besides, you owe us for your lodgings: go to your bed, young +man, as I shall to mine.” And, so saying, Mr. Copperas proceeded to +close the door. + +But enraged at the brutality of the man and excited by the urgency of +the case, Clarence did not allow him so peaceable a retreat. With +a strong and fierce grasp, he seized the astonished Copperas by the +throat, and shaking him violently, forced his own entrance into the +sacred nuptial chamber. + +“By Heaven,” cried Linden, in a savage and stern tone, for his blood +was up. “I will twist your coward’s throat, and save the murderer his +labour, if you do not instantly give me up your pistols.” + +The stock-jobber was panic-stricken. “Take them,” he cried, in the +extremest terror; “there they are on the chimney-piece close by.” + +“Are they primed and loaded?” said Linden, not relaxing his gripe. + +“Yes, yes!” said the stock-jobber, “loose my throat, or you will choke +me!” and at that instant, Clarence felt himself clasped by the invading +hands of Mrs. Copperas. + +“Call off your wife,” said he, “or I will choke you!” and he tightened +his hold, “and tell her to give me the pistols.” + +The next moment Mrs. Copperas extended the debated weapons towards +Clarence. He seized them, flung the poor stock-jobber against the +bedpost, hurried down stairs, opened the back door, which led into the +garden, flew across the intervening space, arrived at the door, and +entering Talbot’s garden, paused to consider what was the next step to +be taken. + +A person equally brave as Clarence, but more cautious, would not have +left the house without alarming Mr. de Warens, even in spite of the +failure with his master; but Linden only thought of the pressure of time +and the necessity of expedition, and he would have been a very unworthy +hero of romance had he felt fear for two antagonists, with a brace of +pistols at his command and a high and good action in view. + +After a brief but decisive halt, he proceeded rapidly round the +house, in order to ascertain at which part the ruffians had admitted +themselves, should they (as indeed there was little doubt) have already +effected their entrance. + +He found the shutters of one of the principal rooms on the ground-floor +had been opened, and through the aperture he caught the glimpse of a +moving light, which was suddenly obscured. As he was about to enter, the +light again flashed out: he drew back just in time, carefully screened +himself behind the shutter, and, through one of the chinks, observed +what passed within. Opposite to the window was a door which conducted to +the hall and principal staircase; this door was open, and in the hall at +the foot of the stairs Clarence saw two men; one carried a dark lantern, +from which the light proceeded, and some tools, of the nature of which +Clarence was naturally ignorant: this was a middle-sized muscular man, +dressed in the rudest garb of an ordinary labourer; the other was much +taller and younger, and his dress was of a rather less ignoble fashion. + +“Hist! hist!” said the taller one, in a low tone, “did you not hear a +noise, Ben?” + +“Not a pin fall; but stow your whids, man!” + +This was all that Clarence heard in a connected form; but as the +wretches paused, in evident doubt how to proceed, he caught two or three +detached words, which his ingenuity readily formed into sentences. “No, +no! sleeps to the left--old man above--plate chest; we must have the +blunt too. Come, track up the dancers, and douse the glim.” And at +the last words the light was extinguished, and Clarence’s quick and +thirsting ear just caught their first steps on the stairs; they died +away, and all was hushed. + +It had several times occurred to Clarence to rush from his hiding-place, +and fire at the ruffians, and perhaps that measure would have been the +wisest he could have taken; but Clarence had never discharged a pistol +in his life, and he felt, therefore, that his aim must be uncertain +enough to render a favourable position and a short distance essential +requisites. Both these were, at present, denied to him; and although he +saw no weapons about the persons of the villains, yet he imagined they +would not have ventured on so dangerous an expedition without firearms; +and if he failed, as would have been most probable, in his two shots, he +concluded that, though the alarm would be given, his own fate would be +inevitable. + +If this was reasoning upon false premises, for housebreakers seldom +or never carry loaded firearms, and never stay for revenge, when their +safety demands escape, Clarence may be forgiven for not knowing the +customs of housebreakers, and for not making the very best of an +extremely novel and dangerous situation. + +No sooner did he find himself in total darkness than he bitterly +reproached himself for his late backwardness, and, inwardly resolving +not again to miss any opportunity which presented itself, he entered +the window, groped along the room into the hall, and found his way very +slowly and after much circumlocution to the staircase. + +He had just gained the summit, when a loud cry broke upon the stillness: +it came from a distance, and was instantly hushed; but he caught at +brief intervals, the sound of angry and threatening voices. Clarence +bent down anxiously, in the hope that some solitary ray would escape +through the crevice of the door within which the robbers were engaged. +But though the sounds came from the same floor as that on which he now +trod, they seemed far and remote, and not a gleam of light broke the +darkness. + +He continued, however, to feel his way in the direction from which the +sounds proceeded, and soon found himself in a narrow gallery; the voices +seemed more loud and near, as he advanced; at last he distinctly heard +the words-- + +“Will you not confess where it is placed?” + +“Indeed, indeed,” replied an eager and earnest voice, which Clarence +recognized as Talbot’s, “this is all the money I have in the house,--the +plate is above,--my servant has the key,--take it,--take all,--but save +his life and mine.” + +“None of your gammon,” said another and rougher voice than that of the +first speaker: “we know you have more blunt than this,--a paltry sum of +fifty pounds, indeed!” + +“Hold!” cried the other ruffian, “here is a picture set with diamonds, +that will do, Ben. Let go the old man.” + +Clarence was now just at hand, and probably from a sudden change in the +position of the dark lantern within, a light abruptly broke from beneath +the door and streamed along the passage. + +“No, no, no!” cried the old man, in a loud yet tremulous voice,--“no, +not that, anything else, but I will defend that with my life.” + +“Ben, my lad,” said the ruffian, “twist the old fool’s neck we have no +more time to lose.” + +At that very moment the door was flung violently open, and Clarence +Linden stood within three paces of the reprobates and their prey. The +taller villain had a miniature in his hand, and the old man clung to his +legs with a convulsive but impotent clasp; the other fellow had +already his gripe upon Talbot’s neck, and his right hand grasped a long +case-knife. + +With a fierce and flashing eye, and a cheek deadly pale with internal +and resolute excitement, Clarence confronted the robbers. + +“Thank Heaven,” cried he, “I am not too late!” And advancing yet another +step towards the shorter ruffian, who struck mute with the suddenness +of the apparition, still retained his grasp of the old man, he fired his +pistol, with a steady and close aim; the ball penetrated the wretch’s +brain, and without sound or sigh, he fell down dead, at the very feet +of his just destroyer. The remaining robber had already meditated, and +a second more sufficed to accomplish, his escape. He sprang towards the +door: the ball whizzed beside him, but touched him not. With a safe +and swift step, long inured to darkness, he fled along the passage; and +Linden, satisfied with the vengeance he had taken upon his comrade, did +not harass him with an unavailing pursuit. + +Clarence turned to assist Talbot. The old man was stretched upon the +floor insensible, but his hand grasped the miniature which the plunderer +had dropped in his flight and terror, and his white and ashen lip was +pressed convulsively upon the recovered treasure. + +Linden raised and placed him on his bed, and while employed in +attempting to revive him, the ancient domestic, alarmed by the report of +the pistol, came, poker in hand, to his assistance. By little and little +they recovered the object of their attention. His eyes rolled wildly +round the room, and he muttered,--“Off, off! ye shall not rob me of my +only relic of her,--where is it?--have you got it?--the picture, the +picture!” + +“It is here, sir, it is here,” said the old servant; “it is in your own +hand.” + +Talbot’s eye fell upon it; he gazed at it for some moments, pressed it +to his lips, and then, sitting erect and looking wildly round, he seemed +to awaken to the sense of his late danger and his present deliverance. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + Ah, fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed, + Or the death they bear, + The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove + With the wings of care! + In the battle, in the darkness, in the need, + Shall mine cling to thee! + Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love, + It may bring to thee!--SHELLEY. + + + +LETTER FROM ALGERNON MORDAUNT TO ISABEL ST. LEGER. + +You told me not to write to you. You know how long, but not how +uselessly I have obeyed you. Did you think, Isabel, that my love was +of that worldly and common order which requires a perpetual aliment +to support it? Did you think that, if you forbade the stream to flow +visibly, its sources would be exhausted, and its channel dried up? This +may be the passion of others; it is not mine. Months have passed since +we parted, and since then you have not seen me; this letter is the first +token you have received from a remembrance which cannot die. But do you +think that I have not watched and tended upon you, and gladdened my eyes +with gazing on your beauty when you have not dreamed that I was by? Ah, +Isabel, your heart should have told you of it; mine would, had you been +so near me! + +You receive no letters from me, it is true: think you that my hand and +heart are therefore idle? No. I write to you a thousand burning lines: +I pour out my soul to you; I tell you of all I suffer; my thoughts, my +actions, my very dreams, are all traced upon the paper. I send them not +to you, but I read them over and over, and when I come to your name, I +pause and shut my eyes, and then “Fancy has her power,” and lo! “you are +by my side!” + +Isabel, our love has not been a holiday and joyous sentiment; but I feel +a solemn and unalterable conviction that our union is ordained. + +Others have many objects to distract and occupy the thoughts which are +once forbidden a single direction, but we have none. At least, to me you +are everything. Pleasure, splendour, ambition, all are merged into one +great and eternal thought, and that is you! + +Others have told me, and I believed them, that I was hard and cold +and stern: so perhaps I was before I knew you, but now I am weaker and +softer than a child. There is a stone which is of all the hardest and +the chillest, but when once set on fire it is unquenchable. You smile +at my image, perhaps, and I should smile if I saw it in the writing of +another; for all that I have ridiculed in romance as exaggerated seems +now to me too cool and too commonplace for reality. + +But this is not what I meant to write to you; you are ill, dearest and +noblest Isabel, you are ill! I am the cause, and you conceal it from +me; and you would rather pine away and die than suffer me to lose one +of those worldly advantages which are in my eyes but as dust in the +balance,--it is in vain to deny it. I heard from others of your impaired +health; I have witnessed it myself. Do you remember last night, when you +were in the room with your relations, and they made you sing,--a song +too which you used to sing to me, and when you came to the second stanza +your voice failed you, and you burst into tears, and they, instead of +soothing, reproached and chid you, and you answered not, but wept on? +Isabel, do you remember that a sound was heard at the window and a +groan? Even they were startled, but they thought it was the wind, for +the night was dark and stormy, and they saw not that it was I: yes, my +devoted, my generous love, it was I who gazed upon you, and from whose +heart that voice of anguish was wrung; and I saw your cheek was pale and +thin, and that the canker at the core had preyed upon the blossom. + +Think you, after this, that I could keep silence or obey your request? +No, dearest, no! Is not my happiness your object? I have the vanity +to believe so; and am I not the best judge how that happiness is to be +secured? I tell you, I say it calmly, coldly, dispassionately,--not +from the imagination, not even from the heart, but solely from the +reason,--that I can bear everything rather than the loss of you; and +that if the evil of my love scathe and destroy you, I shall consider +and curse myself as your murderer! Save me from this extreme of misery, +my--yes, my Isabel! I shall be at the copse where we have so often met +before, to-morrow, at noon. You will meet me; and if I cannot convince +you, I will not ask you to be persuaded. A. M. + +And Isabel read this letter, and placed it at her heart, and felt less +miserable than she had done for months; for, though she wept, there +was sweetness in the tears which the assurance of his love and the +tenderness of his remonstrance had called forth. She met him: how could +she refuse? and the struggle was past. Though not “convinced” she was +“persuaded;” for her heart, which refused his reasonings, melted at his +reproaches and his grief. But she would not consent to unite her fate +with him at once, for the evils of that step to his interests +were immediate and near; she was only persuaded to permit their +correspondence and occasional meetings, in which, however imprudent they +might be for herself, the disadvantages to her lover were distant and +remote. It was of him only that she thought; for him she trembled; for +him she was the coward and the woman; for herself she had no fears, and +no forethought. + +And Algernon was worthy of this devoted love, and returned it as it was +given. Man’s love, in general, is a selfish and exacting sentiment: it +demands every sacrifice and refuses all. But the nature of Mordaunt was +essentially high and disinterested, and his honour, like his love, was +not that of the world: it was the ethereal and spotless honour of a +lofty and generous mind, the honour which custom can neither give nor +take away; and, however impatiently he bore the deferring of a union, in +which he deemed that he was the only sufferer, he would not have uttered +a sigh or urged a prayer for that union, could it, in the minutest or +remotest degree, have injured or degraded her. + +These are the hearts and natures which make life beautiful; these are +the shrines which sanctify love; these are the diviner spirits for whom +there is kindred and commune with everything exalted and holy in heaven +and earth. For them Nature unfolds her hoarded poetry and her hidden +spells; for their steps are the lonely mountains, and the still woods +have a murmur for their ears; for them there is strange music in the +wave, and in the whispers of the light leaves, and rapture in the voices +of the birds: their souls drink, and are saturated with the mysteries of +the Universal Spirit, which the philosophy of old times believed to +be God Himself. They look upon the sky with a gifted vision, and its +dove-like quiet descends and overshadows their hearts; the Moon and the +Night are to them wells of Castalian inspiration and golden dreams; and +it was one of them who, gazing upon the Evening Star, felt in the inmost +sanctuary of his soul its mysterious harmonies with his most worshipped +hope, his most passionate desire, and dedicated it to--LOVE. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + Maria. Here’s the brave old man’s love, Bianca. That loves + the young man. The Woman’s Prize; or, The Tamer + Tamed. + +“No, my dear Clarence, you have placed confidence in me, and it is now +my duty to return it; you have told me your history and origin, and I +will inform you of mine, but not yet. At present we will talk of you. +You have conferred upon me what our universal love of life makes us +regard as the greatest of human obligations; and though I can bear a +large burden of gratitude, yet I must throw off an atom or two in using +my little power in your behalf. Nor is this all: your history has also +given you another tie upon my heart, and, in granting you a legitimate +title to my good offices, removes any scruple you might otherwise have +had in accepting them.” + +“I have just received this letter from Lord ----, the minister for +foreign affairs: you will see that he has appointed you to the office +of attache at ----. You will also oblige me by looking over this other +letter at your earliest convenience; the trifling sum which it contains +will be repeated every quarter; it will do very well for an attache: +when you are an ambassador, why, we must equip you by a mortgage on +Scarsdale; and now, my dear Clarence, tell me all about the Copperases.” + +I need not say who was the speaker of the above sentences: sentences +apparently of a very agreeable nature; nevertheless, Clarence seemed to +think otherwise, for the tears gushed into his eyes, and he was unable +for several moments to reply. + +“Come, my young friend,” said Talbot, kindly; “I have no near relations +among whom I can choose a son I like better than you, nor you any +at present from whom you might select a more desirable father: +consequently, you must let me look upon you as my own flesh and blood; +and, as I intend to be a very strict and peremptory father, I expect the +most silent and scrupulous obedience to my commands. My first parental +order to you is to put up those papers, and to say nothing more about +them; for I have a great deal to talk to you about upon other subjects.” + +And by these and similar kind-hearted and delicate remonstrances, the +old man gained his point. From that moment Clarence looked upon him with +the grateful and venerating love of a son; and I question very much, +if Talbot had really been the father of our hero, whether he would have +liked so handsome a successor half so well. + +The day after this arrangement, Clarence paid his debt to the Copperases +and removed to Talbot’s house. With this event commenced a new era in +his existence: he was no longer an outcast and a wanderer; out of alien +ties he had wrought the link of a close and even paternal friendship; +life, brilliant in its prospects and elevated in its ascent, opened +flatteringly before him; and the fortune and courage which had so +well provided for the present were the best omens and auguries for the +future. + +One evening, when the opening autumn had made its approaches felt, and +Linden and his new parent were seated alone by a blazing fire, and had +come to a full pause in their conversation, Talbot, shading his face +with the friendly pages of the “Whitehall Evening Paper,” as if to +protect it from the heat, said,-- + +“I told you, the other day, that I would give you, at some early +opportunity, a brief sketch of my life. This confidence is due to you in +return for yours; and since you will soon leave me, and I am an old +man, whose life no prudent calculation can fix, I may as well choose the +present time to favour you with my confessions.” + +Clarence expressed and looked his interest, and the old man thus +commenced,-- + + +THE HISTORY OF A VAIN MAN. + +I was the favourite of my parents, for I was quick at my lessons, and my +father said I inherited my genius from him; and comely in my person, and +my mother said that my good looks came from her. So the honest pair saw +in their eldest son the union of their own attractions, and thought they +were making much of themselves when they lavished their caresses upon +me. They had another son, poor Arthur,--I think I see him now! He was a +shy, quiet, subdued boy, of a very plain personal appearance. My father +and mother were vain, showy, ambitious people of the world, and they +were as ashamed of my brother as they were proud of myself. However, he +afterwards entered the army and distinguished himself highly. He died in +battle, leaving an only daughter, who married, as you know, a nobleman +of high rank. Her subsequent fate it is now needless to relate. + +Petted and pampered from my childhood, I grew up with a profound belief +in my own excellences, and a feverish and irritating desire to impress +every one who came in my way with the same idea. There is a sentence +in Sir William Temple, which I have often thought of with a painful +conviction of its truth: “A restlessness in men’s minds to be something +they are not, and to have something they have not, is the root of all +immorality.” [And of all good.--AUTHOR.] At school, I was confessedly +the cleverest boy in my remove; and, what I valued equally as much, I +was the best cricketer of the best eleven. Here, then, you will say +my vanity was satisfied,--no such thing! There was a boy who shared my +room, and was next me in the school; we were, therefore, always thrown +together. He was a great stupid, lubberly cub, equally ridiculed by the +masters and disliked by the boys. Will you believe that this individual +was the express and almost sole object of my envy? He was more than +my rival, he was my superior; and I hated him with all the unleavened +bitterness of my soul. + +I have said he was my superior: it was in one thing. He could balance a +stick, nay, a cricket-bat, a poker, upon his chin, and I could not; you +laugh, and so can I now, but it was no subject of laughter to me +then. This circumstance, trifling as it may appear to you, poisoned my +enjoyment. The boy saw my envy, for I could not conceal it; and as all +fools are malicious, and most fools ostentatious, he took a particular +pride and pleasure in displaying his dexterity and showing off my +discontent. You can form no idea of the extent to which this petty +insolence vexed and disquieted me. Even in my sleep, the clumsy and +grinning features of this tormenting imp haunted me like a spectre: +my visions were nothing but chins and cricket-bats; walking-sticks, +sustaining themselves upon human excrescences, and pokers dancing a +hornpipe upon the tip of a nose. I assure you that I have spent hours in +secret seclusion, practising to rival my hated comrade, and my face--see +how one vanity quarrels with another--was little better than a mass of +bruises and discolorations. + +I actually became so uncomfortable as to write home, and request to +leave the school. I was then about sixteen, and my indulgent father, in +granting my desire, told me that I was too old and too advanced in my +learning to go to any other academic establishment than the University. +The day before I left the school, I gave, as was usually the custom, a +breakfast to all my friends; the circumstance of my tormentor’s sharing +my room obliged me to invite him among the rest. However, I was in +high spirits, and being a universal favourite with my schoolfellows, I +succeeded in what was always to me an object of social ambition, and set +the table in a roar; yet, when our festival was nearly expired, and I +began to allude more particularly to my approaching departure, my +vanity was far more gratified, for my feelings were far more touched, by +observing the regret and receiving the good wishes of all my companions. +I still recall that hour as one of the proudest and happiest of my +life; but it had its immediate reverse. My evil demon put it into my +tormentor’s head to give me one last parting pang of jealousy. A large +umbrella happened accidentally to be in my room; Crompton--such was my +schoolfellow’s name--saw and seized it. “Look here, Talbot,” said he, +with his taunting and hideous sneer, “you can’t do this;” and placing +the point of the umbrella upon his forehead, just above the eyebrow, he +performed various antics round the room. + +At that moment I was standing by the fireplace, and conversing with +two boys upon whom, above all others, I wished to leave a favourable +impression. My foolish soreness on this one subject had been often +remarked; and, as I turned in abrupt and awkward discomposure from the +exhibition, I observed my two schoolfellows smile and exchange looks. +I am not naturally passionate, and even at that age I had in ordinary +cases great self-command; but this observation, and the cause which led +to it, threw me off my guard. Whenever we are utterly under the command +of one feeling, we cannot be said to have our reason: at that instant +I literally believe I was beside myself. What! in the very flush of +the last triumph that that scene would ever afford me; amidst the last +regrets of my early friends, to whom I fondly hoped to bequeath a long +and brilliant remembrance, to be thus bearded by a contemptible rival, +and triumphed over by a pitiful yet insulting superiority; to close my +condolences with laughter; to have the final solemnity of my career +thus terminating in mockery; and ridicule substituted as an ultimate +reminiscence in the place of an admiring regret; all this, too, to be +effected by one so long hated, one whom I was the only being forbidden +the comparative happiness of despising? I could not brook it; the +insult, the insulter, were too revolting. As the unhappy buffoon +approached me, thrusting his distorted face towards mine, I seized and +pushed him aside, with a brief curse and a violent hand. The sharp +point of the umbrella slipped; my action gave it impetus and weight; it +penetrated his eye, and--spare me, spare me the rest. [This instance +of vanity, and indeed the whole of Talbot’s history, is literally from +facts.] + +The old man bent down, and paused for a few moments before he resumed. + +Crompton lost his eye, but my punishment was as severe as his. People +who are very vain are usually equally susceptible, and they who feel +one thing acutely will so feel another. For years, ay, for many years +afterwards, the recollection of my folly goaded me with the bitterest +and most unceasing remorse. Had I committed murder, my conscience could +scarce have afflicted me more severely. I did not regain my self-esteem +till I had somewhat repaired the injury I had done. Long after that +time Crompton was in prison, in great and overwhelming distress. I +impoverished myself to release him; I sustained him and his family till +fortune rendered my assistance no longer necessary; and no triumphs were +ever more sweet to me than the sacrifice I was forced to submit to, in +order to restore him to prosperity. + +It is natural to hope that this accident had at least the effect of +curing me of my fault; but it requires philosophy in yourself, or your +advisers, to render remorse of future avail. How could I amend my +fault, when I was not even aware of it? Smarting under the effects, +I investigated not the cause, and I attributed to irascibility and +vindictiveness what had a deeper and more dangerous origin. + +At college, in spite of all my advantages of birth, fortune, health, and +intellectual acquirements, I had many things besides the one enemy of +remorse to corrode my tranquillity of mind. I was sure to find some one +to excel me in something, and this was enough to embitter my peace. Our +living Goldsmith is my favourite poet, and I perhaps insensibly +venerate the genius the more because I find something congenial in the +infirmities of the man. I can fully credit the anecdotes recorded +of him. I, too, could once have been jealous of a puppet handling a +spontoon; I, too, could once have been miserable if two ladies at the +theatre were more the objects of attention than myself! You, Clarence, +will not despise me for this confession; those who knew me less would. +Fools! there is no man so great as not to have some littleness more +predominant than all his greatness. Our virtues are the dupes, and often +only the playthings, of our follies! smile, but it is mournfully, in +looking back to that day. Though rich, high-born, and good-looking, I +possessed not one of these three qualities in that eminence which could +alone satisfy my love of superiority and desire of effect. I knew this +somewhat humiliating truth, for, though vain, I was not conceited. +Vanity, indeed, is the very antidote to conceit; for while the former +makes us all nerve to the opinion of others, the latter is perfectly +satisfied with its opinion of itself. + +I knew this truth, and as Pope, if he could not be the greatest of +poets, resolved to be the most correct, so I strove, since I could not +be the handsomest, the wealthiest, and the noblest of my contemporaries, +to excel them, at least, in the grace and consummateness of manner; and +in this after incredible pains, after diligent apprenticeship in the +world and intense study in the closet, I at last flattered myself that +I had succeeded. Of all success, while we are yet in the flush of youth +and its capacities of enjoyment, I can imagine none more intoxicating or +gratifying than the success of society, and I had certainly some years +of its triumph and eclat. I was courted, followed, flattered, and sought +by the most envied and fastidious circles in England and even in Paris; +for society, so indifferent to those who disdain it, overwhelms with +its gratitude--profuse though brief--those who devote themselves to its +amusement. The victim to sameness and ennui, it offers, like the pallid +and luxurious Roman, a reward for a new pleasure: and as long as our +industry or talent can afford the pleasure, the reward is ours. At +that time, then, I reaped the full harvest of my exertions: the +disappointment and vexation were of later date. + +I now come to the great era of my life,--Love. Among my acquaintance was +Lady Mary Walden, a widow of high birth, and noble though not powerful +connections. She lived about twenty miles from London in a beautiful +retreat; and, though not rich, her jointure, rendered ample by economy, +enabled her to indulge her love of society. Her house was always as +full as its size would permit, and I was among the most welcome of its +visitors. She had an only daughter: even now, through the dim mists of +years, that beautiful and fairy form rises still and shining before me, +undimmed by sorrow, unfaded by time. Caroline Walden was the object +of general admiration, and her mother, who attributed the avidity with +which her invitations were accepted by all the wits and fine gentlemen +of the day to the charms of her own conversation, little suspected the +face and wit of her daughter to be the magnet of attraction. I had no +idea at that time of marriage, still less could I have entertained such +a notion, unless the step had greatly exalted my rank and prospects. + +The poor and powerless Caroline Walden was therefore the last person +for whom I had what the jargon of mothers term “serious intentions.” + However, I was struck with her exceeding loveliness and amused by the +vivacity of her manners; moreover, my vanity was excited by the hope +of distancing all my competitors for the smiles of the young beauty. +Accordingly I laid myself out to please, and neglected none of those +subtle and almost secret attentions which, of all flatteries, are the +most delicate and successful; and I succeeded. Caroline loved me with +all the earnestness and devotion which characterize the love of woman. +It never occurred to her that I was only trifling with those affections +which it seemed so ardently my intention to win. She knew that my +fortune was large enough to dispense with the necessity of fortune with +my wife, and in birth she would have equalled men of greater pretensions +to myself; added to this, long adulation had made her sensible though +not vain of her attractions, and she listened with a credulous ear to +the insinuated flatteries I was so well accustomed to instil. + +Never shall I forget--no, though I double my present years--the shock, +the wildness of despair with which she first detected the selfishness +of my homage; with which she saw that I had only mocked her trusting +simplicity; and that while she had been lavishing the richest treasures +of her heart before the burning altars of Love, my idol had been Vanity +and my offerings deceit. She tore herself from the profanation of my +grasp; she shrouded herself from my presence. All interviews with me +were rejected; all my letters returned to me unopened; and though, in +the repentance of my heart, I entreated, I urged her to accept vows that +were no longer insincere, her pride became her punishment, as well as +my own. In a moment of bitter and desperate feeling; she accepted the +offers of another, and made the marriage bond a fatal and irrevocable +barrier to our reconciliation and union. + +Oh, how I now cursed my infatuation! how passionately I recalled the +past! how coldly I turned from the hollow and false world, to whose +service I had sacrificed my happiness, to muse and madden over the +prospects I had destroyed and the loving and noble heart I had rejected! +Alas! after all, what is so ungrateful as that world for which we +renounce so much? Its votaries resemble the Gymnosophists of old, and +while they profess to make their chief end pleasure, we can only learn +that they expose themselves to every torture and every pain! + +Lord Merton, the man whom Caroline now called husband, was among the +wealthiest and most dissipated of his order; and two years after our +separation I met once more with the victim of my unworthiness, blazing +in “the full front” of courtly splendour, the leader of its gayeties and +the cynosure of her followers. Intimate with the same society, we were +perpetually cast together, and Caroline was proud of displaying the +indifference towards me, which, if she felt not, she had at least learnt +artfully to assume. This indifference was her ruin. The depths of my +evil passion were again sounded and aroused, and I resolved yet to +humble the pride and conquer the coldness which galled to the very quick +the morbid acuteness of my self-love. I again attached myself to her +train; I bowed myself to the very dust before her. What to me were +her chilling reply and disdainful civilities?---only still stronger +excitements to persevere. + +I spare you and myself the gradual progress of my schemes. A woman may +recover her first passion, it is true; but then she must replace it with +another. That other was denied to Caroline: she had not even children +to engross her thoughts and to occupy her affections; and the gay world, +which to many becomes an object, was to her only an escape. + +Clarence, my triumph came! Lady Walden (who had never known our secret) +invited me to her house: Caroline was there. In the same spot where we +had so often stood before, and in which her earliest affections were +insensibly breathed away, in that same spot I drew from her colourless +and trembling lips the confession of her weakness, the restored and +pervading power of my remembrance. + +But Caroline was a proud and virtuous woman: even while her heart +betrayed her, her mind resisted; and in the very avowal of her +unconquered attachment, she renounced and discarded me forever. I was +not an ungenerous though a vain man; but my generosity was wayward, +tainted, and imperfect. I could have borne the separation; I could have +severed myself from her; I could have flown to the uttermost parts of +the earth; I could have hoarded there my secret yet unextinguished +love, and never disturbed her quiet by a murmur: but then the fiat of +separation must have come from me! My vanity could not bear that her +lips should reject me, that my part was not to be the nobility of +sacrifice, but the submission of resignation. However, my better +feelings were aroused, and though I could not stifle I concealed my +selfish repinings. We parted: she returned to town; I buried myself in +the country; and, amidst the literary studies to which, though by fits +and starts, I was passionately devoted, I endeavoured to forget my +ominous and guilty love. + +But I was then too closely bound to the world not to be perpetually +reminded of its events. My retreat was thronged with occasional +migrators from London; my books were mingled with the news and scandal +of the day. All spoke to me of Lady Merton; not as I loved to picture +her to myself, pale and sorrowful, and brooding over my image; but gay, +dissipated, the dispenser of smiles, the prototype of joy. I contrasted +this account of her with the melancholy and gloom of my own feelings, +and I resented her seeming happiness as an insult to myself. + +In this angry and fretful mood I returned to London. My empire was +soon resumed; and now, Linden, comes the most sickening part of my +confessions. Vanity is a growing and insatiable disease: what seems to +its desires as wealth to-day, to-morrow it rejects as poverty. I was at +first contented to know that I was beloved; by degrees, slow, yet sure, +I desired that others should know it also. I longed to display my power +over the celebrated and courted Lady Merton; and to put the last crown +to my reputation and importance. The envy of others is the food of +our own self-love. Oh, you know not, you dream not, of the galling +mortifications to which a proud woman, whose love commands her pride, +is subjected! I imposed upon Caroline the most humiliating, the most +painful trials; I would allow her to see none but those I pleased; to +go to no place where I withheld my consent; and I hesitated not to exert +and testify my power over her affections, in proportion to the publicity +of the opportunity. + +Yet, with all this littleness, would you believe that I loved Caroline +with the most ardent and engrossing passion? I have paused behind her, +in order to kiss the ground she trod on; I have stayed whole nights +beneath her window, to catch one glimpse of her passing form, even +though I had spent hours of the daytime in her society; and, though my +love burned and consumed me like a fire, I would not breathe a single +wish against her innocence, or take advantage of my power to accomplish +what I knew from her virtue and pride no atonement could possibly repay. +Such are the inconsistencies of the heart, and such, while they prevent +our perfection, redeem us from the utterness of vice! Never, even in +my wildest days, was I blind to the glory of virtue, yet never, till +my latest years, have I enjoyed the faculty to avail myself of my +perception. I resembled the mole, which by Boyle is supposed to possess +the idea of light, but to be unable to comprehend the objects on which +it shines. + +Among the varieties of my prevailing sin, was a weakness common enough +to worldly men. While I ostentatiously played off the love I had excited +I could not bear to show the love I felt. In our country, and perhaps, +though in a less degree, in all other highly artificial states, +enthusiasm or even feeling of any kind is ridiculous; and I could not +endure the thought that my treasured and secret affections should be +dragged from their retreat to be cavilled and carped at by-- + + “Every beardless, vain comparative.” + +This weakness brought on the catastrophe of my love; for, mark me, +Clarence, it is through our weaknesses that our vices are punished! +One night I went to a masquerade; and, while I was sitting in a remote +corner, three of my acquaintances, whom I recognized, though they knew +it not, approached and rallied me upon my romantic attachment to Lady +Merton. One of them was a woman of a malicious and sarcastic wit; the +other two were men whom I disliked, because their pretensions interfered +with mine; they were diners-out and anecdote-mongers. Stung to the +quick by their sarcasms and laughter, I replied in a train of mingled +arrogance and jest; at last I spoke slightingly of the person in +question; and these profane and false lips dared not only to disown the +faintest love to that being who was more to me than all on earth, but +even to speak of herself with ridicule and her affection with disdain. + +In the midst of this, I turned and beheld, within hearing, a figure +which I knew upon the moment. O Heaven! the burning shame and agony of +that glance! It raised its mask--I saw that blanched cheek, and that +trembling lip! I knew that the iron had indeed entered into her soul. + +Clarence, I never beheld her again alive. Within a week from that time +she was a corpse. She had borne much, suffered much, and murmured not; +but this shock pressed too hard, came too home, and from the hand of +him for whom she would have sacrificed all! I stood by her in death; +I beheld my work; and I turned away, a wanderer and a pilgrim upon the +face of the earth. Verily, I have had my reward. + +The old man paused, in great emotion; and Clarence, who could offer +him no consolation, did not break the silence. In a few minutes Talbot +continued-- + +From that time the smile of woman was nothing to me: I seemed to grow +old in a single day. Life lost to me all its objects. A dreary and +desert blank stretched itself before me: the sounds of creation had only +in my ears one voice; the past, the future, one image. I left my country +for twenty years, and lived an idle and hopeless man in the various +courts of the Continent. + +At the age of fifty I returned to England; the wounds of the past had +not disappeared, but they were scarred over; and I longed, like the rest +of my species, to have an object in view. At that age, if we have seen +much of mankind and possess the talents to profit by our knowledge, we +must be one of two sects,--a politician or a philosopher. My time was +not yet arrived for the latter, so I resolved to become the former; but +this was denied me, for my vanity had assumed a different shape. It is +true that I cared no longer for the reputation women can bestow; but I +was eager for the applause of men, and I did not like the long labour +necessary to attain it. I wished to make a short road to my object, and +I eagerly followed every turn but the right one, in the hopes of its +leading me sooner to my goal. + +The great characteristic of a vain man in contradistinction to an +ambitious man, his eternal obstacle to a high and honourable fame, is +this: he requires for any expenditure of trouble too speedy a reward; +he cannot wait for years, and climb, step by step, to a lofty object; +whatever he attempts, he must seize at a single grasp. Added to this, he +is incapable of an exclusive attention to one end; the universality of +his cravings is not contented, unless it devours all; and thus he is +perpetually doomed to fritter away his energies by grasping at the +trifling baubles within his reach, and in gathering the worthless fruit +which a single sun can mature. + +This, then, was my fault, and the cause of my failure. I could not give +myself up to finance, nor puzzle through the intricacies of commerce: +even the common parliamentary drudgeries of constant attendance and +late hours were insupportable to me; and so after two or three “splendid +orations,” as my friends termed them, I was satisfied with the puffs of +the pamphleteers and closed my political career. I was now, then, the +wit and the conversationalist. With my fluency of speech and variety +of information, these were easy distinctions; and the popularity of a +dinner-table or the approbation of a literary coterie consoled me for +the more public and more durable applause I had resigned. + +But even this gratification did not last long. I fell ill; and the +friends who gathered round the wit fled from the valetudinarian. This +disgusted me, and when I was sufficiently recovered I again returned to +the Continent. But I had a fit of misanthropy and solitude upon me, and +so it was not to courts and cities, the scenes of former gayeties, +that I repaired; on the contrary, I hired a house by one of the most +sequestered of the Swiss lakes, and, avoiding the living, I surrendered +myself without interruption or control to commune with the dead. I +surrounded myself with books and pored with a curious and searching eye +into those works which treat particularly upon “man.” My passions were +over, my love of pleasure and society was dried up, and I had now +no longer the obstacles which forbid us to be wise; I unlearned +the precepts my manhood had acquired, and in my old age I commenced +philosopher; Religion lent me her aid, and by her holy lamp my studies +were conned and my hermitage illumined. + +There are certain characters which in the world are evil, and in +seclusion are good: Rousseau, whom I knew well, is one of them. These +persons are of a morbid sensitiveness, which is perpetually galled by +collision with others. In short, they are under the dominion of VANITY; +and that vanity, never satisfied and always restless in the various +competitions of society, produces “envy, hatred, malice, and +all uncharitableness!” but, in solitude, the good and benevolent +dispositions with which our self-love no longer interferes have room to +expand and ripen without being cramped by opposing interests: this will +account for many seeming discrepancies in character. There are also +some men in whom old age supplies the place of solitude, and Rousseau’s +antagonist and mental antipodes, Voltaire, is of this order. The pert, +the malignant, the arrogant, the lampooning author in his youth and +manhood, has become in his old age the mild, the benevolent, and the +venerable philosopher. Nothing is more absurd than to receive the +characters of great men so implicitly upon the word of a biographer; +and nothing can be less surprising than our eternal disputes upon +individuals: for no man throughout life is the same being, and each +season of our existence contradicts the characteristics of the last. + +And now in my solitude and my old age, a new spirit entered within me: +the game in which I had engaged so vehemently was over for me; and I +joined to my experience as a player my coolness as a spectator; I no +longer struggled with my species, and I began insensibly to love them. +I established schools and founded charities; and, in secret but active +services to mankind, I employed my exertions and lavished my desires. + +From this amendment I date the peace of mind and elasticity which I now +enjoy; and in my later years the happiness which I pursued in my youth +and maturity so hotly, yet so ineffectually, has flown unsolicited to my +breast. + +About five years ago I came again to England, with the intention of +breathing my last in the country which gave me birth. I retired to +my family home; I endeavoured to divert myself in agricultural +improvements, and my rental was consumed in speculation. This did not +please me long: I sought society,--society in Yorkshire! You may +imagine the result: I was out of my element; the mere distance from +the metropolis, from all genial companionship, sickened me with a vague +feeling of desertion and solitude; for the first time in my life I +felt my age and my celibacy. Once more I returned to town, a complaint +attacked my lungs, the physicians recommended the air of this +neighbourhood, and I chose the residence I now inhabit. Without being +exactly in London, I can command its advantages, and obtain society as +a recreation without buying it by restraint. I am not fond of new faces +nor any longer covetous of show; my old servant therefore contented me: +for the future, I shall, however, to satisfy your fears, remove to +a safer habitation, and obtain a more numerous guard. It is, at all +events, a happiness to me that Fate, in casting me here and exposing me +to something of danger, has raised up in you a friend for my old age, +and selected from this great universe of strangers one being to convince +my heart that it has not outlived affection. My tale is done; may you +profit by its moral! + +When Talbot said that our characters were undergoing a perpetual change +he should have made this reservation,--the one ruling passion remains +to the last; it may be modified, but it never departs; and it is these +modifications which do, for the most part, shape out the channels of our +change; or as Helvetius has beautifully expressed it, “we resemble those +vessels which the waves still carry towards the south, when the north +wind has ceased to blow;” but in our old age, this passion, having +little to feed on, becomes sometimes dormant and inert, and then our +good qualities rise, as it were from an incubus, and have their sway. + +Yet these cases are not common, and Talbot was a remarkable instance, +for he was a remarkable man. His mind had not slept while the age +advanced, and thus it had swelled as it were from the bondage of +its earlier passions and prejudices. But little did he think, in the +blindness of self-delusion,--though it was so obvious to Clarence, +that he could have smiled if he had not rather inclined to weep at the +frailties of human nature,--little did he think that the vanity which +had cost him so much remained “a monarch still,” undeposed alike by +his philosophy, his religion, or his remorse; and that, debarred +by circumstances from all wider and more dangerous fields, it still +lavished itself upon trifles unworthy of his powers and puerilities +dishonouring his age. Folly is a courtesan whom we ourselves seek, +whose favours we solicit at an enormous price, and who, like Lais, +finds philosophers at her door scarcely less frequently than the rest of +mankind! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + Mrs. Trinket. What d’ye buy, what d’ye lack, gentlemen? Gloves, ribbons, + and essences,--ribbons, gloves, and essences. + ETHEREGE. + +“And so, my love,” said Mr. Copperas, one morning at breakfast, to his +wife, his right leg being turned over his left, and his dexter hand +conveying to his mouth a huge morsel of buttered cake,--“and, so my +love, they say that the old fool is going to leave the jackanapes all +his fortune?” + +“They do say so, Mr. C.; for my part I am quite out of patience with the +art of the young man; I dare say he is no better than he should be; he +always had a sharp look, and for aught I know there may be more in +that robbery than you or I dreamed of, Mr. Copperas. It was a pity,” + continued Mrs. Copperas, upbraiding her lord with true matrimonial +tenderness and justice, for the consequences of his having acted from +her advice,--“it was a pity, Mr. C., that you should have refused to +lend him the pistols to go to the old fellow’s assistance, for then who +knows but--” + +“I might have converted them into pocket pistols,” interrupted Mr. C., +“and not have overshot the mark, my dear--ha, ha, ha!” + +“Lord, Mr. Copperas, you are always making a joke of everything.” + +“No, my dear, for once I am making a joke of nothing.” + +“Well, I declare it’s shameful,” cried Mrs. Copperas, still following +up her own indignant meditations, “and after taking such notice of +Adolphus, too, and all!” + +“Notice, my dear! mere words,” returned Mr. Copperas, “mere words, like +ventilators, which make a great deal of air, but never raise the wind; +but don’t put yourself in a stew, my love, for the doctors say that +copperas in a stew is poison!” + +At this moment Mr. de Warens, throwing open the door, announced Mr. +Brown; that gentleman entered, with a sedate but cheerful air. “Well, +Mrs. Copperas, your servant; any table-linen wanted? Mr. Copperas, how +do you do? I can give you a hint about the stocks. Master Copperas, +you are looking bravely; don’t you think he wants some new pinbefores, +ma’am? But Mr. Clarence Linden, where is he? Not up yet, I dare say. Ah, +the present generation is a generation of sluggards, as his worthy aunt, +Mrs. Minden, used to say.” + +“I am sure,” said Mrs. Copperas, with a disdainful toss of the head, +“I know nothing about the young man. He has left us; a very mysterious +piece of business indeed, Mr. Brown; and now I think of it, I can’t help +saying that we were by no means pleased with your introduction: and, by +the by, the chairs you bought for us at the sale were a mere take-in, so +slight that Mr. Walruss broke two of them by only sitting down.” + +“Indeed, ma’am?” said Mr. Brown, with expostulating gravity; “but then +Mr. Walruss is so very corpulent. But the young gentleman, what of him?” + continued the broker, artfully turning from the point in dispute. + +“Lord, Mr. Brown, don’t ask me: it was the unluckiest step we ever made +to admit him into the bosom of our family; quite a viper, I assure you; +absolutely robbed poor Adolphus.” + +“Lord help us!” said Mr. Brown, with a look which “cast a browner +horror” o’er the room, “who would have thought it? and such a pretty +young man!” + +“Well,” said Mr. Copperas, who, occupied in finishing the buttered cake, +had hitherto kept silence, “I must be off. Tom--I mean de Warens--have +you stopped the coach?” + +“Yees, sir.” + +“And what coach is it?” + +“It be the Swallow, sir.” + +“Oh, very well. And now, Mr. Brown, having swallowed in the roll, I +will e’en roll in the Swallow--Ha, ha, ha!--At any rate,” thought Mr. +Copperas, as he descended the stairs, “he has not heard that before.” + +“Ha, ha!” gravely chuckled Mr. Brown, “what a very facetious, lively +gentleman Mr. Copperas is. But touching this ungrateful young man, Mr. +Linden, ma’am?” + +“Oh, don’t tease me, Mr. Brown, I must see after my domestics: ask Mr. +Talbot, the old miser in the next house, the havarr, as the French say.” + +“Well, now,” said Mr. Brown, following the good lady down stairs, “how +distressing for me! and to say that he was Mrs. Minden’s nephew, too!” + +But Mr. Brown’s curiosity was not so easily satisfied, and finding Mr. +de Warens leaning over the “front” gate, and “pursuing with wistful +eyes” the departing “Swallow,” he stopped, and, accosting him, soon +possessed himself of the facts that “old Talbot had been robbed and +murdered, but that Mr. Linden had brought him to life again; and that +old Talbot had given him a hundred thousand pounds, and adopted him as +his son; and that how Mr. Linden was going to be sent to foreign parts, +as an ambassador, or governor, or great person; and that how meester and +meeses were quite ‘cut up’ about it.” + +All these particulars having been duly deposited in the mind of +Mr. Brown, they produced an immediate desire to call upon the young +gentleman, who, to say nothing of his being so very nearly related to +his old customer, Mrs. Minden, was always so very great a favourite with +him, Mr. Brown. + +Accordingly, as Clarence was musing over his approaching departure, +which was now very shortly to take place, he was somewhat startled by +the apparition of Mr. Brown--“Charming day, sir,--charming day,” said +the friend of Mrs. Minden,--“just called in to congratulate you. I have +a few articles, sir, to present you with,--quite rarities, I assure +you,--quite presents, I may say. I picked them up at a sale of the late +Lady Waddilove’s most valuable effects. They are just the things, sir, +for a gentleman going on a foreign mission. A most curious ivory +chest, with an Indian padlock, to hold confidential letters,--belonged +formerly, sir, to the Great Mogul; and a beautiful diamond snuff-box, +sir, with a picture of Louis XIV. on it, prodigiously fine, and will +look so loyal too: and, sir, if you have any old aunts in the country, +to send a farewell present to, I have some charming fine cambric, a +superb Dresden tea set, and a lovely little ‘ape,’ stuffed by the late +Lady W. herself.” + +“My good sir,” began Clarence. + +“Oh, no thanks, sir,--none at all,--too happy to serve a relation of +Mrs. Minden,--always proud to keep up family connections. You will be +at home to-morrow, sir, at eleven; I will look in; your most humble +servant, Mr. Linden.” And almost upsetting Talbot, who had just entered, +Mr. Brown bowed himself out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + He talked with open heart and tongue, + Affectionate and true; + A pair of friends, though I was young + And Matthew seventy-two.--WORDSWORTH. + +Meanwhile the young artist proceeded rapidly with his picture. Devoured +by his enthusiasm, and utterly engrossed by the sanguine anticipation +of a fame which appeared to him already won, he allowed himself no +momentary interval of relaxation; his food was eaten by starts, and +without stirring from his easel; his sleep was brief and broken by +feverish dreams; he no longer roved with Clarence, when the evening +threw her shade over his labours; all air and exercise he utterly +relinquished; shut up in his narrow chamber, he passed the hours in a +fervid and passionate self-commune, which, even in suspense from his +work, riveted his thoughts the closer to its object. All companionship, +all intrusion, he bore with irritability and impatience. Even Clarence +found himself excluded from the presence of his friend; even his nearest +relation, who doted on the very ground which he hallowed with his +footstep, was banished from the haunted sanctuary of the painter; from +the most placid of human beings, Warner seemed to have grown the most +morose. + +Want of rest, abstinence from food, the impatience of the strained +spirit and jaded nerves, all contributed to waste the health while they +excited the genius of the artist. A crimson spot, never before seen +there, burned in the centre of his pale cheek; his eye glowed with a +brilliant but unnatural fire; his features grew sharp and attenuated; +his bones worked from his whitening and transparent skin; and the soul +and frame, turned from their proper and kindly union, seemed contesting, +with fierce struggles, which should obtain the mastery and the triumph. + +But neither his new prospects nor the coldness of his friend diverted +the warm heart of Clarence from meditating how he could most effectually +serve the artist before he departed from the country, It was a peculiar +object of desire to Warner that the most celebrated painter of the day, +who was on terms of intimacy with Talbot, and who with the benevolence +of real superiority was known to take a keen interest in the success +of more youthful and inexperienced genius,--it was a peculiar object of +desire to Warner, that Sir Joshua Reynolds should see his picture before +it was completed; and Clarence, aware of this wish, easily obtained from +Talbot a promise that it should be effected. That was the least service +of his zeal touched by the earnestness of Linden’s friendship, anxious +to oblige in any way his preserver, and well pleased himself to be the +patron of merit, Talbot readily engaged to obtain for Warner whatever +the attention and favour of high rank or literary distinction could +bestow. “As for his picture,” said Talbot (when, the evening before +Clarence’s departure, the latter was renewing the subject), “I shall +myself become the purchaser, and at a price which will enable our friend +to afford leisure and study for the completion of his next attempt; but +even at the risk of offending your friendship, and disappointing your +expectations, I will frankly tell you that I think Warner overrates, +perhaps not his talents, but his powers; not his ability for doing +something great hereafter, but his capacity of doing it at present. In +the pride of his heart, he has shown me many of his designs, and I am +somewhat of a judge: they want experience, cultivation, taste, and, +above all, a deeper study of the Italian masters. They all have the +defects of a feverish colouring, an ambitious desire of effect, a +wavering and imperfect outline, an ostentatious and unnatural strength +of light and shadow; they show, it is true, a genius of no ordinary +stamp, but one ill regulated, inexperienced, and utterly left to its own +suggestions for a model. However, I am glad he wishes for the opinion +of one necessarily the best judge: let him bring the picture here by +Thursday; on that day my friend has promised to visit me; and now let us +talk of you and your departure.” + +The intercourse of men of different ages is essentially unequal: it must +always partake more or less of advice on one side and deference on +the other; and although the easy and unpedantic turn of Talbot’s +conversation made his remarks rather entertaining than obviously +admonitory, yet they were necessarily tinged by his experience, and +regulated by his interest in the fortunes of his young friend. + +“My dearest Clarence,” said he, affectionately, “we are about to bid +each other a long farewell. I will not damp your hopes and anticipations +by insisting on the little chance there is that you should ever see me +again. You are about to enter upon the great world, and have within +you the desire and power of success; let me flatter myself that you can +profit by my experience. Among the ‘Colloquia’ of Erasmus, there is a +very entertaining dialogue between Apicius and a man who, desirous of +giving a feast to a very large and miscellaneous party, comes to consult +the epicure what will be the best means to give satisfaction to all. +Now you shall be this Spudaeus (so I think he is called), and I will be +Apicius; for the world, after all, is nothing more than a great feast of +different strangers, with different tastes and of different ages, and +we must learn to adapt ourselves to their minds, and our temptations to +their passions, if we wish to fascinate or even to content them. Let me +then call your attention to the hints and maxims which I have in this +paper amused myself with drawing up for your instruction. Write to me +from time to time, and I will, in replying to your letters, give you +the best advice in my power. For the rest, my dear boy, I have only to +request that you will be frank, and I, in my turn, will promise that +when I cannot assist, I will never reprove. And now, Clarence, as the +hour is late and you leave us early tomorrow, I will no longer detain +you. God bless you and keep you. You are going to enjoy life,--I +to anticipate death; so that you can find in me little congenial to +yourself; but as the good Pope said to our Protestant countryman, +‘Whatever the difference between us, I know well that an old man’s +blessing is never without its value.’” + +As Clarence clasped his benefactor’s hand, the tears gushed from his +eyes. Is there one being, stubborn as the rock to misfortune, whom +kindness does not affect? For my part, kindness seems to me to come with +a double grace and tenderness from the old; it seems in them the hoarded +and long purified benevolence of years; as if it had survived and +conquered the baseness and selfishness of the ordeal it had passed; as +if the winds, which had broken the form, had swept in vain across the +heart, and the frosts which had chilled the blood and whitened the thin +locks had possessed no power over the warm tide of the affections. It +is the triumph of nature over art; it is the voice of the angel which +is yet within us. Nor is this all: the tenderness of age is twice +blessed,--blessed in its trophies over the obduracy of encrusting and +withering years, blessed because it is tinged with the sanctity of the +grave; because it tells us that the heart will blossom even upon +the precincts of the tomb, and flatters us with the inviolacy and +immortality of love. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + + Cannot I create, + Cannot I form, cannot I fashion forth + Another world, another universe?--KEATS. + +The next morning Clarence, in his way out of town, directed his carriage +(the last and not the least acceptable present from Talbot) to stop at +Warner’s door. Although it was scarcely sunrise, the aged grandmother +of the artist was stirring, and opened the door to the early visitor. +Clarence passed her with a brief salutation, hurried up the narrow +stairs, and found himself in the artist’s chamber. The windows were +closed, and the air of the room was confined and hot. A few books, +chiefly of history and poetry, stood in confused disorder upon some +shelves opposite the window. Upon a table beneath them lay a flute, once +the cherished recreation of the young painter, but now long neglected +and disused; and, placed exactly opposite to Warner, so that his eyes +might open upon his work, was the high-prized and already more than +half-finished picture. + +Clarence bent over the bed; the cheek of the artist rested upon his arm +in an attitude unconsciously picturesque; the other arm was tossed +over the coverlet, and Clarence was shocked to see how emaciated it had +become. But ever and anon the lips of the sleeper moved restlessly, and +words, low and inarticulate, broke out. Sometimes he started abruptly, +and a bright but evanescent flush darted over his faded and hollow +cheek; and once the fingers of the thin hand which lay upon the bed +expanded and suddenly closed in a firm and almost painful grasp; it was +then that for the first time the words of the artist became distinct. + +“Ay, ay,” he said, “I have thee, I have thee at last. Long, very long +thou hast burnt up my heart like fuel, and mocked me, and laughed at +my idle efforts; but now, now, I have thee. Fame, Honour, Immortality, +whatever thou art called, I have thee, and thou canst not escape; but it +is almost too late!” And, as if wrung by some sudden pain, the sleeper +turned heavily round, groaned audibly, and awoke. + +“My friend,” said Clarence, soothingly, and taking his hand, “I have +come to bid you farewell. I am just setting off for the Continent, but I +could not leave England without once more seeing you. I have good news, +too, for you.” And Clarence proceeded to repeat Talbot’s wish that +Warner should bring the picture to his house on the following Thursday, +that Sir Joshua might inspect it. He added also, in terms the flattery +of which his friendship could not resist exaggerating, Talbot’s desire +to become the purchaser of the picture. + +“Yes,” said the artist, as his eye glanced delightedly over his labour; +“yes, I believe when it is once seen there will be many candidates!” + +“No doubt,” answered Clarence; “and for that reason you cannot blame +Talbot for wishing to forestall all other competitors for the prize;” + and then, continuing the encouraging nature of the conversation, +Clarence enlarged upon the new hopes of his friend, besought him to +take time, to spare his health, and not to injure both himself and his +performance by over-anxiety and hurry. Clarence concluded by retailing +Talbot’s assurance that in all cases and circumstances he (Talbot) +considered himself pledged to be Warner’s supporter and friend. + +With something of impatience, mingled with pleasure, the painter +listened to all these details; nor was it to Linden’s zeal nor to +Talbot’s generosity, but rather to the excess of his own merit, that he +secretly attributed the brightening prospect offered him. + +The indifference which Warner, though of a disposition naturally kind, +evinced at parting with a friend who had always taken so strong an +interest in his behalf, and whose tears at that moment contrasted +forcibly enough with the apathetic coldness of his own farewell, was a +remarkable instance how acute vividness on a single point will deaden +feeling on all others. Occupied solely and burningly with one intense +thought, which was to him love, friendship, health, peace, wealth, +Warner could not excite feelings, languid and exhausted with many and +fiery conflicts, to objects of minor interest, and perhaps he inwardly +rejoiced that his musings and his study would henceforth be sacred even +from friendship. + +Deeply affected, for his nature was exceedingly unselfish, generous, +and susceptible, Clarence tore himself away, placed in the grandmother’s +hand a considerable portion of the sum he had received from Talbot, +hurried into his carriage, and found himself on the high road to +fortune, pleasure, distinction, and the Continent. + +But while Clarence, despite of every advantage before him, hastened to +a court of dissipation and pleasure, with feelings in which regretful +affection for those he had left darkened his worldly hopes and mingled +with the sanguine anticipations of youth, Warner, poor, low-born, wasted +with sickness, destitute of friends, shut out by his temperament from +the pleasures of his age, burned with hopes far less alloyed than those +of Clarence, and found in them, for the sacrifice of all else, not only +a recompense, but a triumph. + +Thursday came. Warner had made one request to Talbot, which had with +difficulty been granted: it was that he himself might unseen be the +auditor of the great painter’s criticisms, and that Sir Joshua should be +perfectly unaware of his presence. It had been granted with difficulty, +because Talbot wished to spare Warner the pain of hearing remarks which +he felt would be likely to fall far short of the sanguine self-elation +of the young artist; and it had been granted because Talbot imagined +that, even should this be the case, the pain would be more than +counterbalanced by the salutary effect it might produce. Alas! vanity +calculates but poorly upon the vanity of others! What a virtue we should +distil from frailty; what a world of pain we should save our brethren, +if we would suffer our own weakness to be the measure of theirs! + +Thursday came: the painting was placed by the artist’s own hand in the +most favourable light; a curtain, hung behind it, served as a screen +for Warner, who, retiring to his hiding-place, surrendered his heart to +delicious forebodings of the critic’s wonder and golden anticipations of +the future destiny of his darling work. Not a fear dashed the full and +smooth cup of his self-enjoyment. He had lain awake the whole of the +night in restless and joyous impatience for the morrow. At daybreak he +had started from his bed, he had unclosed his shutters, he had hung over +his picture with a fondness greater, if possible, than he had ever known +before! like a mother, he felt as if his own partiality was but a part +of a universal tribute; and, as his aged relative, turning her dim eyes +to the painting, and, in her innocent idolatry, rather of the artist +than his work, praised and expatiated and foretold, his heart whispered, +“If it wring this worship from ignorance, what will be the homage of +science?” + +He who first laid down the now hackneyed maxim that diffidence is the +companion of genius knew very little of the workings of the human heart. +True, there may have been a few such instances, and it is probable that +in this maxim, as in most, the exception made the rule. But what could +ever reconcile genius to its sufferings, its sacrifices, its fevered +inquietudes, the intense labour which can alone produce what the shallow +world deems the giant offspring of a momentary inspiration: what +could ever reconcile it to these but the haughty and unquenchable +consciousness of internal power; the hope which has the fulness of +certainty that in proportion to the toil is the reward; the sanguine and +impetuous anticipation of glory, which bursts the boundaries of time and +space, and ranges immortality with a prophet’s rapture? Rob Genius of +its confidence, of its lofty self-esteem, and you clip the wings of the +eagle: you domesticate, it is true, the wanderer you could not hitherto +comprehend, in the narrow bounds of your household affections; you abase +and tame it more to the level of your ordinary judgments, but you take +from it the power to soar; the hardihood which was content to brave the +thundercloud and build its eyrie on the rock, for the proud triumph of +rising above its kind, and contemplating with a nearer eye the majesty +of heaven. + +But if something of presumption is a part of the very essence of genius, +in Warner it was doubly natural, for he was still in the heat and flush +of a design, the defects of which he had not yet had the leisure to +examine; and his talents, self-taught and self-modelled, had +never received either the excitement of emulation or the chill of +discouragement from the study of the masterpieces of his art. + +The painter had not been long alone in his concealment before he heard +steps; his heart beat violently, the door opened, and he saw, through +a small hole which he had purposely made in the curtain, a man with a +benevolent and prepossessing countenance, whom he instantly recognized +as Sir Joshua Reynolds, enter the room, accompanied by Talbot. They +walked up to the picture, the painter examined it closely, and in +perfect silence. “Silence,” thought Warner, “is the best homage of +admiration;” but he trembled with impatience to hear the admiration +confirmed by words,--those words came too soon. + +“It is the work of a clever man, certainly,” said Sir Joshua; “but” + (terrible monosyllable) “of one utterly unskilled in the grand +principles of his art--look here, and here, and here, for instance;” and +the critic, perfectly unconscious of the torture he inflicted, proceeded +to point out the errors of the work. Oh! the agony, the withering agony +of that moment to the ambitious artist! In vain he endeavoured to bear +up against the judgment,--in vain he endeavoured to persuade himself +that it was the voice of envy which in those cold, measured, defining +accents, fell like drops of poison upon his heart. He felt at once, and +as if by a magical inspiration, the truth of the verdict; the scales +of self-delusion fell from his eyes; by a hideous mockery, a kind of +terrible pantomime, his goddess seemed at a word, a breath, transformed +into a monster: life, which had been so lately concentrated into +a single hope, seemed now, at once and forever, cramped, curdled, +blistered into a single disappointment. + +“But,” said Talbot, who had in vain attempted to arrest the criticisms +of the painter (who, very deaf at all times, was, at that time in +particular, engrossed by the self-satisfaction always enjoyed by one +expatiating on his favourite topic),--“but,” said Talbot, in a louder +voice, “you own there is great genius in the design?” + +“Certainly, there is genius,” replied Sir Joshua, in a tone of calm and +complacent good-nature; “but what is genius without culture? You say +the artist is young, very young; let him take time: I do not say let +him attempt a humbler walk; let him persevere in the lofty one he has +chosen, but let him first retrace every step he has taken; let him +devote days, months, years, to the most diligent study of the immortal +masters of the divine art, before he attempts (to exhibit, at least) +another historical picture. He has mistaken altogether the nature of +invention: a fine invention is nothing more than a fine deviation +from, or enlargement on, a fine model: imitation, if noble and general, +insures the best hope of originality. Above all, let your young friend, +if he can afford it, visit Italy.” + +“He shall afford it,” said Talbot, kindly, “for he shall have +whatever advantages I can procure him; but you see the picture is only +half-completed: he could alter it!” + +“He had better burn it!” replied the painter, with a gentle smile. + +And Talbot, in benevolent despair, hurried his visitor out of the room. +He soon returned to seek and console the artist, but the artist was +gone; the despised, the fatal picture, the blessing and curse of so many +anxious and wasted hours, had vanished also with its creator. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + What is this soul, then? Whence + Came it?--It does not seem my own, and I + Have no self-passion or identity! + Some fearful end must be-- + ...... + There never lived a mortal man, who bent + His appetite beyond his natural sphere, + But starved and died.--KEATS: Endymion. + +On entering his home, Warner pushed aside, for the first time in his +life with disrespect, his aged and kindly relation, who, as if in +mockery of the unfortunate artist stood prepared to welcome and +congratulate his return. Bearing his picture in his arms, he rushed +upstairs, hurried into his room, and locked the door. Hastily he tore +aside the cloth which had been drawn over the picture; hastily and +tremblingly he placed it upon the frame accustomed to support it, and +then, with a long, long, eager, searching, scrutinizing glance, he +surveyed the once beloved mistress of his worship. Presumption, vanity, +exaggerated self-esteem, are, in their punishment, supposed to excite +ludicrous not sympathetic emotion; but there is an excess of feeling, +produced by whatever cause it may be, into which, in spite of ourselves, +we are forced to enter. Even fear, the most contemptible of the +passions, becomes tragic the moment it becomes an agony. + +“Well, well!” said Warner, at last, speaking very slowly, “it is +over,--it was a pleasant dream,--but it is over,--I ought to be thankful +for the lesson.” Then suddenly changing his mood and tone, he repeated, +“Thankful! for what? that I am a wretch,--a wretch more utterly hopeless +and miserable and abandoned than a man who freights with all his wealth, +his children, his wife, the hoarded treasures and blessings of an +existence, one ship, one frail, worthless ship, and, standing himself +on the shore, sees it suddenly go down! Oh, was I not a fool,--a +right noble fool,--a vain fool,--an arrogant fool,--a very essence and +concentration of all things that make a fool, to believe such delicious +marvels of myself! What, man!” (here his eye saw in the opposite +glass his features, livid and haggard with disease, and the exhausting +feelings which preyed within him)--“what, man! would nothing serve +thee but to be a genius,--thee, whom Nature stamped with her curse! +Dwarf-like and distorted, mean in stature and in lineament, thou wert, +indeed, a glorious being to perpetuate grace and beauty, the majesties +and dreams of art! Fame for thee, indeed--ha-ha! Glory--ha-ha! a +place with Titian, Correggio, Raphael--ha--ha--ha! O, thrice modest, +thrice-reasonable fool! But this vile daub; this disfigurement of +canvas; this loathed and wretched monument of disgrace; this notable +candidate for--ha--ha--immortality! this I have, at least, in my power.” + And seizing the picture, he dashed it to the ground, and trampled it +with his feet upon the dusty boards, till the moist colours presented +nothing but one confused and dingy stain. + +This sight seemed to recall him for a moment. He paused, lifted up +the picture once more, and placed it on the table. “But,” he +muttered, “might not this critic be envious? am I sure that he judged +rightly--fairly? The greatest masters have looked askant and jealous at +their pupils’ works. And then, how slow, how cold, how damned cold, how +indifferently he spoke; why, the very art should have warmed him more. +Could he have--No, no, no: it was true, it was! I felt the conviction +thrill through me like a searing iron. Burn it--did he say--ay--burn it: +it shall be done this instant.” + +And, hastening to the door, he undid the bolt. He staggered back as he +beheld his old and nearest surviving relative, the mother of his father, +seated upon the ground beside the door, terrified by the exclamations +she did not dare to interrupt. She rose slowly, and with difficulty as +she saw him; and, throwing around him the withered arms which had nursed +his infancy, exclaimed, “My child!--my poor--poor child! what has come +to you of late? you, who were so gentle, so mild, so quiet,--you are no +longer the same,--and oh, my son, how ill you look: your father looked +so just before he died!” + +“Ill!” said he, with a sort of fearful gayety, “ill--no: I never was so +well; I have been in a dream till now; but I have woke at last. Why, +it is true that I have been silent and shy, but I will be so no more. +I will laugh, and talk, and walk, and make love, and drink wine, and be +all that other men are. Oh, we will be so merry! But stay here, while I +fetch a light.” + +“A light, my child, for what?” + +“For a funeral!” shouted Warner, and, rushing past her, he descended the +stairs, and returned almost in an instant with a light. + +Alarmed and terrified, the poor old woman had remained motionless and +weeping violently. Her tears Warner did not seem to notice; he pushed +her gently into the room, and began deliberately, and without uttering a +syllable, to cut the picture into shreds. + +“What are you about, my child?” cried the old woman “you are mad; it is +your beautiful picture that you are destroying!” + +Warner did not reply, but going to the hearth, piled together, with nice +and scrupulous care, several pieces of paper, and stick, and matches, +into a sort of pyre; then, placing the shreds of the picture upon it, he +applied the light, and the whole was instantly in a blaze. + +“Look, look!” cried he, in an hysterical tone, “how it burns and +crackles and blazes! What master ever equalled it now?--no fault now +in those colours,--no false tints in that light and shade! See how that +flame darts up and soars!--that flame is my spirit! Look--is it not +restless?--does it not aspire bravely?--why, all its brother flames +are grovellers to it!--and now,--why don’t you look!--it +falters--fades--droops--and--ha--ha--ha! poor idler, the fuel is +consumed--and--it is darkness.” + +As Warner uttered these words his eyes reeled; the room swam before him; +the excitement of his feeble frame had reached its highest pitch; the +disease of many weeks had attained its crisis; and, tottering back a +few paces, he fell upon the floor, the victim of a delirious and raging +fever. + +But it was not thus that the young artist was to die. He was reserved +for a death that, like his real nature, had in it more of gentleness and +poetry. He recovered by slow degrees, and his mind, almost in spite of +himself, returned to that profession from which it was impossible to +divert the thoughts and musings of many years. Not that he resumed the +pencil and the easel: on the contrary, he could not endure them in his +sight; they appeared, to a mind festered and sore, like a memorial and +monument of shame. But he nursed within him a strong and ardent desire +to become a pilgrim to that beautiful land of which he had so often +dreamed, and which the innocent destroyer of his peace had pointed out +as the theatre of inspiration and the nursery of future fame. + +The physicians who, at Talbot’s instigation, attended him, looked at his +hectic cheek and consumptive frame, and readily flattered his desire; +and Talbot, no less interested in Warner’s behalf on his own account +than bound by his promise to Clarence, generously extended to the +artist that bounty which is the most precious prerogative of the rich. +Notwithstanding her extreme age, his grandmother insisted upon attending +him: there is in the heart of woman so deep a well of love that no +age can freeze it. They made the voyage: they reached the shore of the +myrtle and the vine, and entered the Imperial City. The air of Rome +seemed at first to operate favourably upon the health of the English +artist. His strength appeared to increase, his spirit to expand; and +though he had relapsed into more than his original silence and reserve, +he resumed, with apparent energy, the labours of the easel: so that +they who looked no deeper than the surface might have imagined the scar +healed, and the real foundation of future excellence begun. + +But while Warner most humbled himself before the gods of the pictured +world; while the true principles of the mighty art opened in their +fullest glory on his soul; precisely at this very moment shame and +despondency were most bitter at his heart: and while the enthusiasm of +the painter kindled, the ambition of the man despaired. But still he +went on, transfusing into his canvas the grandeur and simplicity of the +Italian school; still, though he felt palpably within him the creeping +advance of the deadliest and surest enemy to fame, he pursued, with +an unwearied ardour, the mechanical completion of his task; still, the +morning found him bending before the easel, and the night brought to his +solitary couch meditation rather than sleep. The fire, the irritability +which he had evinced before his illness had vanished, and the original +sweetness of his temper had returned; he uttered no complaint, he dwelt +upon no anticipation of success; hope and regret seemed equally dead +within him; and it was only when he caught the fond, glad eyes of his +aged attendant that his own filled with tears, or that the serenity of +his brow darkened into sadness. + +This went on for some months; till one evening they found the painter +by his window, seated opposite to an unfinished picture. The pencil +was still in his hand; the quiet of settled thought was still upon +his countenance; the soft breeze of a southern twilight waved the hair +livingly from his forehead; the earliest star of a southern sky lent +to his cheek something of that subdued lustre which, when touched by +enthusiasm, it had been accustomed to wear; but these were only the +mockeries of life: life itself was no more! He had died, reconciled, +perhaps, to the loss of fame, in discovering that Art is to be loved for +itself, and not for the rewards it may bestow upon the artist. + +There are two tombs close to each other in the strangers’ burial-place +at Rome: they cover those for whom life, unequally long, terminated in +the same month. The one is of a woman, bowed with the burden of many +years: the other darkens over the dust of the young artist. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + Think upon my grief, + And on the justice of my flying hence, + To keep me from a most unholy match.--SHAKSPEARE. + +“But are you quite sure,” said General St. Leger, “are you quite sure +that this girl still permits Mordaunt’s addresses?” + +“Sure!” cried Miss Diana St. Leger, “sure, General! I saw it with my own +eyes. They were standing together in the copse, when I, who had long had +my suspicions, crept up, and saw them; and Mr. Mordaunt held her hand, +and kissed it every moment. Shocking and indecorous!” + +“I hate that man! as proud as Lucifer,” growled the General. “Shall we +lock her up, or starve her?” + +“No, General, something better than that.” + +“What, my love? flog her?” + +“She’s too old for that, brother; we’ll marry her.” + +“Marry her!” + +“Yes, to Mr. Glumford; you know that he has asked her several times.” + +“But she cannot bear him.” + +“We’ll make her bear him, General St. Leger.” + +“But if she marries, I shall have nobody to nurse me when I have the +gout.” + +“Yes, brother: I know of a nice little girl, Martha Richardson, your +second cousin’s youngest daughter; you know he has fourteen children, +and you may have them all, one after another, if you like.” + +“Very true, Diana; let the jade marry Mr. Glumford.” + +“She shall,” said the sister; “and I’ll go about it this very moment: +meantime I’ll take care that she does not see her lover any more.” + +About three weeks after this conversation, Mordaunt, who had in vain +endeavoured to see Isabel, who had not even heard from her, whose +letters had been returned to him unopened, and who, consequently, was in +despair, received the following note:-- + +This is the first time I have been able to write to you, at least to get +my letter conveyed: it is a strange messenger that I have employed, but +I happened formerly to make his acquaintance; and accidentally +seeing him to-day, the extremity of the case induced me to give him a +commission which I could trust to no one else. Algernon, are not the +above sentences written with admirable calmness? are they not very +explanatory, very consistent, very cool? and yet do you know that I +firmly believe I am going mad? My brain turns round and round, and my +hand burns so that I almost think that, like our old nurse’s stories of +the fiend, it will scorch the paper as I write. And I see strange faces +in my sleep and in my waking, all mocking at me, and they torture and +aunt met and when I look at those faces I see no human relenting, no! +though I weep and throw myself on my knees and implore them to save me. +Algernon, my only hope is in you. You know that I have always hitherto +refused to ruin you, and even now, though I implore you to deliver me, I +will not be so selfish as--as--I know not what I write, but if I cannot +be your wife--I will not be his! No! if they drag me to church, it shall +be to my grave, not my bridal. ISABEL ST. LEGER. + +When Mordaunt had read this letter, which, in spite of its incoherence, +his fears readily explained, he rose hastily; his eyes rested upon a +sober-looking man, clad in brown. The proud love no spectators to their +emotions. + +“Who are you, sir?” said Algernon, quickly. + +“Morris Brown,” replied the stranger, coolly and civilly. “Brought that +letter to you, sir; shall be very happy to serve you with anything +else; just fitted out a young gentleman as ambassador, a nephew to Mrs. +Minden,--very old friend of mine. Beautiful slabs you have here, sir, +but they want a few knick-knacks; shall be most happy to supply you; got +a lovely little ape, sir, stuffed by the late Lady Waddilove; it would +look charming with this old-fashioned carving; give the room quite the +air of a museum.” + +“And so,” said Mordaunt, for whose ear the eloquence of Mr. Brown +contained only one sentence, “and so you brought this note, and will +take back my answer?” + +“Yes, sir; anything to keep up family connections; I knew a Lady Morden +very well,--very well indeed, sir,--a relation of yours, I presume, by +the similarity of the name; made her very valuable presents; shall be +most happy to do the same to you, when you are married, sir. You will +refurnish the house, I suppose? Let me see; fine proportions to this +room, sir; about thirty-six feet by twenty-eight; I’ll do the thing +twenty per cent cheaper than the trade; and touching the lovely +little--” + +“Here,” interrupted Mordaunt, “you will take back this note, and be +sure that Miss Isabel St. Leger has it as soon as possible; oblige me by +accepting this trifle,--a trifle indeed compared with my gratitude, if +this note reaches its destination safely.” + +“I am sure,” said Mr. Brown, looking with surprise at the gift, which +he held with no unwilling hand, “I am sure, sir, that you are very +generous, and strongly remind me of your relation, Lady Morden; and +if you would like the lovely little ape as a present--I mean really a +present--you shall have it, Mr. Mordaunt.” + +But Mr. Mordaunt had left the room, and the sober Morris, looking round, +and cooling in his generosity, said to himself, “It is well he did not +hear me, however; but I hope he will marry the nice young lady, for I +love doing a kindness. This house must be refurnished; no lady will like +these old-fashioned chairs.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + Squire and fool are the same thing here--FARQUHAR. + + In such a night + Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, + And, with an unthrift love, did run from Venice.---SHAKSPEARE. + +The persecutions which Isabel had undergone had indeed preyed upon her +reason as well as her health; and, in her brief intervals of respite +from the rage of the uncle, the insults of the aunt, and, worse than +all, the addresses of the intended bridegroom, her mind, shocked and +unhinged, reverted with such intensity to the sufferings she endured as +to give her musings the character of insanity. It was in one of these +moments that she had written to Mordaunt; and had the contest continued +much longer the reason of the unfortunate and persecuted girl would have +totally deserted her. + +She was a person of acute, and even poignant, sensibilities, and these +the imperfect nature of her education had but little served to guide +or to correct; but as her habits were pure and good, the impulses which +spring from habit were also sinless and exalted, and, if they erred, +“they leaned on virtue’s side,” and partook rather of a romantic +and excessive generosity than of the weakness of womanhood or the +selfishness of passion. All the misery and debasement of her equivocal +and dependent situation had not been able to drive her into compliance +with Mordaunt’s passionate and urgent prayers; and her heart was proof +even to the eloquence of love, when that eloquence pointed towards the +worldly injury and depreciation of her lover: but this new persecution +was utterly unforeseen in its nature and intolerable from its cause. To +marry another; to be torn forever from one in whom her whole heart was +wrapped; to be forced not only to forego his love, but to feel that the +very thought of him was a crime,--all this, backed by the vehement and +galling insults of her relations, and the sullen and unmoved meanness of +her intended bridegroom, who answered her candour and confession with a +stubborn indifference and renewed overtures, made a load of evil which +could neither be borne with resignation nor contemplated with patience. + +She was sitting, after she had sent her letter, with her two relations, +for they seldom trusted her out of their sight, when Mr. Glumford was +announced. Now, Mr. George Glumford was a country gentleman of what +might be termed a third-rate family in the county: he possessed about +twelve hundred a year, to say nothing of the odd pounds, shillings, and +pence, which, however, did not meet with such contempt in his memory or +estimation; was of a race which could date as far back as Charles the +Second; had been educated at a country school with sixty others, chiefly +inferior to himself in rank; and had received the last finish at a +very small hall at Oxford. In addition to these advantages, he had been +indebted to nature for a person five feet eight inches high, and stout +in proportion; for hair very short, very straight, and of a red hue, +which even through powder cast out a yellow glow; for an obstinate +dogged sort of nose, beginning in snub, and ending in bottle; for cold, +small, gray eyes, a very small mouth, pinched up and avaricious; and +very large, very freckled, yet rather white hands, the nails of which +were punctiliously cut into a point every other day, with a pair of +scissors which Mr. Glumford often boasted had been in his possession +since his eighth year; namely, for about thirty-two legitimate +revolutions of the sun. + +He was one of those persons who are equally close and adventurous; who +love the eclat of a little speculation, but take exceeding good care +that it should be, in their own graceful phrase, “on the safe side of +the hedge.” In pursuance of this characteristic of mind, he had +resolved to fall in love with Miss Isabel St. Leger; for she being very +dependent, he could boast to her of his disinterestedness, and hope that +she would be economical through a principle of gratitude; and being +the nearest relation to the opulent General St. Leger and his unmarried +sister there seemed to be every rational probability of her inheriting +the bulk of their fortunes. Upon these hints of prudence spake Mr. +George Glumford. + +Now, when Isabel, partly in her ingenuous frankness, partly from the +passionate promptings of her despair, revealed to him her attachment to +another, and her resolution never, with her own consent, to become his, +it seemed to the slow but not uncalculating mind of Mr. Glumford not by +any means desirable that he should forego his present intentions, but +by all means desirable that he should make this reluctance of Isabel +an excuse for sounding the intentions and increasing the posthumous +liberality of the East Indian and his sister. + +“The girl is of my nearest blood,” said the Major-General, “and if I +don’t leave my fortune to her, who the devil should I leave it to, sir?” + and so saying, the speaker, who was in a fell paroxysm of the gout, +looked so fiercely at the hinting wooer that Mr. George Glumford, who +was no Achilles, was somewhat frightened, and thought it expedient to +hint no more. + +“My brother,” said Miss Diana, “is so odd; but he is the most generous +of men: besides, the girl has claims upon him.” Upon these speeches Mr. +Glumford thought himself secure; and inly resolving to punish the +fool for her sulkiness and bad taste as soon as he lawfully could, he +continued his daily visits and told his sporting acquaintance that his +time was coming. + +Revenons a nos moutons. Forgive this preliminary detail, and let us +return to Mr. Glumford himself, whom we left at the door, pulling and +fumbling at the glove which covered his right hand, in order to present +the naked palm to Miss Diana St. Leger. After this act was performed, +he approached Isabel, and drawing his chair near to her, proceeded +to converse with her as the Ogre did with Puss in Boots; namely, “as +civilly as an Ogre could do.” + +This penance had not proceeded far, before the door was again opened, +and Mr. Morris Brown presented himself to the conclave. + +“Your servant, General; your servant, Madam. I took the liberty of +coming back again, Madam, because I forgot to show you some very fine +silks, the most extraordinary bargain in the world,--quite presents; +and I have a Sevres bowl here, a superb article, from the cabinet of the +late Lady Waddilove.” + +Now Mr. Brown was a very old acquaintance of Miss Diana St. Leger, for +there is a certain class of old maids with whom our fair readers are no +doubt acquainted, who join to a great love of expense a great love of +bargains, and who never purchase at the regular place if they can find +any irregular vendor. They are great friends of Jews and itinerants, +hand-in-glove with smugglers, Ladies Bountiful to pedlers, are diligent +readers of puffs and advertisements, and eternal haunters of sales and +auctions. Of this class was Miss Diana a most prominent individual: +judge, then, how acceptable to her was the acquaintance of Mr. Brown. +That indefatigable merchant of miscellanies had, indeed, at a time +when brokers were perhaps rather more rare and respectable than now, a +numerous country acquaintance, and thrice a year he performed a sort +of circuit to all his customers and connections; hence his visit to St. +Leger House, and hence Isabel’s opportunity of conveying her epistle. + +“Pray,” said Mr. Glumford, who had heard much of Mr. Brown’s “presents” + from Miss Diana,--“pray don’t you furnish rooms, and things of that +sort?” + +“Certainly, sir, certainly, in the best manner possible.” + +“Oh, very well; I shall want some rooms furnished soon,--a bedroom and +a dressing-room, and things of that sort, you know. And so--perhaps +you may have something in your box that will suit me, gloves or +handkerchiefs or shirts or things of that sort.” + +“Yes, sir, everything, I sell everything,” said Mr. Brown, opening his +box. “I beg pardon, Miss Isabel, I have dropped my handkerchief by your +chair; allow me to stoop,” and Mr. Brown, stooping under the table, +managed to effect his purpose; unseen by the rest, a note was slipped +into Isabel’s hand, and under pretence of stooping too, she managed to +secure the treasure. Love need well be honest if, even when it is most +true, it leads us into so much that is false! + +Mr. Brown’s box was now unfolded before the eyes of the crafty Mr. +Glumford, who, having selected three pair of gloves, offered the exact +half of the sum demanded. + +Mr. Brown lifted up his hands and eyes. + +“You see,” said the imperturbable Glumford, “that if you let me have +them for that, and they last me well, and don’t come unsewn, and stand +cleaning, you’ll have my custom in furnishing the house, and rooms, +and--things of that sort.” + +Struck with the grandeur of this opening, Mr. Brown yielded, and the +gloves were bought. + +“The fool!” thought the noble George, laughing in his sleeve, “as if +I should ever furnish the house from his box!” Strange that some men +should be proud of being mean! The moment Isabel escaped to dress for +dinner, she opened her lover’s note. It was as follows.-- + +Be in the room, your retreat, at nine this evening. Let the window be +left unclosed. Precisely at that hour I will be with you. I shall have +everything in readiness for your flight. Be sure, dearest Isabel, that +nothing prevents your meeting me there, even if all your house follow +or attend you. I will bear you from all. Oh, Isabel! in spite of the +mystery and wretchedness of your letter, I feel too happy, too blest at +the thought that our fates will be at length united, and that the union +is at hand. Remember nine. A. M. + +Love is a feeling which has so little to do with the world, a passion +so little regulated by the known laws of our more steady and settled +emotions, that the thoughts which it produces are always more or +less connected with exaggeration and romance. To the secret spirit of +enterprise which, however chilled by his pursuits and habits, still +burned within Mordaunt’s breast, there was a wild pleasure in the +thought of bearing off his mistress and his bride from the very home and +hold of her false friends and real foes; while in the contradictions +of the same passion, Isabel, so far from exulting at her approaching +escape, trembled at her danger and blushed for her temerity; and the +fear and the modesty of woman almost triumphed over her brief energy and +fluctuating resolve. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + We haste,-the chosen and the lovely bringing; + Love still goes with her from her place of birth; + Deep, silent joy, within her soul is springing, + Though in her glance the light no more is mirth.--Mrs. HEMANS. + +“Damn it!” said the General. + +“The vile creature!” cried Miss Diana. + +“I don’t understand things of that sort,” ejaculated the bewildered Mr. +Glumford. + +“She has certainly gone,” said the valiant General. + +“Certainly!” grunted Miss Diana. + +“Gone!” echoed the bridegroom not to be. + +And she was gone! Never did more loving and tender heart forsake all, +and cling to a more loyal and generous nature. The skies were darkened +with clouds,-- + + “And the dim stars rushed through them rare and fast;” + +and the winds wailed with a loud and ominous voice; and the moon came +forth, with a faint and sickly smile, from her chamber in the mist, and +then shrank back, and was seen no more; but neither omen nor fear was +upon Mordaunt’s breast, as it swelled beneath the dark locks of Isabel, +which were pressed against it. + +As Faith clings the more to the cross of life, while the wastes deepen +around her steps, and the adders creep forth upon her path, so love +clasps that which is its hope and comfort the closer, for the desert +which encompasses and the dangers which harass its way. + +They had fled to London, and Isabel had been placed with a very distant +and very poor, though very high-born, relative of Algernon, till the +necessary preliminaries could be passed and the final bond knit. Yet +still the generous Isabel would have refused, despite the injury to +her own fame, to have ratified a union which filled her with gloomy +presentiments for Mordaunt’s fate; and still Mordaunt by little and +little broke down her tender scruples and self-immolating resolves, and +ceased not his eloquence and his suit till the day of his nuptials was +set and come. + +The morning was bright and clear; the autumn was drawing towards its +close, and seemed willing to leave its last remembrance tinged with the +warmth and softness of its parent summer, rather than with the stern +gloom and severity of its chilling successor. + +And they stood beside the altar, and their vows were exchanged. A +slight tremor came over Algernon’s frame, a slight shade darkened +his countenance; for even in that bridal hour an icy and thrilling +foreboding curdled to his heart; it passed,--the ceremony was over, +and Mordaunt bore his blushing and weeping bride from the church. His +carriage was in attendance; for, not knowing how long the home of +his ancestors might be his, he was impatient to return to it. The old +Countess d’Arcy, Mordaunt’s relation, with whom Isabel had been staying, +called them back to bless them; for, even through the coldness of old +age, she was touched by the singularity of their love and affected by +their nobleness of heart. She laid her wan and shrivelled hand upon +each, as she bade them farewell, and each shrank back involuntarily, for +the cold and light touch seemed like the fingers of the dead. + +Fearful, indeed, is the vicinity of death and life,--the bridal chamber +and the charnel. That night the old woman died. It appeared as if Fate +had set its seal upon the union it had so long forbidden, and had woven +a dark thread even in the marriage-bond. At least, it tore from two +hearts, over which the cloud and the blast lay couched in a “grim +repose,” the last shelter, which, however frail and distant, seemed left +to them upon the inhospitable earth. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + Live while ye may, yet happy pair; enjoy + Short pleasures, for long woes are to succeed.--MILTON. + +The autumn and the winter passed away; Mordaunt’s relation continued +implacable. Algernon grieved for this, independent of worldly +circumstances; for, though he had seldom seen that relation, yet he +loved him for former kindness--rather promised, to be sure, than +yet shown--with the natural warmth of an affection which has but few +objects. However, the old gentleman (a very short, very fat person; very +short and very fat people, when they are surly, are the devil and all; +for the humours of their mind, like those of their body, have something +corrupt and unpurgeable in them) wrote him one bluff, contemptuous +letter, in a witty strain,--for he was a bit of a humourist,--disowned +his connection, and very shortly afterwards died, and left all his +fortune to the very Mr. Vavasour who was at law with Mordaunt, and for +whom he had always openly expressed the strongest personal dislike: +spite to one relation is a marvellous tie to another. Meanwhile the +lawsuit went on less slowly than lawsuits usually do, and the final +decision was very speedily to be given. + +We said the autumn and the winter were gone; and it was in one of those +latter days in March, when, like a hoyden girl subsiding into dawning +womanhood, the rude weather mellows into a softer and tenderer month, +that, by the side of a stream, overshadowed by many a brake and tree, +sat two persons. + +“I know not, dearest Algernon,” said one, who was a female, “if this is +not almost the sweetest month in the year, because it is the month of +Hope.” + +“Ay, Isabel; and they did it wrong who called it harsh, and dedicated it +to Mars. I exult even in the fresh winds which hardier frames than mine +shrink from, and I love feeling their wild breath fan my cheek as I ride +against it. I remember,” continued Algernon, musingly, “that on this +very day three years ago, I was travelling through Germany, alone and on +horseback, and I paused, not far from Ens, on the banks of the Danube; +the waters of the river were disturbed and fierce, and the winds came +loud and angry against my face, dashing the spray of the waves upon me, +and filling my spirit with a buoyant and glad delight; and at that time +I had been indulging old dreams of poetry, and had laid my philosophy +aside; and, in the inspiration of the moment, I lifted up my hand +towards the quarter whence the winds came, and questioned them audibly +of their birthplace and their bourne; and, as the enthusiasm increased, +I compared them to our human life, which a moment is, and then is not; +and, proceeding from folly to folly, I asked them, as if they were the +interpreters of heaven, for a type and sign of my future lot.” + +“And what said they?” inquired Isabel, smiling, yet smiling timidly. + +“They answered not,” replied Mordaunt; “but a voice within me seemed +to say, ‘Look above!’ and I raised my eyes,--but I did not see thee, +love,--so the Book of Fate lied.” + +“Nay, Algernon, what did you see?” asked Isabel, more earnestly than the +question deserved. + +“I saw a thin cloud, alone amidst many dense and dark ones scattered +around; and as I gazed it seemed to take the likeness of a funeral +procession--coffin, bearers, priests, all--as clear in the cloud as I +have seen them on the earth: and I shuddered as I saw; but the winds +blew the vapour onwards, and it mingled with the broader masses of +cloud; and then, Isabel, the sun shone forth for a moment, and I +mistook, love, when I said you were not there, for that sun was you; but +suddenly the winds ceased, and the rain came on fast and heavy: so my +romance cooled, and my fever slacked; I thought on the inn at Ens, +and the blessings of a wood fire, which is lighted in a moment, and I +spurred on my horse accordingly.” + +“It is very strange,” said Isabel. + +“What, love?” whispered Algernon, kissing her cheek. + +“Nothing, dearest, nothing.” + +At that instant, the deer, which lay waving their lordly antlers to and +fro beneath the avenue which sloped upward from the stream to the house, +rose hurriedly and in confusion, and stood gazing, with watchful eyes, +upon a man advancing towards the pair. + +It was one of the servants with a letter. Isabel saw a faint change +(which none else could have seen) in Mordaunt’s countenance, as he +recognized the writing and broke the seal. When he had read the letter, +his eyes fell upon the ground, and then, with a slight start, he lifted +them up, and gazed long and eagerly around. Wistfully did he drink, +as it were, into his heart the beautiful and expanded scene which lay +stretched on either side; the noble avenue which his forefathers had +planted as a shelter to their sons, and which now in its majestic growth +and its waving boughs seemed to say, “Lo! ye are repaid!” and the never +silent and silver stream, by which his boyhood had sat for hours, lulled +by its music, and inhaling the fragrance of the reed and wild flower +that decoyed the bee to its glossy banks; and the deer, to whose +melancholy belling be had listened so often in the gray twilight with +a rapt and dreaming ear; and the green fern waving on the gentle hill, +from whose shade his young feet had startled the hare and the infant +fawn; and far and faintly gleaming through the thick trees, which +clasped it as with a girdle, the old Hall, so associated with vague +hopes and musing dreams, and the dim legends of gone time, and the lofty +prejudices of ancestral pride,--all seemed to sink within him, as he +gazed, like the last looks of departing friends; and when Isabel, who +had not dared to break a silence which partook so strongly of gloom, +at length laid her hand upon his arm, and lifted her dark, deep, tender +eyes to his, he said, as he drew her towards him, and a faint and sickly +smile played upon his lips,-- + +“It is past, Isabel: henceforth we have no wealth but in each other. The +cause has been decided--and--and--we are beggars!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + We expose our life to a quotidian ague of frigid + impertinences, which would make a wise man tremble to think + of.--COWLEY. + +We must suppose a lapse of four years from the date of those events +which concluded the last chapter; and, to recompence the reader, who I +know has a little penchant for “High Life,” even in the last century, +for having hitherto shown him human beings in a state of society +not wholly artificial, I beg him to picture to himself a large room, +brilliantly illuminated, and crowded “with the magnates of the land.” + Here, some in saltatory motion, some in sedentary rest, are dispersed +various groups of young ladies and attendant swains, talking upon the +subject of Lord Rochester’s celebrated poem,--namely, “Nothing!”--and +lounging around the doors, meditating probably upon the same subject, +stand those unhappy victims of dancing daughters, denominated “Papas.” + +The music has ceased; the dancers have broken up; and there is a general +but gentle sweep towards the refreshment-room. In the crowd--having +just entered--there glided a young man of an air more distinguished and +somewhat more joyous than the rest. + +“How do you do, Mr. Linden?” said a tall and (though somewhat passe) +very handsome woman, blazing with diamonds; “are you just come?” + +And, here, by the way, I cannot resist pausing to observe that a friend +of mine, meditating a novel, submitted a part of the manuscript to +a friendly publisher. “Sir,” said the bookseller, “your book is very +clever, but it wants dialogue.” + +“Dialogue!” cried my friend: “you mistake; it is all dialogue.” + +“Ay, sir, but not what we call dialogue; we want a little conversation +in fashionable life,--a little elegant chit-chat or so: and, as you must +have seen so much of the beau monde, you could do it to the life: we +must have something light and witty and entertaining.” + +“Light, witty, and entertaining!” said our poor friend; “and how the +deuce, then, is it to be like conversation in ‘fashionable life’? When +the very best conversation one can get is so insufferably dull, how do +you think people will be amused by reading a copy of the very worst?” + +“They are amused, sir,” said the publisher; “and works of this kind +sell!” + +“I am convinced,” said my friend; for he was a man of a placid temper: +he took the hint, and his book did sell! + +Now this anecdote rushed into my mind after the penning of the little +address of the lady in diamonds,--“How do you do, Mr. Linden? Are +you just come?”--and it received an additional weight from my utter +inability to put into the mouth of Mr. Linden--notwithstanding my desire +of representing him in the most brilliant colours--any more happy and +eloquent answer than, “Only this instant!” + +However, as this is in the true spirit of elegant dialogue, I trust my +readers find it as light, witty, and entertaining as, according to the +said publisher, the said dialogue is always found by the public. + +While Clarence was engaged in talking with this lady, a very pretty, +lively, animated girl, with laughing blue eyes, which, joined to the +dazzling fairness of her complexion, gave a Hebe-like youth to her +features and expression, was led up to the said lady by a tall young +man, and consigned, with the ceremonious bow of the vieille tour, to her +protection. + +“Ah, Mr. Linden,” cried the young lady, “I am very glad to see +you,--such a beautiful ball!--Everybody here that I most like. Have you +had any refreshments, Mamma? But I need not ask, for I am sure you have +not; do come, Mr. Linden will be our cavalier.” + +“Well, Flora, as you please,” said the elderly lady, with a proud +and fond look at her beautiful daughter; and they proceeded to the +refreshment-room. + +No sooner were they seated at one of the tables, than they were accosted +by Lord St. George, a nobleman whom Clarence, before he left England, +had met more than once at Mr. Talbot’s. + +“London,” said his lordship to her of the diamonds, “has not seemed like +the same place since Lady Westborough arrived; your presence brings +out all the other luminaries: and therefore a young acquaintance of +mine--God bless me, there he is, seated by Lady Flora--very justly +called you the ‘evening star.’” + +“Was that Mr. Linden’s pretty saying?” said Lady Westborough, smiling. + +“It was,” answered Lord St. George; “and, by the by, he is a very +sensible, pleasant person, and greatly improved since he left England +last.” + +“What!” said Lady Westborough, in a low tone (for Clarence, though in +earnest conversation with Lady Flora, was within hearing), and making +room for Lord St. George beside her, “what! did you know him before he +went to ----? You can probably tell me, then, who--that is to say--what +family he is exactly of--the Lindens of Devonshire, or--or--” + +“Why, really,” said Lord St. George, a little confused, for no man likes +to be acquainted with persons whose pedigree he cannot explain, “I don’t +know what may be his family: I met him at Talbot’s four or five years +ago; he was then a mere boy, but he struck me as being very clever, and +Talbot since told me that he was a nephew of his own.” + +“Talbot,” said Lady Westborough, musingly, “what Talbot?” + +“Oh! the Talbot--the ci-devant jeune homme!” + +“What, that charming, clever, animated old gentleman, who used to dress +so oddly, and had been so celebrated a beau garcon in his day?” + +“Exactly so,” said Lord St. George, taking snuff, and delighted to find +he had set his young acquaintance on so honourable a footing. + +“I did not know he was still alive,” said Lady Westborough, and +then, turning her eyes towards Clarence and her daughter, she added +carelessly, “Mr. Talbot is very rich, is he not?” + +“Rich as Croesus,” replied Lord St. George, with a sigh. + +“And Mr. Linden is his heir, I suppose?” + +“In all probability,” answered Lord St. George; “though I believe I can +boast a distant relationship to Talbot. However, I could not make him +fully understand it the other day, though I took particular pains to +explain it.” + +While this conversation was going on between the Marchioness of +Westborough and Lord St. George, a dialogue equally interesting to the +parties concerned, and I hope, equally light, witty, and entertaining to +readers in general, was sustained between Clarence and Lady Flora. + +“How long shall you stay in England?” asked the latter, looking down. + +“I have not yet been able to decide,” replied Clarence, “for it rests +with the ministers, not me. Directly Lord Aspeden obtains another +appointment, I am promised the office of Secretary of Legation; but till +then, I am-- + + “‘A captive in Augusta’s towers + To beauty and her train.’” + +“Oh!” cried Lady Flora, laughing, “you mean Mrs. Desborough and her +train: see where they sweep! Pray go and render her homage.” + +“It is rendered,” said Linden, in a low voice, “without so long a +pilgrimage, but perhaps despised.” + +Lady Flora’s laugh was hushed; the deepest blushes suffused her cheeks, +and the whole character of that face, before so playful and joyous, +seemed changed, as by a spell, into a grave, subdued, and even timid +look. + +Linden resumed, and his voice scarcely rose above a whisper. A whisper! +O delicate and fairy sound! music that speaketh to the heart, as if loth +to break the spell that binds it while it listens! Sigh breathed into +words, and freighting love in tones languid, like homeward bees, by the +very sweets with which they are charged! “Do you remember,” said he, +“that evening at ---- when we last parted? and the boldness which at +that time you were gentle enough to forgive?” + +Lady Flora replied not. + +“And do you remember,” continued Clarence, “that I told you that it was +not as an unknown and obscure adventurer that I would claim the hand of +her whose heart as an adventurer I had won?” + +Lady Flora raised her eyes for one moment, and encountering the ardent +gaze of Clarence, as instantly dropped them. + +“The time is not yet come,” said Linden, “for the fulfilment of this +promise; but may I--dare I hope, that when it does, I shall not be--” + +“Flora, my love,” said Lady Westborough, “let me introduce to you Lord +Borodaile.” + +Lady Flora turned: the spell was broken; and the lovers were instantly +transformed into ordinary mortals. But, as Flora, after returning Lord +Borodaile’s address, glanced her eye towards Clarence, she was struck +with the sudden and singular change of his countenance; the flush of +youth and passion was fled, his complexion was deadly pale, and his eyes +were fixed with a searching and unaccountable meaning upon the face of +the young nobleman, who was alternately addressing, with a quiet and +somewhat haughty fluency, the beautiful mother, and the more lovely +though less commanding daughter. Directly Linden perceived that he was +observed, he rose, turned away, and was soon lost among the crowd. + +Lord Borodaile, the son and heir of the powerful Earl of Ulswater, +was about the age of thirty, small, slight, and rather handsome than +otherwise, though his complexion was dark and sallow; and a very +aquiline nose gave a stern and somewhat severe air to his countenance. +He had been for several years abroad, in various parts of the Continent, +and (no other field for an adventurous and fierce spirit presenting +itself) had served with the gallant Earl of Effingham, in the war +between the Turks and Russians, as a volunteer in the armies of the +latter. In this service he had been highly distinguished for courage and +conduct; and, on his return to England about a twelvemonth since, had +obtained the command of a cavalry regiment. Passionately fond of his +profession, he entered into its minutest duties with a zeal not exceeded +by the youngest and poorest subaltern in the army. + +His manners were very cold, haughty, collected, and self-possessed, and +his conversation that of a man who has cultivated his intellect rather +in the world than the closet. I mean, that, perfectly ignorant of +things, he was driven to converse solely upon persons, and, having +imbibed no other philosophy than that which worldly deceits and +disappointments bestow, his remarks, though shrewd, were bitterly +sarcastic, and partook of all the ill-nature for which a very scanty +knowledge of the world gives a sour and malevolent mind so ready an +excuse. + +“How very disagreeable Lord Borodaile is!” said Lady Flora, when the +object of the remark turned away and rejoined some idlers of his corps. + +“Disagreeable!” said Lady Westborough. “I think him charming: he is so +sensible. How true his remarks on the world are!” + +Thus is it always; the young judge harshly of those who undeceive or +revolt their enthusiasm; and the more advanced in years, who have not +learned by a diviner wisdom to look upon the human follies and errors by +which they have suffered with a pitying and lenient eye, consider +every maxim of severity on those frailties as the proof of a superior +knowledge, and praise that as a profundity of thought which in reality +is but an infirmity of temper. + +Clarence is now engaged in a minuet de la tour with the beautiful +Countess of ----, the best dancer of the day in England. Lady Flora is +flirting with half a dozen beaux, the more violently in proportion as +she observes the animation with which Clarence converses, and the grace +with which his partner moves; and, having thus left our two principal +personages occupied and engaged, let us turn for a moment to a room +which we have not entered. + +This is a forlorn, deserted chamber, destined to cards, which are never +played in this temple of Terpsichore. At the far end of this room, +opposite to the fireplace, are seated four men, engaged in earnest +conversation. + +The tallest of these was Lord Quintown, a nobleman remarkable at that +day for his personal advantages, his good fortune with the beau sexe, +his attempts at parliamentary eloquence, in which he was lamentably +unsuccessful, and his adherence to Lord North. Next to him sat Mr. St. +George, the younger brother of Lord St. George, a gentleman to whom +power and place seemed married without hope of divorce; for, whatever +had been the changes of ministry for the last twelve years, he, +secure in a lucrative though subordinate situation, had “smiled at +the whirlwind and defied the storm,” and, while all things shifted and +vanished round him, like clouds and vapours, had remained fixed and +stationary as a star. “Solid St. George,” was his appellative by his +friends, and his enemies did not grudge him the title. The third was the +minister for ----; and the fourth was Clarence’s friend, Lord Aspeden. +Now this nobleman, blessed with a benevolent, smooth, calm countenance, +valued himself especially upon his diplomatic elegance in turning a +compliment. + +Having a great taste for literature as well as diplomacy, this respected +and respectable peer also possessed a curious felicity for applying +quotation; and nothing rejoiced him so much as when, in the same phrase, +he was enabled to set the two jewels of his courtliness of flattery +and his profundity of erudition. Unhappily enough, his compliments +were seldom as well taken as they were meant; and, whether from the +ingratitude of the persons complimented or the ill fortune of the noble +adulator, seemed sometimes to produce indignation in place of delight. +It has been said that his civilities had cost Lord Aspeden four duels +and one beating; but these reports were probably the malicious invention +of those who had never tasted the delicacies of his flattery. + +Now these four persons being all members of the Privy Council, and being +thus engaged in close and earnest conference were, you will suppose, +employed in discussing their gravities and secrets of state: no such +thing; that whisper from Lord Quintown, the handsome nobleman, to Mr. +St. George, is no hoarded and valuable information which would rejoice +the heart of the editor of an Opposition paper, no direful murmur, +“perplexing monarchs with the dread of change;” it is only a recent +piece of scandal, touching the virtue of a lady of the court, which +(albeit the sage listener seems to pay so devout an attention to the +news) is far more interesting to the gallant and handsome informant than +to his brother statesman; and that emphatic and vehement tone with which +Lord Aspeden is assuring the minister for ---- of some fact, is merely +an angry denunciation of the chicanery practised at the last Newmarket. + +“By the by, Aspeden,” said Lord Quintown, “who is that good-looking +fellow always flirting with Lady Flora Ardenne,--an attache of yours, is +he not?” + +“Oh! Linden, I suppose you mean. A very sensible, clever young fellow, +who has a great genius for business and plays the flute admirably. I +must have him for my secretary, my dear lord, mind that.” + +“With such a recommendation, Lord Aspeden,” said the minister, with a +bow, “the state would be a great loser did it not elect your attache, +who plays so admirably on the flute, to the office of your secretary. +Let us join the dancers.” + +“I shall go and talk with Count B----,” quoth Mr. St. George. + +“And I shall make my court to his beautiful wife,” said the minister, +sauntering into the ballroom, to which his fine person and graceful +manners were much better adapted than was his genius to the cabinet or +his eloquence to the senate. + +The morning had long dawned, and Clarence, for whose mind pleasure was +more fatiguing than business, lingered near the door, to catch one last +look of Lady Flora before he retired. He saw her leaning on the arm of +Lord Borodaile, and hastening to join the dancers with her usual light +step and laughing air; for Clarence’s short conference with her had, in +spite of his subsequent flirtations, rendered her happier than she had +ever felt before. Again a change passed over Clarence’s countenance,--a +change which I find it difficult to express without borrowing from those +celebrated German dramatists who could portray in such exact colours “a +look of mingled joy, sorrow, hope, passion, rapture, and despair;” for +the look was not that of jealousy alone, although it certainly partook +of its nature, but a little also of interest, and a little of sorrow; +and when he turned away, and slowly descended the stairs, his eyes were +full of tears, and his thoughts far--far away;--whither? + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + Quae fert adolescentia + Ea ne me celet consuefeci filium.--TERENCE. + + [“The things which youth proposes I accustomed + my son that he should never conceal from me.”] + +The next morning Clarence was lounging over his breakfast, and glancing +listlessly now at the pages of the newspapers, now at the various +engagements for the week, which lay confusedly upon his table, when he +received a note from Talbot, requesting to see him as soon as possible. + +“Had it not been for that man,” said Clarence to himself, “what should +I have been now? But, at least, I have not disgraced his friendship. I +have already ascended the roughest because the lowest steps on the hill +where Fortune builds her temple. I have already won for the name I have +chosen some ‘golden opinions’ to gild its obscurity. One year more +may confirm my destiny and ripen hope into success: then--then, I may +perhaps throw off a disguise that, while it befriended, has not degraded +me, and avow myself to her! Yet how much better to dignify the name +I have assumed than to owe respect only to that which I have not been +deemed worthy to inherit! Well, well, these are bitter thoughts; let me +turn to others. How beautiful Flora looked last night! and, he--he--but +enough of this: I must dress, and then to Talbot.” + +Muttering these wayward fancies, Clarence rose, completed his toilet, +sent for his horses, and repaired to a village about seven miles +from London, where Talbot, having yielded to Clarence’s fears and +solicitations, and left his former insecure tenement, now resided under +the guard and care of an especial and private watchman. + +It was a pretty, quiet villa, surrounded by a plantation and +pleasure-ground of some extent for a suburban residence, in which the +old philosopher (for though in some respects still frail and prejudiced, +Talbot deserved that name) held his home. The ancient servant, on +whom four years had passed lightly and favouringly, opened the door to +Clarence, with his usual smile of greeting and familiar yet respectful +salutation, and ushered our hero into a room, furnished with the usual +fastidious and rather feminine luxury which characterized Talbot’s +tastes. Sitting with his back turned to the light, in a large +easy-chair, Clarence found the wreck of the once gallant, gay Lothario. + +There was not much alteration in his countenance since we last saw him; +the lines, it is true, were a little more decided, and the cheeks +a little more sunken; but the dark eye beamed with all its wonted +vivacity, and the delicate contour of the mouth preserved all its +physiognomical characteristics of the inward man. He rose with somewhat +more difficulty than he was formerly wont to do, and his limbs had lost +much of their symmetrical proportions; yet the kind clasp of his hand +was as firm and warm as when it had pressed that of the boyish attache +four years since; and the voice which expressed his salutation yet +breathed its unconquered suavity and distinctness of modulation. After +the customary greetings and inquiries were given and returned, the young +man drew his chair near to Talbot’s, and said,-- + +“You sent for me, dear sir; have you anything more important than usual +to impart to me?--or--and I hope this is the case--have you at last +thought of any commission, however trifling, in the execution of which I +can be of use?” + +“Yes, Clarence, I wish your judgment to select me some +strawberries,--you know that I am a great epicure in fruit,--and get me +the new work Dr. Johnson has just published. There, are you contented? +And now, tell me all about your horse; does he step well? Has he the +true English head and shoulder? Are his legs fine, yet strong? Is he +full of spirit and devoid of vice?” + +“He is all this, sir, thanks to you for him.” + +“Ah!” cried Talbot,-- + + “‘Old as I am, for riding feats unfit, + The shape of horses I remember yet’” + +“And now let us hear how you like Ranelagh; and above all how you liked +the ball last night.” + +And the vivacious old man listened with the profoundest appearance +of interest to all the particulars of Clarence’s animated detail. His +vanity, which made him wish to be loved, had long since taught him the +surest method of becoming so; and with him, every visitor, old, young, +the man of books, or the disciple of the world, was sure to find the +readiest and even eagerest sympathy in every amusement or occupation. +But for Clarence, this interest lay deeper than in the surface of +courtly breeding. Gratitude had first bound to him his adopted son, +then a tie yet unexplained, and lastly, but not least, the pride of +protection. He was vain of the personal and mental attractions of his +protege, and eager for the success of one whose honours would reflect +credit on himself. + +But there was one part of Clarence’s account of the last night to which +the philosopher paid a still deeper attention, and on which he was more +minute in his advice; what this was, I cannot, as yet, reveal to the +reader. + +The conversation then turned on light and general matters,--the scandal, +the literature, the politics, the on dits of the day; and lastly upon +women; thence Talbot dropped into his office of Mentor. + +“A celebrated cardinal said, very wisely, that few ever did anything +among men until women were no longer an object to them. That is the +reason, by the by, why I never succeeded with the former, and why people +seldom acquire any reputation, except for a hat, or a horse, till they +marry. Look round at the various occupations of life. How few bachelors +are eminent in any of them! So you see, Clarence, you will have my leave +to marry Lady Flora as soon as you please.” + +Clarence coloured, and rose to depart. Talbot followed him to the door, +and then said, in a careless way, “By the by, I had almost forgotten +to tell you that, as you have now many new expenses, you will find +the yearly sum you have hitherto received doubled. To give you this +information is the chief reason why I sent for you this morning. God +bless you, my dear boy.” + +And Talbot shut the door, despite his politeness, in the face and thanks +of his adopted son. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + There is a great difference between seeking to raise a laugh from + everything, and seeking in everything what justly may be laughed + at. LORD SHAFTESBURY. + +Behold our hero, now in the zenith of distinguished dissipations! +Courteous, attentive, and animated, the women did not esteem him the +less for admiring them rather than himself; while, by the gravity of +his demeanour to men,--the eloquent, yet unpretending flow of his +conversation, whenever topics of intellectual interest were discussed, +the plain and solid sense which he threw into his remarks, and the +avidity with which he courted the society of all distinguished for +literary or political eminence,--he was silently but surely establishing +himself in esteem as well as popularity, and laying the certain +foundation of future honour and success. + +Thus, although he had only been four months returned to England, he was +already known and courted in every circle, and universally spoken of +as among “the most rising young gentlemen” whom fortune and the +administration had marked for their own. His history, during the four +years in which we have lost sight of him, is briefly told. + +He soon won his way into the good graces of Lord Aspeden; became his +private secretary and occasionally his confidant. Universally admired +for his attraction of form and manner, and, though aiming at reputation, +not averse to pleasure, he had that position which fashion confers at +the court of ----, when Lady Westborough and her beautiful daughter, +then only seventeen, came to ----, in the progress of a Continental +tour, about a year before his return to England. Clarence and Lady Flora +were naturally brought much together in the restricted circle of a small +court, and intimacy soon ripened into attachment. + +Lord Aspeden being recalled, Clarence accompanied him to England; and +the ex-minister, really liking much one who was so useful to him, had +faithfully promised to procure him the office and honour of secretary +whenever his lordship should be reappointed minister. + +Three intimate acquaintances had Clarence Linden. The one was the +Honourable Henry Trollolop, the second Mr. Callythorpe, and the third +Sir Christopher Findlater. We will sketch them to you in an instant. +Mr. Trollolop was a short, stout gentleman, with a very thoughtful +countenance,-that is to say, he wore spectacles and took snuff. + +Mr. Trollolop--we delight in pronouncing that soft liquid name--was +eminently distinguished by a love of metaphysics,--metaphysics were in +a great measure the order of the day; but Fate had endowed Mr. Trollolop +with a singular and felicitous confusion of idea. Reid, Berkeley, +Cudworth, Hobbes, all lay jumbled together in most edifying chaos at +the bottom of Mr. Trollolop’s capacious mind; and whenever he opened +his mouth, the imprisoned enemies came rushing and scrambling out, +overturning and contradicting each other in a manner quite astounding +to the ignorant spectator. Mr. Callythorpe was meagre, thin, sharp, +and yellow. Whether from having a great propensity for nailing stray +acquaintances, or being particularly heavy company, or from any +other cause better known to the wits of the period than to us, he was +occasionally termed by his friends the “yellow hammer.” The peculiar +characteristics of this gentleman were his sincerity and friendship. +These qualities led him into saying things the most disagreeable, with +the civilest and coolest manner in the world,--always prefacing them +with, “You know, my dear so-and-so, I am your true friend.” If +this proof of amity was now and then productive of altercation, +Mr. Callythorpe, who was ha great patriot, had another and a nobler +plea,--“Sir,” he would say, putting his hand to his heart,--“sir, I’m an +Englishman: I know not what it is to feign.” Of a very different stamp +was Sir Christopher Findlater. Little cared he for the subtleties of +the human mind, and not much more for the disagreeable duties of “an +Englishman.” Honest and jovial, red in the cheeks, empty in the head, +born to twelve thousand a year, educated in the country, and heir to an +earldom, Sir Christopher Findlater piqued himself, notwithstanding his +worldly advantages, usually so destructive to the kindlier affections, +on having the best heart in the world, and this good heart, having a +very bad head to regulate and support it, was the perpetual cause of +error to the owner and evil to the public. + +One evening, when Clarence was alone in his rooms, Mr. Trollolop +entered. + +“My dear Linden,” said the visitor, “how are you?” + +“I am, as I hope you are, very well,” answered Clarence. + +“The human mind,” said Trollolop, taking off his greatcoat,-- + +“Sir Christopher Findlater and Mr. Callythorpe, sir,” said the valet. + +“Pshaw! What has Sir Christopher Findlater to do with the human mind?” + muttered Mr. Trollolop. + +Sir Christopher entered with a swagger and a laugh. “Well, old fellow, +how do you do? Deuced cold this evening.” + +“Though it is an evening in May,” observed Clarence; “but then, this +cursed climate.” + +“Climate!” interrupted Mr. Callythorpe, “it is the best climate in the +world: I am an Englishman, and I never abuse my country.” + + “‘England, with all thy faults, I love thee still!’” + +“As to climate,” said Trollolop, “there is no climate, neither here nor +elsewhere: the climate is in your mind, the chair is in your mind, and +the table too, though I dare say you are stupid enough to think the two +latter are in the room; the human mind, my dear Findlater--” + +“Don’t mind me, Trollolop,” cried the baronet, “I can’t bear your clever +heads: give me a good heart; that’s worth all the heads in the world; +d--n me if it is not! Eh, Linden?” + +“Your good heart,” cried Trollolop, in a passion (for all your +self-called philosophers are a little choleric), “your good heart is all +cant and nonsense: there is no heart at all; we are all mind.” + +“I be hanged if I’m all mind,” said the baronet. + +“At least,” quoth Linden, gravely, “no one ever accused you of it +before.” + +“We are all mind,” pursued the reasoner; “we are all mind, un moulin +a raisonnement. Our ideas are derived from two sources, sensation or +memory. That neither our thoughts nor passions, nor our ideas formed +by the imagination, exist without the mind, everybody will allow; +[Berkeley, Sect. iii., “Principles of Human Knowledge.”] therefore, you +see, the human mind is--in short, there is nothing in the world but the +human mind!” + +“Nothing could be better demonstrated,” said Clarence. + +“I don’t believe it,” quoth the baronet. + +“But you do believe it, and you must believe it,” cried Trollolop; “for +‘the Supreme Being has implanted within us the principle of credulity,’ +and therefore you do believe it!” + +“But I don’t,” cried Sir Christopher. + +“You are mistaken,” replied the metaphysician, calmly; “because I must +speak truth.” + +“Why must you, pray?” said the baronet. + +“Because,” answered Trollolop, taking snuff, “there is a principle of +veracity implanted in our nature.” + +“I wish I were a metaphysician,” said Clarence, with a sigh. + +“I am glad to hear you say so; for you know, my dear Linden,” said +Callythorpe, “that I am your true friend, and I must therefore tell you +that you are shamefully ignorant. You are not offended?” + +“Not at all!” said Clarence, trying to smile. + +“And you, my dear Findlater” (turning to the baronet), “you know that I +wish you well; you know that I never flatter; I’m your real friend, so +you must not be angry; but you really are not considered a Solomon.” + +“Mr. Callythorpe!” exclaimed the baronet in a rage (the best-hearted +people can’t always bear truth), “what do you mean?” + +“You must not be angry, my good sir; you must not, really. I can’t help +telling you of your faults; for I am a true Briton, sir, a true Briton, +and leave lying to slaves and Frenchmen.” + +“You are in an error,” said Trollolop; “Frenchmen don’t lie, at least +not naturally, for in the human mind, as I before said, the Divine +Author has implanted a principle of veracity which--” + +“My dear sir,” interrupted Callythorpe, very affectionately, “you remind +me of what people say of you.” + +“Memory may be reduced to sensation, since it is only a weaker +sensation,” quoth Trollolop; “but proceed.” + +“You know, Trollolop,” said Callythorpe, in a singularly endearing +intonation of voice, “you know that I never flatter; flattery is +unbecoming a true friend,--nay, more, it is unbecoming a native of our +happy isles, and people do say of you that you know nothing whatsoever, +no, not an iota, of all that nonsensical, worthless philosophy of which +you are always talking. Lord St. George said the other day ‘that you +were very conceited.’--‘No, not conceited,’ replied Dr. ----, ‘only +ignorant;’ so if I were you, Trollolop, I would cut metaphysics; you’re +not offended?” + +“By no means,” cried Trollolop, foaming at the mouth. + +“For my part,” said the good-hearted Sir Christopher, whose wrath had +now subsided, rubbing his hands,--“for my part, I see no good in any +of those things: I never read--never--and I don’t see how I’m a bit the +worse for it. A good man, Linden, in my opinion, only wants to do his +duty, and that is very easily done.” + +“A good man; and what is good?” cried the metaphysician, triumphantly. +“Is it implanted within us? Hobbes, according to Reid, who is our last, +and consequently best, philosopher, endeavours to demonstrate that there +is no difference between right and wrong.” + +“I have no idea of what you mean,” cried Sir Christopher. + +“Idea!” exclaimed the pious philosopher. “Sir, give me leave to tell you +that no solid proof has ever been advanced of the existence of ideas: +they are a mere fiction and hypothesis. Nay, sir, ‘hence arises +that scepticism which disgraces our philosophy of the mind.’ +Ideas!--Findlater, you are a sceptic and an idealist.” + +“I?” cried the affrighted baronet; “upon my honour I am no such thing. +Everybody knows that I am a Christian, and--” + +“Ah!” interrupted Callythorpe, with a solemn look, “everybody knows that +you are not one of those horrid persons,--those atrocious deists and +atheists and sceptics, from whom the Church and freedom of old England +have suffered such danger. I am a true Briton of the good old school; +and I confess, Mr. Trollolop, that I do not like to hear any opinions +but the right ones.” + +“Right ones being only those which Mr. Callythorpe professes,” said +Clarence. + +“Exactly so!” rejoined Mr. Callythorpe. + +“The human mind,” commenced Mr. Trollolop, stirring the fire; when +Clarence, who began to be somewhat tired of this conversation, rose. +“You will excuse me,” said he, “but I am particularly engaged, and it +is time to dress. Harrison will get you tea or whatever else you are +inclined for.” + +“The human mind,” renewed Trollolop, not heeding the interruption; and +Clarence forthwith left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + You blame Marcius for being proud.--Coriolanus. Here is + another fellow, a marvellous pretty hand at fashioning a + compliment.-The Tanner of Tyburn. + +There was a brilliant ball at Lady T----‘s, a personage who, every +one knows, did in the year 17-- give the best balls, and have the +best-dressed people at them, in London. It was about half-past +twelve, when Clarence, released from his three friends, arrived at the +countess’s. When he entered, the first thing which struck him was Lord +Borodaile in close conversation with Lady Flora. + +Clarence paused for a few moments, and then, sauntering towards them, +caught Flora’s eye,--coloured, and advanced. Now, if there was a haughty +man in Europe, it was Lord Borodaile. He was not proud of his birth, nor +fortune, but he was proud of himself; and, next to that pride, he was +proud of being a gentleman. He had an exceeding horror of all common +people; a Claverhouse sort of supreme contempt to “puddle blood;” + his lip seemed to wear scorn as a garment; a lofty and stern +self-admiration, rather than self-love, sat upon his forehead as on a +throne. He had, as it were, an awe of himself; his thoughts were so many +mirrors of Viscount Borodaile dressed en dieu. His mind was a little +Versailles, in which self sat like Louis XIV., and saw nothing but +pictures of its self, sometimes as Jupiter and sometimes as Apollo. What +marvel then, that Lord Borodaile was a very unpleasant companion? for +every human being he had “something of contempt.” His eye was always +eloquent in disdaining; to the plebeian it said, “You are not a +gentleman;” to the prince, “You are not Lord Borodaile.” + +Yet, with all this, he had his good points. He was brave as a lion; +strictly honourable; and though very ignorant, and very self-sufficient, +had that sort of dogged good sense which one very often finds in men of +stern hearts, who, if they have many prejudices, have little feeling, to +overcome. + +Very stiffly and very haughtily did Lord Borodaile draw up, when +Clarence approached and addressed Lady Flora; much more stiffly and much +more haughtily did he return, though with old-fashioned precision of +courtesy, Clarence’s bow, when Lady Westborough introduced them to each +other. Not that this hauteur was intended as a particular affront: it +was only the agreeability of his lordship’s general manner. + +“Are you engaged?” said Clarence to Flora. + +“I am, at present, to Lord Borodaile.” + +“After him, may I hope?” + +Lady Flora nodded assent, and disappeared with Lord Borodaile. + +His Royal Highness the Duke of ---- came up to Lady Westborough; and +Clarence, with a smiling countenance and an absent heart, plunged into +the crowd. There he met Lord Aspeden, in conversation with the Earl of +Holdenworth, one of the administration. + +“Ah, Linden,” said the diplomatist, “let me introduce you to Lord +Holdenworth,--a clever young man, my dear lord, and plays the flute +beautifully.” With this eulogium, Lord Aspeden glided away; and Lord +Holdenworth, after some conversation with Linden, honoured him by an +invitation to dinner the next day. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + ‘T is true his nature may with faults abound; + But who will cavil when the heart is sound?--STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + + Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currant.-HORACE. + [“The foolish while avoiding vice run into the opposite + extremes.”] + +The next day Sir Christopher Findlater called on Clarence. “Let us +lounge in the park,” said he. + +“With pleasure,” replied Clarence; and into the park they lounged. + +By the way they met a crowd, who were hurrying a man to prison. The +good-hearted Sir Christopher stopped: “Who is that poor fellow?” said +he. + +“It is the celebrated” (in England all criminals are celebrated. +Thurtell was a hero, Thistlewood a patriot, and Fauntleroy was +discovered to be exactly like Buonaparte!) “it is the celebrated robber, +John Jefferies, who broke into Mrs. Wilson’s house, and cut the throats +of herself and her husband, wounded the maid-servant, and split the +child’s skull with the poker.” Clarence pressed forward: “I have seen +that man before,” thought he. He looked again, and recognized the face +of the robber who had escaped from Talbot’s house on the eventful night +which had made Clarence’s fortune. It was a strongly-marked and rather +handsome countenance, which would not be easily forgotten; and a single +circumstance of excitement will stamp features on the memory as deeply +as the commonplace intercourse of years. + +“John Jefferies!” exclaimed the baronet; “let us come away.” + +“Linden,” continued Sir Christopher, “that fellow was my servant once. +He robbed me to some considerable extent. I caught him. He appealed to +my heart; and you know, my dear fellow, that was irresistible, so I let +him off. Who could have thought he would have turned out so?” And the +baronet proceeded to eulogize his own good-nature, by which it is just +necessary to remark that one miscreant had been saved for a few years +from transportation, in order to rob and murder ad libitum, and, having +fulfilled the office of a common pest, to suffer on the gallows at last. +What a fine thing it is to have a good heart! Both our gentlemen now +sank into a revery, from which they were awakened, at the entrance of +the park, by a young man in rags who, with a piteous tone, supplicated +charity. Clarence, who, to his honour be it spoken, spent an allotted +and considerable part of his income in judicious and laborious +benevolence, had read a little of political morals, then beginning to be +understood, and walked on. The good-hearted baronet put his hand in his +pocket, and gave the beggar half a guinea, by which a young, strong man, +who had only just commenced the trade, was confirmed in his imposition +for the rest of his life; and, instead of the useful support, became the +pernicious incumbrance of society. + +Sir Christopher had now recovered his spirits. “What’s like a good +action?” said he to Clarence, with a swelling breast. + +The park was crowded to excess; our loungers were joined by Lord St. +George. His lordship was a stanch Tory. He could not endure Wilkes, +liberty, or general education. He launched out against the enlightenment +of domestics. [The ancestors of our present footmen, if we may believe +Sir William Temple, seem to have been to the full as intellectual as +their descendants. “I have had,” observes the philosophic statesman, +“several servants far gone in divinity, others in poetry; have known, in +the families of some friends; a keeper deep in the Rosicrucian mysteries +and a laundress firm in those of Epicurus.”] + +“What has made you so bitter?” said Sir Christopher. + +“My valet,” cried Lord St. George,--“he has invented a new +toasting-fork, is going to take out a patent, make his fortune, and +leave me; that’s what I call ingratitude, Sir Christopher; for I ordered +his wages to be raised five pounds but last year.” + +“It was very ungrateful,” said the ironical Clarence. + +“Very!” reiterated the good-hearted Sir Christopher. + +“You cannot recommend me a valet, Findlater,” renewed his lordship, “a +good, honest, sensible fellow, who can neither read nor write?” + +“N-o-o,--that is to say, yes! I can; my old servant Collard is out of +place, and is as ignorant as--as--” + +“I--or you are?” said Lord St. George, with a laugh. + +“Precisely,” replied the baronet. + +“Well, then, I take your recommendation: send him to me to-morrow at +twelve.” + +“I will,” said Sir Christopher. + +“My dear Findlater,” cried Clarence, when Lord St. George was gone, “did +you not tell me, some time ago, that Collard was a great rascal, and +very intimate with Jefferies? and now you recommend him to Lord St. +George!” + +“Hush, hush, hush!” said the baronet; “he was a great rogue to be sure: +but, poor fellow, he came to me yesterday with tears in his eyes, and +said he should starve if I would not give him a character; so what could +I do?” + +“At least, tell Lord St. George the truth,” observed Clarence. + +“But then Lord St. George would not take him!” rejoined the good-hearted +Sir Christopher, with forcible naivete. “No, no, Linden, we must not be +so hard-hearted; we must forgive and forget;” and so saying, the baronet +threw out his chest, with the conscious exultation of a man who has +uttered a noble sentiment. The moral of this little history is that +Lord St. George, having been pillaged “through thick and thin,” as the +proverb has it, for two years, at last missed a gold watch, and Monsieur +Collard finished his career as his exemplary tutor, Mr. John Jefferies, +had done before him. Ah! what a fine thing it is to have a good heart! + +But to return. Just as our wanderers had arrived at the farther end +of the park, Lady Westborough and her daughter passed them. Clarence, +excusing himself to his friend, hastened towards them, and was soon +occupied in saying the prettiest things in the world to the prettiest +person, at least in his eyes; while Sir Christopher, having done as much +mischief as a good heart well can do in a walk of an hour, returned home +to write a long letter to his mother, against “learning and all such +nonsense, which only served to blunt the affections and harden the +heart.” + +“Admirable young man!” cried the mother, with tears in her eyes. “A good +heart is better than all the heads in the world.” + +Amen! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + “Make way, Sir Geoffrey Peveril, or you will compel me to do + that I may be sorry for!” + + “You shall make no way here but at your peril,” said Sir + Geoffrey; “this is my ground.”--Peveril of the Peak. + +One night on returning home from a party at Lady Westborough’s in +Hanover Square, Clarence observed a man before him walking with an +uneven and agitated step. His right hand was clenched, and he frequently +raised it as with a sudden impulse, and struck fiercely as if at some +imagined enemy. + +The stranger slackened his pace. Clarence passed him, and, turning round +to satisfy the idle curiosity which the man’s eccentric gestures had +provoked, his eye met a dark, lowering, iron countenance, which, despite +the lapse of four years, he recognized on the moment: it was Wolfe, the +republican. + +Clarence moved, involuntarily, with a quicker step; but in a few +minutes, Wolfe, who was vehemently talking to himself, once more passed +him; the direction he took was also Clarence’s way homeward, and he +therefore followed the republican, though at some slight distance, +and on the opposite side of the way. A gentleman on foot, apparently +returning from a party, met Wolfe, and, with an air half haughty, half +unconscious, took the wall; though, according to old-fashioned rules of +street courtesy, he was on the wrong side for asserting the claim. +The stern republican started, drew himself up to his full height, and +sturdily and doggedly placed himself directly in the way of the unjust +claimant. Clarence was now nearly opposite to the two, and saw all that +was going on. + +With a motion a little rude and very contemptuous, the passenger +attempted to put Wolfe aside, and win his path. Little did he know +of the unyielding nature he had to do with; the next instant the +republican, with a strong hand, forced him from the pavement into the +very kennel, and silently and coldly continued his way. + +The wrath of the discomfited passenger was vehemently kindled. + +“Insolent dog!” cried he, in a loud and arrogant tone, “your baseness is +your protection.” Wolfe turned rapidly, and made but two strides before +he was once more by the side of his defeated opponent. + +“What did you say?” he asked, in his low, deep, hoarse voice. + +Clarence stopped. “There will be mischief done here,” thought he, as he +called to mind the stern temper of the republican. + +“Merely,” said the other, struggling with his rage, “that it is not for +men of my rank to avenge the insults offered us by those of yours!” + +“Your rank!” said Wolfe, bitterly retorting the contempt of the +stranger, in a tone of the loftiest disdain; “your rank! poor +changeling! And what are you, that you should lord it over me? Are your +limbs stronger? your muscles firmer? your proportions juster? your +mind acuter? your conscience clearer? Fool! fool! go home and measure +yourself with lackeys!” + +The republican ceased, and pushing the stranger aside, turned slowly +away. But this last insult enraged the passenger beyond all prudence. +Before Wolfe had proceeded two paces, he muttered a desperate but brief +oath, and struck the reformer with a strength so much beyond what +his figure (which was small and slight) appeared to possess, that the +powerful and gaunt frame of Wolfe recoiled backward several steps, and, +had it not been for the iron railing of the neighbouring area, would +have fallen to the ground. + +Clarence pressed forward: the face of the rash aggressor was turned +towards him; the features were Lord Borodaile’s. He had scarcely time to +make this discovery, before Wolfe had recovered himself. With a wild +and savage cry, rather than exclamation, he threw himself upon his +antagonist, twined his sinewy arms round the frame of the struggling but +powerless nobleman, raised him in the air with the easy strength of a +man lifting a child, held him aloft for one moment with a bitter and +scornful laugh of wrathful derision, and then dashed him to the ground, +and planting his foot upon Borodaile’s breast said,-- + +“So shall it be with all of you: there shall be but one instant between +your last offence and your first but final debasement. Lie there! it is +your proper place! By the only law which you yourself acknowledge, the +law which gives the right divine to the strongest; if you stir limb or +muscle, I will crush the breath from your body.” + +But Clarence was now by the side of Wolfe, a new and more powerful +opponent. + +“Look you,” said he: “you have received an insult, and you have done +justice yourself. I condemn the offence, and quarrel not with you for +the punishment; but that punishment is now past: remove your foot, or--” + +“What?” shouted Wolfe, fiercely, his lurid and vindictive eye flashing +with the released fire of long-pent and cherished passions. + +“Or,” answered Clarence, calmly, “I will hinder you from committing +murder.” + +At that instant the watchman’s voice was heard, and the night’s guardian +himself was seen hastening from the far end of the street towards the +place of contest. Whether this circumstance, or Clarence’s answer, +somewhat changed the current of the republican’s thoughts, or whether +his anger, suddenly raised, was now as suddenly subsiding, it is not +easy to decide; but he slowly and deliberately moved his foot from +the breast of his baffled foe, and bending down seemed endeavouring +to ascertain the mischief he had done. Lord Borodaile was perfectly +insensible. + +“You have killed him!” cried Clarence in a voice of horror, “but you +shall not escape;” and he placed a desperate and nervous hand on the +republican. + +“Stand off,” said Wolfe, “my blood is up! I would not do more violence +to-night than I have done. Stand off! the man moves; see!” + +And Lord Borodaile, uttering a long sigh, and attempting to rise, +Clarence released his hold of the republican, and bent down to assist +the fallen nobleman. Meanwhile, Wolfe, muttering to himself, turned from +the spot, and strode haughtily away. + +The watchman now came up, and, with his aid, Clarence raised Lord +Borodaile. Bruised, stunned, half insensible as he was, that personage +lost none of his characteristic stateliness; he shook off the watchman’s +arm, as if there was contamination in the touch; and his countenance, +still menacing and defying in its expression, turned abruptly towards +Clarence, as if he yet expected to meet and struggle with a foe. + +“How are you, my lord?” said Linden; “not severely hurt, I trust?” + +“Well, quite well,” cried Borodaile. “Mr. Linden, I think?--I thank you +cordially for your assistance; but the dog, the rascal, where is he?” + +“Gone,” said Clarence. + +“Gone! Where--where?” cried Borodaile; “that living man should insult +me, and yet escape!” + +“Which way did the fellow go?” said the watchman, anticipative of +half-a-crown. “I will run after him in a trice, your honour: I warrant I +nab him.” + +“No--no--” said Borodaile, haughtily, “I leave my quarrels to no man; +if I could not master him myself, no one else shall do it for me. Mr. +Linden, excuse me, but I am perfectly recovered, and can walk very well +without your polite assistance. Mr. Watchman, I am obliged to you: there +is a guinea to reward your trouble.” + +With these words, intended as a farewell, the proud patrician, +smothering his pain, bowed with extreme courtesy to Clarence, again +thanked him, and walked on unaided and alone. + +“He is a game blood,” said the watchman, pocketing the guinea. + +“He is worthy his name,” thought Clarence; “though he was in the wrong, +my heart yearns to him.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + Things wear a vizard which I think to like not.--Tanner of + Tyburn. + +Clarence, from that night, appeared to have formed a sudden attachment +to Lord Borodaile. He took every opportunity of cultivating his +intimacy, and invariably treated him with a degree of consideration +which his knowledge of the world told him was well calculated to gain +the good will of his haughty and arrogant acquaintance; but all this +was in effectual in conquering Borodaile’s coldness and reserve. To +have been once seen in a humiliating and degrading situation is quite +sufficient to make a proud man hate the spectator, and, with the +confusion of all prejudiced minds, to transfer the sore remembrance +of the event to the association of the witness. Lord Borodaile, though +always ceremoniously civil, was immovably distant; and avoided as well +as he was able Clarence’s insinuating approaches and address. To add to +his indisposition to increase his acquaintance with Linden, a friend of +his, a captain in the Guards, once asked him who that Mr. Linden was? +and, on his lordship’s replying that he did not know, Mr. Percy Bobus, +the son of a wine-merchant, though the nephew of a duke, rejoined, +“Nobody does know.” + +“Insolent intruder!” thought Lord Borodaile: “a man whom nobody knows to +make such advances to me!” + +A still greater cause of dislike to Clarence arose from jealousy. +Ever since the first night of his acquaintance with Lady Flora, Lord +Borodaile had paid her unceasing attention. In good earnest, he was +greatly struck by her beauty, and had for the last year meditated the +necessity of presenting the world with a Lady Borodaile. Now, though his +lordship did look upon himself in as favourable a light as a man well +can do, yet he could not but own that Clarence was very handsome, had +a devilish gentlemanlike air, talked with a better grace than the +generality of young men, and danced to perfection. “I detest that +fellow!” said Lord Borodaile, involuntarily and aloud, as these +unwilling truths forced themselves upon his mind. + +“Whom do you detest?” asked Mr. Percy Bobus, who was lying on the sofa +in Lord Borodaile’s drawing-room, and admiring a pair of red-heeled +shoes which decorated his feet. + +“That puppy Linden!” said Lord Borodaile, adjusting his cravat. + +“He is a deuced puppy, certainly!” rejoined Mr. Percy Bobus, turning +round in order to contemplate more exactly the shape of his right shoe. +“I can’t bear conceit, Borodaile.” + +“Nor I: I abhor it; it is so d--d disgusting!” replied Lord Borodaile, +leaning his chin upon his two hands, and looking full into the glass. +“Do you use MacNeile’s divine pomatum?” + +“No, it’s too hard; I get mine from Paris: shall I send you some?” + +“Do,” said Lord Borodaile. + +“Mr. Linden, my lord,” said the servant, throwing open the door; and +Clarence entered. + +“I am very fortunate,” said he, with that smile which so few ever +resisted, “to find you at home, Lord Borodaile; but as the day was +wet, I thought I should have some chance of that pleasure; I therefore +wrapped myself up in my roquelaure, and here I am.” + +Now, nothing could be more diplomatic than the compliment of choosing a +wet day for a visit, and exposing one’s self to “the pitiless shower,” + for the greater probability of finding the person visited at home. Not +so thought Lord Borodaile; he drew himself up, bowed very solemnly, and +said, with cold gravity,-- + +“You are very obliging, Mr. Linden.” + +Clarence coloured, and bit his lip as he seated himself. Mr. Percy +Bobus, with true insular breeding, took up the newspaper. + +“I think I saw you at Lady C.’s last night,” said Clarence; “did you +stay there long?” + +“No, indeed,” answered Borodaile; “I hate her parties.” + +“One does meet such odd people there,” observed Mr. Percy Bobus; +“creatures one never sees anywhere else:” + +“I hear,” said Clarence, who never abused any one, even the givers of +stupid parties, if he could help it, and therefore thought it best to +change the conversation,--“I hear, Lord Borodaile, that some hunters of +yours are to be sold. I purpose being a bidder for Thunderbolt.” + +“I have a horse to sell you, Mr. Linden,” cried Mr. Percy Bobus, +springing from the sofa into civility; “a superb creature.” + +“Thank you,” said Clarence, laughing; “but I can only afford to buy one, +and I have taken a great fancy to Thunderbolt.” + +Lord Borodaile, whose manners were very antiquated in their affability, +bowed. Mr. Bobus sank back into his sofa, and resumed the paper. + +A pause ensued. Clarence was chilled in spite of himself. Lord Borodaile +played with a paper-cutter. + +“Have you been to Lady Westborough’s lately?” said Clarence, breaking +silence. + +“I was there last night,” replied Lord Borodaile. + +“Indeed!” cried Clarence. “I wonder I did not see you there, for I dined +with them.” + +Lord Borodaile’s hair curled of itself. “He dined there, and I only +asked in the evening!” thought he; but his sarcastic temper suggested a +very different reply. + +“Ah,” said he, elevating his eyebrows, “Lady Westborough told me she had +had some people to dinner whom she had been obliged to ask. Bobus, is +that the ‘Public Advertiser’? See whether that d--d fellow Junius has +been writing any more of his venomous letters.” + +Clarence was not a man apt to take offence, but he felt his bile rise. +“It will not do to show it,” thought he; so he made some further remark +in a jesting vein; and, after a very ill-sustained conversation of +some minutes longer, rose, apparently in the best humour possible, and +departed, with a solemn intention never again to enter the house. Thence +he went to Lady Westborough’s. + +The marchioness was in her boudoir: Clarence was as usual admitted; +for Lady Westborough loved amusement above all things in the world, and +Clarence had the art of affording it better than any young man of her +acquaintance. On entering, he saw Lady Flora hastily retreating through +an opposite door. She turned her face towards him for one moment: that +moment was sufficient to freeze his blood: the large tears were rolling +down her cheeks, which were as white as death, and the expression of +those features, usually so laughing and joyous, was that of utter and +ineffable despair. + +Lady Westborough was as lively, as bland, and as agreeable as ever: +but Clarence thought he detected something restrained and embarrassed +lurking beneath all the graces of her exterior manner; and the single +glance he had caught of the pale and altered face of Lady Flora was not +calculated to reassure his mind or animate his spirits. His visit was +short; when he left the room, he lingered for a few moments in the +ante-chamber in the hope of again seeing Lady Flora. While thus +loitering, his ear caught the sound of Lady Westborough’s voice: “When +Mr. Linden calls again, you have my orders never to admit him into this +room; he will be shown into the drawing-room.” + +With a hasty step and a burning cheek Clarence quitted the house, and +hurried, first to his solitary apartments, and thence, impatient of +loneliness, to the peaceful retreat of his benefactor. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + A maiden’s thoughts do check my trembling hand.--DRAYTON. + +There is something very delightful in turning from the unquietness and +agitation, the fever, the ambition, the harsh and worldly realities of +man’s character to the gentle and deep recesses of woman’s more secret +heart. Within her musings is a realm of haunted and fairy thought, to +which the things of this turbid and troubled life have no entrance. What +to her are the changes of state, the rivalries and contentions which +form the staple of our existence? For her there is an intense and fond +philosophy, before whose eye substances flit and fade like shadows, and +shadows grow glowingly into truth. Her soul’s creations are not as the +moving and mortal images seen in the common day: they are things, like +spirits steeped in the dim moonlight, heard when all else are still, and +busy when earth’s labourers are at rest! They are + + “Such stuff + As dreams are made of, and their little life + Is rounded by a sleep.” + +Hers is the real and uncentred poetry of being, which pervades and +surrounds her as with an air, which peoples her visions and animates +her love, which shrinks from earth into itself, and finds marvel and +meditation in all that it beholds within, and which spreads even over +the heaven in whose faith she so ardently believes the mystery and the +tenderness of romance. + + + +LETTER I. + +FROM LADY FLORA ARDENNE TO MISS ELEANOR TREVANION. + +You say that I have not written to you so punctually of late as I used +to do before I came to London, and you impute my negligence to the +gayeties and pleasures by which I am surrounded. Eh bien! my dear +Eleanor, could you have thought of a better excuse for me? You know how +fond we--ay, dearest, you as well as I--used to be of dancing, and +how earnestly we were wont to anticipate those children’s balls at my +uncle’s, which were the only ones we were ever permitted to attend. +I found a stick the other day, on which I had cut seven notches, +significant of seven days more to the next ball; we reckoned time by +balls then, and danced chronologically. Well, my dear Eleanor, here I +am now, brought out, tolerably well-behaved, only not dignified enough, +according to Mamma,--as fond of laughing, talking, and dancing as ever; +and yet, do you know, a ball, though still very delightful, is far from +being the most important event in creation; its anticipation does +not keep me awake of a night: and what is more to the purpose, +its recollection does not make me lock up my writing-desk, burn my +portefeuille, and forget you, all of which you seem to imagine it has +been able to effect. + +No, dearest Eleanor, you are mistaken; for, were she twice as giddy +and ten times as volatile as she is, your own Flora could never, never +forget you, nor the happy hours we have spent together, nor the pretty +goldfinches we had in common, nor the little Scotch duets we used to +sing together, nor our longings to change them into Italian, nor our +disappointment when we did so, nor our laughter at Signor Shrikalini, +nor our tears when poor darling Bijou died. And do you remember, +dearest, the charming green lawn where we used to play together, and +plan tricks for your governess? She was very, very cross, though, I +think, we were a little to blame too. However, I was much the worst! +And pray, Eleanor, don’t you remember how we used to like being called +pretty, and told of the conquests we should make? Do you like all that +now? For my part, I am tired of it, at least from the generality of +one’s flatterers. + +Ah! Eleanor, or “heigho!” as the young ladies in novels write, do you +remember how jealous I was of you at ----, and how spiteful I was, and +how you were an angel, and bore with me, and kissed me, and told me +that--that I had nothing to fear? Well, Clar--I mean Mr. Linden, is now +in town and so popular, and so admired! I wish we were at ---- again, +for there we saw him every day, and now we don’t meet more than three +times a week; and though I like hearing him praised above all things, +yet I feel very uncomfortable when that praise comes from very, very +pretty women. I wish we were at ---- again! Mamma, who is looking more +beautiful than ever, is, very kind! she says nothing to be sure, but she +must see how--that is to say--she must know that--that I--I mean that +Clarence is very attentive to me, and that I blush and look exceedingly +silly whenever he is; and therefore I suppose that whenever Clarence +thinks fit to ask me, I shall not be under the necessity of getting +up at six o’clock, and travelling to Gretna Green, through that odious +North Road, up the Highgate Hill, and over Finchley Common. + +“But when will he ask you?” My dearest Eleanor, that is more than I +can say. To tell you the truth, there is something about Linden which I +cannot thoroughly understand. They say he is nephew and heir to the Mr. +Talbot whom you may have heard Papa talk of; but if so, why the hints, +the insinuations, of not being what he seems, which Clarence perpetually +throws out, and which only excite my interest without gratifying my +curiosity? ‘It is not,’ he has said, more than once, ‘as an obscure +adventurer that I will claim your love;’ and if I venture, which is very +seldom (for I am a little afraid of him), to question his meaning, he +either sinks into utter silence, for which, if I had loved according to +book, and not so naturally, I should be very angry with him, or twists +his words into another signification, such as that he would not claim me +till he had become something higher and nobler than he is now. Alas, +my dear Eleanor, it takes a long time to make an ambassador out of an +attache. + +See now if you reproached me justly with scanty correspondences. If I +write a line more, I must begin a new sheet, and that will be beyond the +power of a frank,--a thing which would, I know, break the heart of your +dear, good, generous, but a little too prudent aunt, and irrevocably +ruin me in her esteem. So God bless you, dearest Eleanor, and believe me +most affectionately yours, FLORA ARDENNE. + + + +LETTER II. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + +Pray, dearest Eleanor, does that good aunt of yours--now don’t frown, +I am not going to speak disrespectfully of her--ever take a liking to +young gentlemen whom you detest, and insist upon the fallacy of your +opinion and the unerring rectitude of hers? If so, you can pity and +comprehend my grief. Mamma has formed quite an attachment to a very +disagreeable person! He is Lord Borodaile, the eldest, and I believe, +the only son of Lord Ulswater. Perhaps you may have met him abroad, for +he has been a great traveller: his family is among the most ancient in +England, and his father’s estate covers half a county. All this Mamma +tells me, with the most earnest air in the world, whenever I declaim +upon his impertinence or disagreeability (is there such a word? there +ought to be). “Well,” said I to-day, “what’s that to me?” “It may be a +great deal to you,” replied Mamma, significantly, and the blood rushed +from my face to my heart. She could not, Eleanor, she could not mean, +after all her kindness to Clarence, and in spite of all her penetration +into my heart,--oh, no, no,--she could not. How terribly suspicious this +love makes one! + +But if I disliked Lord Borodaile at first, I have hated him of late; +for, somehow or other, he is always in the way. If I see Clarence +hastening through the crowd to ask me to dance, at that very instant +up steps Lord Borodaile with his cold, changeless face, and his haughty +old-fashioned bow, and his abominable dark complexion; and Mamma smiles; +and he hopes he finds me disengaged; and I am hurried off; and poor +Clarence looks so disappointed and so wretched! You have no idea how +ill-tempered this makes me. I could not help asking Lord Borodaile +yesterday if he was never going abroad again, and the hateful creature +played with his cravat, and answered “Never!” I was in hopes that my +sullenness would drive his lordship away: tout au contraire; “Nothing,” + said he to me the other day, when he was in full pout, “nothing is so +plebeian as good-humour!” + +I wish, then, Eleanor, that he could see your governess: she must be +majesty itself in his eyes! + +Ah, dearest, how we belie ourselves! At this moment, when you might +think, from the idle, rattling, silly flow of my letter, that my heart +was as light and free as it was when we used to play on the green lawn, +and under the sunny trees, in the merry days of our childhood, the tears +are running down my cheeks; see where they have fallen on the page, +and my head throbs as if my thoughts were too full and heavy for it to +contain. It is past one! I am alone, and in my own room. Mamma is gone +to a rout at H---- House, but I knew I should not meet Clarence there, +and so said I was ill, and remained at home. I have done so often of +late, whenever I have learned from him that he was not going to the same +place as Mamma. Indeed, I love much better to sit alone and think +over his words and looks; and I have drawn, after repeated attempts, a +profile likeness of him; and oh, Eleanor, I cannot tell you how dear +it is to me; and yet there is not a line, not a look of his countenance +which I have not learned by heart, without such useless aids to my +memory. But I am ashamed of telling you all this, and my eyes ache so, +that I can write no more. + +Ever, as ever, dearest Eleanor, your affectionate friend. + +F. A. + + + +LETTER III. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + +Eleanor, I am undone! My mother--my mother has been so cruel; but she +cannot, she cannot intend it, or she knows very little of my heart. With +some ties may be as easily broken as formed; with others they are twined +around life itself. + +Clarence dined with us yesterday, and was unusually animated and +agreeable. He was engaged on business with Lord Aspeden afterwards, and +left us early. We had a few people in the evening, Lord Borodaile among +the rest; and my mother spoke of Clarence, and his relationship to +and expectations from Mr. Talbot. Lord Borodaile sneered; “You are +mistaken,” said he, sarcastically; “Mr. Linden may feel it convenient to +give out that he is related to so old a family as the Talbots; and since +Heaven only knows who or what he is, he may as well claim alliance with +one person as another; but he is certainly not the nephew of Mr. +Talbot of Scarsdale Park, for that gentleman had no sisters and but +one brother, who left an only daughter; that daughter had also but one +child, certainly no relation to Mr. Linden. I can vouch for the truth +of this statement; for the Talbots are related to, or at least nearly +connected with, myself; and I thank Heaven that I have a pedigree, even +in its collateral branches, worth learning by heart.” And then Lord +Borodaile--I little thought, when I railed against him, what serious +cause I should have to hate him--turned to me and harassed me with his +tedious attentions the whole of the evening. + +This morning Mamma sent for me into her boudoir. “I have observed,” said +she, with the greatest indifference, “that Mr. Linden has, of late, been +much too particular in his manner towards you: your foolish and undue +familiarity with every one has perhaps given him encouragement. After +the gross imposition which Lord Borodaile exposed to us last night, I +cannot but consider the young man as a mere adventurer, and must not +only insist on your putting a total termination to civilities which we +must henceforth consider presumption, but I myself shall consider it +incumbent upon me greatly to limit the advances he has thought proper to +make towards my acquaintance.” + +You may guess how thunderstruck I was by this speech. I could not +answer; my tongue literally clove to my mouth, and I was only relieved +by a sudden and violent burst of tears. Mamma looked exceedingly +displeased, and was just going to speak, when the servant threw open the +door and announced Mr. Linden. I rose hastily, and had only just time to +escape, as he entered; but when I heard that dear, dear voice, I could +not resist turning for one moment. He saw me; and was struck mute, for +the agony of my soul was stamped visibly on my countenance. That moment +was over: with a violent effort I tore myself away. + +Eleanor, I can now write no more. God bless you! and me too; for I am +very, very unhappy. F. A. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + What a charming character is a kind old man.--STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + +“Cheer up, my dear boy,” said Talbot, kindly, “we must never despair. +What though Lady Westborough has forbidden you the boudoir, a boudoir is +a very different thing from a daughter, and you have no right to suppose +that the veto extends to both. But now that we are on this subject, do +let me reason with you seriously. Have you not already tasted all the +pleasures, and been sufficiently annoyed by some of the pains, of acting +the ‘Incognito’? Be ruled by me: resume your proper name; it is at least +one which the proudest might acknowledge; and its discovery will remove +the greatest obstacle to the success which you so ardently desire.” + +Clarence, who was labouring under strong excitement, paused for some +moments, as if to collect himself, before he replied: “I have been +thrust from my father’s home; I have been made the victim of another’s +crime; I have been denied the rights and name of son; perhaps (and I +say this bitterly) justly denied them, despite of my own innocence. What +would you have me do? Resume a name never conceded to me,--perhaps not +righteously mine,--thrust myself upon the unwilling and shrinking hands +which disowned and rejected me; blazon my virtues by pretensions which +I myself have promised to forego, and foist myself on the notice of +strangers by the very claims which my nearest relations dispute? Never! +never! never! With the simple name I have assumed; the friend I myself +have won,--you, my generous benefactor, my real father, who never +forsook nor insulted me for my misfortunes,--with these I have gained +some steps in the ladder; with these, and those gifts of nature, a stout +heart and a willing hand, of which none can rob me, I will either ascend +the rest, even to the summit, or fall to the dust, unknown, but not +contemned; unlamented, but not despised.” + +“Well, well,” said Talbot, brushing away a tear which he could not +deny to the feeling, even while he disputed the judgment, of the young +adventurer,--“well, this is all very fine and very foolish; but you +shall never want friend or father while I live, or when I have ceased to +live; but come,--sit down, share my dinner, which is not very good, and +my dessert, which is: help me to entertain two or three guests who are +coming to me in the evening, to talk on literature, sup, and sleep; and +to-morrow you shall return home, and see Lady Flora in the drawing-room +if you cannot in the boudoir.” + +And Clarence was easily persuaded to accept the invitation. Talbot +was not one of those men who are forced to exert themselves to be +entertaining. He had the pleasant and easy way of imparting his great +general and curious information, that a man, partly humourist, partly +philosopher, who values himself on being a man of letters, and is in +spite of himself a man of the world, always ought to possess. Clarence +was soon beguiled from the remembrance of his mortifications, and, +by little and little, entirely yielded to the airy and happy flow of +Talbot’s conversation. + +In the evening, three or four men of literary eminence (as many as +Talbot’s small Tusculum would accommodate with beds) arrived, and in a +conversation, free alike from the jargon of pedants and the insipidities +of fashion, the night fled away swiftly and happily, even to the lover. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + + We are here (in the country) among the vast and noble scenes + of Nature; we are there (in the town) among the pitiful + shifts of policy. We walk here in the light and open ways of + the divine bounty,--we grope therein the dark and confused + labyrinths of human malice; our senses are here feasted with + all the clear and genuine taste of their objects, which are + all sophisticated there, and for the most part overwhelmed + with their contraries: here pleasure, methinks, looks like a + beautiful, constant, and modest wife; it is there an + impudent, fickle, and painted harlot.--COWLEY. + +Draw up the curtain! The scene is the Opera. + +The pit is crowded; the connoisseurs in the front row are in a very ill +humour. It must be confessed that extreme heat is a little trying to the +temper of a critic. + +The Opera then was not what it is now, nor even what it had been in a +former time. It is somewhat amusing to find Goldsmith questioning, +in one of his essays, whether the Opera could ever become popular in +England. But on the night--on which the reader is summoned to that +“theatre of sweet sounds” a celebrated singer from the Continent made +his first appearance in London, and all the world thronged to “that +odious Opera-house” to hear, or to say they had heard, the famous +Sopraniello. + +With a nervous step, Clarence proceeded to Lady Westborough’s box; and +it was many minutes that he lingered by the door before he summoned +courage to obtain admission. + +He entered; the box was crowded; but Lady Flora was not there. Lord +Borodaile was sitting next to Lady Westborough. As Clarence entered, +Lord Borodaile raised his eyebrows, and Lady Westborough her glass. +However disposed a great person may be to drop a lesser one, no one of +real birth or breeding ever cuts another. Lady Westborough, therefore, +though much colder, was no less civil than usual; and Lord Borodaile +bowed lower than ever to Mr. Linden, as he punctiliously called him. +But Clarence’s quick eye discovered instantly that he was no welcome +intruder, and that his day with the beautiful marchioness was over. His +visit, consequently, was short and embarrassed. When he left the box, +he heard Lord Borodaile’s short, slow, sneering laugh, followed by Lady +Westborough’s “hush” of reproof. + +His blood boiled. He hurried along the passage, with his eyes fixed upon +the ground and his hand clenched. + +“What ho! Linden, my good fellow; why, you look as if all the ferocity +of the great Figg were in your veins,” cried a good-humoured voice. +Clarence started, and saw the young and high-spirited Duke of +Haverfield. + +“Are you going behind the scenes?” said his grace. “I have just come +thence; and you had much better drop into La Meronville’s box with me. +You sup with her to-night, do you not? + +“No, indeed!” replied Clarence; “I scarcely know her, except by sight.” + +“Well, and what think you of her?” + +“That she is the prettiest Frenchwoman I ever saw.” + +“Commend me to secret sympathies!” cried the duke. “She has asked +me three times who you were, and told me three times you were the +handsomest man in London and had quite a foreign air; the latter +recommendation being of course far greater than the former. So, +after this, you cannot refuse to accompany me to her box and make her +acquaintance.” + +“Nay,” answered Clarence, “I shall be too happy to profit by the taste +of so discerning a person; but it is cruel in you, Duke, not to feign +a little jealousy,--a little reluctance to introduce so formidable a +rival.” + +“Oh, as to me,” said the duke, “I only like her for her mental, not +her personal, attractions. She is very agreeable, and a little witty; +sufficient attractions for one in her situation.” + +“But do tell me a little of her history,” said Clarence, “for, in spite +of her renown, I only know her as La belle Meronville. Is she not living +en ami with some one of our acquaintance?” + +“To be sure,” replied the duke, “with Lord Borodaile. She is +prodigiously extravagant; and Borodaile affects to be prodigiously fond: +but as there is only a certain fund of affection in the human heart, and +all Lord Borodaile’s is centred in Lord Borodaile, that cannot really be +the case.” + +“Is he jealous of her?” said Clarence. + +“Not in the least! nor indeed, does she give him any cause. She is very +gay, very talkative, gives excellent suppers, and always has her box at +the Opera crowded with admirers; but that is all. She encourages many, +and favours but one. Happy Borodaile! My lot is less fortunate! You +know, I suppose, that Julia has deserted me?” + +“You astonish me,--and for what?” + +“Oh, she told me, with a vehement burst of tears, that she was convinced +I did not love her, and that a hundred pounds a month was not sufficient +to maintain a milliner’s apprentice. I answered the first assertion by +an assurance that I adored her: but I preserved a total silence with +regard to the latter; and so I found Trevanion tete-a-tete with her the +next day.” + +“What did you?” said Clarence. + +“Sent my valet to Trevanion with an old coat of mine, my compliments, +and my hopes that, as Mr. Trevanion was so fond of my cast-off +conveniences, he would honour me by accepting the accompanying trifle.” + +“He challenged you, without doubt?” + +“Challenged me! No: he tells all his friends that I am the wittiest man +in Europe.” + +“A fool can speak the truth, you see,” said Clarence, laughing. + +“Thank you, Linden; you shall have my good word with La Meronville for +that: mais allons.” + +Mademoiselle de la Meronville, as she pointedly entitled herself, was +one of those charming adventuresses, who, making the most of a +good education and a prepossessing person, a delicate turn for +letter-writing, and a lively vein of conversation, came to England for +a year or two, as Spaniards were wont to go to Mexico, and who return +to their native country with a profound contempt for the barbarians whom +they have so egregiously despoiled. Mademoiselle de la Meronville was +small, beautifully formed, had the prettiest hands and feet in the +world, and laughed musically. By the by, how difficult it is to laugh, +or even to smile, at once naturally and gracefully! It is one of +Steele’s finest touches of character, where he says of Will Honeycombe, +“He can smile when one speaks to him, and laughs easily.” + +In a word, the pretty Frenchwoman was precisely formed to turn the head +of a man like Lord Borodaile, who loved to be courted and who required +to be amused. Mademoiselle de la Meronville received Clarence with a +great deal of grace, and a little reserve, the first chiefly natural, +the last wholly artificial. + +“Well,” said the duke (in French), “you have not told me who are to be +of your party this evening,--Borodaile, I suppose, of course?” + +“No, he cannot come to-night.” + +“Ah, quel malheur! then the hock will not be iced enough: Borodaile’s +looks are the best wine-coolers in the world.” + +“Fie!” cried La Meronville, glancing towards Clarence, “I cannot endure +your malevolence; wit makes you very bitter.” + +“And that is exactly the reason why La belle Meronville loves me so: +nothing is so sweet to one person as bitterness upon another; it is +human nature and French nature (which is a very different thing) into +the bargain.” + +“Bah! my Lord Duke, you judge of others by yourself.” + +“To be sure I do,” cried the duke; “and that is the best way of forming +a right judgment. Ah! what a foot, that little figurante has; you don’t +admire her, Linden?” + +“No, Duke; my admiration is like the bird in the cage,--chained here, +and cannot fly away!” answered Clarence, with a smile at the frippery of +his compliment. + +“Ah, Monsieur,” cried the pretty Frenchwoman, leaning back, “you have +been at Paris, I see: one does not learn those graces of language in +England. I have been five months in your country; brought over the +prettiest dresses imaginable, and have only received three compliments, +and (pity me!) two out of the three were upon my pronunciation of ‘How +do you do?’” + +“Well,” said Clarence, “I should have imagined that in England, above +all other countries, your vanity would have been gratified, for you know +we pique ourselves on our sincerity, and say all we think.” + +“Yes? then you always think very unpleasantly. What an alternative! +which is the best, to speak ill or to think ill of one?” + +“Pour l’amour de Dieu,” cried the duke, “don’t ask such puzzling +questions; you are always getting into those moral subtleties, which +I suppose you learn from Borodaile. He is a wonderful metaphysician, I +hear; I can answer for his chemical powers: the moment he enters a room +the very walls grow damp; as for me, I dissolve; I should flow into +a fountain, like Arethusa, if happily his lordship did not freeze one +again into substance as fast as he dampens one into thaw.” + +“Fi donc!” cried La Meronville. “I should be very angry had you not +taught me to be very indifferent--” + +“To him!” said the duke, dryly. “I’m glad to hear it. He is not worth +une grande passion, believe me; but tell me, ma belle, who else sups +with you?” + +“D’abord, Monsieur Linden, I trust,” answered La Meronville, with a look +of invitation, to which Clarence bowed and smiled his assent, “Milord +D----, and Monsieur Trevanion, Mademoiselle Caumartin, and Le Prince +Pietro del Ordino.” + +“Nothing can be better arranged,” said the duke. “But see, they are just +going to drop the curtain. Let me call your carriage.” + +“You are too good, milord,” replied La Meronville, with a bow which +said, “of course;” and the duke, who would not have stirred three paces +for the first princess of the blood, hurried out of the box (despite +of Clarence’s offer to undertake the commission) to inquire after the +carriage of the most notorious adventuress of the day. + +Clarence was alone in the box with the beautiful Frenchwoman. To +say truth, Linden was far too much in love with Lady Flora, and too +occupied, as to his other thoughts, with the projects of ambition, to +be easily led into any disreputable or criminal liaison; he therefore +conversed with his usual ease, though with rather more than his usual +gallantry, without feeling the least touched by the charms of La +Meronville or the least desirous of supplanting Lord Borodaile in her +favour. + +The duke reappeared, and announced the carriage. As, with La Meronville +leaning on his arm, Clarence hurried out, he accidentally looked up, +and saw on the head of the stairs Lady Westborough with her party (Lord +Borodaile among the rest) in waiting for her carriage. For almost the +first time in his life, Clarence felt ashamed of himself; his cheek +burned like fire, and he involuntarily let go the fair hand which was +leaning upon his arm. However, the weaker our course the better face we +should put upon it, and Clarence, recovering his presence of mind, and +vainly hoping he had not been perceived, buried his face as well as he +was able in the fur collar of his cloak, and hurried on. + +“You saw Lord Borodaile?” said the duke to La Meronville, as he handed +her into her carriage. + +“Yes, I accidentally looked back after we had passed him, and then I saw +him.” + +“Looked back!” said the duke; “I wonder he did not turn you into a +pillar of salt.” + +“Fi donc!” cried La belle Meronville, tapping his grace playfully on the +arm, in order to do which she was forced to lean a little harder upon +Clarence’s, which she had not yet relinquished--“Fi donc! Francois, chez +moi!” + +“My carriage is just behind,” said the duke. “You will go with me to La +Meronville’s, of course?” + +“Really, my dear duke,” said Clarence, “I wish I could excuse myself +from this party. I have another engagement.” + +“Excuse yourself? and leave me to the mercy of Mademoiselle Caumartin, +who has the face of an ostrich, and talks me out of breath! Never, my +dear Linden, never! Besides, I want you to see how well I shall behave +to Trevanion. Here is the carriage. Entrez, mon cher.” + +And Clarence, weakly and foolishly (but he was very young and very +unhappy, and so, longing for an escape from his own thoughts) entered +the carriage, and drove to the supper party, in order to prevent the +Duke of Haverfield being talked out of breath by Mademoiselle Caumartin, +who had the face of an ostrich. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + + Yet truth is keenly sought for, and the wind + Charged with rich words, poured out in thought’s defence; + Whether the Church inspire that eloquence, + Or a Platonic piety, confined + To the sole temple of the inward mind; + And one there is who builds immortal lays, + Though doomed to tread in solitary ways; + Darkness before, and danger’s voice behind! + Yet not alone-- + WORDSWORTH. + +London, thou Niobe, who sittest in stone, amidst thy stricken and fated +children; nurse of the desolate, that hidest in thy bosom the shame, the +sorrows, the sins of many sons; in whose arms the fallen and the outcast +shroud their distresses, and shelter from the proud man’s contumely; +Epitome and Focus of the disparities and maddening contrasts of this +wrong world, that assemblest together in one great heap the woes, the +joys, the elevations, the debasements of the various tribes of man; +mightiest of levellers, confounding in thy whirlpool all ranks, all +minds, the graven labours of knowledge, the straws of the maniac, purple +and rags, the regalities and the loathsomeness of earth,--palace and +lazar-house combined! Grave of the living, where, mingled and massed +together, we couch, but rest not,--“for in that sleep of life what +dreams do come,”--each vexed with a separate vision,--“shadows” which +“grieve the heart,” unreal in their substance, but faithful in their +warnings, flitting from the eye, but graving unfleeting memories on +the mind, which reproduce new dreams over and over, until the phantasm +ceases, and the pall of a heavier torpor falls upon the brain, and all +is still and dark and hushed! “From the stir of thy great Babel,” + and the fixed tinsel glare in which sits pleasure like a star, “which +shines, but warms not with its powerless rays,” we turn to thy deeper +and more secret haunts. Thy wilderness is all before us--where to choose +our place of rest; and, to our eyes, thy hidden recesses are revealed. + +The clock of St. Paul’s had tolled the second hour of morning. Within +a small and humble apartment in the very heart of the city, there sat +a writer, whose lucubrations, then obscure and unknown, were destined, +years afterwards, to excite the vague admiration of the crowd and the +deeper homage of the wise. They were of that nature which is slow in +winning its way to popular esteem; the result of the hived and hoarded +knowledge of years; the produce of deep thought and sublime aspirations, +influencing, in its bearings, the interests of the many, yet only +capable of analysis by the judgment of the few. But the stream broke +forth at last from the cavern to the daylight, although the source was +never traced; or, to change the image,--albeit none know the hand which +executed and the head which designed, the monument of a mighty intellect +has been at length dug up, as it were, from the envious earth, the +brighter for its past obscurity, and the more certain of immortality +from the temporary neglect it has sustained. + +The room was, as we before said, very small, and meanly furnished; yet +were there a few articles of costliness and luxury scattered about, +which told that the tastes of its owner had not been quite humbled to +the level of his fortunes. One side of the narrow chamber was covered +with shelves, which supported books in various languages, and though +chiefly on scientific subjects, not utterly confined to them. Among the +doctrines of the philosopher, and the golden rules of the moralist, +were also seen the pleasant dreams of poets, the legends of Spenser, +the refining moralities of Pope, the lofty errors of Lucretius, and the +sublime relics of our “dead kings of melody.” [Shakspeare and Milton] +And over the hearth was a picture, taken in more prosperous days, of +one who had been and was yet to the tenant of that abode, better than +fretted roofs and glittering banquets, the objects of ambition, or +even the immortality of fame. It was the face of one very young and +beautiful, and the deep, tender eyes looked down, as with a watchful +fondness, upon the lucubrator and his labours. While beneath the window, +which was left unclosed, for it was scarcely June, were simple yet not +inelegant vases, filled with flowers,-- + + “Those lovely leaves, where we + May read how soon things have + Their end, though ne’er so brave.” [Herrick] + +The writer was alone, and had just paused from his employment; he was +leaning his face upon one hand, in a thoughtful and earnest mood, and +the air which came chill, but gentle, from the window, slightly stirred +the locks from the broad and marked brow, over which they fell in thin +but graceful waves. Partly owing perhaps to the waning light of the +single lamp and the lateness of the hour, his cheek seemed very pale, +and the complete though contemplative rest of the features partook +greatly of the quiet of habitual sadness, and a little of the languor +of shaken health; yet the expression, despite the proud cast of the +brow and profile, was rather benevolent than stern or dark in its +pensiveness, and the lines spoke more of the wear and harrow of deep +thought than the inroads of ill-regulated passion. + +There was a slight tap at the door; the latch was raised, and the +original of the picture I have described entered the apartment. + +Time had not been idle with her since that portrait had been taken: the +round elastic figure had lost much of its youth and freshness; the step, +though light, was languid, and in the centre of the fair, smooth cheek, +which was a little sunken, burned one deep bright spot,--fatal sign to +those who have watched the progress of the most deadly and deceitful of +our national maladies; yet still the form and countenance were eminently +interesting and lovely; and though the bloom was gone forever, the +beauty, which not even death could wholly have despoiled, remained to +triumph over debility, misfortune, and disease. + +She approached the student, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. + +“Dearest!” said he, tenderly yet reproachfully, “yet up, and the hour so +late and yourself so weak? Fie, I must learn to scold you.” + +“And how,” answered the intruder, “how could I sleep or rest while you +are consuming your very life in those thankless labours?” + +“By which,” interrupted the writer, with a faint smile, “we glean our +scanty subsistence.” + +“Yes,” said the wife (for she held that relation to the student), and +the tears stood in her eyes, “I know well that every morsel of bread, +every drop of water, is wrung from your very heart’s blood, and I--I am +the cause of all; but surely you exert yourself too much, more than can +be requisite? These night damps, this sickly and chilling air, heavy +with the rank vapours of the coming morning, are not suited to thoughts +and toils which are alone sufficient to sear your mind and exhaust your +strength. Come, my own love, to bed; and yet first come and look upon +our child, how sound she sleeps! I have leaned over her for the last +hour, and tried to fancy it was you whom I watched, for she has learned +already your smile and has it even when she sleeps.” + +“She has cause to smile,” said the husband, bitterly. + +“She has, for she is yours! and even in poetry and humble hopes, that is +an inheritance which may well teach her pride and joy. Come, love, the +air is keen, and the damp rises to your forehead,--yet stay, till I have +kissed it away.” + +“Mine own love,” said the student, as he rose and wound his arm round +the slender waist of his wife, “wrap your shawl closer over your bosom, +and let us look for one instant upon the night. I cannot sleep till I +have slaked the fever of my blood: the air has nothing of coldness in +its breath for me.” + +And they walked to the window and looked forth. All was hushed and still +in the narrow street; the cold gray clouds were hurrying fast along the +sky; and the stars, weak and waning in their light, gleamed forth at +rare intervals upon the mute city, like expiring watch-lamps of the +dead. + +They leaned out and spoke not; but when they looked above upon the +melancholy heavens, they drew nearer to each other, as if it were their +natural instinct to do so whenever the world without seemed discouraging +and sad. + +At length the student broke the silence; but his thoughts, which were +wandering and disjointed, were breathed less to her than vaguely and +unconsciously to himself. “Morn breaks,--another and another!--day upon +day!--while we drag on our load like the blind beast which knows not +when the burden shall be cast off and the hour of rest be come.” + +The woman pressed her hand to her bosom, but made no rejoinder--she knew +his mood--and the student continued,--“And so life frets itself away! +Four years have passed over our seclusion--four years! a great segment +in the little circle of our mortality; and of those years what day has +pleasure won from labour, or what night has sleep snatched wholly +from the lamp? Weaker than the miser, the insatiable and restless +mind traverses from east to west; and from the nooks, and corners, and +crevices of earth collects, fragment by fragment, grain by grain, atom +by atom, the riches which it gathers to its coffers--for what?--to +starve amidst the plenty! The fantasies of the imagination bring a ready +and substantial return: not so the treasures of thought. Better that I +had renounced the soul’s labour for that of its hardier frame--better +that I had ‘sweated in the eye of Phoebus,’ than ‘eat my heart with +crosses and with cares,’--seeking truth and wanting bread--adding to the +indigence of poverty its humiliation; wroth with the arrogance of men, +who weigh in the shallow scales of their meagre knowledge the product of +lavish thought, and of the hard hours for which health, and sleep, and +spirit have been exchanged;--sharing the lot of those who would +enchant the old serpent of evil, which refuses the voice of the +charmer!--struggling against the prejudice and bigoted delusion of the +bandaged and fettered herd to whom, in our fond hopes and aspirations, +we trusted to give light and freedom; seeing the slavish judgments we +would have redeemed from error clashing their chains at us in ire;--made +criminal by our very benevolence;--the martyrs whose zeal is rewarded +with persecution, whose prophecies are crowned with contempt!--Better, +oh, better that I had not listened to the vanity of a heated +brain--better that I had made my home with the lark and the wild bee, +among the fields and the quiet hills, where life, if obscurer, is +less debased, and hope, if less eagerly indulged, is less bitterly +disappointed. The frame, it is true, might have been bowed to a harsher +labour, but the heart would at least have had its rest from anxiety, and +the mind its relaxation from thought.” + +The wife’s tears fell upon the hand she clasped. The student turned, and +his heart smote him for the selfishness of his complaint. He drew her +closer and closer to his bosom; and gazing fondly upon those eyes which +years of indigence and care might have robbed of their young lustre, but +not of their undying tenderness, he kissed away her tears, and addressed +her in a voice which never failed to charm her grief into forgetfulness. + +“Dearest and kindest,” he said, “was I not to blame for accusing those +privations or regrets which have only made us love each other the more? +Trust me, mine own treasure, that it is only in the peevishness of an +inconstant and fretful humour that I have murmured against my fortune. +For, in the midst of all, I look upon you, my angel, my comforter, +my young dream of love, which God, in His mercy, breathed into waking +life--I look upon you, and am blessed and grateful. Nor in my juster +moments do I accuse even the nature of these studies, though they +bring us so scanty a reward. Have I not hours of secret and overflowing +delight, the triumphs of gratified research--flashes of sudden light, +which reward the darkness of thought, and light up my solitude as a +revel?--These feelings of rapture, which nought but Science can afford, +amply repay her disciples for worse evils and severer handships than +it has been my destiny to endure. Look along the sky, how the vapours +struggle with the still yet feeble stars: even so have the mists of +error been pierced, though not scattered, by the dim but holy lights of +past wisdom, and now the morning is at hand, and in that hope we journey +on, doubtful, but not utterly in darkness. Nor is this all my hope; +there is a loftier and more steady comfort than that which mere +philosophy can bestow. If the certainty of future fame bore Milton +rejoicing through his blindness, or cheered Galileo in his dungeon, +what stronger and holier support shall not be given to him who has loved +mankind as his brothers, and devoted his labours to their cause?--who +has not sought, but relinquished, his own renown?---who has braved the +present censures of men for their future benefit, and trampled upon +glory in the energy of benevolence? Will there not be for him something +more powerful than fame to comfort his sufferings and to sustain his +hopes? If the wish of mere posthumous honour be a feeling rather vain +than exalted, the love of our race affords us a more rational and noble +desire of remembrance. Come what will, that love, if it animates our +toils and directs our studies, shall when we are dust make our relics +of value, our efforts of avail, and consecrate the desire of fame, +which were else a passion selfish and impure, by connecting it with the +welfare of ages and the eternal interests of the world and its Creator! +Come, we will to bed.” + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + + A man may be formed by nature for an admirable citizen, and + yet, from the purest motives, be a dangerous one to the + State in which the accident of birth has placed him.-- + STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + +The night again closed., and the student once more resumed his labours. +The spirit of his hope and comforter of his toils sat by him, ever and +anon lifting her fond eyes from her work to gaze upon his countenance, +to sigh, and to return sadly and quietly to her employment. + +A heavy step ascended the stairs, the door opened, and the tall figure +of Wolfe, the republican, presented itself. The female rose, pushed a +chair towards him with a smile and grace suited to better fortunes, and, +retiring from the table, reseated herself silent and apart. + +“It is a fine night,” said the student, when the mutual greetings were +over. “Whence come you?” + +“From contemplating human misery and worse than human degradation,” + replied Wolfe, slowly seating himself. + +“Those words specify no place: they apply universally,” said the +student, with a sigh. + +“Ay, Glendower, for misgovernment is universal,” rejoined Wolfe. + +Glendower made no answer. + +“Oh!” said Wolfe, in the low, suppressed tone of intense passion which +was customary to him, “it maddens me to look upon the willingness with +which men hug their trappings of slavery,--bears, proud of the rags +which deck and the monkeys which ride them. But it frets me yet more +when some lordling sweeps along, lifting his dull eyes above the fools +whose only crime and debasement are--what?--their subjection to him! +Such a one I encountered a few nights since; and he will remember the +meeting longer than I shall. I taught that ‘god to tremble.’” + +The female rose, glanced towards her husband, and silently withdrew. + +Wolfe paused for a few moments, looked curiously and pryingly round, +and then rising went forth into the passage to see that no loiterer or +listener was near; returned, and drawing his chair close to Glendower, +fixed his dark eye upon him, and said,-- + +“You are poor, and your spirit rises against your lot, you are just, and +your heart swells against the general oppression you behold: can you not +dare to remedy your ills and those of mankind?” + +“I can dare,” said Glendower, calmly, though haughtily, “all things but +crime.” + +“And which is crime?--the rising against, or the submission to, evil +government? Which is crime, I ask you?” + +“That which is the most imprudent,” answered Glendower. + +“We may sport in ordinary cases with our own safeties, but only in rare +cases with the safety of others.” + +Wolfe rose, and paced the narrow room impatiently to and fro. He paused +by the window and threw it open. “Come here,” he cried,--“come and look +out.” + +Glendower did so; all was still and quiet. + +“Why did you call me?” said he; “I see nothing.” + +“Nothing!” exclaimed Wolfe; “look again; look on yon sordid and squalid +huts; look at yon court, that from this wretched street leads to abodes +to which these are as palaces; look at yon victims of vice and famine, +plying beneath the midnight skies their filthy and infectious trade. +Wherever you turn your eyes, what see you? Misery, loathsomeness, sin! +Are you a man, and call you these nothing? And now lean forth still +more; see afar off, by yonder lamp, the mansion of ill-gotten and +griping wealth. He who owns those buildings, what did he that he should +riot while we starve? He wrung from the negro’s tears and bloody sweat +the luxuries of a pampered and vitiated taste; he pandered to the +excesses of the rich; he heaped their tables with the product of a +nation’s groans. Lo!--his reward! He is rich, prosperous, honoured! He +sits in the legislative assembly; he declaims against immorality; +he contends for the safety of property and the equilibrium of ranks. +Transport yourself from this spot for an instant; imagine that you +survey the gorgeous homes of aristocracy and power, the palaces of the +west. What see you there?--the few sucking, draining, exhausting the +blood, the treasure, the very existence of the many. Are we, who are of +the many, wise to suffer it?” + +“Are we of the many?” said Glendower. + +“We could be,” said Wolfe, hastily. + +“I doubt it;” replied Glendower. + +“Listen,” said the republican, laying his hand upon Glendower’s +shoulder, “listen to me. There are in this country men whose spirits not +years of delayed hope, wearisome persecution, and, bitterer than all, +misrepresentation from some and contempt from others, have yet quelled +and tamed. We watch our opportunity; the growing distress of the +country, the increasing severity and misrule of the administration, will +soon afford it us. Your talents, your benevolence, render you worthy to +join us. Do so, and--” + +“Hush!” interrupted the student; “you know not what you say: you weigh +not the folly, the madness of your design! I am a man more fallen, more +sunken, more disappointed than you. I, too, have had at my heart the +burning and lonely hope which, through years of misfortune and want, has +comforted me with the thought of serving and enlightening mankind,--I, +too, have devoted to the fulfilment of that hope, days and nights, in +which the brain grew dizzy and the heart heavy and clogged with the +intensity of my pursuits. Were the dungeon and the scaffold my reward +Heaven knows that I would not flinch eye or hand or abate a jot of heart +and hope in the thankless prosecution of my toils. Know me, then, as +one of fortunes more desperate than your own; of an ambition more +unquenchable; of a philanthropy no less ardent; and, I will add, of a +courage no less firm: and behold the utter hopelessness of your projects +with others, when to me they only appear the visions of an enthusiast.” + +Wolfe sank down in the chair. + +“Is it even so?” said he, slowly and musingly. “Are my hopes but +delusions? Has my life been but one idle, though convulsive dream? Is +the goddess of our religion banished from this great and populous earth +to the seared and barren hearts of a few solitary worshippers, whom all +else despise as madmen or persecute as idolaters? And if so, shall we +adore her the less?---No! though we perish in her cause, it is around +her altar that our corpses shall be found!” + +“My friend,” said Glendower, kindly, for he was touched by the sincerity +though opposed to the opinions of the republican, “the night is yet +early: we will sit down to discuss our several doctrines calmly and in +the spirit of truth and investigation.” + +“Away!” cried Wolfe, rising and slouching his hat over his bent +and lowering brows; “away! I will not listen to you: I dread your +reasonings; I would not have a particle of my faith shaken. If I err, +I have erred from my birth,--erred with Brutus and Tell, Hampden and +Milton, and all whom the thousand tribes and parties of earth consecrate +with their common gratitude and eternal reverence. In that error I will +die! If our party can struggle not with hosts, there may yet arise some +minister with the ambition of Caesar, if not his genius,--of whom a +single dagger can rid the earth!” + +“And if not?” said Glendower. + +“I have the same dagger for myself!” replied Wolfe, as he closed the +door. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + + Bolingbroke has said that “Man is his own sharper and his + own bubble;” and certainly he who is acutest in duping + others is ever the most ingenious in outwitting himself. The + criminal is always a sophist; and finds in his own reason a + special pleader to twist laws human and divine into a + sanction of his crime. The rogue is so much in the habit of + cheating, that he packs the cards even when playing at + Patience with himself.--STEPHEN MONTAGUE. + +The only two acquaintances in this populous city whom Glendower +possessed who were aware that in a former time he had known a better +fortune were Wolfe and a person of far higher worldly estimation, of the +name of Crauford. With the former the student had become acquainted by +the favour of chance, which had for a short time made them lodgers in +the same house. Of the particulars of Glendower’s earliest history Wolfe +was utterly ignorant; but the addresses upon some old letters, which +he had accidentally seen, had informed him that Glendower had formerly +borne another name; and it was easy to glean from the student’s +conversation that something of greater distinction and prosperity than +he now enjoyed was coupled with the appellation he had renounced. +Proud, melancholy, austere,--brooding upon thoughts whose very loftiness +received somewhat of additional grandeur from the gloom which encircled +it,--Glendower found, in the ruined hopes and the solitary lot of the +republican, that congeniality which neither Wolfe’s habits nor the +excess of his political fervour might have afforded to a nature which +philosophy had rendered moderate and early circumstances refined. +Crauford was far better acquainted than Wolfe with the reverses +Glendower had undergone. Many years ago he had known and indeed +travelled with him upon the Continent; since then they had not met till +about six months prior to the time in which Glendower is presented to +the reader. It was in an obscure street of the city that Crauford had +then encountered Glendower, whose haunts were so little frequented by +the higher orders of society that Crauford was the first, and the only +one of his former acquaintance with whom for years he had been brought +into contact. That person recognized him at once, accosted him, followed +him home, and three days afterwards surprised him with a visit. Of +manners which, in their dissimulation, extended far beyond the ordinary +ease and breeding of the world, Crauford readily appeared not to notice +the altered circumstances of his old acquaintance; and, by a tone +of conversation artfully respectful, he endeavoured to remove from +Glendower’s mind that soreness which his knowledge of human nature told +him his visit was calculated to create. + +There is a certain species of pride which contradicts the ordinary +symptoms of the feeling, and appears most elevated when it would be +reasonable to expect it should be most depressed. Of this sort was +Glendower’s. When he received the guest who had known him in his former +prosperity, some natural sentiment of emotion called, it is true, to his +pale cheek a momentary flush, as he looked round his humble apartment, +and the evident signs of poverty it contained; but his address was calm +and self-possessed, and whatever mortification he might have felt, no +intonation of his voice, no tell-tale embarrassment of manner, revealed +it. Encouraged by this air, even while he was secretly vexed by it, +and perfectly unable to do justice to the dignity of mind which gave +something of majesty rather than humiliation to misfortune, Crauford +resolved to repeat his visit, and by intervals, gradually lessening, +renewed it, till acquaintance seemed, though little tinctured, at least +on Glendower’s side, by friendship, to assume the semblance of intimacy. +It was true, however, that he had something to struggle against in +Glendower’s manner, which certainly grew colder in proportion to the +repetition of the visits; and at length Glendower said, with an ease and +quiet which abashed for a moment an effrontery of mind and manner which +was almost parallel, “Believe me, Mr. Crauford, I feel fully sensible of +your attentions; but as circumstances at present are such as to render +an intercourse between us little congenial to the habits and sentiments +of either, you will probably understand and forgive my motives in +wishing no longer to receive civilities which, however I may feel them, +I am unable to return.” + +Crauford coloured and hesitated before he replied. “Forgive me then,” + said he, “for my fault. I did venture to hope that no circumstances +would break off an acquaintance to me so valuable. Forgive me if I +did imagine that an intercourse between mind and mind could be equally +carried on, whether the mere body were lodged in a palace or a hovel;” + and then suddenly changing his tone into that of affectionate warmth, +Crauford continued, “My dear Glendower, my dear friend, I would say, if +I durst, is not your pride rather to blame here? Believe me, in my turn, +I fully comprehend and bow to it; but it wounds me beyond expression. +Were you in your proper station, a station much higher than my own, +I would come to you at once, and proffer my friendship: as it is, I +cannot; but your pride wrongs me, Glendower,--indeed it does.” + +And Crauford turned away, apparently in the bitterness of wounded +feeling. + +Glendower was touched: and his nature, as kind as it was proud, +immediately smote him for conduct certainly ungracious and perhaps +ungrateful. He held out his hand to Crauford; with the most respectful +warmth that personage seized and pressed it: and from that time +Crauford’s visits appeared to receive a license which, if not perfectly +welcome, was at least never again questioned. + +“I shall have this man now,” muttered Crauford, between his ground +teeth, as he left the house, and took his way to his counting-house. +There, cool, bland, fawning, and weaving in his close and dark mind +various speculations of guilt and craft, he sat among his bills and +gold, like the very gnome and personification of that Mammon of gain to +which he was the most supple though concealed adherent. + +Richard Crauford was of a new but not unimportant family. His father had +entered into commerce, and left a flourishing firm and a name of great +respectability in his profession to his son. That son was a man whom +many and opposite qualities rendered a character of very singular and +uncommon stamp. Fond of the laborious acquisition of money, he was +equally attached to the ostentatious pageantries of expense. Profoundly +skilled in the calculating business of his profession, he was devoted +equally to the luxuries of pleasure; but the pleasure was suited well +to the mind which pursued it. The divine intoxication of that love where +the delicacies and purities of affection consecrate the humanity of +passion was to him a thing of which not even his youngest imagination +had ever dreamed. The social concomitants of the wine-cup (which have +for the lenient an excuse, for the austere a temptation), the generous +expanding of the heart, the increased yearning to kindly affection, the +lavish spirit throwing off its exuberance in the thousand lights and +emanations of wit,--these, which have rendered the molten grape, despite +of its excesses, not unworthy of the praises of immortal hymns, +and taken harshness from the judgment of those averse to its +enjoyment,--these never presented an inducement to the stony temperament +and dormant heart of Richard Crauford. + +He looked upon the essences of things internal as the common eye upon +outward nature, and loved the many shapes of evil as the latter does the +varieties of earth, not for their graces, but their utility. His +loves, coarse and low, fed their rank fires from an unmingled and gross +depravity. His devotion to wine was either solitary and unseen--for he +loved safety better than mirth--or in company with those whose station +flattered his vanity, not whose fellowship ripened his crude and nipped +affections. Even the recklessness of vice in him had the character of +prudence; and in the most rapid and turbulent stream of his excesses, +one might detect the rocky and unmoved heart of the calculator at the +bottom. + +Cool, sagacious, profound in dissimulation, and not only observant of, +but deducing sage consequences from, those human inconsistencies and +frailties by which it was his aim to profit, he cloaked his deeper vices +with a masterly hypocrisy; and for those too dear to forego and too +difficult to conceal he obtained pardon by the intercession of virtues +it cost him nothing to assume. Regular in his attendance at worship; +professing rigidness of faith beyond the tenets of the orthodox church; +subscribing to the public charities, where the common eye knoweth what +the private hand giveth; methodically constant to the forms of business; +primitively scrupulous in the proprieties of speech; hospitable, at +least to his superiors, and, being naturally smooth, both of temper and +address, popular with his inferiors,--it was no marvel that one part +of the world forgave to a man rich and young the irregularities of +dissipation, that another forgot real immorality in favour of affected +religion, or that the remainder allowed the most unexceptionable +excellence of words to atone for the unobtrusive errors of a conduct +which did not prejudice them. + +“It is true,” said his friends, “that he loves women too much: but he is +young; he will marry and amend.” + +Mr. Crauford did marry; and, strange as it may seem, for love,--at least +for that brute-like love, of which alone he was capable. After a few +years of ill-usage on his side, and endurance on his wife’s, they +parted. Tired of her person, and profiting by her gentleness of temper, +he sent her to an obscure corner of the country, to starve upon the +miserable pittance which was all he allowed her from his superfluities. +Even then--such is the effect of the showy proprieties of form and +word--Mr. Crauford sank not in the estimation of the world. + +“It was easy to see,” said the spectators of his domestic drama, “that +a man in temper so mild, in his business so honourable, so civil of +speech, so attentive to the stocks and the sermon, could not have +been the party to blame. One never knew the rights of matrimonial +disagreements, nor could sufficiently estimate the provoking disparities +of temper. Certainly Mrs. Crauford never did look in good humour, and +had not the open countenance of her husband; and certainly the very +excesses of Mr. Crauford betokened a generous warmth of heart, which the +sullenness of his conjugal partner might easily chill and revolt.” + +And thus, unquestioned and unblamed, Mr. Crauford walked onward in +his beaten way; and, secretly laughing at the toleration of the crowd, +continued at his luxurious villa the orgies of a passionless yet brutal +sensuality. + +So far might the character of Richard Crauford find parallels in +hypocrisy and its success. Dive we now deeper into his soul. Possessed +of talents which, though of a secondary rank, were in that rank +consummate, Mr. Crauford could not be a villain by intuition or the +irregular bias of his nature: he was a villain upon a grander scale; he +was a villain upon system. Having little learning and less knowledge, +out of his profession his reflection expended itself upon apparently +obvious deductions from the great and mysterious book of life. He saw +vice prosperous in externals, and from this sight his conclusion was +drawn. “Vice,” said he, “is not an obstacle to success; and if so, it +is at least a pleasanter road to it than your narrow and thorny ways of +virtue.” But there are certain vices which require the mask of virtue, +and Crauford thought it easier to wear the mask than to school his soul +to the reality. So to the villain he added the hypocrite. He found the +success equalled his hopes, for he had both craft and genius; nor was he +naturally without the minor amiabilities, which to the ignorance of the +herd seem more valuable than coin of a more important amount. Blinded +as we are by prejudice, we not only mistake but prefer decencies to +moralities; and, like the inhabitants of Cos, when offered the choice of +two statues of the same goddess, we choose, not that which is the most +beautiful, but that which is the most dressed. + +Accustomed easily to dupe mankind, Crauford soon grew to despise them; +and from justifying roguery by his own interest, he now justified it by +the folly of others; and as no wretch is so unredeemed as to be without +excuse to himself, Crauford actually persuaded his reason that he was +vicious upon principle, and a rascal on a system of morality. But why +the desire of this man, so consummately worldly and heartless, for an +intimacy with the impoverished and powerless student? This question is +easily answered. In the first place, during Crauford’s acquaintance with +Glendower abroad, the latter had often, though innocently, galled the +vanity and self-pride of the parvenu affecting the aristocrat, and in +poverty the parvenu was anxious to retaliate. But this desire would +probably have passed away after he had satisfied his curiosity, or +gloated his spite, by one or two insights into Glendower’s home,--for +Crauford, though at times a malicious, was not a vindictive, man,--had +it not been for a much more powerful object which afterwards occurred to +him. In an extensive scheme of fraud, which for many years this man had +carried on and which for secrecy and boldness was almost unequalled, it +had of late become necessary to his safety to have a partner, or rather +tool. A man of education, talent, and courage was indispensable, and +Crauford had resolved that Glendower should be that man. With the +supreme confidence in his own powers which long success had given him; +with a sovereign contempt for, or rather disbelief in, human integrity; +and with a thorough conviction that the bribe to him was the bribe with +all, and that none would on any account be poor if they had the offer +to be rich,--Crauford did not bestow a moment’s consideration upon +the difficulty of his task, or conceive that in the nature and mind of +Glendower there could exist any obstacle to his design. + +Men addicted to calculation are accustomed to suppose those employed in +the same mental pursuit arrive, or ought to arrive, at the same final +conclusion. Now, looking upon Glendower as a philosopher, Crauford +looked upon him as a man who, however he might conceal his real +opinions, secretly laughed, like Crauford’s self, not only at the +established customs, but at the established moralities of the world. +Ill-acquainted with books, the worthy Richard was, like all men +similarly situated, somewhat infected by the very prejudices he affected +to despise; and he shared the vulgar disposition to doubt the hearts +of those who cultivate the head. Glendower himself had confirmed this +opinion by lauding, though he did not entirely subscribe to, those +moralists who have made an enlightened self-interest the proper measure +of all human conduct; and Crauford, utterly unable to comprehend this +system in its grand, naturally interpreted it in a partial, sense. +Espousing self-interest as his own code, he deemed that in reality +Glendower’s principles did not differ greatly from his; and, as there +is no pleasure to a hypocrite like that of finding a fit opportunity to +unburden some of his real sentiments, Crauford was occasionally wont +to hold some conference and argument with the student, in which his +opinions were not utterly cloaked in their usual disguise; but cautious +even in his candour, he always forbore stating such opinions as his own: +he merely mentioned them as those which a man beholding the villanies +and follies of his kind, might be tempted to form; and thus Glendower, +though not greatly esteeming his acquaintance, looked upon him as one +ignorant in his opinions, but not likely to err in his conduct. + +These conversations did, however, it is true, increase Crauford’s +estimate of Glendower’s integrity, but they by no means diminished his +confidence of subduing it. Honour, a deep and pure sense of the divinity +of good, the steady desire of rectitude, and the supporting aid of a +sincere religion,--these he did not deny to his intended tool: he rather +rejoiced that he possessed them. With the profound arrogance, the sense +of immeasurable superiority, which men of no principle invariably feel +for those who have it, Crauford said to himself, “Those very virtues +will be my best dupes; they cannot resist the temptations I shall offer; +but they can resist any offer to betray me afterwards; for no man can +resist hunger: but your fine feelings, your nice honour, your precise +religion,--he! he! he!--these can teach a man very well to resist +a common inducement; they cannot make him submit to be his own +executioner; but they can prevent his turning king’s evidence and being +executioner to another. No, no: it is not to your common rogues that I +may dare trust my secret,--my secret, which is my life! It is precisely +of such a fine, Athenian, moral rogue as I shall make my proud friend +that I am in want. But he has some silly scruples; we must beat them +away: we must not be too rash; and above all, we must leave the best +argument to poverty. Want is your finest orator; a starving wife, +a famished brat,--he! he!--these are your true tempters,--your true +fathers of crime, and fillers of jails and gibbets. Let me see: he +has no money, I know, but what he gets from that bookseller. What +bookseller, by the by? Ah, rare thought! I’ll find out, and cut off that +supply. My lady wife’s cheek will look somewhat thinner next month, I +fancy--he! he! But ‘t is a pity, for she is a glorious creature! Who +knows but I may serve two purposes? However, one at present! business +first, and pleasure afterwards; and, faith, the business is damnably +like that of life and death.” + +Muttering such thoughts as these, Crauford took his way one evening to +Glendower’s house. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + + Iago.--Virtue; a fig!--‘t is in ourselves that we are thus + and thus.--Othello. + +“So, so, my little one, don’t let me disturb you. Madam, dare I venture +to hope your acceptance of this fruit? I chose it myself, and I am +somewhat of a judge. Oh! Glendower, here is the pamphlet you wished to +see.” + +With this salutation, Crauford drew his chair to the table by which +Glendower sat, and entered into conversation with his purposed victim. A +comely and a pleasing countenance had Richard Crauford! the lonely light +of the room fell upon a face which, though forty years of guile had +gone over it, was as fair and unwrinkled as a boy’s. Small, well-cut +features; a blooming complexion; eyes of the lightest blue; a forehead +high, though narrow; and a mouth from which the smile was never +absent,--these, joined to a manner at once soft and confident, and an +elegant though unaffected study of dress, gave to Crauford a personal +appearance well suited to aid the effect of his hypocritical and +dissembling mind. + +“Well, my friend,” said he, “always at your books, eh? Ah! it is a happy +taste; would that I had cultivated it more; but we who are condemned to +business have little leisure to follow our own inclinations. It is only +on Sundays that I have time to read; and then (to say truth) I am an +old-fashioned man, whom the gayer part of the world laughs at, and then +I am too occupied with the Book of Books to think of any less important +study.” + +Not deeming that a peculiar reply was required to this pious speech, +Glendower did not take that advantage of Crauford’s pause which it was +evidently intended that he should. With a glance towards the student’s +wife, our mercantile friend continued: “I did once--once in my young +dreams--intend that whenever I married I would relinquish a profession +for which, after all, I am but little calculated. I pictured to myself a +country retreat, well stored with books; and having concentrated in one +home all the attractions which would have tempted my thoughts abroad, I +had designed to surrender myself solely to those studies which, I lament +to say, were but ill attended to in my earlier education. But--but” + (here Mr. Crauford sighed deeply, and averted his face) “fate willed it +otherwise!” + +Whatever reply of sympathetic admiration or condolence Glendower might +have made was interrupted by one of those sudden and overpowering +attacks of faintness which had of late seized the delicate and declining +health of his wife. He rose, and leaned over her with a fondness and +alarm which curled the lip of his visitor. + +“Thus it is,” said Crauford to himself, “with weak minds, under the +influence of habit. The love of lust becomes the love of custom, and the +last is as strong as the first.” + +When--she had recovered, she rose, and (with her child) retired to +rest, the only restorative she ever found effectual for her complaint. +Glendower went with her, and, after having seen her eyes, which swam +with tears of gratitude at his love, close in the seeming slumber +she affected in order to release him from his watch, he returned to +Crauford. He found that gentleman leaning against the chimney-piece with +folded arms, and apparently immersed in thought. A very good opportunity +had Glendower’s absence afforded to a man whose boast it was never +to lose one. Looking over the papers on the table, he had seen and +possessed himself of the address of the bookseller the student dealt +with. “So much for business, now for philanthropy,” said Mr. Crauford, +in his favorite antithetical phrase, throwing himself in his attitude +against the chimney-piece. + +As Glendower entered, Crauford started from his revery, and with a +melancholy air and pensive voice said,-- + +“Alas, my friend, when I look upon this humble apartment, the weak +health of your unequalled wife, your obscurity, your misfortunes; when I +look upon these, and contrast them with your mind, your talents, and all +that you were born and fitted for, I cannot but feel tempted to believe +with those who imagine the pursuit of virtue a chimera, and who justify +their own worldly policy by the example of all their kind.” + +“Virtue,” said Glendower, “would indeed be a chimera, did it require +support from those whom you have cited.” + +“True,--most true,” answered Crauford, somewhat disconcerted in reality, +though not in appearance; “and yet, strange as it may seem, I have known +some of those persons very good, admirably good men. They were extremely +moral and religious: they only played the great game for worldly +advantage upon the same terms as the other players; nay, they never made +a move in it without most fervently and sincerely praying for divine +assistance.” + +“I readily believe you,” said Glendower, who always, if possible, +avoided a controversy: “the easiest person to deceive is one’s own +self.” + +“Admirably said,” answered Crauford, who thought it nevertheless one of +the most foolish observations he had ever heard, “admirably said! and +yet my heart does grieve bitterly for the trials and distresses it +surveys. One must make excuses for poor human frailty; and one is often +placed in such circumstances as to render it scarcely possible without +the grace of God” (here Crauford lifted up his eyes) “not to be urged, +as it were, into the reasonings and actions of the world.” + +Not exactly comprehending this observation, and not very closely +attending to it, Glendower merely bowed, as in assent, and Crauford +continued,-- + +“I remember a remarkable instance of this truth. One of my partner’s +clerks had, through misfortune or imprudence, fallen into the greatest +distress. His wife, his children (he had a numerous family), were on +the literal and absolute verge of starvation. Another clerk, taking +advantage of these circumstances, communicated to the distressed man +a plan for defrauding his employer. The poor fellow yielded to the +temptation, and was at last discovered. I spoke to him myself, for I +was interested in his fate, and had always esteemed him. ‘What,’ said +I, ‘was your motive for this fraud?’ ‘My duty!’ answered the man, +fervently; ‘my duty! Was I to suffer my wife, my children, to starve +before my face, when I could save them at a little personal risk? No: +my duty forbade it!’ and in truth, Glendower, there was something very +plausible in this manner of putting the question.” + +“You might, in answering it,” said Glendower, “have put the point in a +manner equally plausible and more true: was he to commit a great crime +against the millions connected by social order, for the sake of serving +a single family, and that his own?” + +“Quite right,” answered Crauford: “that was just the point of view +in which I did put it; but the man, who was something of a reasoner, +replied, ‘Public law is instituted for public happiness. Now if mine and +my children’s happiness is infinitely and immeasurably more served by +this comparatively petty fraud than my employer’s is advanced by my +abstaining from, or injured by my committing it, why, the origin of +law itself allows me to do it.’ What say you to that, Glendower? It is +something in your Utilitarian, or, as you term it, Epicurean [See the +article on Mr. Moore’s “Epicurean” in the “Westminster Review.” Though +the strictures on that work are harsh and unjust, yet the part relating +to the real philosophy of Epicurus is one of the most masterly things in +criticism.] principle; is it not?” and Crauford, shading his eyes, as +if from the light, watched narrowly Glendower’s countenance, while he +concealed his own. + +“Poor fool!” said Glendower; “the man was ignorant of the first lesson +in his moral primer. Did he not know that no rule is to be applied to +a peculiar instance, but extended to its most general bearings? Is it +necessary even to observe that the particular consequence of fraud +in this man might, it is true, be but the ridding his employer of +superfluities, scarcely missed, for the relief of most urgent want in +two or three individuals; but the general consequences of fraud and +treachery would be the disorganization of all society? Do not think, +therefore, that this man was a disciple of my, or of any, system of +morality.” + +“It is very just, very,” said Mr. Crauford, with a benevolent sigh; “but +you will own that want seldom allows great nicety in moral distinctions, +and that when those whom you love most in the world are starving, you +may be pitied, if not forgiven, for losing sight of the after laws of +Nature and recurring to her first ordinance, self-preservation.” + +“We should be harsh, indeed,” answered Glendower, “if we did not pity; +or, even while the law condemned, if the individual did not forgive.” + +“So I said, so I said,” cried Crauford; “and in interceding for the +poor fellow, whose pardon I am happy to say I procured, I could not help +declaring that, if I were placed in the same circumstances, I am not +sure that my crime would not have been the same.” + +“No man could feel sure!” said Glendower, dejectedly. Delighted and +surprised with this confession, Crauford continued: “I believe,--I +fear not; thank God, our virtue can never be so tried: but even you, +Glendower, even you, philosopher, moralist as you are,--just, good, +wise, religious,--even you might be tempted, if you saw your angel wife +dying for want of the aid, the very sustenance, necessary to existence, +and your innocent and beautiful daughter stretch her little hands to you +and cry in the accents of famine for bread.” + +The student made no reply for a few moments, but averted his +countenance, and then in a slow tone said, “Let us drop this subject: +none know their strength till they are tried; self-confidence should +accompany virtue, but not precede it.” + +A momentary flash broke from the usually calm, cold eye of Richard +Crauford. “He is mine,” thought he: “the very name of want abases his +pride: what will the reality do? O human nature, how I know and mock +thee!” + +“You are right,” said Crauford, aloud; “let us talk of the pamphlet.” + +And after a short conversation upon indifferent subjects, the visitor +departed. Early the next morning was Mr. Crauford seen on foot, taking +his way to the bookseller whose address he had learnt. The bookseller +was known as a man of a strongly evangelical bias. “We must insinuate a +lie or two,” said Crauford, inly, “about Glendower’s principles. He! he! +it will be a fine stroke of genius to make the upright tradesman suffer +Glendower to starve out of a principle of religion. But who would have +thought my prey had been so easily snared? why, if I had proposed the +matter last night, I verily think he would have agreed to it.” + +Amusing himself with these thoughts, Crauford arrived at the +bookseller’s. There he found Fate had saved him from one crime at least. +The whole house was in confusion: the bookseller had that morning died +of an apoplectic fit. + +“Good God! how shocking!” said Crauford to the foreman; “but he was a +most worthy man, and Providence could no longer spare him. The ways of +Heaven are inscrutable! Oblige me with three copies of that precious +tract termed the ‘Divine Call.’ I should like to be allowed permission +to attend the funeral of so excellent a man. Good morning, sir. Alas! +alas!” and, shaking his head piteously, Mr. Crauford left the shop. + +“Hurra!” said he, almost audibly, when he was once more in the street, +“hurra! my victim is made; my game is won: death or the devil fights for +me. But, hold: there are other booksellers in this monstrous city!--ay, +but not above two or three in our philosopher’s way. I must forestall +him there,--so, so,--that is soon settled. Now, then, I must leave him a +little while, undisturbed, to his fate. Perhaps my next visit may be to +him in jail: your debtor’s side of the Fleet is almost as good a pleader +as an empty stomach,--he! he! He!--but the stroke must be made soon, +for time presses, and this d--d business spreads so fast that if I don’t +have a speedy help, it will be too much for my hands, griping as they +are. However, if it holds on a year longer, I will change my seat in the +Lower House for one in the Upper; twenty thousand pounds to the minister +may make a merchant a very pretty peer. O brave Richard Crauford, wise +Richard Crauford, fortunate Richard Crauford, noble Richard Crauford! +Why, if thou art ever hanged, it will be by a jury of peers. ‘Gad, the +rope would then have a dignity in it, instead of disgrace. But stay, +here comes the Dean of ----; not orthodox, it is said,--rigid Calvinist! +out with the ‘Divine Call’!” + +When Mr. Richard Crauford repaired next to Glendower, what was his +astonishment and dismay at hearing he had left his home, none knew +whither nor could give the inquirer the slightest clew. + +“How long has he left?” said Crauford to the landlady. + +“Five days, sir.” + +“And will he not return to settle any little debts he may have +incurred?” said Crauford. + +“Oh, no, sir: he paid them all before he went. Poor gentleman,--for +though he was poor, he was the finest and most thorough gentleman I ever +saw!--my heart bled for him. They parted with all their valuables to +discharge their debts: the books and instruments and busts,--all went; +and what I saw, though he spoke so indifferently about it, hurt him the +most,--he sold even the lady’s picture. ‘Mrs. Croftson,’ said he, ‘Mr. +----, the painter, will send for that picture the day after I leave +you. See that he has it, and that the greatest care is taken of it in +delivery.’” + +“And you cannot even guess where he has gone to?” + +“No, sir; a single porter was sufficient to convey his remaining goods, +and he took him from some distant part of the town.” + +“Ten thousand devils!” muttered Crauford, as he turned away; “I should +have foreseen this! He is lost now. Of course he will again change +his name; and in the d--d holes and corners of this gigantic puzzle of +houses, how shall I ever find him out? and time presses too! Well, well, +well! there is a fine prize for being cleverer, or, as fools would say, +more rascally than others; but there is a world of trouble in winning +it. But come; I will go home, lock myself up, and get drunk! I am as +melancholy as a cat in love, and about as stupid; and, faith, one +must get spirits in order to hit on a new invention. But if there be +consistency in fortune, or success in perseverance, or wit in Richard +Crauford, that man shall yet be my victim--and preserver!” + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + + Revenge is now the cud + That I do chew.--I’ll challenge him. + BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. + +We return to “the world of fashion,” as the admirers of the polite novel +of would say. The noon-day sun broke hot and sultry through half-closed +curtains of roseate silk, playing in broken beams upon rare and fragrant +exotics, which cast the perfumes of southern summers over a chamber, +moderate, indeed, as to its dimensions, but decorated with a splendour +rather gaudy than graceful, and indicating much more a passion for +luxury than a refinement of taste. + +At a small writing-table sat the beautiful La Meronville. She had just +finished a note, written (how Jean Jacques would have been enchanted) +upon paper couleur de rose, with a mother-of-pearl pen, formed as one of +Cupid’s darts, dipped into an ink-stand of the same material, which was +shaped as a quiver, and placed at the back of a little Love, exquisitely +wrought. She was folding this billet when a page, fantastically dressed, +entered, and, announcing Lord Borodaile, was immediately followed by +that nobleman. Eagerly and almost blushingly did La Meronville thrust +the note into her bosom, and hasten to greet and to embrace her adorer. +Lord Borodaile flung himself on one of the sofas with a listless and +discontented air. The experienced Frenchwoman saw that there was a cloud +on his brow. + +“My dear friend,” said she, in her own tongue, “you seem vexed: has +anything annoyed you?” + +“No, Cecile, no. By the by, who supped with you last night?” + +“Oh! the Duke of Haverfield, your friend.” + +“My friend!” interrupted Borodaile, haughtily: “he’s no friend of mine; +a vulgar, talkative fellow; my friend, indeed!” + +“Well, I beg your pardon: then there was Mademoiselle Caumartin, and the +Prince Pietro del Orbino, and Mr. Trevanion, and Mr. Lin--Lin--Linten, +or Linden.” + +“And pray, will you allow me to ask how you became acquainted with Mr. +Lin--Lin--Linten, or Linden?” + +“Assuredly; through the Duke of Haverfield.” + +“Humph! Cecile, my love, that young man is not fit to be the +acquaintance of my friend: allow me to strike him from your list.” + +“Certainly, certainly!” said La Meronville, hastily; and stooping as +if to pick up a fallen glove, though, in reality, to hide her face from +Lord Borodaile’s searching eye, the letter she had written fell from her +bosom. Lord Borodaile’s glance detected the superscription, and before +La Meronville could regain the note he had possessed himself of it. + +“A Monsieur, Monsieur Linden!” said he, coldly, reading the address; +“and, pray, how long have you corresponded with that gentleman?” + +Now La Meronville’s situation at that moment was by no means agreeable. +She saw at one glance that no falsehood or artifice could avail her; for +Lord Borodaile might deem himself fully justified in reading the note, +which would contradict any glossing statement she might make. She +saw this. She was a woman of independence; cared not a straw for Lord +Borodaile at present, though she had had a caprice for him; knew that +she might choose her bon ami out of all London, and replied,-- + +“That is the first letter I ever wrote to him; but I own that it will +not be the last.” + +Lord Borodaile turned pale. + +“And will you suffer me to read it?” said he; for even in these cases he +was punctiliously honourable. + +La Meronville hesitated. She did not know him. “If I do not consent,” + thought she, “he will do it without the consent: better submit with a +good grace.--Certainly!” she answered, with an air of indifference. + +Borodaile opened and read the note; it was as follows:-- + +You have inspired me with a feeling for you which astonishes myself. +Ah, why should that love be the strongest which is the swiftest in its +growth? I used to love Lord Borodaile: I now only esteem him; the love +has flown to you. If I judge rightly from your words and your eyes, this +avowal will not be unwelcome to you. Come and assure me, in person, of a +persuasion so dear to my heart. C. L. M. + +“A very pretty effusion!” said Lord Borodaile, sarcastically, and only +showing his inward rage by the increasing paleness of his complexion and +a slight compression of his lip. “I thank you for your confidence in me. +All I ask is that you will not send this note till to-morrow. Allow me +to take my leave of you first, and to find in Mr. Linden a successor +rather than a rival.” + +“Your request, my friend,” said La Meronville, adjusting her hair, “is +but reasonable. I see that you understand these arrangements; and, for +my part, I think that the end of love should always be the beginning of +friendship: let it be so with us!” + +“You do me too much honour,” said Borodaile, bowing profoundly. +“Meanwhile I depend upon your promise, and bid you, as a lover, farewell +forever.” + +With his usual slow step Lord Borodaile descended the stairs, and +walked towards the central quartier of town. His meditations were of no +soothing nature. “To be seen by that man in a ridiculous and degrading +situation; to be pestered with his d--d civility; to be rivalled by him +with Lady Flora; to be duped and outdone by him with my mistress! +Ay, all this have I been; but vengeance shall come yet. As for La +Meronville, the loss is a gain; and, thank Heaven, I did not betray +myself by venting my passion and making a scene. But it was I. who ought +to have discarded her, not the reverse; and--death and confusion--for +that upstart, above all men! And she talked in her letter about his eyes +and words. Insolent coxcomb, to dare to have eyes and words for one +who belonged to me. Well, well, he shall smart for this. But let me +consider: I must not play the jealous fool, must not fight for a ----, +must not show the world that a man, nobody knows who, could really +outwit and outdo me,--me,--Francis Borodaile! No, no: I must throw the +insult upon him, must myself be the aggressor and the challenged; then, +too, I shall have the choice of weapons,--pistols of course. Where shall +I hit him, by the by? I wish I shot as well as I used to do at Naples. I +was in full practice then. Cursed place, where there was nothing else to +do but to practise!” + +Immersed in these or somewhat similar reflections did Lord Borodaile +enter Pall Mall. + +“Ah, Borodaile!” said Lord St. George, suddenly emerging from a shop. +“This is really fortunate: you are going my way exactly; allow me to +join you.” + +Now Lord Borodaile, to say nothing of his happening at that time to be +in a mood more than usually unsocial, could never at any time bear the +thought of being made an instrument of convenience, pleasure, or good +fortune to another. He therefore, with a little resentment at Lord St. +George’s familiarity, coldly replied, “I am sorry that I cannot avail +myself of your offer. I am sure my way is not the same as yours.” + +“Then,” replied Lord St. George, who was a good-natured, indolent man, +who imagined everybody was as averse to walking alone as he was, “then I +will make mine the same as yours.” + +Borodaile coloured: though always uncivil, he did not like to be +excelled in good manners; and therefore replied, that nothing but +extreme business at White’s could have induced him to prefer his own way +to that of Lord St. George. + +The good-natured peer took Lord Borodaile’s arm. It was a natural +incident, but it vexed the punctilious viscount that any man should +take, not offer, the support. + +“So, they say,” observed Lord St. George, “that young Linden is to marry +Lady Flora Ardenne.” + +“Les on-dits font la gazette des fous,” rejoined Borodaile with a +sneer. “I believe that Lady Flora is little likely to contract such a +misalliance.” + +“Misalliance!” replied Lord St. George. “I thought Linden was of a very +old family; which you know the Westboroughs are not, and he has great +expectations--” + +“Which are never to be realized,” interrupted Borodaile, laughing +scornfully. + +“Ah, indeed!” said Lord St. George, seriously. “Well, at all events he +is a very agreeable, unaffected young man: and, by the by, Borodaile, +you will meet him chez moi to-day; you know you dine with me?” + +“Meet Mr. Linden! I shall be proud to have that honour,” said Borodaile, +with sparkling eyes; “will Lady Westborough be also of the party?” + +“No, poor Lady St. George is very ill, and I have taken the opportunity +to ask only men.” + +“You have done wisely, my lord,” said Borodaile, secum multa revolvens; +“and I assure you I wanted no hint to remind me of your invitation.” + +Here the Duke of Haverfield joined them. The duke never bowed to any +one of the male sex; he therefore nodded to Borodaile, who, with a very +supercilious formality, took off his hat in returning the salutation. +The viscount had at least this merit in his pride,--that if it was +reserved to the humble, it was contemptuous to the high: his inferiors +he wished to remain where they were; his equals he longed to lower. + +“So I dine with you, Lord St. George, to-day,” said the duke; “whom +shall I meet?” + +“Lord Borodaile, for one,” answered St. George; “my brother, Aspeden, +Findlater, Orbino, and Linden.” + +“Linden!” cried the duke; “I’m very glad to hear it, c’est un homme fait +expres pour moi. He is very clever, and not above playing the fool; has +humour without setting up for a wit, and is a good fellow without being +a bad man. I like him excessively.” + +“Lord St. George;” said Borodaile, who seemed that day to be the very +martyr of the unconscious Clarence, “I wish you good morning. I have +only just remembered an engagement which I must keep before I go to +White’s.” + +And with a bow to the duke, and a remonstrance from Lord St. George, +Borodaile effected his escape. His complexion was, insensibly to +himself, more raised than usual, his step more stately; his mind, for +the first time for years, was fully excited and engrossed. Ah, what a +delightful thing it is for an idle man, who has been dying of ennui, to +find an enemy! + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + + You must challenge him + There’s no avoiding; one or both must drop. + BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. + +“Ha! ha! ha! bravo, Linden!” cried Lord St. George, from the head of his +splendid board, in approbation of some witticism of Clarence’s; and ha! +ha! ha! or he! he! he! according to the cachinnatory intonations of the +guests rang around. + +“Your lordship seems unwell,” said Lord Aspeden to Borodaile; “allow me +to take wine with you.” + +Lord Borodaile bowed his assent. + +“Pray,” said Mr. St. George to Clarence, “have you seen my friend Talbot +lately?” + +“This very morning,” replied Linden: “indeed, I generally visit him +three or four times a week; he often asks after you.” + +“Indeed!” said Mr. St. George, rather flattered; “he does me much +honour; but he is a distant connection of mine, and I suppose I must +attribute his recollection of me to that cause. He is a near relation of +yours, too, I think: is he not?” + +“I am related to him,” answered Clarence, colouring. + +Lord Borodaile leaned forward, and his lip curled. Though, in some +respects, a very unamiable man, he had, as we have said, his good +points. He hated a lie as much as Achilles did; and he believed in his +heart of hearts that Clarence had just uttered one. + +“Why,” observed Lord Aspeden, “why, Lord Borodaile, the Talbots of +Scarsdale are branches of your genealogical tree; therefore your +lordship must be related to Linden; ‘you are two cherries on one +stalk’!” + +“We are by no means related,” said Lord Borodaile, with a distinct and +clear voice, intended expressly for Clarence; “that is an honour which I +must beg leave most positively to disclaim.” + +There was a dead silence; the eyes of all who heard a remark so +intentionally rude were turned immediately towards Clarence. His cheek +burned like fire; he hesitated a moment, and then said, in the same key, +though with a little trembling in his intonation,-- + +“Lord Borodaile cannot be more anxious to disclaim it than I am.” + +“And yet,” returned the viscount, stung to the soul, “they who advance +false pretensions ought at least to support them!” + +“I do not understand you, my lord,” said Clarence. + +“Possibly not,” answered Borodaile, carelessly: “there is a maxim which +says that people not accustomed to speak truth cannot comprehend it in +others.” + +Unlike the generality of modern heroes, who are always in a passion,-- +off-hand, dashing fellows, in whom irascibility is a virtue,--Clarence +was peculiarly sweet-tempered by nature, and had, by habit, acquired a +command over all his passions to a degree very uncommon in so young a +man. He made no reply to the inexcusable affront he had received. His +lip quivered a little, and the flush of his countenance was succeeded +by an extreme paleness; this was all: he did not even leave the room +immediately, but waited till the silence was broken by some well-bred +member of the party; and then, pleading an early engagement as an excuse +for his retiring so soon, he rose and departed. + +There was throughout the room a universal feeling of sympathy with the +affront and indignation against the offender; for, to say nothing of +Clarence’s popularity and the extreme dislike in which Lord Borodaile +was held, there could be no doubt as to the wantonness of the outrage or +the moderation of the aggrieved party. Lord Borodaile already felt +the punishment of his offence: his very pride, while it rendered him +indifferent to the spirit, had hitherto kept him scrupulous as to the +formalities of social politeness; and he could not but see the grossness +with which he had suffered himself to violate them and the light in +which his conduct was regarded. However, this internal discomfort only +rendered him the more embittered against Clarence and the more +confirmed in his revenge. Resuming, by a strong effort, all the external +indifference habitual to his manner, he attempted to enter into a +conversation with those of the party who were next to him but his +remarks produced answers brief and cold; even Lord Aspeden forgot his +diplomacy and his smile; Lord St. George replied to his observations by +a monosyllable; and the Duke of Haverfield, for the first time in his +life, asserted the prerogative which his rank gave him of setting the +example,--his grace did not reply to Lord Borodaile at all. In truth, +every one present was seriously displeased. All civilized societies +have a paramount interest in repressing the rude. Nevertheless, Lord +Borodaile bore the brunt of his unpopularity with a steadiness and +unembarrassed composure worthy of a better cause; and finding, at last, +a companion disposed to be loquacious in the person of Sir Christopher +Findlater (whose good heart, though its first impulse resented more +violently than that of any heart present the discourtesy of the +viscount, yet soon warmed to the desagremens of his situation, and +hastened to adopt its favourite maxim of forgive and forget), Lord +Borodaile sat the meeting out; and if he did not leave the latest, he +was at least not the first to follow Clarence: “L’orgueil ou donne le +courage, ou il y supplee.” [“Pride either gives courage or supplies the +place of it.”] + +Meanwhile Linden had returned to his solitary home. He hastened to +his room, locked the door, flung himself on his sofa, and burst into a +violent and almost feminine paroxysm of tears. This fit lasted for +more than an hour; and when Clarence at length stilled the indignant +swellings of his heart, and rose from his supine position, he started, +as his eye fell upon the opposite mirror, so haggard and exhausted +seemed the forced and fearful calmness of his countenance. With a +hurried step; with arms now folded on his bosom, now wildly tossed from +him; and the hand so firmly clenched that the very bones seemed working +through the skin; with a brow now fierce, now only dejected; and a +complexion which one while burnt as with the crimson flush of a fever, +and at another was wan and colourless, like his whose cheek a spectre +has blanched,--Clarence paced his apartment, the victim not only of +shame,--the bitterest of tortures to a young and high mind,--but of +other contending feelings, which alternately exasperated and palsied his +wrath, and gave to his resolves at one moment an almost savage ferocity +and at the next an almost cowardly vacillation. + +The clock had just struck the hour of twelve when a knock at the door +announced a visitor. Steps were heard on the stairs and presently a +tap at Clarence’s room-door. He unlocked it and the Duke of Haverfield +entered. “I am charmed to find you at home,” cried the duke, with his +usual half kind, half careless address. “I was determined to call upon +you, and be the first to offer my services in this unpleasant affair.” + +Clarence pressed the duke’s hand, but made no answer. + +“Nothing could be so unhandsome as Lord Borodaile’s conduct,” continued +the duke. “I hope you both fence and shoot well. I shall never forgive +you, if you do not put an end to that piece of rigidity.” + +Clarence continued to walk about the room in great agitation; the duke +looked at him with some surprise. At last Linden paused by the window, +and said, half unconsciously, “It must be so: I cannot avoid fighting!” + +“Avoid fighting!” cried his grace, in undisguised astonishment. “No, +indeed: but that is the least part of the matter; you must kill as well +as fight him.” + +“Kill him!” cried Clarence, wildly, “whom?” and then sinking into a +chair, he covered his face with his hands for a few moments, and seemed +to struggle with his emotions. + +“Well,” thought the duke, “I never was more mistaken in my life. I could +have bet my black horse against Trevanion’s Julia, which is certainly +the most worthless thing I know, that Linden had been a brave fellow: +but these English heroes almost go into fits at a duel; one manages such +things, as Sterne says, better in France.” + +Clarence now rose, calm and collected. He sat down; wrote a brief note +to Borodaile, demanding the fullest apology, or the earliest meeting; +put it into the duke’s hands, and said with a faint smile, “My dear +duke, dare I ask you to be a second to a man who has been so grievously +affronted and whose genealogy has been so disputed?” + +“My dear Linden,” said the duke, warmly, “I have always been grateful +to my station in life for this advantage,--the freedom with which it has +enabled me to select my own acquaintance and to follow my own pursuits. +I am now more grateful to it than ever, because it has given me a better +opportunity than I should otherwise have had of serving one whom I have +always esteemed. In entering into your quarrel I shall at least show +the world that there are some men not inferior in pretensions to Lord +Borodaile who despise arrogance and resent overbearance even to others. +Your cause I consider the common cause of society; but I shall take it +up, if you will allow me, with the distinguishing zeal of a friend.” + +Clarence, who was much affected by the kindness of this speech, replied +in a similar vein; and the duke, having read and approved the letter, +rose. “There is, in my opinion,” said he, “no time to be lost. I will +go to Borodaile this very evening: adieu, mon cher! you shall kill the +Argus, and then carry off the Io. I feel in a double passion with that +ambulating poker, who is only malleable when he is red-hot, when I +think how honourably scrupulous you were with La Meronville last night, +notwithstanding all her advances; but I go to bury Caesar, not to scold +him. Au revoir.” + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + + Conon.--You’re well met, Crates. Crates.--If we part so, + Conon.-Queen of Corinth. + +It was as might be expected from the character of the aggressor. Lord +Borodaile refused all apology, and agreed with avidity to a speedy +rendezvous. He chose pistols (choice, then, was not merely nominal), and +selected Mr. Percy Bobus for his second, a gentleman who was much +fonder of acting in that capacity than in the more honourable one of +a principal. The author of “Lacon” says “that if all seconds were as +averse to duels as their principals, there would be very little blood +spilt in that way;” and it was certainly astonishing to compare the +zeal with which Mr. Bobus busied himself about this “affair” with +that testified by him on another occasion when he himself was more +immediately concerned. + +The morning came. Mr. Bobus breakfasted with his friend. “Damn it, +Borodaile,” said he, as the latter was receiving the ultimate polish of +the hairdresser, “I never saw you look better in my life. It will be a +great pity if that fellow shoots you.” + +“Shoots me!” said Lord Borodaile, very quietly,--“me! no! that is quite +out of the question; but joking apart, Bobus, I will not kill the young +man. Where shall I hit him?” + +“In the cap of the knee,” said Mr. Percy, breaking an egg. + +“Nay, that will lame him for life,” said Lord Borodaile, putting on his +cravat with peculiar exactitude. + +“Serve him right,” said Mr. Bobus. “Hang him, I never got up so early +in my life: it is quite impossible to eat at this hour. Oh!--a propos, +Borodaile, have you left any little memoranda for me to execute?” + +“Memoranda!--for what?” said Borodaile, who had now just finished his +toilet. + +“Oh!” rejoined Mr. Percy Bobus, “in case of accident, you know: the man +may shoot well, though I never saw him in the gallery.” + +“Pray,” said Lord Borodaile, in a great though suppressed passion, +“pray, Mr. Bobus, how often have I to tell you that it is not by Mr. +Linden that my days are to terminate: you are sure that Carabine saw to +that trigger?” + +“Certain,” said Mr. Percy, with his mouth full, “certain. Bless me, +here’s the carriage, and breakfast not half done yet.” + +“Come, come,” cried Borodaile, impatiently, “we must breakfast +afterwards. Here, Roberts, see that we have fresh chocolate and some +more cutlets when we return.” + +“I would rather have them now,” said Mr. Bobus, foreseeing the +possibility of the return being single: “Ibis! redibis?” etc. + +“Come, we have not a moment to lose,” exclaimed Borodaile, hastening +down the stairs; and Mr. Percy Bobus followed, with a strange mixture of +various regrets, partly for the breakfast that was lost and partly for +the friend that might be. + +When they arrived at the ground, Clarence and the duke were already +there: the latter, who was a dead shot, had fully persuaded himself that +Clarence was equally adroit, and had, in his providence for Borodaile, +brought a surgeon. This was a circumstance of which the viscount, in +the plenitude of his confidence for himself and indifference for his +opponent, had never once dreamed. + +The ground was measured; the parties were about to take the ground. All +Linden’s former agitation had vanished; his mien was firm, grave, and +determined: but he showed none of the careless and fierce hardihood +which characterized his adversary; on the contrary, a close observer +might have remarked something sad and dejected amidst all the +tranquillity and steadiness of his brow and air. + +“For Heaven’s sake,” whispered the duke, as he withdrew from the spot, +“square your body a little more to your left and remember your exact +level. Borodaile is much shorter than you.” + +There was a brief, dread pause: the signal was given; Borodaile fired; +his ball pierced Clarence’s side; the wounded man staggered one step, +but fell not. He raised his pistol; the duke bent eagerly forward; an +expression of disappointment and surprise passed his lips; Clarence had +fired in the air. The next moment Linden felt a deadly sickness come +over him; he fell into the arms of the surgeon. Borodaile, touched by +a forbearance which he had so little right to expect, hastened to the +spot. He leaned over his adversary in greater remorse and pity than he +would have readily confessed to himself. Clarence unclosed his eyes; +they dwelt for one moment upon the subdued and earnest countenance of +Borodaile. + +“Thank God,” he said faintly, “that you were not the victim,” and with +those words he fell back insensible. They carried him to his lodgings. +His wound was accurately examined. Though not mortal, it was of a +dangerous nature; and the surgeons ended a very painful operation by +promising a very lingering recovery. + +What a charming satisfaction for being insulted! + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + + Je me contente de ce qui peut s’ecrire, et je reve tout ce + qui peut se rever.--DE SEVIGNE. + +[“I content myself with writing what I am able, and I dream all I +possibly can dream.”] + +About a week after his wound, and the second morning of his return to +sense and consciousness, when Clarence opened his eyes, they fell upon +a female form seated watchfully and anxiously by his bedside. He raised +himself in mute surprise, and the figure, startled by the motion, rose, +drew the curtain, and vanished. With great difficulty he rang his bell. +His valet, Harrison, on whose mind, though it was of no very exalted +order, the kindness and suavity of his master had made a great +impression, instantly appeared. + +“Who was that lady?” asked Linden. “How came she here?” + +Harrison smiled: “Oh, sir, pray please to lie down, and make yourself +easy: the lady knows you very well and would come here; she insists upon +staying in the house, so we made up a bed in the drawing-room and she +has watched by you night and day. She speaks very little English to +be sure, but your honour knows, begging your pardon, how well I speak +French.” + +“French?” said Clarence, faintly,--“French? In Heaven’s name, who is +she?” + +“A Madame--Madame--La Melonveal, or some such name, sir,” said the +valet. + +Clarence fell back. At that moment his hand was pressed. He turned, and +saw Talbot by his side. The kind old man had not suffered La Meronville +to be Linden’s only nurse: notwithstanding his age and peculiarity of +habits, he had fixed his abode all the day in Clarence’s house, and at +night, instead of returning to his own home, had taken up his lodgings +at the nearest hotel. + +With a jealous and anxious eye to the real interest and respectability +of his adopted son, Talbot had exerted all his address, and even all his +power, to induce La Meronville, who had made her settlement previous to +Talbot’s, to quit the house, but in vain. With that obstinacy which a +Frenchwoman when she is sentimental mistakes for nobility of heart, the +ci-devant amante of Lord Borodaile insisted upon watching and tending +one of whose sufferings she said and believed she was the unhappy though +innocent cause: and whenever more urgent means of removal were hinted at +La Meronville flew to the chamber of her beloved, apostrophized him in +a strain worthy of one of D’Arlincourt’s heroines, and in short was so +unreasonably outrageous that the doctors, trembling for the safety of +their patient, obtained from Talbot a forced and reluctant acquiescence +in the settlement she had obtained. + +Ah! what a terrible creature a Frenchwoman is, when, instead of +coquetting with a caprice, she insists upon conceiving a grande passion. +Little, however, did Clarence, despite his vexation when he learned +of the bienveillance of La Meronville, foresee the whole extent of the +consequences it would entail upon him: still less did Talbot, who in his +seclusion knew not the celebrity of the handsome adventuress, calculate +upon the notoriety of her motions or the ill effect her ostentatious +attachment would have upon Clarence’s prosperity as a lover to Lady +Flora. In order to explain these consequences the more fully, let us, +for the present, leave our hero to the care of the surgeon, his friends, +and his would-be mistress; and while he is more rapidly recovering than +the doctors either hoped or presaged, let us renew our acquaintance with +a certain fair correspondent. + + + +LETTER FROM THE LADY FLORA ARDENNE TO MISS ELEANOR TREVANION. + +My Dearest Eleanor,--I have been very ill, or you would sooner have +received an answer to your kind,-too kind and consoling letter. Indeed +I have only just left my bed: they say that I have been delirious, and I +believe it; for you cannot conceive what terrible dreams I have had. But +these are all over now, and everyone is so kind to me,--my poor mother +above all! It is a pleasant thing to be ill when we have those who love +us to watch our recovery. + +I have only been in bed a few days; yet it seems to me as if a long +portion of my existence were past,--as if I had stepped into a new era. +You remember that my last letter attempted to express my feelings at +Mamma’s speech about Clarence, and at my seeing him so suddenly. Now, +dearest, I cannot but look on that day, on these sensations, as on a +distant dream. Every one is so kind to me, Mamma caresses and soothes me +so fondly, that I fancy I must have been under some illusion. I am sure +they could not seriously have meant to forbid his addresses. No, no: I +feel that all will yet be well,--so well, that even you, who are of so +contented a temper, will own that if you were not Eleanor you would be +Flora. + +I wonder whether Clarence knows that I have been ill? I wish you knew +him. Well, dearest, this letter--a very unhandsome return, I own, for +yours--must content you at present, for they will not let me write more; +though, so far as I am concerned, I am never so weak, in frame I mean, +but what I could scribble to you about him. + +Addio, carissima. F. A. + +I have prevailed on Mamma, who wished to sit by me and amuse me, to go +to the Opera to-night, the only amusement of which she is particularly +fond. Heaven forgive me for my insincerity, but he always comes into our +box, and I long to hear some news of him. + + + +LETTER II. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + +Eleanor, dearest Eleanor, I am again very ill, but not as I was before, +ill from a foolish vexation of mind: no, I am now calm and even happy. +It was from an increase of cold only that I have suffered a relapse. You +may believe this, I assure you, in spite of your well meant but bitter +jests upon my infatuation, as you very rightly call it, for Mr. Linden. +You ask me what news from the Opera? Silly girl that I was, to lie awake +hour after hour, and refuse even to take my draught, lest I should be +surprised into sleep, till Mamma returned. I sent Jermyn down directly +I heard her knock at the door (oh, how anxiously I had listened for +it!) to say that I was still awake and longed to see her. So, of course, +Mamma came up, and felt my pulse, and said it was very feverish, and +wondered the draught had not composed me; with a great deal more to the +same purpose, which I bore as patiently as I could, till it was my turn +to talk; and then I admired her dress and her coiffure, and asked if it +was a full house, and whether the prima donna was in voice, etc.: till, +at last, I won my way to the inquiry of who were her visitors. “Lord +Borodaile,” said she, “and the Duke of ----, and Mr. St. George, +and Captain Leslie, and Mr. De Retz, and many others.” I felt so +disappointed, Eleanor, but did not dare ask whether he was not of the +list; till, at last, my mother observing me narrowly, said, “And by the +by, Mr. Linden looked in for a few minutes. I am glad, my dearest Flora, +that I spoke to you so decidedly about him the other day.” “Why, Mamma?” + said I, hiding my face under the clothes. “Because,” said she, in rather +a raised voice, “he is quite unworthy of you! but it is late now, and +you should go to sleep; to-morrow I will tell you more.” I would have +given worlds to press the question then, but could not venture. Mamma +kissed and left me. I tried to twist her words into a hundred meanings, +but in each I only thought that they were dictated by some worldly +information,--some new doubts as to his birth or fortune; and, though +that supposition distressed me greatly, yet it could not alter my love +or deprive me of hope; and so I cried and guessed, and guessed and +cried, till at last I cried myself to sleep. + +When I awoke, Mamma was already up, and sitting beside me: she talked +to me for more than an hour upon ordinary subjects, till at last, +perceiving how absent or rather impatient I appeared, she dismissed +Jermyn, and spoke to me thus:-- + +“You know, Flora, that I have always loved you, more perhaps than I +ought to have done, more certainly than I have loved your brothers +and sisters; but you were my eldest child, my first-born, and all the +earliest associations of a mother are blent and entwined with you. You +may be sure therefore that I have ever had only your happiness in view, +and that it is only with a regard to that end that I now speak to you.” + +I was a little frightened, Eleanor, by this opening, but I was much more +touched, so I took Mamma’s hand and kissed and wept silently over it; +she continued: “I observed Mr. Linden’s attention to you, at ----; I +knew nothing more of his rank and birth then than I do at present: +but his situation in the embassy and his personal appearance naturally +induced me to suppose him a gentleman of family, and, therefore, if +not a great at least not an inferior match for you, so far as worldly +distinctions are concerned. Added to this, he was uncommonly handsome, +and had that general reputation for talent which is often better than +actual wealth or hereditary titles. I therefore did not check, though I +would not encourage any attachment you might form for him; and nothing +being declared or decisive on either side when we left--, I imagined +that if your flirtation with him did even amount to a momentary and +girlish phantasy, absence and change of scene would easily and rapidly +efface the impression. I believe that in a great measure it was effaced +when Lord Aspeden returned to England, and with him Mr. Linden. You +again met the latter in society almost as constantly as before; a +caprice nearly conquered was once more renewed; and in my anxiety that +you should marry, not for aggrandizement, but happiness, I own to my +sorrow that I rather favoured than forbade his addresses. The young +man--remember, Flora--appeared in society as the nephew and heir of a +gentleman of ancient family and considerable property; he was rising +in diplomacy, popular in the world, and, so far as we could see, of +irreproachable character; this must plead my excuse for tolerating +his visits, without instituting further inquiries respecting him, and +allowing your attachment to proceed without ascertaining how far it had +yet extended. I was awakened to a sense of my indiscretion by an inquiry +which Mr. Linden’s popularity rendered general; namely, if Mr. Talbot +was his uncle, who was his father? who his more immediate relations? and +at that time Lord Borodaile informed us of the falsehood he had either +asserted or allowed to be spread in claiming Mr. Talbot as his relation. +This you will observe entirely altered the situation of Mr. Linden +with respect to you. Not only his rank in life became uncertain, but +suspicious. Nor was this all: his very personal respectability was no +longer unimpeachable. Was this dubious and intrusive person, without a +name and with a sullied honour, to be your suitor? No, Flora; and it +was from this indignant conviction that I spoke to you some days since. +Forgive me, my child, if I was less cautious, less confidential than +I am now. I did not imagine the wound was so deep, and thought that I +should best cure you by seeming unconscious of your danger. The case is +now changed; your illness has convinced me of my fault, and the extent +of your unhappy attachment: but will my own dear child pardon me if I +still continue, if I even confirm, my disapproval of her choice? Last +night at the Opera Mr. Linden entered my box. I own that I was cooler to +him than usual. He soon left us, and after the Opera I saw him with +the Duke of Haverfield, one of the most incorrigible roues of the +day, leading out a woman of notoriously bad character and of the most +ostentatious profligacy. He might have had some propriety, some decency, +some concealment at least, but he passed just before me,--before the +mother of the woman to whom his vows of honourable attachment were due +and who at that very instant was suffering from her infatuation for him. +Now, Flora, for this man, an obscure and possibly a plebeian adventurer, +whose only claim to notice has been founded on falsehood, whose only +merit, a love of you, has been, if not utterly destroyed, at least +polluted and debased,--for this man, poor alike in fortune, character, +and honour, can you any longer profess affection or esteem?” + +“Never, never, never!” cried I, springing from the bed, and throwing +myself upon my mother’s neck. “Never: I am your own Flora once more. +I will never suffer any one again to make me forget you,” and then I +sobbed so violently that Mamma was frightened, and bade me lie down and +left me to sleep. Several hours have passed since then, and I could not +sleep nor think, and I would not cry, for he is no longer worthy of my +tears; so I have written to you. + +Oh, how I despise and hate myself for having so utterly, in my vanity +and folly, forgotten my mother, that dear, kind, constant friend, who +never cost me a single tear, but for my own ingratitude! Think, Eleanor, +what an affront to me,--to me, who, he so often said, had made all other +women worthless in his eyes. Do I hate him? No, I cannot hate. Do I +despise? No, I will not despise, but I will forget him, and keep my +contempt and hatred for myself. + +God bless you! I am worn out. Write soon, or rather come, if possible, +to your affectionate but unworthy friend, F. A. + +Good Heavens! Eleanor, he is wounded. He has fought with Lord +Borodaile. I have just heard it; Jermyn told me. Can it, can it be true? +What,--what have I said against him? Hate? forget? No, no: I never loved +him till now. + + + +LETTER III. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + +(After an interval of several weeks.) + +Time has flown, my Eleanor, since you left me, after your short but kind +visit, with a heavy but healing wing. I do not think I shall ever again +be the giddy girl I have been; but my head will change, not my heart; +that was never giddy, and that shall still be as much yours as ever. +You are wrong in thinking I have not forgotten, at least renounced all +affection for Mr. Linden. I have, though with a long and bitter effort. +The woman for whom he fought went, you know, to his house, immediately +on hearing of his wound. She has continued with him ever since. He had +the audacity to write to me once; my mother brought me the note, and +said nothing. She read my heart aright. I returned it unopened. He has +even called since his convalescence. Mamma was not at home to him. I +hear that he looks pale and altered. I hope not,--at least I cannot +resist praying for his recovery. I stay within entirely; the season +is over now, and there are no parties: but I tremble at the thought of +meeting him even in the Park or the Gardens. Papa talks of going into +the country next week. I cannot tell you how eagerly I look forward to +it: and you will then come and see me; will you not, dearest Eleanor? + +Ah! what happy days we will have yet: we will read Italian together, as +we used to do; you shall teach me your songs, and I will instruct you +in mine; we will keep birds as we did, let me see, eight years ago. You +will never talk to me of my folly: let that be as if it had never been; +but I will wonder with you about your future choice, and grow happy in +anticipating your happiness. Oh, how selfish I was some weeks ago! then +I could only overwhelm you with my egotisms: now, Eleanor, it is your +turn; and you shall see how patiently I will listen to yours. Never fear +that you can be too prolix: the diffuser you are, the easier I shall +forgive myself. + +Are you fond of poetry, Eleanor? I used to say so, but I never felt that +I was till lately. I will show you my favourite passages in my favourite +poets when you come to see me. You shall see if yours correspond with +mine. I am so impatient to leave this horrid town, where everything +seems dull, yet feverish,--insipid, yet false. Shall we not be happy +when we meet? If your dear aunt will come with you, she shall see how I +(that is my mind) am improved. + +Farewell. Ever your most affectionate, + F. A. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + + Brave Talbot, we will follow thee.--Henry the Sixth. + +“My letter insultingly returned--myself refused admittance; not a +single inquiry made during my illness; indifference joined to positive +contempt. By Heaven, it is insupportable!” + +“My dear Clarence,” said Talbot to his young friend, who, fretful from +pain and writhing beneath his mortification, walked to and fro his +chamber with an impatient stride; “my dear Clarence, do sit down, and +not irritate your wound by such violent exercise. I am as much enraged +as yourself at the treatment you have received, and no less at a loss to +account for it. Your duel, however unfortunate the event, must have +done you credit, and obtained you a reputation both for generosity +and spirit; so that it cannot be to that occurrence that you are to +attribute the change. Let us rather suppose that Lady Flora’s attachment +to you has become evident to her father and mother; that they naturally +think it would be very undesirable to marry their daughter to a man +whose family nobody knows, and whose respectability he is forced +into fighting in order to support. Suffer me then to call upon Lady +Westborough, whom I knew many years ago, and explain your origin, as +well as your relationship to me.” + +Linden paused irresolutely. + +“Were I sure that Lady Flora was not utterly influenced by her mother’s +worldly views, I would gladly consent to your proposal, but--” + +“Forgive me, Clarence,” cried Talbot; “but you really argue much more +like a very young man than I ever heard you do before,--even four years +ago. To be sure Lady Flora is influenced by her mother’s views. +Would you have her otherwise? Would you have her, in defiance of all +propriety, modesty, obedience to her parents, and right feeling for +herself, encourage an attachment to a person not only unknown, but who +does not even condescend to throw off the incognito to the woman he +addresses? Come, Clarence, give me your instructions, and let me act as +your ambassador to-morrow.” + +Clarence was silent. + +“I may consider it settled then,” replied Talbot: “meanwhile you shall +come home and stay with me; the pure air of the country, even so +near town, will do you more good than all the doctors in London; and, +besides, you will thus be enabled to escape from that persecuting +Frenchwoman.” + +“In what manner?” said Clarence. + +“Why, when you are in my house, she cannot well take up her abode with +you; and you shall, while I am forwarding your suit with Lady Flora, +write a very flattering, very grateful letter of excuses to Madame la +Meronville. But leave me alone to draw it up for you: meanwhile, let +Harrison pack up your clothes and medicines; and we will effect our +escape while Madame la Meronville yet sleeps.” + +Clarence rang the bell; the orders were given, executed, and in less +than an hour he and his friends were on their road to Talbot’s villa. + +As they drove slowly through the grounds to the house, Clarence was +sensibly struck with the quiet and stillness which breathed around. On +either side of the road the honeysuckle and rose cast their sweet scents +to the summer wind, which, though it was scarcely noon, stirred freshly +among the trees, and waved as if it breathed a second youth over the wan +cheek of the convalescent. The old servant’s ear had caught the sound of +wheels, and he came to the door, with an expression of quiet delight on +his dry countenance, to welcome in his master. They had lived together +for so many years that they were grown like one another. Indeed, the +veteran valet prided himself on his happy adoption of his master’s dress +and manner. A proud man, we ween, was that domestic, whenever he had +time and listeners for the indulgence of his honest loquacity; many an +ancient tale of his master’s former glories was then poured from his +unburdening remembrance. With what a glow, with what a racy enjoyment, +did he expand upon the triumphs of the past; how eloquently did he +particularize the exact grace with which young Mr. Talbot was wont to +enter the room, in which he instantly became the cynosure of ladies’ +eyes; how faithfully did he minute the courtly dress, the exquisite +choice of colour, the costly splendour of material, which were the envy +of gentles, and the despairing wonder of their valets; and then the zest +with which the good old man would cry, “I dressed the boy!” Even still, +this modern Scipio (Le Sage’s Scipio, not Rome’s) would not believe that +his master’s sun was utterly set: he was only in a temporary retirement, +and would, one day or other, reappear and reastonish the London world. +“I would give my right arm,” Jasper was wont to say, “to see Master at +court. How fond the King would be of him! Ah! well, well; I wish he +was not so melancholy-like with his books, but would go out like other +people!” + +Poor Jasper! Time is, in general, a harsh wizard in his transformations; +but the change which thou didst lament so bitterly was happier for thy +master than all his former “palmy state” of admiration and homage. “Nous +avons recherche le plaisir,” says Rousseau, in one of his own inimitable +antitheses, “et le bonheur a fui loin de nous.” [“We have pursued +pleasure, and happiness has fled far from our reach.”] But in the +pursuit of Pleasure we sometimes chance on Wisdom, and Wisdom leads us +to the right track, which, if it take us not so far as Happiness, is +sure at least of the shelter of Content. + +Talbot leaned kindly upon Jasper’s arm as he descended from the +carriage, and inquired into his servant’s rheumatism with the anxiety +of a friend. The old housekeeper, waiting in the hall, next received his +attention; and in entering the drawing-room, with that consideration, +even to animals, which his worldly benevolence had taught him, he paused +to notice and caress a large gray cat which rubbed herself against his +legs. Doubtless there is some pleasure in making even a gray cat happy! + +Clarence having patiently undergone all the shrugs, and sighs, and +exclamations of compassion at his reduced and wan appearance, which are +the especial prerogatives of ancient domestics, followed the old man +into the room. Papers and books, though carefully dusted, were left +scrupulously in the places in which Talbot had last deposited them +(incomparable good fortune! what would we not give for such chamber +handmaidens!); fresh flowers were in all the stands and vases; the large +library chair was jealously set in its accustomed place, and all +wore, to Talbot’s eyes, that cheerful yet sober look of welcome and +familiarity which makes a friend of our house. The old man was in high +spirits. + +“I know not how it is,” said he, “but I feel younger than ever! You +have often expressed a wish to see my family seat at Scarsdale: it +is certainly a great distance hence; but as you will be my travelling +companion, I think I will try and crawl there before the summer is over; +or, what say you, Clarence, shall I lend it to you and Lady Flora for +the honeymoon? You blush! A diplomatist blush! Ah, how the world has +changed since my time! But come, Clarence, suppose you write to La +Meronville?” + +“Not to-day, sir, if you please,” said Linden: “I feel so very weak.” + +“As you please, Clarence; but some years hence you will learn the value +of the present. Youth is always a procrastinator, and, consequently, +always a penitent.” And thus Talbot ran on into a strain of +conversation, half serious, half gay, which lasted till Clarence went +upstairs to lie down and muse on Lady Flora Ardenne. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + + La vie eat un sommeil. Les vieillards sont ceux donc le + sommeil a ete plus long: ils ne commencent a se reveiller + que quand il faut mourir. --LA BRUYERE. + + [“Life is a sleep. The aged are those whose sleep has been + the longest they begin to awaken themselves just as they are + obliged to die.”] + +“You wonder why I have never turned author, with my constant love +of literature and my former desire of fame,” said Talbot, as he and +Clarence sat alone after dinner, discussing many things: “the fact is, +that I have often intended it, and as often been frightened from +my design. Those terrible feuds; those vehement disputes; those +recriminations of abuse, so inseparable from literary life,--appear to +me too dreadful for a man not utterly hardened or malevolent voluntarily +to encounter. Good Heavens! what acerbity sours the blood of an author! +The manifestoes of opposing generals, advancing to pillage, to burn, to +destroy, contain not a tithe of the ferocity which animates the pages +of literary controversialists! No term of reproach is too severe, no +vituperation too excessive! the blackest passions, the bitterest, the +meanest malice, pour caustic and poison upon every page! It seems as if +the greatest talents, the most elaborate knowledge, only sprang from +the weakest and worst-regulated mind, as exotics from dung. The private +records, the public works of men of letters, teem with an immitigable +fury! Their histories might all be reduced into these sentences: they +were born; they quarrelled; they died!” + +“But,” said Clarence, “it would matter little to the world if +these quarrels were confined merely to poets and men of imaginative +literature, in whom irritability is perhaps almost necessarily allied to +the keen and quick susceptibilities which constitute their genius. These +are more to be lamented and wondered at among philosophers, theologians, +and men of science; the coolness, the patience, the benevolence, which +ought to characterize their works, should at least moderate their +jealousy and soften their disputes.” + +“Ah!” said Talbot, “but the vanity of discovery is no less acute than +that of creation: the self-love of a philosopher is no less self-love +than that of a poet. Besides, those sects the most sure of their +opinions, whether in religion or science, are always the most bigoted +and persecuting. Moreover, nearly all men deceive themselves in +disputes, and imagine that they are intolerant, not through private +jealousy, but public benevolence: they never declaim against the +injustice done to themselves; no, it is the terrible injury done +to society which grieves and inflames them. It is not the bitter +expressions against their dogmas which give them pain; by no means: +it is the atrocious doctrines (so prejudicial to the country, if in +polities; so pernicious to the world, if in philosophy), which their +duty, not their vanity, induces them to denounce and anathematize.” + +“There seems,” said Clarence, “to be a sort of reaction in sophistry and +hypocrisy: there has, perhaps, never been a deceiver who was not, by his +own passions, himself the deceived.” + +“Very true,” said Talbot; “and it is a pity that historians have not +kept that fact in view: we should then have had a better notion of the +Cromwells and Mohammeds of the past than we have now, nor judged those +as utter impostors who were probably half dupes. But to return to +myself. I think you will already be able to answer your own question, +why I did not turn author, now that we have given a momentary +consideration to the penalties consequent on such a profession. But in +truth, as I near the close of my life, I often regret that I had not +more courage, for there is in us all a certain restlessness in the +persuasion, whether true or false, of superior knowledge or intellect, +and this urges us on to the proof; or, if we resist its impulse; renders +us discontented with our idleness and disappointed with the past. I have +everything now in my possession which it has been the desire of my later +years to enjoy: health, retirement, successful study, and the affection +of one in whose breast, when I am gone, my memory will not utterly +pass away. With these advantages, added to the gifts of fortune, and an +habitual elasticity of spirit, I confess that my happiness is not free +from a biting and frequent regret: I would fain have been a better +citizen; I would fain have died in the consciousness not only that I had +improved my mind to the utmost, but that I had turned that improvement +to the benefit of my fellow-creatures. As it is, in living wholly +for myself, I feel that my philosophy has wanted generosity; and my +indifference to glory has proceeded from a weakness, not, as I once +persuaded myself, from a virtue but the fruitlessness of my existence +has been the consequence of the arduous frivolities and the petty +objects in which my early years were consumed; and my mind, in losing +the enjoyments which it formerly possessed, had no longer the vigour to +create for itself a new soil, from which labour it could only hope +for more valuable fruits. It is no contradiction to see those who +most eagerly courted society in their youth shrink from it the most +sensitively in their age; for they who possess certain advantages, +and are morbidly vain of them, will naturally be disposed to seek that +sphere for which those advantages are best calculated: and when youth +and its concomitants depart, the vanity so long fed still remains, and +perpetually mortifies them by recalling not so much the qualities +they have lost, as the esteem which those qualities conferred; and by +contrasting not so much their own present alteration, as the change +they experience in the respect and consideration of others. What wonder, +then, that they eagerly fly from the world, which has only mortification +for their self-love, or that we find, in biography, how often the most +assiduous votaries of pleasure have become the most rigid of recluses? +For my part, I think that that love of solitude which the ancients so +eminently possessed, and which, to this day, is considered by some as +the sign of a great mind, nearly always arises from a tenderness of +vanity, easily wounded in the commerce of the rough world; and that +it is under the shadow of Disappointment that we must look for the +hermitage. Diderot did well, even at the risk of offending Rousseau, +to write against solitude. The more a moralist binds man to man, and +forbids us to divorce our interests from our kind, the more effectually +is the end of morality obtained. They only are justifiable in seclusion +who, like the Greek philosophers, make that very seclusion the means of +serving and enlightening their race; who from their retreats send forth +their oracles of wisdom, and render the desert which surrounds them +eloquent with the voice of truth. But remember, Clarence (and let my +life, useless in itself, have at least this moral), that for him who +in no wise cultivates his talent for the benefit of others; who is +contented with being a good hermit at the expense of being a bad +citizen; who looks from his retreat upon a life wasted in the difficiles +nugae of the most frivolous part of the world, nor redeems in the closet +the time he has misspent in the saloon,--remember that for him seclusion +loses its dignity, philosophy its comfort, benevolence its hope, and +even religion its balm. Knowledge unemployed may preserve us from vice; +but knowledge beneficently employed is virtue. Perfect happiness, in our +present state, is impossible; for Hobbes says justly that our nature is +inseparable from desires, and that the very word desire (the craving +for something not possessed) implies that our present felicity is not +complete. But there is one way of attaining what we may term, if not +utter, at least mortal, happiness; it is this,--a sincere and unrelaxing +activity for the happiness of others. In that one maxim is concentrated +whatever is noble in morality, sublime in religion, or unanswerable in +truth. In that pursuit we have all scope for whatever is excellent in +our hearts, and none for the petty passions which our nature is heir +to. Thus engaged, whatever be our errors, there will be nobility, not +weakness, in our remorse; whatever our failure, virtue, not selfishness, +in our regret; and, in success, vanity itself will become holy and +triumph eternal. As astrologers were wont to receive upon metals ‘the +benign aspect of the stars, so as to detain and fix, as it were, the +felicity of that hour which would otherwise be volatile and fugitive,’ +[Bacon] even so will that success leave imprinted upon our memory a +blessing which cannot pass away; preserve forever upon our names, as on +a signet, the hallowed influence of the hour in which our great end was +effected, and treasure up ‘the relics of heaven’ in the sanctuary of a +human fane.” + +As the old man ceased, there was a faint and hectic flush over his face, +an enthusiasm on his features, which age made almost holy, and which +Clarence had never observed there before. In truth, his young listener +was deeply affected, and the advice of his adopted parent was afterwards +impressed with a more awful solemnity upon his remembrance. Already he +had acquired much worldly lore from Talbot’s precepts and conversation. +He had obtained even something better than worldly lore,--a kindly and +indulgent disposition to his fellow-creatures; for he had seen that +foibles were not inconsistent with generous and great qualities, and +that we judge wrongly of human nature when we ridicule its littleness. +The very circumstances which make the shallow misanthropical incline the +wise to be benevolent. Fools discover that frailty is not incompatible +with great men; they wonder and despise: but the discerning find that +greatness is not incompatible with frailty; and they admire and indulge. + +But a still greater benefit than this of toleration did Clarence derive +from the commune of that night. He became strengthened in his honourable +ambition and nerved to unrelaxing exertion. The recollection of Talbot’s +last words, on that night, occurred to him often and often, when sick at +heart and languid with baffled hope, it roused him from that gloom and +despondency which are always unfavourable to virtue, and incited him +once more to that labour in the vineyard which, whether our hour be late +or early, will if earnest obtain a blessing and reward. + +The hour was now waxing late; and Talbot, mindful of his companion’s +health, rose to retire. As he pressed Clarence’s hand and bade him +farewell for the night, Linden thought there was something more than +usually impressive in his manner and affectionate in his words. Perhaps +this was the natural result of their conversation. + +The next morning, Clarence was awakened by a noise. He listened, and +heard distinctly an alarmed cry proceeding from the room in which Talbot +slept, and which was opposite to his own. He rose hastily and hurried +to the chamber. The door was open; the old servant was bending over the +bed: Clarence approached, and saw that he supported his master in his +arms. + +“Good God!” he cried, “what is the matter?” The faithful old man lifted +up his face to Clarence, and the big tears rolled fast from eyes in +which the sources of such emotion were well-nigh dried up. + +“He loved you well, sir!” he said, and could say no more. He dropped +the body gently, and throwing himself on the floor sobbed aloud. With +a foreboding and chilled heart, Clarence bent forward; the face of his +benefactor lay directly before him, and the hand of death was upon +it. The soul had passed to its account hours since, in the hush of +night,--passed, apparently, without a struggle or a pang, like the wind, +which animates the harp one moment, and the next is gone. + +Linden seized his hand; it was heavy and cold: his eye rested upon the +miniature of the unfortunate Lady Merton, which, since the night of the +attempted robbery, Talbot had worn constantly round his neck. Strange +and powerful was the contrast of the pictured face--in which not a +colour had yet faded, and where the hues and fulness and prime of youth +dwelt, unconscious of the lapse of years--with the aged and shrunken +countenance of the deceased. + +In that contrast was a sad and mighty moral: it wrought, as it were, a +contract between youth and age, and conveyed a rapid but full history of +our passions and our life. + +The servant looked up once more on the countenance; he pointed towards +it, and muttered, “See, see how awfully it is changed!” + +“But there is a smile upon it!” said Clarence, as he flung himself +beside the body and burst into tears. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + + Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are + incensed or crushed; for prosperity doth best discover vice, + but adversity doth best discover virtue.--BACON. + +It is somewhat remarkable that while Talbot was bequeathing to Clarence, +as the most valuable of legacies, the doctrines of a philosophy he had +acquired, perhaps too late to practise, Glendower was carrying those +very doctrines, so far as his limited sphere would allow, into the rule +and exercise of his life. + +Since the death of the bookseller, which we have before recorded, +Glendower had been left utterly without resource. The others to whom he +applied were indisposed to avail themselves of an unknown ability. The +trade of bookmaking was not then as it is now, and if it had been, +it would not have suggested itself to the high-spirited and unworldly +student. Some publishers offered, it is true, a reward tempting enough +for an immoral tale; others spoke of the value of an attack upon the +Americans; one suggested an ode to the minister, and another hinted that +a pension might possibly be granted to one who would prove extortion not +tyranny. But these insinuations fell upon a dull ear, and the tribe of +Barabbas were astonished to find that an author could imagine interest +and principle not synonymous. + +Struggling with want, which hourly grew more imperious and urgent; +wasting his life on studies which brought fever to his pulse and +disappointment to his ambition; gnawed to the very soul by the +mortifications which his poverty gave to his pride; and watching with +tearless eyes, but a maddening brain, the slender form of his wife, now +waxing weaker and fainter, as the canker of disease fastened upon the +core of her young but blighted life,--there was yet a high, though, +alas! not constant consolation within him, whenever, from the troubles +of this dim spot his thoughts could escape, like birds released from +their cage, and lose themselves in the lustre and freedom of their +native heaven. + +“If,” thought he, as he looked upon his secret and treasured work, “if +the wind scatter or the rock receive these seeds, they were at least +dispersed by a hand which asked no selfish return, and a heart which +would have lavished the harvest of its labours upon those who know not +the husbandman and trample his hopes into the dust.” + +But by degrees this comfort of a noble and generous nature, these +whispers of a vanity rather to be termed holy than excusable, began to +grow unfrequent and low. The cravings of a more engrossing and heavy +want than those of the mind came eagerly and rapidly upon him; the fair +cheek of his infant became pinched and hollow; his wife conquered nature +itself by love, and starved herself in silence, and set bread before him +with a smile and bade him eat. + +“But you,--you?” he would ask inquiringly, and then pause. + +“I have dined, dearest: I want nothing; eat, love, eat.” But he ate not. +The food robbed from her seemed to him more deadly than poison; and +he would rise, and dash his hand to his brow, and go forth alone, with +nature unsatisfied, to look upon this luxurious world and learn content. + +It was after such a scene that, one day, he wandered forth into the +streets, desperate and confused in mind, and fainting with hunger, and +half insane with fiery and wrong thoughts, which dashed over his barren +and gloomy soul, and desolated, but conquered not! It was evening: he +stood (for he had strode on so rapidly, at first, that his strength was +now exhausted, and he was forced to pause) leaning against the railed +area of a house in a lone and unfrequented street. No passenger shared +this dull and obscure thoroughfare. He stood, literally, in scene as in +heart, solitary amidst the great city, and wherever he looked, lo, there +were none! + +“Two days,” said he, slowly and faintly, “two days, and bread has only +once passed my lips; and that was snatched from her,--from those lips +which I have fed with sweet and holy kisses, and whence my sole comfort +in this weary life has been drawn. And she,--ay, she starves,--and my +child too. They complain not; they murmur not: but they lift up +their eyes to me and ask for--Merciful God! Thou didst make man in +benevolence; Thou dost survey this world with a pitying and paternal +eye: save, comfort, cherish them, and crush me if Thou wilt!” + +At that moment a man darted suddenly from an obscure alley, and passed +Glendower at full speed; presently came a cry, and a shout, and a rapid +trampling of feet, and, in another moment, an eager and breathless crowd +rushed upon the solitude of the street. + +“Where is he?” cried a hundred voices to Glendower,--“where,--which road +did the robber take?” But Glendower could not answer: his nerves were +unstrung, and his dizzy brain swam and reeled; and the faces which +peered upon him, and the voices which shrieked and yelled in his ear, +were to him as the forms and sounds of a ghastly and phantasmal world. +His head drooped upon his bosom; he clung to the area for support: the +crowd passed on; they were in pursuit of guilt; they were thirsting +after blood; they were going to fill the dungeon and feed the gibbet; +what to them was the virtue they could have supported, or the famine +they could have relieved? But they knew not his distress, nor the extent +of his weakness, or some would have tarried and aided: for there is, +after all, as much kindness as cruelty in our nature; perhaps they +thought it was only some intoxicated and maudlin idler; or, perhaps, in +the heat of their pursuit, they thought not at all. + +So they rolled on, and their voices died away, and their steps were +hushed, and Glendower, insensible and cold as the iron he clung to, was +once more alone. Slowly he revived; he opened his dim and glazing eyes, +and saw the evening star break from its chamber, and, though sullied by +the thick and foggy air, scatter its holy smiles upon the polluted city. + +He looked quietly on the still night, and its first watcher among the +hosts of heaven, and felt something of balm sink into his soul; not, +indeed, that vague and delicious calm which, in his boyhood of poesy and +romance, he had drunk in, by green solitudes, from the mellow twilight: +but a quiet, sad and sober, circling gradually over his mind, and +bringing it back from its confused and disordered visions and darkness +to the recollection and reality of his bitter life. + +By degrees the scene he had so imperfectly witnessed, the fight of +the robber and the eager pursuit of the mob, grew over him: a dark and +guilty thought burst upon his mind. + +“I am a man like that criminal,” said he, fiercely. “I have nerves, +sinews, muscles, flesh; I feel hunger, thirst, pain, as acutely: why +should I endure more than he can? Perhaps he had a wife, a child, and +he saw them starving inch by inch, and he felt that he ought to be their +protector; and so he sinned. And I--I--can I not sin too for mine? can I +not dare what the wild beast, and the vulture, and the fierce hearts of +my brethren dare for their mates and young? One gripe from this hand, +one cry from this voice, and my board might be heaped with plenty, and +my child fed, and she smile as she was wont to smile,--for one night at +least.” + +And as these thoughts broke upon him, Glendower rose, and with a step +firm, even in weakness, he strode unconsciously onward. + +A figure appeared; Glendower’s heart beat thick. He slouched his hat +over his brows, and for one moment wrestled with his pride and his stern +virtue: the virtue conquered, but not the pride; the virtue forbade him +to be the robber; the pride submitted to be the suppliant. He sprang +forward, extended his hands towards the stranger, and cried in a sharp +voice, the agony of which rang through the long dull street with a +sudden and echoless sound, “Charity! food!” + +The stranger paused; one of the boldest of men in his own line, he +was as timid as a woman in any other. Mistaking the meaning of the +petitioner, and terrified by the vehemence of his gesture, he said, in a +trembling tone, as he hastily pulled out his purse,-- + +“There, there! do not hurt me; take it; take all!” Glendower knew the +voice, as a sound not unfamiliar to him; his pride returned in full +force. “None,” thought he, “who know me, shall know my full degradation +also.” And he turned away; but the stranger, mistaking this motion, +extended his hand to him, saying, “Take this, my friend: you will +have no need of violence!” and as he advanced nearer to his supposed +assailant, he beheld, by the pale lamplight, and instantly recognized, +his features. + +“Ah!” cried he, in astonishment, but with internal rejoicing, “ah! is it +you who are thus reduced?” + +“You say right, Crauford,” said Glendower, sullenly, and drawing himself +up to his full height, “it is I: but you are mistaken; I am a beggar, +not a ruffian!” + +“Good heavens!” answered Crauford; “how fortunate that we should meet! +Providence watches over us unceasingly! I have long sought you in vain. +But” (and here the wayward malignity, sometimes, though not always, the +characteristic of Crauford’s nature, irresistibly broke out), “but that +you, of all men, should suffer so,--you, proud, susceptible, virtuous +beyond human virtue,--you, whose fibres are as acute as the naked +eye,--that you should bear this and wince not!” + +“You do my humanity wrong!” said Glendower, with a bitter and almost +ghastly smile; “I do worse than wince!” + +“Ay, is it so?” said Crauford; “have you awakened at last? Has your +philosophy taken a more impassioned dye?” + +“Mock me not!” cried Glendower; and his eye, usually soft in its deep +thoughtfulness, glared wild and savage upon the hypocrite, who stood +trembling, yet half sneering, at the storm he had raised; “my passions +are even now beyond my mastery; loose them not upon you!” + +“Nay,” said Crauford, gently, “I meant not to vex or wound you. I have +sought you several times since the last night we met, but in vain; you +had left your lodgings, and none knew whither. I would fain talk +with you. I have a scheme to propose to you which will make you rich +forever,--rich,--literally rich! not merely above poverty, but high in +affluence!” + +Glendower looked incredulously at the speaker, who continued,-- + +“The scheme has danger: that you can dare!” + +Glendower was still silent; but his set and stern countenance was +sufficient reply. “Some sacrifice of your pride,” continued Crauford: +“that also you can bear?” and the tempter almost grinned with pleasure +as he asked the question. + +“He who is poor,” said Glendower, speaking at last, “has a right to +pride. He who starves has it too; but he who sees those whom he loves +famish, and cannot aid, has it not!” + +“Come home with me, then,” said Crauford; “you seem faint and weak: +nature craves food; come and partake of mine; we will then talk over +this scheme, and arrange its completion.” + +“I cannot,” answered Glendower, quietly. “And why?” + +“Because they starve at home!” + +“Heavens!” said Crauford, affected for a moment into sincerity; “it is +indeed fortunate that business should have led me here: but meanwhile +you will not refuse this trifle,--as a loan merely. By and by our scheme +will make you so rich that I must be the borrower.” + +Glendower did hesitate for a moment; he did swallow a bitter rising of +the heart: but he thought of those at home and the struggle was over. + +“I thank you,” said he; “I thank you for their sake: the time may +come,”--and the proud gentleman stopped short, for his desolate fortunes +rose before him and forbade all hope of the future. + +“Yes!” cried Crauford, “the time may come when you will repay me this +money a hundredfold. But where do you live? You are silent. Well, you +will not inform me: I understand you. Meet me, then, here, on this very +spot, three nights hence: you will not fail?” + +“I will not,” said Glendower; and pressing Crauford’s hand with a +generous and grateful warmth, which might have softened a heart less +obdurate, he turned away. + +Folding his arms, while a bitter yet joyous expression crossed his +countenance, Crauford stood still, gazing upon the retreating form of +the noble and unfortunate man whom he had marked for destruction. + +“Now,” said he, “this virtue is a fine thing, a very fine thing to +talk so loftily about. A little craving of the gastric juices, a little +pinching of this vile body, as your philosophers and saints call our +better part, and, lo! virtue oozes out like water through a leaky +vessel,--and the vessel sinks! No, no; virtue is a weak game, and a +poor game, and a losing game. Why, there is that man, the very pink of +integrity and rectitude, he is now only wanting temptation to fall; and +he will fall, in a fine phrase, too, I’ll be sworn! And then, having +once fallen, there will be no medium: he will become utterly corrupt; +while I, honest Dick Crauford, doing as other wise men do, cheat a trick +or two, in playing with fortune, without being a whit the worse for it. +Do I not subscribe to charities? am I not constant at church, ay, and +meeting to boot? kind to my servants, obliging to my friends, loyal to +my king? ‘Gad, if I were less loving to myself, I should have been far +less useful to my country! And now, now let me see what has brought me +to these filthy suburbs. Ah, Madame H----. Woman, incomparable +woman! On, Richard Crauford, thou hast made a good night’s work of it +hitherto!--business seasons pleasures!” and the villain upon system +moved away. + +Glendower hastened to his home; it was miserably changed, even from the +humble abode in which we last saw him. The unfortunate pair had chosen +their present residence from a melancholy refinement in luxury; they had +chosen it because none else shared it with them, and their famine and +pride and struggles and despair were without witness or pity. + +With a heavy step Glendower entered the chamber where his wife sat. When +at a distance he had heard a faint moan, but as he had approached it +ceased; for she from whom it came knew his step, and hushed her grief +and pain that they might not add to his own. The peevishness, +the querulous and stinging irritations of want, came not to that +affectionate and kindly heart; nor could all those biting and bitter +evils of fate which turn the love that is born of luxury into rancour +and gall scathe the beautiful and holy passion which had knit into one +those two unearthly natures. They rather clung the closer to each other, +as all things in heaven and earth spoke in tempest or in gloom around +them, and coined their sorrows into endearment, and their looks into +smiles, and strove each from the depth of despair to pluck hope and +comfort for the other. + +This, it is true, was more striking and constant in her than in +Glendower; for in love, man, be he ever so generous, is always outdone. +Yet even when in moments of extreme passion and conflict the strife +broke from his breast into words, never once was his discontent vented +upon her, nor his reproaches lavished on any but fortune or himself, nor +his murmurs mingled with a single breath wounding to her tenderness or +detracting from his love. + +He threw open the door; the wretched light cast its sickly beams over, +the squalid walls, foul with green damps, and the miserable yet clean +bed, and the fireless hearth, and the empty board, and the pale cheek +of the wife, as she rose and flung her arms round his neck, and murmured +out her joy and welcome. “There,” said he, as he extricated himself from +her, and flung the money upon the table, “there, love, pine no more, +feed yourself and our daughter, and then let us sleep and be happy in +our dreams.” + +A writer, one of the most gifted of the present day, has told the +narrator of this history that no interest of a high nature can be given +to extreme poverty. I know not if this be true yet if I mistake not our +human feelings, there is nothing so exalted, or so divine, as a great +and brave spirit working out its end through every earthly obstacle +and evil; watching through the utter darkness, and steadily defying the +phantoms which crowd around it; wrestling with the mighty allurements, +and rejecting the fearful voice of that WANT which is the deadliest +and surest of human tempters; nursing through all calamity the love +of species, and the warmer and closer affections of private ties; +sacrificing no duty, resisting all sin; and amidst every horror and +every humiliation, feeding the still and bright light of that genius +which, like the lamp of the fabulist, though it may waste itself for +years amidst the depths of solitude, and the silence of the tomb, shall +live and burn immortal and undimmed, when all around it is rottenness +and decay! + +And yet I confess that it is a painful and bitter task to record the +humiliations, the wearing, petty, stinging humiliations, of Poverty; to +count the drops as they slowly fall, one by one, upon the fretted and +indignant heart; to particularize, with the scrupulous and nice hand of +indifference, the fractional and divided movements in the dial-plate of +Misery; to behold the refinement of birth, the masculine pride of blood, +the dignities of intellect, the wealth of knowledge, the delicacy, and +graces of womanhood,--all that ennoble and soften the stony mass of +commonplaces which is our life frittered into atoms, trampled into the +dust and mire of the meanest thoroughfares of distress; life and soul, +the energies and aims of man, ground into one prostrating want, cramped +into one levelling sympathy with the dregs and refuse of his kind, +blistered into a single galling and festering sore: this is, I own, a +painful and a bitter task; but it hath its redemption,--a pride even in +debasement, a pleasure even in woe,--and it is therefore that, while I +have abridged, I have not shunned it. There are some whom the lightning +of fortune blasts, only to render holy. Amidst all that humbles and +scathes; amidst all that shatters from their life its verdure, smites +to the dust the pomp and summit of their pride, and in the very heart +of existence writeth a sudden and “strange defeature,”--they stand +erect,--riven, not uprooted,--a monument less of pity than of awe! There +are some who pass through the Lazar-House of Misery with a step more +august than a Caesar’s in his hall. The very things which, seen alone, +are despicable and vile, associated with them become almost venerable +and divine; and one ray, however dim and feeble, of that intense +holiness which, in the INFANT GOD, shed majesty over the manger and the +straw, not denied to those who in the depth of affliction cherish His +patient image, flings over the meanest localities of earth an emanation +from the glory of Heaven! + + + + +CHAPTER L. + + Letters from divers hands, which will absolve + Ourselves from long narration.--Tanner of Tyburn. + +One morning about a fortnight after Talbot’s death, Clarence was sitting +alone, thoughtful and melancholy, when the three following letters were +put into his hand: + + + +LETTER I. FROM THE DUKE OF HAVERFIELD. + +Let me, my dear Linden, be the first to congratulate you upon your +accession of fortune: five thousand a year, Scarsdale, and 80,000 in the +Funds, are very pretty foes to starvation! Ah, my dear fellow, if you +had but shot that frosty Caucasus of humanity, that pillar of the state, +made not to bend, that--but you know already whom I mean, and so I will +spare you more of my lamentable metaphors: had you shot Lord Borodaile, +your happiness would now be complete! Everybody talks of your luck. La +Meronville tending on you with her white hands, the prettiest hands in +the world: who would not be wounded even by Lord Borodaile, for such +a nurse? And then Talbot’s--yet, I will not speak of that, for you are +very unlike the present generation; and who knows but you may have some +gratitude, some affection, some natural feeling in you? I had once; +but that was before I went to France: those Parisians, with their +fine sentiments, and witty philosophy, play the devil with one’s good +old-fashioned feelings. So Lord Aspeden is to have an Italian ministry. +By the by, shall you go with him, or will you not rather stay at home, +and enjoy your new fortunes,--hunt, race, dine out, dance, vote in +the House of Commons, and, in short, do all that an Englishman and a +gentleman should do? Ornamento e splendor del secolo nostro. Write me a +line whenever you have nothing better to do. + +And believe me, Most truly yours, HAVERFIELD. + +Will you sell your black mare, or will you buy my brown one? Utrum horum +mavis accipe, the only piece of Latin I remember. + + + +LETTER FROM LORD ASPEDEN. + +My Dear Linden,--Suffer me to enter most fully into your feeling. Death, +my friend, is common to all: we must submit to its dispensations. I +heard accidentally of the great fortune left you by Mr. Talbot (your +father, I suppose I may venture to call him). Indeed, though there is a +silly prejudice against illegitimacy, yet as our immortal bard says,-- + + “Wherefore base? + When thy dimensions are as well compact, + Thy mind as generous and thy shape as true + As honest madam’s issue!” + +For my part, my dear Linden, I say, on your behalf, that it is very +likely that you are a natural son, for such are always the luckiest and +the best. + +You have probably heard of the honour his Majesty has conferred on me, +in appointing to my administration the city of ----. As the choice of +a secretary has been left to me, I need not say how happy I shall be to +keep my promise to you. Indeed, as I told Lord ---- yesterday morning, +I do not know anywhere a young man who has more talent, or who plays +better on the flute. + +Adieu, my dear young friend, and believe me, Very truly yours, + + ASPEDEN. + + + +LETTER FROM MADAME DE LA MERONVILLE. (Translated.) + +You have done me wrong,--great wrong. I loved you,--I waited on +you, tended you, nursed you, gave all up for you; and you forsook +me,--forsook me without a word. True, that you have been engaged in a +melancholy duty, but, at least, you had time to write a line, to cast a +thought, to one who had shown for you the love that I have done. But we +will pass over all this: I will not reproach you; it is beneath me. The +vicious upbraid: the virtuous forgive! I have for several days left your +house. I should never have come to it, had you not been wounded, and, as +I fondly imagined, for my sake. Return when you will, I shall no longer +be there to persecute and torment you. + +Pardon this letter. I have said too much for myself,--a hundred times +too much to you; but I shall not sin again. This intrusion is my last. CECILE DE LA MERONVILLE. + +These letters will probably suffice to clear up that part of Clarence’s +history which had not hitherto been touched upon; they will show that +Talbot’s will (after several legacies to his old servants, his nearest +connections, and two charitable institutions, which he had founded, and +for some years supported) had bequeathed the bulk of his property +to Clarence. The words in which the bequest was made were kind, and +somewhat remarkable. “To my relation and friend, commonly known by +the name of Clarence Linden, to whom I am bound alike by blood and +affection,” etc. These expressions, joined to the magnitude of the +bequest, the apparently unaccountable attachment of the old man to +his heir, and the mystery which wrapped the origin of the latter, +all concurred to give rise to an opinion, easily received, and soon +universally accredited, that Clarence was a natural son of the deceased; +and so strong in England is the aristocratic aversion to an unknown +lineage, that this belief, unflattering as it was, procured for Linden +a much higher consideration, on the score of birth, than he might +otherwise have enjoyed. Furthermore will the above correspondence +testify the general eclat of Madame la Meronville’s attachment, and the +construction naturally put upon it. Nor do we see much left for us to +explain, with regard to the Frenchwoman herself, which cannot equally +well be gleaned by any judicious and intelligent reader, from the +epistle last honoured by his perusal. Clarence’s sense of gallantry did, +indeed, smite him severely, for his negligence and ill requital to one +who, whatever her faults or follies, had at least done nothing with +which he had a right to reproach her. It must however, be considered +in his defence that the fatal event which had so lately occurred, the +relapse which Clarence had suffered in consequence, and the melancholy +confusion and bustle in which the last week or ten days had been passed, +were quite sufficient to banish her from his remembrance. Still she was +a woman, and had loved, or seemed to love; and Clarence, as he wrote to +her a long, kind, and almost brotherly letter, in return for her own, +felt that, in giving pain to another, one often suffers almost as much +for avoiding as for committing a sin. + +We have said his letter was kind; it was also frank, and yet prudent. In +it he said that he had long loved another, which love alone could have +rendered him insensible to her attachment; that he, nevertheless, should +always recall her memory with equal interest and admiration; and then, +with a tact of flattery which the nature of the correspondence and the +sex of the person addressed rendered excusable, he endeavoured, as far +as he was able, to soothe and please the vanity which the candour of his +avowal was calculated to wound. + +When he had finished this letter he despatched another to Lord Aspeden, +claiming a reprieve of some days before he answered the proposal of the +diplomatist. After these epistolary efforts, he summoned his valet, and +told him, apparently in a careless tone, to find out if Lady Westborough +was still in town. Then throwing himself on the couch, he wrestled with +the grief and melancholy which the death of a friend, and more than +a father, might well cause in a mind less susceptible than his, and +counted the dull hours crawl onward till his servant returned. Lady +Westborough and all the family had been gone a week to their seat in +----. + +“Well,” thought Clarence, “had he been alive, I could have intrusted +my cause to a mediator; as it is, I will plead, or rather assert it, +myself. Harrison,” said he aloud, “see that my black mare is ready by +sunrise to-morrow: I shall leave town for some days.” + +“Not in your present state of health, sir, surely?” said Harrison, with +the license of one who had been a nurse. + +“My health requires it: no more words, my good Harrison, see that I am +obeyed.” And Harrison, shaking his head doubtfully, left the room. + +“Rich, independent, free to aspire to the heights which in England are +only accessible to those who join wealth to ambition, I have at least,” + said Clarence, proudly, “no unworthy pretensions even to the hand of +Lady Flora Ardenne. If she can love me for myself, if she can trust to +my honour, rely on my love, feel proud in my pride, and aspiring in +my ambition, then, indeed, this wealth will be welcome to me, and the +disguised name which has cost me so many mortifications become grateful, +since she will not disdain to share it.” + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + + A little druid wight + Of withered aspect; but his eye was keen + With sweetness mixed,--a russet brown bedight. + THOMSON: Castle of Indolence. + + Thus holding high discourse, they came to where + The cursed carle was at his wonted trade, + Still tempting heedless men into his snare, + In witching wise, as I before have said.--Ibid. + +It was a fine, joyous summer morning when Clarence set out, alone and +on horseback, upon his enterprise of love and adventure. If there be +anything on earth more reviving and inspiriting than another, it is, to +my taste, a bright day,--a free horse, a journey of excitement before +one, and loneliness! Rousseau--in his own way, a great though rather +a morbid epicure of this world’s enjoyments--talks with rapture of +his pedestrian rambles when in his first youth. But what are your +foot-ploddings to the joy which lifts you into air with the bound of +your mettled steed? + +But there are times when an iron and stern sadness locks, as it were, +within itself our capacities of enjoyment; and the song of the birds, +and the green freshness of the summer morning, and the glad motion of +the eager horse, brought neither relief nor change to the musings of the +young adventurer. + +He rode on for several miles without noticing anything on his road, +and only now and then testifying the nature of his thoughts and +his consciousness of solitude by brief and abrupt exclamations and +sentences, which proclaimed the melancholy yet exciting subjects of +his meditations. During the heat of the noon, he rested at a small +public-house about ---- miles from town; and resolving to take his horse +at least ten miles farther before his day’s journey ceased, he remounted +towards the evening and slowly resumed his way. + +He was now entering the same county in which he first made his +appearance in this history. Although several miles from the spot on +which the memorable night with the gypsies had been passed, his thoughts +reverted to its remembrance, and he sighed as he recalled the ardent +hopes which then fed and animated his heart. While thus musing, he heard +the sound of hoofs behind him, and presently came by a sober-looking +man, on a rough, strong pony, laden (besides its master’s weight) with +saddle-bags of uncommon size, and to all appearance substantially and +artfully filled. + +Clarence looked, and, after a second survey, recognized the person of +his old acquaintance, Mr. Morris Brown. + +Not equally reminiscent was the worshipful itinerant, who, in the +great variety of forms and faces which it was his professional lot +to encounter, could not be expected to preserve a very nice or +distinguishing recollection of each. + +“Your servant, sir, your servant,” said Mr. Brown, as he rode his +pony alongside of our traveller. “Are you going as far as W---- this +evening?” + +“I hardly know yet,” answered Clarence; “the length of my ride depends +upon my horse rather than myself.” + +“Oh, well, very well,” said Mr. Brown; “but you will allow me, perhaps, +sir, the honour of riding with you as far as you go.” + +“You give me much gratification by your proposal, Mr. Brown!” said +Clarence. + +The broker looked in surprise at his companion. “So you know me, sir?” + +“I do,” replied Clarence. “I am surprised that you have forgotten me.” + +Slowly Mr. Brown gazed, till at last his memory began to give itself the +rousing shake. “God bless me, sir, I beg you a thousand pardons: I now +remember you perfectly; Mr. Linden, the nephew of my old patroness, Mrs. +Minden. Dear, dear, how could I be so forgetful! I hope, by the by, sir, +that the shirts wore well? I am thinking you will want some more. I have +some capital cambric of curiously fine quality and texture, from the +wardrobe of the late Lady Waddilove.” + +“What, Lady Waddilove still!” cried Clarence. “Why, my good friend, +you will offer next to furnish me with pantaloons from her ladyship’s +wardrobe.” + +“Why, really, sir, I see you preserve your fine spirits; but I do think +I have one or two pair of plum-coloured velvet inexpressibles, that +passed into my possession when her ladyship’s husband died, which might, +perhaps, with a leetle alteration, fit you, and, at all events, would be +a very elegant present from a gentleman to his valet.” + +“Well, Mr. Brown, whenever I or my valet wear plum-coloured velvet +breeches, I will certainly purchase those in your possession; but to +change the subject, can you inform me what has become of my old host and +hostess, the Copperases, of Copperas Bower?” + +“Oh, sir, they are the same as ever; nice, genteel people they are, too. +Master Adolphus has grown into a fine young gentleman, very nearly as +tall as you and I are. His worthy father preserves his jovial vein, and +is very merry whenever I call there. Indeed it was but last week that he +made an admirable witticism. ‘Bob,’ said he (Tom,--you remember Tom, +or De Warens, as Mrs. Copperas was pleased to call him,--Tom is gone), +‘Bob, have you stopped the coach?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ said Bob. ‘And what coach +is it?’ asked Mr. Copperas. ‘It be the Swallow, sir,’ said the boy. +‘The Swallow! oh, very well,’ cried Mr. Copperas; ‘then, now, having +swallowed in the roll, I will e’en roll in the swallow! ‘Ha! ha! ha! +sir, very facetious, was it not?” + +“Very, indeed,” said Clarence; “and so Mr. de Warens has gone; how came +that?” + +“Why, sir, you see, the boy was always of a gay turn, and he took to +frisking about, as he called it, of a night, and so he was taken up for +thrashing a watchman, and appeared before Sir John, the magistrate, the +next morning.” + +“Caractacus before Caesar!” observed Linden; “and what said Caesar?” + +“Sir?” said Mr. Brown. + +“I mean, what said Sir John?” + +“Oh! he asked him his name, and Tom, whose head Mrs. Copperas (poor good +woman!) had crammed with pride enough for fifty foot-boys, replied, ‘De +Warens,’ with all the air of a man of independence. ‘De Warens!’ cried +Sir John, amazed, ‘we’ll have no De’s here: take him to Bridewell!’ and +so, Mrs. Copperas, being without a foot-boy, sent for me, and I supplied +her--with Bob!” + +“Out of the late Lady Waddilove’s wardrobe too?” said Clarence. + +“Ha, ha! that’s well, very well, sir. No, not exactly; but he was a son +of her late ladyship’s coachman. Mr. Copperas has had two other servants +of the name of Bob before, but this is the biggest of all, so he +humorously calls him ‘Triple Bob Major!’ You observe that road to the +right, sir: it leads to the mansion of an old customer of mine, General +Cornelius St. Leger; many a good bargain have I sold to his sister. +Heaven rest her! when she died I lost a good friend, though she was a +little hot or so, to be sure. But she had a relation, a young lady; such +a lovely, noble-looking creature: it did one’s heart, ay, and one’s eyes +also, good to look at her; and she’s gone too; well, well, one loses +one’s customers sadly; it makes me feel old and comfortless to think of +it. Now, yonder, as far as you can see among those distant woods, lived +another friend of mine, to whom I offered to make some very valuable +presents upon his marriage with the young lady I spoke of just now, but, +poor gentleman, he had not time to accept them; he lost his property +by a lawsuit, a few months after he was married, and a very different +person now has Mordaunt Court.” + +“Mordaunt Court!” cried Clarence; “do you mean to say that Mr. Mordaunt +has lost that property?” + +“Why, sir, one Mr. Mordaunt has lost it, and another has gained it: but +the real Mr. Mordaunt has not an acre in this county or elsewhere, I +fear, poor gentleman. He is universally regretted, for he was very +good and very generous, though they say he was also mighty proud and +reserved; but for my part I never perceived it. If one is not proud +one’s self, Mr. Linden, one is very little apt to be hurt by pride in +other people.” + +“And where is Mr. Algernon Mordaunt?” asked Clarence, as he recalled his +interview with that person, and the interest with which Algernon then +inspired him. + +“That, sir, is more than any of us can say. He has disappeared +altogether. Some declare that he has gone abroad, others that he is +living in Wales in the greatest poverty. However, wherever he is, I am +sure that he cannot be rich; for the lawsuit quite ruined him, and the +young lady he married had not a farthing.” + +“Poor Mordaunt!” said Clarence, musingly. + +“I think, sir, that the squire would not be best pleased if he heard you +pity him. I don’t know why, but he certainly looked, walked, and moved +like one whom you felt it very hard to pity. But I am thinking that +it is a great shame that the general should not do anything for Mr. +Mordaunt’s wife, for she was his own flesh and blood; and I am sure he +had no cause to be angry at her marrying a gentleman of such old family +as Mr. Mordaunt. I am a great stickler for birth, sir; I learned that +from the late Lady W. ‘Brown,’ she said, and I shall never forget her +ladyship’s air when she did say it, ‘Brown, respect your superiors, and +never fall into the hands of the republicans and atheists’!” + +“And why,” said Clarence, who was much interested in Mordaunt’s fate, +“did General St. Leger withhold his consent?” + +“That we don’t exactly know, sir; but some say that Mr. Mordaunt was +very high and proud with the general, and the general was to the full +as fond of his purse as Mr. Mordaunt could be of his pedigree; and so, I +suppose, one pride clashed against the other, and made a quarrel between +them.” + +“Would not the general, then, relent after the marriage?” + +“Oh! no, sir; for it was a runaway affair. Miss Diana St. Leger, his +sister, was as hot as ginger upon it, and fretted and worried the poor +general, who was never of the mildest, about the match, till at last he +forbade the poor young lady’s very name to be mentioned. And when Miss +Diana died about two years ago, he suddenly introduced a tawny sort of +cretur, whom they call a mulatto or creole, or some such thing, into +the house; and it seems that he has had several children by her, whom he +never durst own during Miss Diana’s life, but whom he now declares to be +his heirs. Well, they rule him with a rod of iron, and suck him as dry +as an orange. They are a bad, griping set, all of them; and, I am sure, +I don’t say so from any selfish feeling, Mr. Linden, though they have +forbid me the house, and called me, to my very face, an old cheating +Jew. Think of that, sir!--I, whom the late Lady W. in her exceeding +friendship used to call ‘honest Brown,’--I whom your worthy--” + +“And who,” uncourteously interrupted Clarence, “has Mordaunt Court now?” + +“Why, a distant relation of the last squire’s, an elderly gentleman who +calls himself Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt. I am going there to-morrow morning, +for I still keep up a connection with the family. Indeed the old +gentleman bought a lovely little ape of me, which I did intend as a +present to the late (as I may call him) Mr. Mordaunt; so, though I will +not say I exactly like him,--he is a hard hand at a bargain,--yet at +least I will not deny him his due.” + +“What sort of a person is he? What character does he bear?” asked +Clarence. + +“I really find it hard to answer that question,” said the gossiping Mr. +Brown. “In great things he is very lavish and ostentatious, but in small +things he is very penurious and saving, and miser-like; and all for one +son, who is deformed and very sickly. He seems to dote on that boy; and +now I have got two or three little presents in these bags for Mr. Henry. +Heaven forgive me, but when I look at the poor creature, with his face +all drawn up, and his sour, ill-tempered voice, and his limbs crippled, +I almost think it would be better if he were in his grave, and the +rightful Mr. Mordaunt, who would then be the next of kin, in his place.” + +“So then, there is only this unhappy cripple between Mr. Mordaunt and +the property?” said Clarence. + +“Exactly so, sir. But will you let me ask where you shall put up at +W----? I will wait upon you, if you will give me leave, with some very +curious and valuable articles, highly desirable either for yourself or +for little presents to your friends.” + +“I thank you,” said Clarence, “I shall make no stay at W----, but I +shall be glad to see you in town next week. Favour me, meanwhile, by +accepting this trifle.” + +“Nay, nay, sir,” said Mr. Brown, pocketing the money, “I really cannot +accept this; anything in the way of exchange,--a ring, or a seal, or--” + +“No, no, not at present,” said Clarence; “the night is coming on, and I +shall make the best of my way. Good-by, Mr. Brown;” and Clarence trotted +off: but he had scarce got sixty yards before he heard the itinerant +merchant cry out, “Mr. Linden, Mr. Linden!” and looking back, he beheld +the honest Brown putting his shaggy pony at full speed, in order to +overtake him; so he pulled up. + +“Well, Mr. Brown, what do you want?” + +“Why, you see, sir, you gave me no exact answer about the plum-colored +velvet inexpressibles,” said Mr. Brown. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + + Are we contemned?--The Double Marriage. + +It was dusk when Clarence arrived at the very same inn at which, more +than five years ago, he had assumed his present name. As he recalled +the note addressed to him, and the sum (his whole fortune) which it +contained, he could not help smiling at the change his lot had since +then undergone; but the smile soon withered when he thought of the kind +and paternal hand from which that change had proceeded, and knew that +his gratitude was no longer availing, and that that hand, in pouring its +last favours upon him, had become cold. He was ushered into No. 4, and +left to his meditations till bed-time. + +The next day he recommenced his journey. Westborough Park, was, though +in another county, within a short ride of W----; but, as he approached +it, the character of the scenery became essentially changed. Bare, bold, +and meagre, the features of the country bore somewhat of a Scottish +character. On the right side of the road was a precipitous and +perilous descent, and some workmen were placing posts along a path for +foot-passengers on that side nearest the carriage-road, probably with +a view to preserve unwary coachmen or equestrians from the dangerous +vicinity of the descent, which a dark night might cause them to incur. +As Clarence looked idly on the workmen, and painfully on the crumbling +and fearful descent I have described, he little thought that that spot +would, a few years after, become the scene of a catastrophe affecting +in the most powerful degree the interests of his future life. Our young +traveller put up his horse at a small inn, bearing the Westborough arms, +and situated at a short distance from the park gates. Now that he was so +near his mistress--now that less than an hour, nay, than the fourth part +of an hour, might place him before her, and decide his fate--his heart, +which had hitherto sustained him, grew faint, and presented, first +fear, then anxiety, and, at last, despondency to his imagination and +forebodings. + +“At all events,” said he, “I will see her alone before I will confer +with her artful and proud mother or her cipher of a father. I will then +tell her all my history, and open to her all my secrets: I will only +conceal from her my present fortunes; for even if rumour should have +informed her of them, it will be easy to give the report no sanction; +I have a right to that trial. When she is convinced that, at least, +neither my birth nor character can disgrace her, I shall see if her love +can enable her to overlook my supposed poverty and to share my uncertain +lot. If so, there will be some triumph in undeceiving her error and +rewarding her generosity; if not, I shall be saved from involving my +happiness with that of one who looks only to my worldly possessions. I +owe it to her, it is true, to show her that I am no low-born pretender: +but I owe it also to myself to ascertain if my own individual qualities +are sufficient to gain her hand.” + +Fraught with these ideas, which were natural enough to a man whose +peculiar circumstances were well calculated to make him feel rather +soured and suspicious, and whose pride had been severely wounded by the +contempt with which his letter had been treated, Clarence walked into +the park, and, hovering around the house, watched and waited that +opportunity of addressing Lady Flora, which he trusted her habits of +walking would afford him; but hours rolled away, the evening set in, and +Lady Flora had not once quitted the house. + +More disappointed and sick at heart than he liked to confess, Clarence +returned to his inn, took his solitary meal, and strolling once more +into the park, watched beneath the windows till midnight, endeavouring +to guess which were the casements of her apartments, and feeling his +heart beat high at every light which flashed forth and disappeared, +and every form which flitted across the windows of the great staircase. +Little did Lady Flora, as she sat in her room alone, and, in tears, +mused over Clarence’s fancied worthlessness and infidelity, and told her +heart again and again that she loved no more,--little did she know +whose eye kept vigils without, or whose feet brushed away the rank dews +beneath her windows, or whose thoughts, though not altogether unmingled +with reproach, were riveted with all the ardour of a young and first +love upon her. + +It was unfortunate for Linden that he had no opportunity of personally +pleading his suit; his altered form and faded countenance would at least +have insured a hearing and an interest for his honest though somewhat +haughty sincerity: but though that day, and the next, and the next, were +passed in the most anxious and unremitting vigilance, Clarence only +once caught a glimpse of Lady Flora, and then she was one amidst a large +party; and Clarence, fearful of a premature and untimely discovery, was +forced to retire into the thicknesses of the park, and lose the solitary +reward of his watches almost as soon as he had won it. + +Wearied and racked by his suspense, and despairing of obtaining any +favourable opportunity for an interview without such a request, Clarence +at last resolved to write to Lady Flora, entreating her assent to a +meeting, in which he pledged himself to clear up all that had hitherto +seemed doubtful in his conduct or mysterious in his character. Though +respectful, urgent, and bearing the impress of truth and feeling, the +tone of the letter was certainly that of a man who conceived he had a +right to a little resentment for the past and a little confidence for +the future. It was what might well be written by one who imagined his +affection had once been returned, but would as certainly have been +deemed very presumptuous by a lady who thought that the affection itself +was a liberty. + +Having penned this epistle, the next care was how to convey it. After +much deliberation it was at last committed to the care of a little +girl, the daughter of the lodge-keeper, whom Lady Flora thrice a +week personally instructed in the mysteries of spelling, reading, and +calligraphy. With many injunctions to deliver the letter only to the +hands of the beautiful teacher, Clarence trusted his despatches to the +little scholar, and, with a trembling frame and wistful eye, watched +Susan take her road, with her green satchel and her shining cheeks, to +the great house. + +One hour, two hours, three hours, passed, and the messenger had not +returned. Restless and impatient, Clarence walked back to his inn, and +had not been there many minutes before a servant, in the Westborough +livery, appeared at the door of the humble hostelry, and left the +following letter for his perusal and gratification:-- + +WESTBOROUGH PASS. + +Sir,--The letter intended for my daughter has just been given to me by +Lady Westborough. I know not what gave rise to the language, or the very +extraordinary request for a clandestine meeting, which you have thought +proper to address to Lady Flora Ardenne; but you will allow me to +observe that, if you intend to confer upon my daughter the honour of a +matrimonial proposal, she fully concurs with me and her mother in the +negative which I feel necessitated to put upon your obliging offer. + +I need not add that all correspondence with my daughter must close here. +I have the honour to be, sir, + +Your very obedient servant, WESTBOROUGH. + +TO CLARENCE LINDEN, Esq. + +Had Clarence’s blood been turned to fire, his veins could not have +swelled and burned with a fiercer heat than they did, as he read the +above letter,--a masterpiece, perhaps, in the line of what may be termed +the “d--d civil” of epistolary favours. “Insufferable arrogance!” + he muttered within his teeth. “I will live to repay it. Perfidious, +unfeeling woman: what an escape I have had of her! Now, now, I am on the +world, and alone, thank Heaven. I will accept Aspeden’s offer, and leave +this country; when I return, it shall not be as a humble suitor to Lady +Flora Ardenne. Pish! how the name sickens me: but come, I have a father; +at least a nominal one. He is old and weak, and may die before I +return. I will see him once more, and then, hey for Italy! Oh! I am so +happy,--so happy at my freedom and escape. What, ho! waiter! my horse +instantly!” + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + + Lucr.--What has thy father done? + Beat.--What have I done? Am I not innocent?--The Cenci. + +Tam twilight was darkening slowly over a room of noble dimensions and +costly fashion. Although it was the height of summer, a low fire burned +in the grate; and, stretching his hands over the feeble flame, an old +man of about sixty sat in an armchair curiously carved with armorial +bearings. The dim yet fitful flame cast its upward light upon a +countenance, stern, haughty, and repellent, where the passions of youth +and manhood had dug themselves graves in many an iron line and deep +furrow: the forehead, though high, was narrow and compressed; the brows +sullenly overhung the eyes; and the nose, which was singularly prominent +and decided, age had sharpened, and brought out, as it were, till +it gave a stubborn and very forbidding expression to the more sunken +features over which it rose with exaggerated dignity. Two bottles of +wine, a few dried preserves, and a water glass, richly chased, and +ornamented with gold, showed that the inmate of the apartment had passed +the hour of the principal repast, and his loneliness at a time usually +social seemed to indicate that few olive branches were accustomed to +overshadow his table. + +The windows of the dining-room reached to the ground, and without the +closing light just enabled one to see a thick copse of wood, which, at +a very brief interval of turf, darkened immediately opposite the house. +While the old man was thus bending over the fire and conning his evening +contemplations, a figure stole from the copse I have mentioned, and, +approaching the window, looked pryingly into the apartment; then with a +noiseless hand it opened the spring of the casement, which was framed on +a peculiar and old-fashioned construction, that required a practised +and familiar touch, entered the apartment, and crept on, silent and +unperceived by the inhabitant of the room, till it paused and stood +motionless, with folded arms, scarce three steps behind the high back of +the old man’s chair. + +In a few minutes the latter moved from his position, and slowly rose; +the abruptness with which he turned, brought the dark figure of the +intruder full and suddenly before him: he started back, and cried in an +alarmed tone, “Who is there?” + +The stranger made no reply. + +The old man, in a voice in which anger and pride mingled with fear, +repeated the question. The figure advanced, dropped the cloak in which +it was wrapped, and presenting the features of Clarence Linden, said, in +a low but clear tone,-- + +“Your son.” + +The old man dropped his hold of the bell-rope, which he had just before +seized, and leaned as if for support against the oak wainscot; Clarence +approached. + +“Yes!” said he, mournfully, “your unfortunate, your offending, but +your guiltless son. More than five years I have been banished from your +house; I have been thrown, while yet a boy, without friends, without +guidance, without name, upon the wide world, and to the mercy of chance. +I come now to you as a man, claiming no assistance, and uttering no +reproach, but to tell you that him whom an earthly father rejected God +has preserved; that without one unworthy or debasing act I have won +for myself the friends who support and the wealth which dignifies +life,--since it renders it independent. Through all the disadvantages +I have struggled against I have preserved unimpaired my honour, and +unsullied my conscience; you have disowned, but you might have claimed +me without shame. Father, these hands are clean!” + +A strong and evident emotion shook the old man’s frame. He raised +himself to his full height, which was still tall and commanding, and in +a voice, the natural harshness of which was rendered yet more repellent +by passion, replied, “Boy! your presumption is insufferable. What to +me is your wretched fate? Go, go, go to your miserable mother: find her +out; claim kindred there; live together, toil together, rot together, +but come not to me! disgrace to my house, ask not admittance to my +affections; the law may give you my name, but sooner would I be torn +piecemeal than own your right to it. If you want money, name the sum, +take it: cut up my fortune to shreds, seize my property, revel on it; +but come not here. This house is sacred; pollute it not: I disown you; I +discard you; I,--ay, I detest,--I loathe you!” + +And with these words, which came forth as if heaved from the inmost +heart of the speaker, who shook with the fury he endeavoured to stifle, +he fell back into his chair, and fixed his eyes, which glared fearfully +through the increasing darkness upon Linden, who stood high, erect, and +sorrowfully before him. + +“Alas, my lord!” said Clarence, with mournful bitterness, “have not the +years which have seared your form and whitened your locks brought some +meekness to your rancour, some mercy to your injustice, for one whose +only crime against you seems to have been his birth. But I said I came +not to reproach, nor do I. Many a bitter hour, many a pang of shame and +mortification and misery, which have made scars in my heart that will +never wear away, my wrongs have cost me; but let them pass. Let them not +swell your future and last account whenever it be required. I am about +to leave this country, with a heavy and foreboding heart; we may never +meet again on earth. I have no longer any wish, any chance, of resuming +the name you have deprived me of. I shall never thrust myself on your +relationship or cross your view. Lavish your wealth upon him whom you +have placed so immeasurably above me in your affections. But I have not +deserved your curse, Father; give me your blessing, and let me depart in +peace.” + +“Peace! and what peace have I had? what respite from gnawing shame, the +foulness and leprosy of humiliation and reproach, since--since--? But +this is not your fault, you say: no, no,--it is another’s; and you are +only the mark of my stigma; my disgrace, not its perpetrator. Ha! a nice +distinction, truly. My blessing you say! Come, kneel; kneel, boy, and +have it!” + +Clarence approached, and stood bending and bareheaded before his father, +but he knelt not. + +“Why do you not kneel?” cried the old man, vehemently. + +“It is the attitude of the injurer, not of the injured!” said Clarence, +firmly. + +“Injured! insolent reprobate, is it not I who am injured? Do you not +read it in my brow,--here, here?” and the old man struck his clenched +hand violently against his temples. “Was I not injured?” he continued, +sinking his voice into a key unnaturally low; “did I not trust +implicitly? did I not give up my heart without suspicion? was I not +duped deliciously? was I not kind enough, blind enough, fool enough +and was I not betrayed,--damnably, filthily betrayed? But that was +no injury. Was not my old age turned into a sapless tree, a poisoned +spring? Were not my days made a curse to me, and my nights a torture? +Was I not, am I not, a mock and a by-word, and a miserable, impotent, +unavenged old man? Injured! But this is no injury! Boy, boy, what are +your wrongs to mine?” + +“Father!” cried Clarence, deprecatingly, “I am not the cause of your +wrongs: is it just that the innocent should suffer for the guilty?” + +“Speak not in that voice!” cried the old man, “that voice!--fie, fie on +it. Hence! away! away, boy! why tarry you? My son! and have that voice? +Pooh, you are not my son. Ha! ha!--my son?” + +“What am I, then?” said Clarence, soothingly: for he was shocked and +grieved, rather than irritated by a wrath which partook so strongly of +insanity. + +“I will tell you,” cried the father, “I will tell you what you are: you +are my curse!” + +“Farewell!” said Clarence, much agitated, and retiring to the window by +which he had entered; “may your heart never smite you for your cruelty! +Farewell! may the blessing you have withheld from me be with you!” + +“Stop! stay!” cried the father; for his fury was checked for one moment, +and his nature, fierce as it was, relented: but Clarence was already +gone, and the miserable old man was left alone to darkness, and +solitude, and the passions which can make a hell of the human heart! + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + + Sed quae praeclara et prospera tanti, + Ut rebus laetis par sit mensura malornm?--JUVENAL. + + [“But what excellence or prosperity so great that there should be + an equal measure of evils for our joys?”] + +We are now transported to a father and a son of a very different stamp. + +It was about the hour of one p.m., when the door of Mr. Vavasour +Mordaunt’s study was thrown open, and the servant announced Mr. Brown. + +“Your servant, sir; your servant, Mr. Henry,” said the itinerant, +bowing low to the two gentlemen thus addressed. The former, Mr. Vavasour +Mordaunt, might be about the same age as Linden’s father. A shrewd, +sensible, ambitious man of the world, he had made his way from the +state of a younger brother, with no fortune and very little interest, to +considerable wealth, besides the property he had acquired by law, and +to a degree of consideration for general influence and personal ability, +which, considering he had no official or parliamentary rank, very few of +his equals enjoyed. Persevering, steady, crafty, and possessing, to an +eminent degree, that happy art of “canting” which opens the readiest way +to character and consequence, the rise and reputation of Mr. Vavasour +Mordaunt appeared less to be wondered at than envied; yet, even envy was +only for those who could not look beyond the surface of things. He was +at heart an anxious and unhappy man. The evil we do in the world is +often paid back in the bosom of home. Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt was, like +Crauford, what might be termed a mistaken utilitarian: he had lived +utterly and invariably for self; but instead of uniting self-interest +with the interest of others, he considered them as perfectly +incompatible ends. But character was among the greatest of all objects +to him; so that, though he had rarely deviated into what might fairly be +termed a virtue, he had never transgressed what might rigidly be called +a propriety. He had not the aptitude, the wit, the moral audacity of +Crauford: he could not have indulged in one offence with impunity, by a +mingled courage and hypocrisy in veiling others; he was the slave of +the forms which Crauford subjugated to himself. He was only so far +resembling Crauford as one man of the world resembles another +in selfishness and dissimulation: he could be dishonest, not +villanous,--much less a villain upon system. He was a canter, Crauford +a hypocrite: his uttered opinions were, like Crauford’s, different from +his conduct; but he believed the truth of the former even while sinning +in the latter; he canted so sincerely that the tears came into his eyes +when he spoke. Never was there a man more exemplary in words: people +who departed from him went away impressed with the idea of an excess +of honour, a plethora of conscience. “It was almost a pity,” said they, +“that Mr. Vavasour was so romantic;” and thereupon they named him as +executor to their wills and guardian to their sons. None but he +could, in carrying the lawsuit against Mordaunt, have lost nothing +in reputation by success. But there was something so specious, so +ostensibly fair in his manner and words, while he was ruining Mordaunt, +that it was impossible not to suppose he was actuated by the purest +motives, the most holy desire for justice; not for himself, he said, for +he was old, and already rich enough, but for his son! From that son came +the punishment of all his offences,--the black drop at the bottom of a +bowl seemingly so sparkling. To him, as the father grew old and desirous +of quiet, Vavasour had transferred all his selfishness, as if to +a securer and more durable firm. The child, when young, had been +singularly handsome and intelligent; and Vavasour, as he toiled and +toiled at his ingenious and graceful cheateries, pleased himself with +anticipating the importance and advantages the heir to his labours would +enjoy. For that son he certainly had persevered more arduously than +otherwise he might have done in the lawsuit, of the justice of which he +better satisfied the world than his own breast; for that son he rejoiced +as he looked around the stately halls and noble domain from which the +rightful possessor had been driven; for that son he extended economy +into penuriousness, and hope into anxiety; and, too old to expect much +more from the world himself, for that son he anticipated, with a wearing +and feverish fancy, whatever wealth could purchase, beauty win, or +intellect command. + +But as if, like the Castle of Otranto, there was something in Mordaunt +Court which contained a penalty and a doom for the usurper, no sooner +had Vavasour possessed himself of his kinsman’s estate, than the +prosperity of his life dried and withered away, like Jonah’s gourd, in a +single night. His son, at the age of thirteen, fell from a scaffold, +on which the workmen were making some extensive alterations in the old +house, and became a cripple and a valetudinarian for life. But still +Vavasour, always of a sanguine temperament, cherished a hope that +surgical assistance might restore him: from place to place, from +professor to professor, from quack to quack, he carried the unhappy boy, +and as each remedy failed he was only the more impatient to devise a new +one. But as it was the mind as well as person of his son in which +the father had stored up his ambition; so, in despite of this fearful +accident and the wretched health by which it was followed, Vavasour +never suffered his son to rest from the tasks and tuitions and lectures +of the various masters by whom he was surrounded. The poor boy, it +is true, deprived of physical exertion and naturally of a serious +disposition, required very little urging to second his father’s wishes +for his mental improvement; and as the tutors were all of the orthodox +university calibre, who imagine that there is no knowledge (but +vanity) in any other works than those in which their own education has +consisted, so Henry Vavasour became at once the victor and victim of +Bentleys and Scaligers, word-weighers and metre-scanners, till, utterly +ignorant of everything which could have softened his temper, dignified +his misfortunes, and reconciled him to his lot, he was sinking fast +into the grave, soured by incessant pain into moroseness, envy, and +bitterness; exhausted by an unwholesome and useless application to +unprofitable studies; an excellent scholar (as it is termed), with +the worst regulated and worst informed mind of almost any of his +contemporaries equal to himself in the advantages of ability, original +goodness of disposition, and the costly and profuse expenditure of +education. + +But the vain father, as he heard, on all sides, of his son’s talents, +saw nothing sinister in their direction; and though the poor boy grew +daily more contracted in mind and broken in frame, Vavasour yet hugged +more and more closely to his breast the hope of ultimate cure for the +latter and future glory for the former. So he went on heaping money and +extending acres, and planting and improving and building and hoping and +anticipating, for one at whose very feet the grave was already dug! + +But we left Mr. Brown in the study, making his bow and professions of +service to Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt and his son. + +“Good day, honest Brown,” said the former, a middle-sized and rather +stout man, with a well-powdered head, and a sharp, shrewd, and very +sallow countenance; “good day; have you brought any of the foreign +liqueurs you spoke of, for Mr. Henry?” + +“Yes, sir, I have some curiously fine eau d’or and liqueur des files, +besides the marasquino and curacoa. The late Lady Waddilove honoured my +taste in these matters with her especial approbation.” + +“My dear boy,” said Vavasour, turning to his son, who lay extended on +the couch, reading not the “Prometheus” (that most noble drama ever +created), but the notes upon it, “my dear boy, as you are fond of +liqueurs, I desired Brown to get some peculiarly fine; perhaps--” + +“Pish!” said the son, fretfully interrupting him, “do, I beseech you, +take your hand off my shoulder. See now, you have made me lose my place. +I really do wish you would leave me alone for one moment in the day.” + +“I beg your pardon, Henry,” said the father, looking reverently on the +Greek characters which his son preferred to the newspaper. “It is very +vexatious, I own; but do taste these liqueurs. Dr. Lukewarm said you +might have everything you liked--” + +“But quiet!” muttered the cripple. + +“I assure you, sir,” said the wandering merchant, “that they are +excellent; allow me, Mr. Vavasour Mordaunt, to ring for a corkscrew. I +really do think, sir, that Mr. Henry looks much better. I declare he has +quite a colour.” + +“No, indeed!” said Vavasour, eagerly. “Well, it seems to me, too, that +he is getting better. I intend him to try Mr. E----‘s patent collar in +a day or two; but that will in some measure prevent his reading. A great +pity; for I am very anxious that he should lose no time in his studies +just at present. He goes to Cambridge in October.” + +“Indeed, sir! Well, he will set the town in a blaze, I guess, sir! +Everybody says what a fine scholar Mr. Henry is,--even in the servants’ +hall!” + +“Ay, ay,” said Vavasour, gratified even by this praise, “he is clever +enough, Brown; and, what is more” (and here Vavasour’s look grew +sanctified), “he is good enough. His principles do equal honour to his +head and heart. He would be no son of mine if he were not as much the +gentleman as the scholar.” + +The youth lifted his heavy and distorted face from his book, and a sneer +raised his lip for a moment; but a sudden spasm of pain seizing him, +the expression changed, and Vavasour, whose eyes were fixed upon him, +hastened to his assistance. + +“Throw open the window, Brown, ring the bell, call--” + +“Pooh, Father,” cried the boy, with a sharp, angry voice, “I am not +going to die yet, nor faint either; but it is all your fault. If you +will have those odious, vulgar people here for your own pleasure, at +least suffer me, another day, to retire.” + +“My son, my son!” said the grieved father, in reproachful anger, “it was +my anxiety to give you some trifling enjoyment that brought Brown here: +you must be sensible of that!” + +“You tease me to death,” grumbled the peevish unfortunate. + +“Well, sir,” said Mr. Brown, “shall I leave the bottles here? or do you +please that I shall give them to the butler? I see that I am displeasing +and troublesome to Mr. Henry; but as my worthy friend and patroness, the +late Lady--” + +“Go, go, honest Brown!” said Vavasour (who desired every man’s good +word), “go, and give the liqueurs to Preston. Mr. Henry is extremely +sorry that he is too unwell to see you now; and I--I have the heart of a +father for his sufferings.” + +Mr. Brown withdrew. “‘Odious and vulgar,’” said he to himself, in +a little fury,--for Mr. Brown peculiarly valued himself on his +gentility,--“‘odious and vulgar!’ To think of his little lordship +uttering such shameful words! However, I will go into the steward’s +room, and abuse him there. But, I suppose, I shall get no dinner in this +house,--no, not so much as a crust of bread; for while the old gentleman +is launching out into such prodigious expenses on a great scale,--making +heathenish temples, and spoiling the fine old house with his new picture +gallery and nonsense,--he is so close in small matters, that I warrant +not a candle-end escapes him; griping and pinching and squeezing with +one hand, and scattering money, as if it were dirt, with the other,--and +all for that cross, ugly, deformed, little whippersnapper of a son. +‘Odious and vulgar,’ indeed! What shocking language! Mr. Algernon +Mordaunt would never have made use of such words, I know. And, bless me, +now I think of it, I wonder where that poor gentleman is. The young heir +here is not long for this world, I can see; and who knows but what Mr. +Algernon may be in great distress; and I am sure, as far as four hundred +pounds, or even a thousand, go, I would not mind lending it him, only +upon the post-obits of Squire Vavasour and his hopeful. I like doing a +kind thing; and Mr. Algernon was always very good to me; and I am sure +I don’t care about the security, though I think it will be as sure as +sixpence; for the old gentleman must be past sixty, and the young one is +the worse life of the two. And when he’s gone, what relation so near as +Mr. Algernon? We should help one another; it is but one’s duty: and +if he is in great distress he would not mind a handsome premium. Well, +nobody can say Morris Brown is not as charitable as the best Christian +breathing; and, as the late Lady Waddilove very justly observed, ‘Brown, +believe me, a prudent risk is the surest gain!’ I will lose no time in +finding the late squire out.” + +Muttering over these reflections, Mr. Brown took his way to the +steward’s room. + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + + Clar.--How, two letters?--The Lover’s Progress. LETTER FROM + CLARENCE LINDEN, ESQ., TO THE DUKE OF HAVERFIELD. HOTEL ----, + CALAIS. + +My Dear Duke,--After your kind letter, you will forgive me for not +having called upon you before I left England, for you have led me to +hope that I may dispense with ceremony towards you; and, in sad and +sober earnest, I was in no mood to visit even you during the few days +I was in London, previous to my departure. Some French philosopher has +said that, ‘the best compliment we can pay our friends, when in sickness +or misfortune, is to avoid them.’ I will not say how far I disagree +with this sentiment, but I know that a French philosopher will be an +unanswerable authority with you; and so I will take shelter even under +the battery of an enemy. + +I am waiting here for some days in expectation of Lord Aspeden’s +arrival. Sick as I was of England and all that has lately occurred to +me there, I was glad to have an opportunity of leaving it sooner than my +chief could do; and I amuse myself very indifferently in this dull town, +with reading all the morning, plays all the evening, and dreams of my +happier friends all the night. + +And so you are sorry that I did not destroy Lord Borodaile. My dear +duke, you would have been much more sorry if I had! What could you +then have done for a living Pasquin for your stray lampoons and vagrant +sarcasms? Had an unfortunate bullet carried away-- + + “That peer of England, pillar of the state,” + +as you term him, pray on whom could ‘Duke Humphrey unfold his +griefs’?--Ah, Duke, better as it is, believe me; and, whenever you +are at a loss for a subject for wit, you will find cause to bless my +forbearance, and congratulate yourself upon the existence of its object. + +Dare I hope that, amidst all the gayeties which court you, you will +find time to write to me? If so, you shall have in return the earliest +intelligence of every new soprano, and the most elaborate criticisms on +every budding figurante of our court. + +Have you met Trollolop lately, and in what new pursuit are his +intellectual energies engaged? There, you see, I have fairly entrapped +your Grace into a question which common courtesy will oblige you to +answer. + +Adieu, ever, my dear Duke. Most truly yours, etc. + + + +LETTER FROM THE DUKE OF HAVERFIELD TO CLARENCE LINDEN, ESQ. + +A thousand thanks, mon cher, for your letter, though it was certainly +less amusing and animated than I could have wished it for your sake, as +well as my own; yet it could not have been more welcomely received, +had it been as witty as your conversation itself. I heard that you had +accepted the place of secretary to Lord Aspeden, and that you had +passed through London on your way to the Continent, looking (the amiable +Callythorpe, ‘who never flatters,’ is my authority) more like a ghost +than yourself. So you may be sure, my dear Linden, that I was very +anxious to be convinced under your own hand of your carnal existence. + +Take care of yourself, my good fellow, and don’t imagine, as I am apt +to do, that youth is like my hunter, Fearnought, and will carry you +over everything. In return for your philosophical maxim, I will give +you another. “In age we should remember that we have been young, and in +youth that we are to be old.” Ehem!--am I not profound as a moralist? I +think a few such sentences would become my long face well; and, to say +truth, I am tired of being witty; every one thinks he can be that: so I +will borrow Trollolop’s philosophy,--take snuff, wear a wig out of curl, +and grow wise instead of merry. + +A propos of Trollolop; let me not forget that you honour him with your +inquiries. I saw him three days since, and he asked me if I had been +impressed lately with the idea vulgarly called Clarence Linden; and he +then proceeded to inform me that he had heard the atoms which composed +your frame were about to be resolved into a new form. While I was +knitting my brows very wisely at this intelligence, he passed on to +apprise me that I had neither length, breadth, nor extension, nor +anything but mind. Flattered by so delicate a compliment to my +understanding, I yielded my assent: and he then shifted his ground, +and told me that there was no such thing as mind; that we were but +modifications of matter; and that, in a word, I was all body. I took +advantage of this doctrine, and forthwith removed my modification of +matter from his. + +Findlater has just lost his younger brother in a duel. You have no idea +how shocking it was. Sir Christopher one day heard his brother, who had +just entered the ---- Dragoons, ridiculed for his want of spirit, by +Major Elton, who professed to be the youth’s best friend. The honest +heart of our worthy baronet was shocked beyond measure at this perfidy, +and the next time his brother mentioned Elton’s name with praise, out +came the story. You may guess the rest: young Findlater called out +Elton, who shot him through the lungs! “I did it for the best,” cried +Sir Christopher. + +La pauvre petite Meronville! What an Ariadne! Just as I was thinking +to play the Bacchus to your Theseus, up steps an old gentleman from +Yorkshire, who hears it is fashionable to marry bonas robas, proposes +honourable matrimony, and deprives me and the world of La Meronville! +The wedding took place on Monday last, and the happy pair set out to +their seat in the North. Verily, we shall have quite a new race in the +next generation; I expect all the babes will skip into the world with a +pas de zephyr, singing in sweet trebles,-- + + “Little dancing loves we are! + Who the deuce is our papa?” + +I think you will be surprised to hear that Lord Borodaile is beginning +to thaw; I saw him smile the other day! Certainly, we are not so near +the North Pole as we were! He is going, and so am I, in the course of +the autumn, to your old friends the Westboroughs. Report says that he is +un peu epris de la belle Flore; but, then, Report is such a liar! For my +own part I always contradict her. + +I eagerly embrace your offer of correspondence, and assure you that +there are few people by whose friendship I conceive myself so much +honoured as by yours. You will believe this; for you know that, like +Callythorpe, I never flatter. Farewell for the present. + +Sincerely yours, HAVERFIELD. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + + Q. Eliz.--Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? + K. Rich.--Ay, if the devil tempt thee to do good. + Q. Eliz.--Shall I forget myself to be myself?--SHAKSPEARE. + +It wanted one hour to midnight, as Crauford walked slowly to the lonely +and humble street where he had appointed his meeting with Glendower. It +was a stormy and fearful night. The day had been uncommonly sultry, and, +as it died away, thick masses of cloud came labouring along the air, +which lay heavy and breathless, as if under a spell,--as if in those +dense and haggard vapours the rider of the storm sat, like an incubus, +upon the atmosphere beneath, and paralyzed the motion and wholesomeness +of the sleeping winds. And about the hour of twilight, or rather when +twilight should have been, instead of its quiet star, from one obscure +corner of the heavens flashed a solitary gleam of lightning, lingered a +moment,-- + + “And ere a man had power to say, Behold! + The jaws of darkness did devour it up.” + +But then, as if awakened from a torpor by a signal universally +acknowledged, from the courts and quarters of heaven, came, blaze after +blaze, and peal upon peal, the light and voices of the Elements when +they walk abroad. The rain fell not: all was dry and arid; the mood of +Nature seemed not gentle enough for tears; and the lightning, livid and +forked, flashed from the sullen clouds with a deadly fierceness, made +trebly perilous by the panting drought and stagnation of the air. The +streets were empty and silent, as if the huge city had been doomed and +delivered to the wrath of the tempest; and ever and anon the lightnings +paused upon the housetops, shook and quivered as if meditating their +stroke, and then, baffled as it were, by some superior and guardian +agency, vanished into their gloomy tents, and made their next descent +from some opposite corner of the skies. + +It was a remarkable instance of the force with which a cherished object +occupies the thoughts, and of the all-sufficiency of the human mind to +itself, the slowness and unconsciousness of danger with which Crauford, +a man luxurious as well as naturally timid, moved amidst the angry fires +of heaven and brooded, undisturbed and sullenly serene, over the project +at his heart. + +“A rare night for our meeting,” thought he; “I suppose he will not fail +me. Now let me con over my task. I must not tell him all yet. Such babes +must be led into error before they can walk: just a little inkling will +suffice, a glimpse into the arcana of my scheme. Well, it is indeed +fortunate that I met him, for verily I am surrounded with danger, and a +very little delay in the assistance I am forced to seek might exalt me +to a higher elevation than the peerage.” + +Such was the meditation of this man, as with a slow, shufling walk, +characteristic of his mind, he proceeded to the appointed spot. + +A cessation of unusual length in the series of the lightnings, and the +consequent darkness, against which the dull and scanty lamps vainly +struggled, prevented Crauford and another figure approaching from the +opposite quarter seeing each other till they almost touched. Crauford +stopped abruptly. + +“Is it you?” said he. + +“It is a man who has outlived fortune!” answered Glendower, in the +exaggerated and metaphorical language which the thoughts of men who +imagine warmly, and are excited powerfully, so often assume. + +“Then,” rejoined Crauford, “you are the more suited for my purpose. +A little urging of necessity behind is a marvellous whetter of the +appetite to danger before, he! he!” And as he said this, his low +chuckling laugh jarringly enough contrasted with the character of the +night and his companion. + +Glendower replied not: a pause ensued; and the lightning which, +spreading on a sudden from east to west, hung over the city a burning +and ghastly canopy, showed the face of each to the other, working and +almost haggard as it was with the conception of dark thoughts, and +rendered wan and unearthly by the spectral light in which it was beheld. +“It is an awful night,” said Glendower. + +“True,” answered Crauford, “a very awful night; but we are all safe +under the care of Providence. Jesus! what a flash! Think you it is a +favourable opportunity for our conversation?” + +“Why not?” said Glendower; “what have the thunders and wrath of Heaven +to do with us?” + +“H-e-m! h-e-m! God sees all things,” rejoined Crauford, “and avenges +Himself on the guilty by His storms!” + +“Ay; but those are the storms of the heart! I tell you that even the +innocent may have that within to which the loudest tempests without are +peace! But guilt, you say; what have we to do with guilt?” + +Crauford hesitated, and, avoiding any reply to this question, drew +Glendower’s arm within his own, and in a low half-whispered tone said,-- + +“Glendower, survey mankind; look with a passionless and unprejudiced eye +upon the scene which moves around us: what do you see anywhere but the +same re-acted and eternal law of Nature,--all, all preying upon each +other? Or if there be a solitary individual who refrains, he is as a man +without a common badge, without a marriage garment, and the rest trample +him under foot! Glendower, you are such a man! Now hearken, I will +deceive you not; I honour you too much to beguile you, even to your +own good. I own to you, fairly and at once, that in the scheme I shall +unfold to you, there may be something repugnant, to the factitious +and theoretical principles of education,--something hostile to the +prejudices, though not to the reasonings, of the mind; but--” + +“Hold!” said Glendower, abruptly, pausing and fixing his bold and +searching eye upon the tempter; “hold! there will be no need of argument +or refinement in this case: tell me at once your scheme, and at once I +will accept or reject it!” + +“Gently,” said Crauford; “to all deeds of contract there is a preamble. +Listen to me yet further: when I have ceased, I will listen to you. It +is in vain that you place man in cities; it is in vain that you fetter +him with laws; it is in vain that you pour into his mind the light of an +imperfect morality, of a glimmering wisdom, of an ineffectual religion: +in all places he is the same,--the same savage and crafty being, who +makes the passions which rule himself the tools of his conquest +over others! There is in all creation but one evident +law,--self-preservation! Split it as you like into hairbreadths and +atoms, it is still fundamentally and essentially unaltered. Glendower, +that self-preservation is our bond now. Of myself I do not at present +speak; I refer only to you: self-preservation commands you to place +implicit confidence in me; it impels you to abjure indigence, by +accepting the proposal I am about to make to you.” + +“You, as yet, speak enigmas,” said Glendower; “but they are sufficiently +clear to tell me their sense is not such as I have heard you utter.” + +“You are right. Truth is not always safe,--safe either to others, or to +ourselves! But I dare open to you now my real heart: look in it; I dare +to say that you will behold charity, benevolence, piety to God, love and +friendship at this moment to yourself; but I own, also, that you will +behold there a determination--which to me seems courage--not to be the +only idle being in the world, where all are busy; or, worse still, to be +the only one engaged in a perilous and uncertain game, and yet shunning +to employ all the arts of which he is master. I will own to you that, +long since, had I been foolishly inert, I should have been, at this +moment, more penniless and destitute than yourself. I live happy, +respected, wealthy! I enjoy in their widest range the blessings of life. +I dispense those blessings to others. Look round the world: whose name +stands fairer than mine? whose hand relieves more of human distresses? +whose tongue preaches purer doctrines? None, Glendower, none. I offer to +you means not dissimilar to those I have chosen, fortunes not unequal to +those I possess. Nothing but the most unjustifiable fastidiousness will +make you hesitate to accept my offer.” + +“You cannot expect that I have met you this night with a resolution to +be unjustifiably fastidious,” said Glendower, with a hollow and cold +smile. + +Crauford did not immediately answer, for he was considering whether +it was yet the time for disclosing the important secret. While he was +deliberating, the sullen clouds began to break from their suspense. +A double darkness gathered around, and a few large drops fell on the +ground in token of a more general discharge about to follow from the +floodgates of heaven. The two men moved onward, and took shelter under +an old arch. Crauford first broke silence. “Hist!” said he, “hist! do +you hear anything?” + +“Yes! I heard the winds and the rain, and the shaking houses, and the +plashing pavements, and the reeking housetops,--nothing more.” + +Looking long and anxiously around to certify himself that none was +indeed the witness of their conference, Crauford approached close to +Glendower and laid his hand heavily upon his arm. At that moment a vivid +and lengthened flash of lightning shot through the ruined arch, and gave +to Crauford’s countenance a lustre which Glendower almost started to +behold. The face, usually so smooth, calm, bright in complexion, and +almost inexpressive from its extreme composure, now agitated by the +excitement of the moment, and tinged by the ghastly light of the skies, +became literally fearful. The cold blue eye glared out from its socket; +the lips blanched, and, parting in act to speak, showed the white +glistening teeth; and the corners of the mouth, drawn down in a half +sneer, gave to the cheeks, rendered green and livid by the lightning, a +lean and hollow appearance contrary to their natural shape. + +“It is,” said Crauford, in a whispered but distinct tone, “a perilous +secret that I am about to disclose to you. I indeed have no concern +in it, but my lords the judges have, and you will not therefore be +surprised if I forestall the ceremonies of their court and require an +oath.” + +Then, his manner and voice suddenly changing into an earnest and deep +solemnity, as excitement gave him an eloquence more impressive, because +unnatural to his ordinary moments, he continued: “By those lightnings +and commotions above; by the heavens in which they revel in their +terrible sports; by the earth, whose towers they crumble, and herbs +they blight, and creatures they blast into cinders at their will; by Him +whom, whatever be the name He bears, all men in the living world worship +and tremble before; by whatever is sacred in this great and mysterious +universe, and at the peril of whatever can wither and destroy and +curse,--swear to preserve inviolable and forever the secret I shall +whisper in your ear!” + +The profound darkness which now, in the pause of the lightning, wrapped +the scene, hid from Crauford all sight of the effect he had produced, +and even the very outline of Glendower’s figure; but the gloom made more +distinct the voice which thrilled through it upon Crauford’s ear. + +“Promise me that there is not dishonour, nor crime, which is dishonour, +in this confidence, and I swear.” + +Crauford ground his teeth. He was about to reply impetuously, but he +checked himself. “I am not going,” thought he, “to communicate my own +share of this plot, but merely to state that a plot does exist, and +then to point out in what manner he can profit by it; so far, therefore, +there is no guilt in his concealment, and, consequently, no excuse for +him to break his vow.” + +Rapidly running over this self-argument, he said aloud, “I promise!” + +“And,” rejoined Glendower, “I swear!” + +At the close of this sentence another flash of lightning again made +darkness visible, and Glendower, beholding the countenance of his +companion, again recoiled: for its mingled haggardness and triumph +seemed to his excited imagination the very expression of a fiend! +“Now,” said Crauford, relapsing into his usual careless tone, somewhat +enlivened by his sneer, “now, then, you must not interrupt me in my +disclosure by those starts and exclamations which break from your +philosophy like sparks from flint. Hear me throughout.” + +And, bending down, till his mouth reached Glendower’s ear, he commenced +his recital. Artfully hiding his own agency, the master-spring of +the gigantic machinery of fraud, which, too mighty for a single hand, +required an assistant,--throwing into obscurity the sin, while, knowing +the undaunted courage and desperate fortunes of the man, he did not +affect to conceal the danger; expatiating upon the advantages, the +immense and almost inexhaustible resources of wealth which his scheme +suddenly opened upon one in the deepest abyss of poverty, and slightly +sketching, as if to excite vanity, the ingenuity and genius by which the +scheme originated, and could only be sustained,--Crauford’s detail of +temptation, in its knowledge of human nature, in its adaptation of +act to principles, in its web-like craft of self-concealment, and the +speciousness of its lure, was indeed a splendid masterpiece of villanous +invention. + +But while Glendower listened, and his silence flattered Crauford’s +belief of victory, not for one single moment did a weak or yielding +desire creep around his heart. Subtly as the scheme was varnished, and +scarce a tithe of its comprehensive enormity unfolded, the strong and +acute mind of one long accustomed to unravel sophistry and gaze on the +loveliness of truth, saw at once that the scheme proposed was of the +most unmingled treachery and baseness. Sick, chilled, withering at +heart, Glendower leaned against the damp wall; as every word which the +tempter fondly imagined was irresistibly confirming his purpose, tore +away the last prop to which, in the credulity of hope, the student had +clung, and mocked while it crushed the fondness of his belief. + +Crauford ceased, and stretched forth his hand to grasp Glendower’s. He +felt it not. “You do not speak, my friend,” said he; “do you deliberate, +or have you not decided?” Still no answer came. Surprised, and half +alarmed, he turned round, and perceived by a momentary flash of +lightning, that Glendower had risen and was moving away towards the +mouth of the arch. + +“Good Heavens! Glendower,” cried Crauford, “where are you going?” + +“Anywhere,” cried Glendower, in a sudden paroxysm of indignant passion, +“anywhere in this great globe of suffering, so that the agonies of my +human flesh and heart are not polluted by the accents of crime! And such +crime! Why, I would rather go forth into the highways, and win bread by +the sharp knife and the death-struggle, than sink my soul in such mire +and filthiness of sin. Fraud! fraud! treachery! Merciful Father! what +can be my state, when these are supposed to tempt me!” + +Astonished and aghast, Crauford remained rooted to the spot. + +“Oh!” continued Glendower, and his noble nature was wrung to the utmost; +“Oh, MAN, MAN! that I should have devoted my best and freshest years to +the dream of serving thee! In my boyish enthusiasm, in my brief day of +pleasure and of power, in the intoxication of love, in the reverse of +fortune, in the squalid and obscure chambers of degradation and poverty, +that one hope animated, cheered, sustained me through all! In temptation +did this hand belie, or in sickness did this brain forego, or in misery +did this heart forget, thy great and advancing cause? In the wide world, +is there one being whom I have injured, even in thought; one being who, +in the fellowship of want, should not have drunk of my cup, or broken +with me the last morsel of my bread?--and now, now, is it come to this?” + +And, hiding his face with his hands, he gave way to a violence of +feeling before which the weaker nature of Crauford stood trembling +and abashed. It lasted not long; he raised his head from its drooping +posture, and, as he stood at the entrance of the arch, a prolonged flash +from the inconstant skies shone full upon his form. Tall, erect, still, +the gloomy and ruined walls gave his colourless countenance and haughty +stature in bold and distinct relief; all trace of the past passion had +vanished: perfectly calm and set, his features borrowed even dignity +from their marble paleness, and the marks of suffering which the last +few months had writ in legible characters on the cheek and brow. Seeking +out, with an eye to which the intolerable lightnings seemed to have lent +something of their fire, the cowering and bended form of his companion, +he said,-- + +“Go home, miserable derider of the virtue you cannot understand; go to +your luxurious and costly home; go and repine that human nature is not +measured by your mangled and crippled laws: amidst men, yet more fallen +than I am, hope to select your victim; amidst prisons, and hovels, and +roofless sheds; amidst rags and destitution, and wretches made mad by +hunger, hope that you may find a villain. I leave you to that hope, +and--to remembrance!” + +As Glendower moved away, Crauford recovered himself. Rendered desperate +by the vital necessity of procuring some speedy aid in his designs, and +not yet perfectly persuaded of the fallacy of his former judgment, he +was resolved not to suffer Glendower thus easily to depart. Smothering +his feelings by an effort violent even to his habitual hypocrisy, he +sprang forward, and laid his hand upon Glendower’s shoulder. + +“Stay, stay,” said he, in a soothing and soft voice; “you have wronged +me greatly. I pardon your warmth,--nay, I honour it; but hereafter you +will repent your judgment of me. At least, do justice to my intentions. +Was I an actor in the scheme proposed to you? what was it to me? Was +I in the smallest degree to be benefited by it? Could I have any other +motive than affection for you? If I erred, it was from a different view +of the question; but is it not the duty of a friend to find expedients +for distress, and to leave to the distressed person the right of +accepting or rejecting them? But let this drop forever: partake of my +fortune; be my adopted brother. Here, I have hundreds about me at this +moment; take them all, and own at least that I meant you well.” + +Feeling that Glendower, who at first had vainly endeavoured to shake off +his hand, now turned towards him, though at the moment it was too dark +to see his countenance, the wily speaker continued, “Yes, Glendower, if +by that name I must alone address you, take all I have: there is no one +in this world dearer to me than you are. I am a lonely and disappointed +man, without children or ties. I sought out a friend who might be my +brother in life and my heir in death. I found you: be that to me!” + +“I am faint and weak,” said Glendower, slowly, “and I believe my senses +cannot be clear; but a minute since, and you spoke at length, and with a +terrible distinctness, words which it polluted my very ear to catch, +and now you speak as if you loved me. Will it please you to solve the +riddle?” + +“The truth is this,” said Crauford: “I knew your pride; I feared you +would not accept a permanent pecuniary aid, even from friendship. I was +driven, therefore, to devise some plan of independence for you. I could +think of no plan but that which I proposed. You speak of it as wicked: +it may be so; but it seemed not wicked to me. I may have formed a +wrong--I own it is a peculiar--system of morals; but it is, at least, +sincere. Judging of my proposal by that system, I saw no sin in it. I +saw, too, much less danger than, in the honesty of my heart, I spoke of. +In a similar distress, I solemnly swear, I myself would have adopted +a similar relief. Nor is this all; the plan proposed would have placed +thousands in your power. Forgive me if I thought your life, and the +lives of those most dear to you, of greater value than these sums to the +persons defrauded, ay, defrauded, if you will: forgive me if I thought +that with these thousands you would effect far more good to the +community than their legitimate owners. Upon these grounds, and on +some others, too tedious now to state, I justified my proposal to my +conscience. Pardon me, I again beseech you: accept my last proposal; be +my partner, my friend, my heir; and forget a scheme never proposed +to you, if I had hoped (what I hope now) that you would accept the +alternative which it is my pride to offer, and which you are not +justified, even by pride, to refuse.” + +“Great Source of all knowledge!” ejaculated Glendower, scarce audibly, +and to himself. “Supreme and unfathomable God! dost Thou most loathe +or pity Thine abased creatures, walking in their dim reason upon this +little earth, and sanctioning fraud, treachery, crime, upon a principle +borrowed from Thy laws? Oh! when, when will Thy full light of wisdom +travel down to us, and guilt and sorrow, and this world’s evil +mysteries, roll away like vapours before the blaze?” + +“I do not hear you, my friend,” said Crauford. “Speak aloud; you will, I +feel you will, accept my offer, and become my brother!” + +“Away!” said Glendower; “I will not.” + +“He wanders; his brain is touched!” muttered Crauford, and then resumed +aloud, “Glendower, we are both unfit for talk at present; both unstrung +by our late jar. You will meet me again to-morrow, perhaps. I will +accompany you now to your door.” + +“Not a step: our paths are different.” + +“Well, well, if you will have it so, be it as you please. I have +offended: you have a right to punish me, and play the churl to-night; +but your address?” + +“Yonder,” said Glendower, pointing to the heavens. “Come to me a month +hence, and you will find me there!” + +“Nay, nay, my friend, your brain is heated; but you leave me? Well, as +I said, your will is mine: at least take some of these paltry notes in +earnest of our bargain; remember when next we meet you will share all I +have.” + +“You remind me,” said Glendower, quietly, “that we have old debts to +settle. When last I saw you, you lent me a certain sum: there it is; +take it; count it; there is but one poor guinea gone. Fear not: even to +the uttermost farthing you shall be repaid.” + +“Why, why, this is unkind, ungenerous. Stay, stay,--” but, waving +his hand impatiently, Glendower darted away, and passing into another +street, the darkness effectually closed upon his steps. + +“Fool! fool! that I am,” cried Crauford, stamping vehemently on the +ground; “in what point did my wit fail me, that I could not win one whom +very hunger had driven into my net? But I must yet find him; and I will; +the police shall be set to work: these half confidences may ruin me. +And how deceitful he has proved: to talk more diffidently than a whining +harlot upon virtue, and yet be so stubborn upon trial! Dastard that I +am, too, as well as fool: I felt sunk into the dust by his voice. But +pooh, I must have him yet; your worst villains make the most noise about +the first step. True that I cannot storm, but I will undermine. But, +wretch that I am, I must win him or another soon, or I perish on a +gibbet. Out, base thought!” + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + + Formam quidem ipsam, Marce fili, et tanquam faciem honesti + video: quae, si oculis cerneretur, mirabiles amores (ut ait + Plato) excitaret sapientia.--TULLY. + +[“Son Marcus, you seethe form and as it were the face of Virtue: that +Wisdom, which if it could be perceived by the eyes, would (as Plato +saith) kindle absolute and marvellous affection.”] + +It was almost dawn when Glendower returned to his home. Fearful of +disturbing his wife, he stole with mute steps to the damp and rugged +chamber, where the last son of a princely line, and the legitimate +owner of lands and halls which ducal rank might have envied, held his +miserable asylum. The first faint streaks of coming light broke through +the shutterless and shattered windows, and he saw that she reclined in +a deep sleep upon the chair beside their child’s couch. She would not go +to bed herself till Glendower returned, and she had sat up, watching and +praying, and listening for his footsteps, till, in the utter exhaustion +of debility and sickness, sleep had fallen upon her. Glendower bent over +her. + +“Sleep,” said he, “sleep on! The wicked do not come to thee now. Thou +art in a world that has no fellowship with this,--a world from which +even happiness is not banished! Nor woe nor pain, nor memory of the +past nor despair of all before thee, make the characters of thy present +state! Thou forestallest the forgetfulness of the grave, and thy heart +concentrates all earth’s comfort in one word,--‘Oblivion! ‘Beautiful, +how beautiful thou art even yet! that smile, that momentary blush, years +have not conquered them. They are as when, my young bride, thou didst +lean first upon my bosom, and dream that sorrow was no more! And I have +brought thee unto this! These green walls make thy bridal chamber, yon +fragments of bread thy bridal board. Well! it is no matter! thou art on +thy way to a land where all things, even a breaking heart, are at rest. +I weep not; wherefore should I weep? Tears are not for the dead, but +their survivors. I would rather see thee drop inch by inch into the +grave, and smile as I beheld it, than save thee for an inheritance of +sin. What is there in this little and sordid life that we should strive +to hold it? What in this dreadful dream that we should fear to wake?” + +And Glendower knelt beside his wife, and, despite his words, tears +flowed fast and gushingly down his cheeks; and wearied as he was, he +watched upon her slumbers, till they fell from the eyes to which his +presence was more joyous than the day. + +It was a beautiful thing, even in sorrow, to see that couple, whom want +could not debase, nor misfortune, which makes even generosity selfish, +divorce! All that Fate had stripped from the poetry and graces of life, +had not shaken one leaf from the romance of their green and unwithered +affections! They were the very type of love in its holiest and most +enduring shape: their hearts had grown together; their being had flowed +through caves and deserts, and reflected the storms of an angry Heaven; +but its waters had indissolubly mingled into one! Young, gifted, noble, +and devoted, they were worthy victims of this blighting and bitter +world! Their garden was turned into a wilderness; but, like our first +parents, it was hand in hand that they took their solitary way! Evil +beset them, but they swerved not; the rains and the winds fell upon +their unsheltered beads, but they were not bowed; and through the mazes +and briers of this weary life, their bleeding footsteps strayed not, +for they had a clew! The mind seemed, as it were, to become visible and +external as the frame decayed, and to cover the body with something of +its own invulnerable power; so that whatever should have attacked the +mortal and frail part, fell upon that which, imperishable and divine, +resisted and subdued it! + +It was unfortunate for Glendower that he never again met Wolfe: for +neither fanaticism of political faith, nor sternness of natural temper, +subdued in the republican the real benevolence and generosity which +redeemed and elevated his character; nor could any impulse of party zeal +have induced him, like Crauford, systematically to take advantage of +poverty in order to tempt to participation in his schemes. From a more +evil companion Glendower had not yet escaped: Crauford, by some means or +other, found out his abode, and lost no time in availing himself of the +discovery. In order fully to comprehend his unwearied persecution of +Glendower, it must constantly be remembered that to this persecution +he was bound by a necessity which, urgent, dark, and implicating life +itself, rendered him callous to every obstacle and unsusceptible of all +remorse. With the exquisite tact which he possessed, he never openly +recurred to his former proposal of fraud: he contented himself with +endeavouring to persuade Glendower to accept pecuniary assistance, but +in vain. The veil once torn from his character no craft could restore. +Through all his pretences and sevenfold hypocrisy Glendower penetrated +at once into his real motives: he was not to be duped by assurances of +friendship which he knew the very dissimilarities between their natures +rendered impossible. He had seen at the first, despite all allegations +to the contrary, that in the fraud Crauford had proposed, that person +could by no means be an uninfluenced and cold adviser. In after +conversations, Crauford, driven by the awful interest he had in +success from his usual consummateness of duplicity, betrayed in various +important minutiae how deeply he was implicated in the crime for which +he had argued; and not even the visible and progressive decay of his +wife and child could force the stern mind of Glendower into accepting +those wages of iniquity which he knew well were only offered as an +earnest or a snare. + +There is a royalty in extreme suffering, when the mind falls not with +the fortunes, which no hardihood of vice can violate unabashed. Often +and often, humble and defeated through all his dissimulation, was +Crauford driven from the presence of the man whom it was his bitterest +punishment to fear most when most he affected to despise; and as often, +re-collecting his powers and fortifying himself in his experience of +human frailty when sufficiently tried, did he return to his attempts. +He waylaid the door and watched the paths of his intended prey. He knew +that the mind which even best repels temptation first urged hath +seldom power to resist the same suggestion, if daily--dropping, +unwearying--presenting itself in every form, obtruded in every hour, +losing its horror by custom, and finding in the rebellious bosom itself +its smoothest vizard and most alluring excuse. And it was, indeed, a +mighty and perilous trial to Glendower, when rushing from the presence +of his wife and child, when fainting under accumulated evils, when +almost delirious with sickening and heated thought, to hear at each +prompting of the wrung and excited nature, each heave of the black +fountain that in no mortal breast is utterly exhausted, one smooth, +soft, persuasive voice forever whispering, “Relief!”--relief, certain, +utter, instantaneous! the voice of one pledged never to relax an +effort or spare a pang, by a danger to himself, a danger of shame +and death,--the voice of one who never spoke but in friendship and +compassion, profound in craft, and a very sage in the disguises with +which language invests deeds. But VIRTUE has resources buried in itself, +which we know not till the invading hour calls them from their retreats. +Surrounded by hosts without, and when Nature itself, turned traitor, is +its most deadly enemy within, it assumes a new and a superhuman power, +which is greater than Nature itself. Whatever be its creed, whatever be +its sect, from whatever segment of the globe its orisons arise, Virtue +is God’s empire, and from His throne of thrones He will defend it. +Though cast into the distant earth, and struggling on the dim arena of a +human heart, all things above are spectators of its conflict or enlisted +in its cause. The angels have their charge over it; the banners of +archangels are on its side; and from sphere to sphere, through the +illimitable ether, and round the impenetrable darkness at the feet of +God, its triumph is hymned by harps which are strung to the glories of +the Creator! + +One evening, when Crauford had joined Glendower in his solitary +wanderings, the dissembler renewed his attacks. + +“But why not,” said he, “accept from my friendship what to my +benevolence you would deny? I couple with my offers, my prayers +rather, no conditions. How then do you, can you, reconcile it to your +conscience, to suffer your wife and child to perish before your eyes?” + +“Man, man,” said Glendower, “tempt me no more: let them die! At present +the worst is death: what you offer me is dishonour.” + +“Heavens, how uncharitable is this! Can you call the mere act of +accepting money from one who loves you dishonour?” + +“It is in vain that you varnish your designs,” said Glendower, stopping +and fixing his eyes upon him. “Do you not think that cunning ever +betrays itself? In a thousand words, in a thousand looks which have +escaped you, but not me, I know that, if there be one being on this +earth whom you hate and would injure, that being is myself. Nay, +start not: listen to me patiently. I have sworn that it is the last +opportunity you shall have. I will not subject myself to farther +temptation: I am now sane; but there are things which may drive me mad, +and in madness you might conquer. You hate me it is out of the nature of +earthly things that you should not. But even were it otherwise, do you +think that I could believe you would come from your voluptuous home to +these miserable retreats; that, among the lairs of beggary and theft, +you would lie in wait to allure me to forsake poverty, without a +stronger motive than love for one who affects it not for you? I know +you: I have read your heart; I have penetrated into that stronger +motive; it is your own safety. In the system of atrocity you proposed +to me, you are the principal. You have already bared to me enough of +the extent to which that system reaches to convince me that a single +miscreant, however ingenious, cannot, unassisted, support it with +impunity. You want help: I am he in whom you have dared to believe that +you could find it. You are detected; now be undeceived!” + +“Is it so?” said Crauford; and as he saw that it was no longer possible +to feign, the poison of his heart broke forth in its full venom. The +fiend rose from the reptile, and stood exposed in its natural shape. +Returning Glendower’s stern but lofty gaze with an eye to which all evil +passions lent their unholy fire, he repeated, “Is it so? then you are +more penetrating than I thought; but it is indifferent to me. It was for +your sake, not mine, most righteous man, that I wished you might have +a disguise to satisfy the modesty of your punctilios. It is all one to +Richard Crauford whether you go blindfold or with open eyes into his +snare. Go you must, and shall. Ay, frowns will not awe me. You have +desired the truth: you shall have it. You are right: I hate you,--hate +you with a soul whose force of hatred you cannot dream of. Your pride, +your stubbornness, your coldness of heart, which things that would stir +the blood of beggars cannot warm; your icy and passionless virtue,--I +hate, I hate all! You are right also, most wise inquisitor, in supposing +that in the scheme proposed to you, I am the principal: I am! You were +to be the tool, and shall. I have offered you mild inducements,--pleas +to soothe the technicalities of your conscience: you have rejected them; +be it so. Now choose between my first offer and the gibbet. Ay, the +gibbet! That night on which we made the appointment which shall not yet +be in vain,--on that night you stopped me in the street; you demanded +money; you robbed me; I will swear; I will prove it. Now, then, tremble, +man of morality: dupe of your own strength, you are in my power; +tremble! Yet in my safety is your escape: I am generous. I repeat my +original offer,--wealth, as great as you will demand, or--the gibbet, +the gibbet: do I speak loud enough? do you hear?” + +“Poor fool!” said Glendower, laughing scornfully and moving away. But +when Crauford, partly in mockery, partly in menace, placed his hand upon +Glendower’s shoulder, as if to stop him, the touch seemed to change his +mood from scorn to fury; turning abruptly round, he seized the +villain’s throat with a giant’s strength, and cried out, while his whole +countenance worked beneath the tempestuous wrath within, “What if I +squeeze out thy poisonous life from thee this moment!” and then once +more bursting into a withering laughter, as he surveyed the terror which +he had excited, he added, “No, no: thou art too vile!” and, dashing the +hypocrite against the wall of a neighbouring house, he strode away. + +Recovering himself slowly, and trembling with rage and fear, Crauford +gazed round, expecting yet to find he had sported too far with the +passions he had sought to control. When, however, he had fully satisfied +himself that Glendower was gone, all his wrathful and angry feelings +returned with redoubled force. But their most biting torture was the +consciousness of their impotence. For after the first paroxysm of rage +had subsided he saw, too clearly, that his threat could not be executed +without incurring the most imminent danger of discovery. High as his +character stood, it was possible that no charge against him might excite +suspicion, but a word might cause inquiry, and inquiry would be ruin. +Forced, therefore, to stomach his failure, his indignation, his shame, +his hatred, and his vengeance, his own heart became a punishment almost +adequate to his vices. + +“But my foe will die,” said he, clinching his fist so firmly that the +nails almost brought blood from the palm; “he will starve, famish, and +see them--his wife, his child--perish first! I shall have my triumph, +though I shall not witness it. But now, away to my villa: there, at +least, will be some one whom I can mock and beat and trample, if I will! +Would--would--would that I were that very man, destitute as he is! His +neck, at least, is safe: if he dies, it will not be upon the gallows, +nor among the hootings of the mob! Oh, horror! horror! What are my +villa, my wine, my women, with that black thought ever following me like +a shadow? Who, who while an avalanche is sailing over him, who would sit +down to feast?” + +Leaving this man to shun or be overtaken by Fate, we return to +Glendower. It is needless to say that Crauford visited him no more; and, +indeed, shortly afterwards Glendower again changed his home. But +every day and every hour brought new strength to the disease which +was creeping and burning through the veins of the devoted wife; and +Glendower, who saw on earth nothing before them but a jail, from which +as yet they had been miraculously delivered, repined not as he beheld +her approach to a gentler and benigner home. Often he sat, as she was +bending over their child, and gazed upon her cheek with an insane and +fearful joy at the characters which consumption had there engraved; but +when she turned towards him her fond eyes (those deep wells of love, +in which truth lay hid, and which neither languor nor disease could +exhaust), the unnatural hardness of his heart melted away, and he would +rush from the house, to give vent to an agony against which fortitude +and manhood were in vain. + +There was no hope for their distress. His wife had, unknown to Glendower +(for she dreaded his pride), written several times to a relation, who, +though distant, was still the nearest in blood which fate had spared +her, but ineffectually; the scions of a large and illegitimate family, +which surrounded him, utterly prevented the success, and generally +interrupted the application, of any claimant on his riches but +themselves. Glendower, whose temper had ever kept him aloof from all but +the commonest acquaintances, knew no human being to apply to. Utterly +unable to avail himself of the mine which his knowledge and talents +should have proved; sick, and despondent at heart, and debarred by the +loftiness of honour, or rather principle that nothing could quell, from +any unlawful means of earning bread, which to most minds would have been +rendered excusable by the urgency of nature,--Glendower marked the days +drag on in dull and protracted despair, and envied every corpse that he +saw borne to the asylum in which all earth’s hopes seemed centred and +confined. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + + For ours was not like earthly love. + And must this parting be our very last? + No! I shall love thee still when death itself is past. + ...... + Hush’d were his Gertrude’s lips! but still their bland + And beautiful expression seem’d to melt + With love that could not die! and still his hand + She presses to the heart, no more that felt. + Ah, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt. + CAMPBELL. + +“I wonder,” said Mr. Brown to himself, as he spurred his shaggy pony +to a speed very unusual to the steady habits of either party, “I wonder +where I shall find him. I would not for the late Lady Waddilove’s best +diamond cross have any body forestall me in the news. To think of my +young master dying so soon after my last visit, or rather my last visit +but one; and to think of the old gentleman taking on so, and raving +about his injustice to the rightful possessor, and saying that he +is justly punished, and asking me so eagerly if I could discover the +retreat of the late squire, and believing me so implicitly when I +undertook to do it, and giving me this letter!” And here Mr. Brown +wistfully examined an epistle sealed with black wax, peeping into the +corners, which irritated rather than satisfied his curiosity. “I wonder +what the old gentleman says in it; I suppose he will, of course, give up +the estate and house. Let me see; that long picture gallery, just built, +will, at all events, want furnishing. That would be a famous opportunity +to get rid of the Indian jars, and the sofas, and the great Turkey +carpet. How lucky that I should just have come in time to get the +letter. But let me consider how I shall find out?--an advertisement +in the paper? Ah! that’s the plan. ‘Algernon Mordaunt, Esq.: something +greatly to his advantage; apply to Mr. Brown, etc.’ Ah! that will do +well, very well. The Turkey carpet won’t be quite long enough. I wish +I had discovered Mr. Mordaunt’s address before, and lent him some money +during the young gentleman’s life: it would have seemed more generous. +However, I can offer it now, before I show the letter. Bless me, it’s +getting dark. Come, Dobbin, ye-up!” Such were the meditations of the +faithful friend of the late Lady Waddilove, as he hastened to London, +charged with the task of discovering Mordaunt and with the delivery of +the following epistle:-- + +You are now, sir, the heir to that property which, some years ago, +passed from your hands into mine. My son, for whom alone wealth or I may +say life was valuable to me, is no more. I only, an old, childless man, +stand between you and the estates of Mordaunt. Do not wait for my death +to enjoy them. I cannot live here, where everything reminds me of my +great and irreparable loss. I shall remove next month into another home. +Consider this, then, as once more yours. The house, I believe, you will +not find disimproved by my alterations: the mortgages on the estate have +been paid off; the former rental you will perhaps allow my steward to +account to you for, and after my death the present one will be yours. I +am informed that you are a proud man, and not likely to receive favours. +Be it so, sir! it is no favour you will receive, but justice; there are +circumstances connected with my treaty with your father which have of +late vexed my conscience; and conscience, sir, must be satisfied at any +loss. But we shall meet, perhaps, and talk over the past; at present I +will not enlarge on it. If you have suffered by me, I am sufficiently +punished, and my only hope is to repair your losses. + +I am, etc., H. VAVASOUR MORDAUNT. + +Such was the letter, so important to Mordaunt, with which our worthy +friend was charged. Bowed to the dust as Vavasour was by the loss of his +son, and open to conscience as affliction had made him, he had lived +too long for effect, not to be susceptible to its influence, even to the +last. Amidst all his grief, and it was intense, there were some whispers +of self-exaltation at the thought of the eclat which his generosity and +abdication would excite; and, with true worldly morality, the hoped-for +plaudits of others gave a triumph rather than humiliation to his +reconcilement with himself. + +To say truth, there were indeed circumstances connected with his treaty +with Mordaunt’s father calculated to vex his conscience. He knew that he +had not only taken great advantage of Mr. Mordaunt’s distress, but +that at his instigation a paper which could forever have prevented +Mr. Mordaunt’s sale of the property, had been destroyed. These +circumstances, during the life of his son, he had endeavoured to forget +or to palliate. But grief is rarely deaf to remorse; and at the death of +that idolized son the voice at his heart grew imperious, and he lost the +power in losing the motive of reasoning it away. + +Mr. Brown’s advertisement was unanswered; and, with the zeal and +patience of the Christian proselyte’s tribe and calling, the good man +commenced, in person, a most elaborate and painstaking research. For +a long time, his endeavours were so ineffectual that Mr. Brown, in +despair, disposed of the two Indian jars for half their value, and +heaved a despondent sigh, whenever he saw the great Turkey carpet rolled +up in his warehouse with as much obstinacy as if it never meant to +unroll itself again. + +At last, however, by dint of indefatigable and minute investigation, he +ascertained that the object of his search had resided in London, under a +feigned name; from lodging to lodging, and corner to corner, he tracked +him, till at length he made himself master of Mordaunt’s present +retreat. A joyful look did Mr. Brown cast at the great Turkey carpet, +as he passed by it, on his way to his street door, on the morning of his +intended visit to Mordaunt. “It is a fine thing to have a good heart,” + said he, in the true style of Sir Christopher Findlater, and he again +eyed the Turkey carpet. “I really feel quite happy at the thought of the +pleasure I shall give.” + +After a walk through as many obscure and filthy wynds and lanes and +alleys and courts as ever were threaded by some humble fugitive from +justice, the patient Morris came to a sort of court, situated among the +miserable hovels in the vicinity of the Tower. He paused wonderingly at +a dwelling in which every window was broken, and where the tiles, torn +from the roof, lay scattered in forlorn confusion beside the door; where +the dingy bricks looked crumbling away, from very age and rottenness, +and the fabric, which was of great antiquity, seemed so rocking and +infirm that the eye looked upon its distorted and overhanging position +with a sensation of pain and dread; where the very rats had deserted +their loathsome cells from the insecurity of their tenure, and the +ragged mothers of the abject neighbourhood forbade their brawling +children to wander under the threatening walls, lest they should keep +the promise of their mouldering aspect, and, falling, bare to the +obstructed and sickly day the secrets of their prison-house. Girt with +the foul and reeking lairs of that extreme destitution which necessity +urges irresistibly into guilt, and excluded, by filthy alleys and an +eternal atmosphere of smoke and rank vapour, from the blessed sun and +the pure air of heaven, the miserable mansion seemed set apart for every +disease to couch within,--too perilous even for the hunted criminal; +too dreary even for the beggar to prefer it to the bare hedge, or the +inhospitable porch, beneath whose mockery of shelter the frost of winter +had so often numbed him into sleep. + +Thrice did the heavy and silver-headed cane of Mr. Brown resound upon +the door, over which was a curious carving of a lion dormant, and a +date, of which only the two numbers 15 were discernable. Roused by a +note so unusual, and an apparition so unwontedly smug as the worthy +Morris, a whole legion of dingy and smoke-dried brats, came trooping +from the surrounding huts, and with many an elvish cry, and strange +oath, and cabalistic word, which thrilled the respectable marrow of Mr. +Brown, they collected in a gaping, and, to his alarmed eye, a menacing +group, as near to the house as their fears and parents would permit +them. + +“It is very dangerous,” thought Mr. Brown, looking shiveringly up at the +hanging and tottering roof, “and very appalling,” as he turned to the +ragged crowd of infant reprobates which began with every moment to +increase. At last he summoned courage, and inquired, in a tone half +soothing and half dignified, if they could inform him how to obtain +admittance or how to arouse the inhabitants. + +An old crone, leaning out of an opposite window, with matted hair +hanging over a begrimed and shrivelled countenance, made answer. “No +one,” she said, in her peculiar dialect, which the worthy man scarcely +comprehended, “lived there or had done so for years:” but Brown knew +better; and while he was asserting the fact, a girl put her head out of +another hovel, and said that she had sometimes seen, at the dusk of the +evening, a man leave the house, but whether any one else lived in it +she could not tell. Again Mr. Brown sounded an alarm, but no answer came +forth, and in great fear and trembling he applied violent hands to +the door: it required but little force; it gave way; he entered; and, +jealous of the entrance of the mob without, reclosed and barred, as well +as he was able, the shattered door. The house was unnaturally large +for the neighbourhood, and Brown was in doubt whether first to ascend a +broken and perilous staircase or search the rooms below: he decided on +the latter; he found no one, and with a misgiving heart, which nothing +but the recollection of the great Turkey carpet could have inspired, he +ascended the quaking steps. All was silent. But a door was unclosed. He +entered, and saw the object of his search before him. + +Over a pallet bent a form, on which, though youth seemed withered and +even pride broken, the unconquerable soul left somewhat of grace and of +glory, that sustained the beholder’s remembrance of better days; a child +in its first infancy knelt on the nearer side of the bed with clasped +hands, and vacant eyes that turned towards the intruder with a listless +and lacklustre gaze. But Glendower, or rather Mordaunt, as he bent over +the pallet, spoke not, moved not: his eyes were riveted on one object; +his heart seemed turned into stone and his veins curdled into ice. Awed +and chilled by the breathing desolation of the spot, Brown approached, +and spoke he scarcely knew what. “You are,” he concluded his address, +“the master of Mordaunt Court;” and he placed the letter in the hands of +the person he thus greeted. + +“Awake, hear me!” cried Algernon to Isabel, as she lay extended on the +couch; and the messenger of glad tidings, for the first time seeing her +countenance, shuddered, and knew that he was in the chamber of death. + +“Awake, my own, own love! Happy days are in store for us yet: our misery +is past; you will live, live to bless me in riches, as you have done in +want.” + +Isabel raised her eyes to his, and a smile, sweet, comforting, and +full of love, passed the lips which were about to close forever. “Thank +Heaven,” she murmured, “for your dear sake. It is pleasant to die now, +and thus;” and she placed the hand that was clasped in her relaxing and +wan fingers within the bosom which had been for anguished and hopeless +years his asylum and refuge, and which now when fortune changed, as if +it had only breathed in comfort to his afflictions, was for the first +time and forever to be cold,--cold even to him! + +“You will live, you will live,” cried Mordaunt, in wild and incredulous +despair, “in mercy live! You, who have been my angel of hope, do not,--O +God, O God! do not desert me now!” + +But that faithful and loving heart was already deaf to his voice, +and the film grew darkening and rapidly over the eye which still with +undying fondness sought him out through the shade and agony of death. +Sense and consciousness were gone, and dim and confused images whirled +round her soul, struggling a little moment before they sank into the +depth and silence where the past lies buried. But still mindful of him, +and grasping, as it were, at his remembrance, she clasped, closer and +closer, the icy hand which she held, to her breast. “Your hand is cold, +dearest, it is cold,” said she, faintly, “but I will warm it here!” And +so her spirit passed away, and Mordaunt felt afterwards, in a lone and +surviving pilgrimage, that her last thought had been kindness to him, +and that her last act had spoken forgetfulness even of death in the +tenderness of love! + + + + +CHAPTER LIX + + Change and time take together their flight.--Golden Violet. + +One evening in autumn, about three years after the date of our last +chapter, a stranger on horseback, in deep mourning, dismounted at the +door of the Golden Fleece, in the memorable town of W----. He walked +into the taproom, and asked for a private apartment and accommodation +for the night. The landlady, grown considerably plumper than when we +first made her acquaintance, just lifted up her eyes to the stranger’s +face, and summoning a short stout man (formerly the waiter, now the +second helpmate of the comely hostess), desired him, in a tone which +partook somewhat more of the authority indicative of their former +relative situations than of the obedience which should have +characterized their present, “to show the gentleman to the Griffin, No. +4.” + +The stranger smiled as the sound greeted his ears, and he followed +not so much the host as the hostess’s spouse into the apartment thus +designated. A young lady, who some eight years ago little thought that +she should still be in a state of single blessedness, and who always +honoured with an attentive eye the stray travellers who, from their +youth, loneliness, or that ineffable air which usually designates the +unmarried man, might be in the same solitary state of life, turned to +the landlady and said,-- + +“Mother, did you observe what a handsome gentleman that was?” + +“No,” replied the landlady; “I only observed that he brought no servant” + +“I wonder,” said the daughter, “if he is in the army? he has a military +air!” + +“I suppose he has dined,” muttered the landlady to herself, looking +towards the larder. + +“Have you seen Squire Mordaunt within a short period of time?” asked, +somewhat abruptly, a little thick-set man, who was enjoying his pipe and +negus in a sociable way at the window-seat. The characteristics of this +personage were, a spruce wig, a bottle nose, an elevated eyebrow, +a snuff-coloured skin and coat, and an air of that consequential +self-respect which distinguishes the philosopher who agrees with the +French sage, and sees “no reason in the world why a man should not +esteem himself.” + +“No, indeed, Mr. Bossolton,” returned the landlady; “but I suppose that, +as he is now in the Parliament House, he will live less retired. It is +a pity that the inside of that noble old Hall of his should not be more +seen; and after all the old gentleman’s improvements too! They say +that the estate now, since the mortgages were paid off, is above 10,000 +pounds a year, clear!” + +“And if I am not induced into an error,” rejoined Mr. Bossolton, +refilling his pipe, “old Vavasour left a great sum of ready money +besides, which must have been an aid, and an assistance, and an +advantage, mark me, Mistress Merrylack, to the owner of Mordaunt +Hall, that has escaped the calculation of your faculty,--and the--and +the--faculty of your calculation!” + +“You mistake, Mr. Boss,” as, in the friendliness of diminutives, Mrs. +Merrylack sometimes styled the grandiloquent practitioner, “you mistake: +the old gentleman left all his ready money in two bequests,--the one to +the College of ----, in the University of Cambridge, and the other to +an hospital in London. I remember the very words of the will; they ran +thus, Mr. Boss. ‘And whereas my beloved son, had he lived, would have +been a member of the College of ---- in the University of Cambridge, +which he would have adorned by his genius, learning, youthful virtue, +and the various qualities which did equal honour to his head and heart, +and would have rendered him alike distinguished as the scholar and the +Christian, I do devise and bequeath the sum of thirty-seven thousand +pounds sterling, now in the English Funds,’ etc; and then follows the +manner in which he will have his charity vested and bestowed, and +all about the prize which shall be forever designated and termed ‘The +Vavasour Prize,’ and what shall be the words of the Latin speech which +shall be spoken when the said prize be delivered, and a great deal more +to that effect: so, then, he passes to the other legacy, of exactly the +same sum, to the hospital, usually called and styled ----, in the city +of London, and says, ‘And whereas we are assured by the Holy Scriptures, +which, in these days of blasphemy and sedition, it becomes every true +Briton and member of the Established Church to support, that “charity +doth cover a multitude of sins,” so I do give and devise,’ etc., ‘to be +forever termed in the deeds,’ etc., ‘of the said hospital, “The Vavasour +Charity;” and always provided that on the anniversary of the day of +my death a sermon shall be preached in the chapel attached to the +said hospital by a clergyman of the Established Church, on any text +appropriate to the day and deed so commemorated.’ But the conclusion is +most beautiful, Mr. Bossolton: ‘And now having discharged my duties, to +the best of my humble ability, to my God, my king, and my country, +and dying in the full belief of the Protestant Church, as by law +established, I do set my hand and seal,’ etc.” + +“A very pleasing and charitable and devout and virtuous testament or +will, Mistress Merrylack,” said Mr. Bossolton; “and in a time when +anarchy with gigantic strides does devastate and devour and harm the +good old customs of our ancestors and forefathers, and tramples with +its poisonous breath the Magna Charta and the glorious revolution, it +is beautiful, ay, and sweet, mark you, Mrs. Merrylack, to behold +a gentleman of the aristocratic classes or grades supporting the +institutions of his country with such remarkable energy of sentiments +and with--and with, Mistress Merrylack, with sentiments of such +remarkable energy.” + +“Pray,” said the daughter, adjusting her ringlets by a little glass +which hung over the tap, “how long has Mr. Mordaunt’s lady been dead?” + +“Oh! she died just before the squire came to the property,” quoth the +mother. “Poor thing! she was so pretty! I am sure I cried for a whole +hour when I heard it! I think it was three years last month when it +happened. Old Mr. Vavasour died about two months afterwards.” + +“The afflicted husband” (said Mr. Bossolton, who was the victim of a +most fiery Mrs. Boss at home) “went into foreign lands or parts, or, +as it is vulgarly termed, the Continent, immediately after an event or +occurrence so fatal to the cup of his prosperity and the sunshine of his +enjoyment, did he not, Mrs. Merrylack?” + +“He did. And you know, Mr. Boss, he only returned about six months ago.” + +“And of what borough or burgh or town or city is he the member and +representative?” asked Mr. Jeremiah Bossolton, putting another lump of +sugar into his negus. “I have heard, it is true, but my memory is +short; and, in the multitude and multifariousness of my professional +engagements, I am often led into a forgetfulness of matters less +important in their variety, and less--less various in their importance.” + +“Why,” answered Mrs. Merrylack, “somehow or other, I quite forget too; +but it is some distant borough. The gentleman wanted him to stand for +the county, but he would not hear of it; perhaps he did not like the +publicity of the thing, for he is mighty reserved.” + +“Proud, haughty, arrogant, and assumptious!” said Mr. Bossolton, with a +puff of unusual length. + +“Nay, nay,” said the daughter (young people are always the first to +defend), “I’m sure he’s not proud: he does a mort of good, and has the +sweetest smile possible! I wonder if he’ll marry again! He is very young +yet, not above two or three and thirty.” (The kind damsel would not have +thought two or three and thirty very young some years ago; but we +grow wonderfully indulgent to the age of other people as we grow older +ourselves!) + +“And what an eye he has!” said the landlady. “Well, for my part,--but, +bless me. Here, John, John, John, waiter, husband I mean,--here’s a +carriage and four at the door. Lizzy, dear, is my cap right?” + +And mother, daughter, and husband all flocked, charged with +simper, courtesy, and bow, to receive their expected guests. With a +disappointment which we who keep not inns can but very imperfectly +conceive, the trio beheld a single personage,--a valet, descend from the +box, open the carriage door, and take out--a desk! Of all things human, +male or female, the said carriage was utterly empty. + +The valet bustled up to the landlady: “My master’s here, ma’am, I think; +rode on before!” + +“And who is your master?” asked Mrs. Merrylack, a thrill of alarm, and +the thought of No. 4, coming across her at the same time. + +“Who!” said the valet, rubbing his hands; “who!--why, Clarence Talbot +Linden, Esq., of Scarsdale Park, county of York, late Secretary of +Legation at the court of ----, now M.P., and one of his Majesty’s Under +Secretaries of State.” + +“Mercy upon us!” cried the astounded landlady, “and No. 4! only think of +it. Run, John,--John,--run, light a fire (the night’s cold, I think) in +the Elephant, No. 16; beg the gentleman’s pardon; say it was occupied +till now; ask what he’ll have for dinner,--fish, flesh, fowl, steaks, +joints, chops, tarts; or, if it’s too late (but it’s quite early yet; +you may put back the day an hour or so), ask what he’ll have for supper; +run, John, run: what’s the oaf staying for? run, I tell you! Pray, sir, +walk in (to the valet, our old friend Mr. Harrison)--you’ll be hungry +after your journey, I think; no ceremony, I beg.” + +“He’s not so handsome as his master,” said Miss Elizabeth, glancing +at Harrison discontentedly; “but he does not look like a married man, +somehow. I’ll just step up stairs and change my cap: it would be but +civil if the gentleman’s gentleman sups with us.” + +Meanwhile Clarence, having been left alone in the quiet enjoyment of +No. 4, had examined the little apartment with an interest not altogether +unmingled with painful reflections. There are few persons, however +fortunate, who can look back to eight years of their life, and not +feel somewhat of disappointment in the retrospect; few persons, whose +fortunes the world envy, to whom the token of past time suddenly +obtruded on their remembrance does not awaken hopes destroyed and wishes +deceived which that world has never known. We tell our triumphs to +the crowd, but our own hearts are the sole confidants of our sorrows. +“Twice,” said Clarence to himself, “twice before have I been in this +humble room; the first was when, at the age of eighteen, I was just +launched into the world,--a vessel which had for its only hope the motto +of the chivalrous Sidney,-- + + ‘Aut viam inveniam, aut--faciam;’ + [“I will either find my way, or--make it.] + +yet, humble and nameless as I was, how well I can recall the exaggerated +ambition, nay, the certainty of success, as well as its desire, which +then burned within me. I smile now at the overweening vanity of those +hopes,--some, indeed, realized, but how many nipped and withered +forever! seeds, of which a few fell upon rich ground and prospered, +but of which how far the greater number were scattered: some upon the +wayside, and were devoured by immediate cares; some on stony places, and +when the sun of manhood was up they were scorched, and because they had +no root withered away; and some among thorns, and the thorns sprang up +and choked them. I am now rich, honoured, high in the favour of courts, +and not altogether unknown or unesteemed arbitrio popularis aurae: +and yet I almost think I was happier when, in that flush of youth and +inexperience, I looked forth into the wide world, and imagined that from +every corner would spring up a triumph for my vanity or an object for my +affections. The next time I stood in this little spot, I was no longer +the dependant of a precarious charity, or the idle adventurer who had +no stepping-stone but his ambition. I was then just declared the heir of +wealth, which I could not rationally have hoped for five years before, +and which was in itself sufficient to satisfy the aspirings of ordinary +men. But I was corroded with anxieties for the object of my love, and +regret for the friend whom I had lost: perhaps the eagerness of my +heart for the one rendered me, for the moment, too little mindful of +the other; but, in after years, memory took ample atonement for that +temporary suspension of her duties. How often have I recalled, in this +world of cold ties and false hearts, that true and generous friend, from +whose lessons my mind took improvement, and from whose warnings example; +who was to me, living, a father, and from whose generosity whatever +worldly advantages I have enjoyed or distinctions I have gained are +derived! Then I was going, with a torn yet credulous heart, to pour +forth my secret and my passion to her, and, within one little week +thence, how shipwrecked of all hope, object, and future happiness I was! +Perhaps, at that time, I did not sufficiently consider the excusable +cautions of the world: I should not have taken such umbrage at her +father’s letter; I should have revealed to him my birth and accession of +fortune; nor bartered the truth of certain happiness for the trials and +manoeuvres of romance. But it is too late to repent now. By this time my +image must be wholly obliterated from her heart: she has seen me in the +crowd, and passed me coldly by; her cheek is pale, but not for me; +and in a little, little while, she will be another’s, and lost to me +forever! Yet have I never forgotten her through change or time, the +hard and harsh projects of ambition, the labours of business, or the +engrossing schemes of political intrigue. Never! but this is a vain and +foolish subject of reflection now.” + +And not the less reflecting upon it for that sage and veracious +recollection, Clarence turned from the window, against which he had been +leaning, and drawing one of the four chairs to the solitary table, he +sat down, moody and disconsolate, and leaning his face upon his hands, +pursued the confused yet not disconnected thread of his meditations. + +The door abruptly opened, and Mr. Merrylack appeared. + +“Dear me, sir!” cried he, “a thousand pities you should have been put +here, sir! Pray step upstairs, sir; the front drawing-room is just +vacant, sir; what will you please to have for dinner, sir?” etc., +according to the instructions of his wife. To Mr. Merrylack’s +great dismay, Clarence, however, resolutely refused all attempts at +locomotion, and contenting himself with entrusting the dinner to +the discretion of the landlady, desired to be left alone till it was +prepared. + +Now, when Mr. John Merrylack returned to the taproom, and communicated +the stubborn adherence to No. 4 manifested by its occupier, our good +hostess felt exceedingly discomposed. “You are so stupid, John,” said +she: “I’ll go and expostulate like with him;” and she was rising for +that purpose when Harrison, who was taking particularly good care of +himself, drew her back; “I know my master’s temper better than you do, +ma’am,” said he; “and when he is in the humour to be stubborn, the very +devil himself could not get him out of it. I dare say he wants to be +left to himself: he is very fond of being alone now and then; state +affairs, you know” (added the valet, mysteriously touching his +forehead), “and even I dare not disturb him for the world; so make +yourself easy, and I’ll go to him when he has dined, and I supped. There +is time enough for No. 4 when we have taken care of number one. Miss, +your health!” + +The landlady, reluctantly overruled in her design, reseated herself. + +“Mr. Clarence Linden, M. P., did you say, sir?” said the learned +Jeremiah: “surely, I have had that name or appellation in my books, but +I cannot, at this instant of time, recall to my recollection the exact +date and circumstance of my professional services to the gentleman so +designated, styled, or, I may say, termed.” + +“Can’t say, I am sure, sir,” said Harrison; “lived with my master many +years; never had the pleasure of seeing you before, nor of travelling +this road,--a very hilly road it is, sir. Miss, this negus is as bright +as your eyes and as warm as my admiration.” + +“Oh, sir!” + +“Pray,” said Mr. Merrylack, who like most of his tribe was a bit of a +politician; “is it the Mr. Linden who made that long speech in the House +the other day?” + +“Precisely, sir. He is a very eloquent gentleman, indeed: pity he speaks +so little; never made but that one long speech since he has been in +the House, and a capital one it was too. You saw how the prime minister +complimented him upon it. ‘A speech,’ said his lordship, ‘which had +united the graces of youthful genius with the sound calculations of +matured experience.”’ + +“Did the prime minister really so speak?” said Jeremiah “what a +beautiful, and noble, and sensible compliment! I will examine my +books when I go home,--‘the graces of youthful genius with the sound +calculations of matured experience’!” + +“If he is in the Parliament House,” quoth the landlady, “I suppose he +will know our Mr. Mordaunt, when the squire takes his seat next--what do +you call it--sessions?” + +“Know Mr. Mordaunt!” said the valet. “It is to see him that we have come +down here. We intended to have gone there to-night, but Master thought +it too late, and I saw he was in a melancholy humour: we therefore +resolved to come here; and so Master took one of the horses from the +groom, whom we have left behind with the other, and came on alone. I +take it, he must have been in this town before, for he described the inn +so well.--Capital cheese this! as mild,--as mild as your sweet smile, +miss.” + +“Oh, sir!” + +“Pray, Mistress Merrylack,” said Mr. Jeremiah Bossolton, depositing his +pipe on the table, and awakening from a profound revery, in which +for the last five minutes his senses had been buried, “pray, Mistress +Merrylack, do you not call to your mind or your reminiscence or +your--your recollection, a young gentleman, equally comely in his aspect +and blandiloquent (ehem!) in his address, who had the misfortune to +have his arm severely contused and afflicted by a violent kick from Mr. +Mordaunt’s horse, even in the yard in which your stables are situated, +and who remained for two or three days in your house or tavern or hotel? +I do remember that you were grievously perplexed because of his name, +the initials of which only he gave or entrusted or communicated to you, +until you did exam--” + +“I remember,” interrupted Miss Elizabeth, “I remember well,--a very +beautiful young gentleman, who had a letter directed to be left here, +addressed to him by the letters C. L., and who was afterwards kicked, +and who admired your cap, Mother, and whose name was Clarence Linden. +You remember it well enough, Mother, surely?” + +“I think I do, Lizzy,” said the landlady, slowly; for her memory, not so +much occupied as her daughter’s by beautiful young gentlemen, struggled +slowly amidst dim ideas of the various travellers and visitors with +whom her house had been honoured, before she came, at last, to the +reminiscence of Clarence Linden, “I think I do; and Squire Mordaunt was +very attentive to him; and he broke one of the panes of glass in No. 8 +and gave me half a guinea to pay for it. I do remember perfectly, Lizzy. +So that is the Mr. Linden now here?--only think!” + +“I should not have known him, certainly,” said Miss Elizabeth; “he is +grown so much taller, and his hair looks quite dark now, and his face is +much thinner than it was; but he’s very handsome still; is he not, sir?” + turning to the valet. + +“Ah! ah! well enough,” said Mr. Harrison, stretching out his right leg, +and falling away a little to the left, in the manner adopted by the +renowned Gil Blas, in his address to the fair Laura, “well enough; but +he’s a little too tall and thin, I think.” + +Mr. Harrison’s faults in shape were certainly not those of being too +tall and thin. + +“Perhaps so!” said Miss Elizabeth, who scented the vanity by a kindred +instinct, and had her own reasons for pampering it, “perhaps so!” + +“But he is a great favourite with the ladies all the same; however, he +only loves one lady. Ah, but I must not say who, though I know. However, +she is so handsome: such eyes, they would go through you like a skewer; +but not like yours,--yours, miss, which I vow and protest are as bright +as a service of plate.” + +“Oh, sir!” + +And amidst these graceful compliments the time slipped away, till +Clarence’s dinner and his valet’s supper being fairly over, Mr. +Harrison presented himself to his master, a perfectly different being +in attendance to what he was in companionship: flippancy, impertinence, +forwardness, all merged in the steady, sober, serious demeanour which +characterize the respectful and well-bred domestic. + +Clarence’s orders were soon given. They were limited to the +appurtenances of writing; and as soon as Harrison reappeared with his +master’s writing-desk, he was dismissed for the night. + +Very slowly did Clarence settle himself to his task, and attempt to +escape the ennui of his solitude, or the restlessness of thought feeding +upon itself, by inditing the following epistle:-- + +TO THE DUKE OF HAVERFIELD. + +I was very unfortunate, my dear Duke, to miss seeing you, when I called +in Arlington Street the evening before last, for I had a great deal to +say to you,--something upon public and a little upon private affairs. +I will reserve the latter, since I only am the person concerned, for a +future opportunity. With respect to the former-- ......... + +And now, having finished the political part of my letter, let me +congratulate you most sincerely upon your approaching marriage with Miss +Trevanion. I do not know her myself; but I remember that she was the +bosom friend of Lady Flora Ardenne, whom I have often heard speak of +her in the highest and most affectionate terms, so that I imagine her +brother could not better atone to you for dishonestly carrying off +the fair Julia some three years ago, than by giving you his sister in +honourable and orthodox exchange,--the gold amour for the brazen. + +As for my lot, though I ought not, at this moment, to dim yours by +dwelling upon it, you know how long, how constantly, how ardently I +have loved Lady Flora Ardenne; how, for her sake, I have refused +opportunities of alliance which might have gratified to the utmost that +worldliness of heart which so many who saw me only in the crowd have +been pleased to impute to me. You know that neither pleasure, nor +change, nor the insult I received from her parents, nor the sudden +indifference which I so little deserved from herself, has been able +to obliterate her image. You will therefore sympathize with me, when +I inform you that there is no longer any doubt of her marriage with +Borodaile (or rather Lord Ulswater, since his father’s death), as soon +as the sixth month of his mourning expires; to this period only two +months remain. + +Heavens! when one thinks over the past, how incredulous one could become +to the future: when I recall all the tokens of love I received from +that woman, I cannot persuade myself that they are now all forgotten, or +rather, all lavished upon another. + +But I do not blame her: may she be happier with him than she could have +been with me! and that hope shall whisper peace to regrets which I have +been foolish to indulge so long, and it is perhaps well for me that they +are about to be rendered forever unavailing. + +I am staying at an inn, without books, companions, or anything to +beguile time and thought, but this pen, ink, and paper. You will see, +therefore, a reason and an excuse for my scribbling on to you, till my +two sheets are filled, and the hour of ten (one can’t well go to bed +earlier) arrived. + +You remember having often heard me speak of a very extraordinary man +whom I met in Italy, and with whom I became intimate. He returned to +England some months ago; and on hearing it my desire of renewing our +acquaintance was so great that I wrote to invite myself to his house. +He gave me what is termed a very obliging answer, and left the choice of +time to myself. You see now, most noble Festus, the reason of my journey +hitherwards. + +His house, a fine old mansion, is situated about five or six miles from +this town: and as I arrived here late in the evening, and knew that his +habits were reserved and peculiar, I thought it better to take “mine +ease in my inn” for this night, and defer my visit to Mordaunt Court +till to-morrow morning. In truth, I was not averse to renewing an +old acquaintance,--not, as you in your malice would suspect, with my +hostess, but with her house. Some years ago, when I was eighteen, I +first made a slight acquaintance with Mordaunt at this very inn, and +now, at twenty-six, I am glad to have one evening to myself on the same +spot, and retrace here all that has since happened to me. + +Now do not be alarmed: I am not going to inflict upon you the unquiet +retrospect with which I have just been vexing myself; no, I will rather +speak to you of my acquaintance and host to be. I have said that I first +met Mordaunt some years since at this inn,--an accident, for which his +horse was to blame, brought us acquainted,--I spent a day at his house, +and was much interested in his conversation; since then, we did not meet +till about two years and a half ago, when we were in Italy together. +During the intermediate interval Mordaunt had married; lost his property +by a lawsuit; disappeared from the world (whither none knew) for some +years; recovered the estate he had lost by the death of his kinsman’s +heir, and shortly afterwards by that of the kinsman himself; and had +become a widower, with one only child, a beautiful little girl of about +four years old. He lived in perfect seclusion, avoided all intercourse +with society, and seemed so perfectly unconscious of having ever seen me +before, whenever in our rides or walks we met, that I could not venture +to intrude myself on a reserve so rigid and unbroken as that which +characterized his habits and life. + +The gloom and loneliness, however, in which Mordaunt’s days were +spent, were far from partaking of that selfishness so common, almost +so necessarily common, to recluses. Wherever he had gone in his travels +through Italy, he had left light and rejoicing behind him. In his +residence at ----, while unknown to the great and gay, he was familiar +with the outcast and the destitute. The prison, the hospital, the sordid +cabins of want, the abodes (so frequent in Italy, that emporium of +artists and poets) where genius struggled against poverty and its own +improvidence,--all these were the spots to which his visits were paid, +and in which “the very stones prated of his whereabout.” It was a +strange and striking contrast to compare the sickly enthusiasm of those +who flocked to Italy to lavish their sentiments on statues, and +their wealth on the modern impositions palmed upon their taste as the +masterpieces of ancient art,--it was a noble contrast, I say, to compare +that ludicrous and idle enthusiasm with the quiet and wholesome energy +of mind and heart which led Mordaunt, not to pour forth worship and +homage to the unconscious monuments of the dead but to console, to +relieve, and to sustain the woes, the wants, the feebleness of the +living. + +Yet while he was thus employed in reducing the miseries and enlarging +the happiness of others, the most settled melancholy seemed to mark +himself “as her own.” Clad in the deepest mourning, a stern and un +broken gloom sat forever upon his countenance. I have observed, that +if in his walks or rides any one, especially of the better classes, +appeared to approach, he would strike into a new path. He could not bear +even the scrutiny of a glance or the fellowship of a moment: and +his mien, high and haughty, seemed not only to repel others, but to +contradict the meekness and charity which his own actions so invariably +and unequivocally displayed. It must, indeed, have been a powerful +exertion of principle over feeling which induced him voluntarily to seek +the abodes and intercourse of the rude beings he blessed and relieved. + +We met at two or three places to which my weak and imperfect charity had +led me, especially at the house of a sickly and distressed artist: for +in former life I had intimately known one of that profession; and I have +since attempted to transfer to his brethren that debt of kindness which +an early death forbade me to discharge to himself. It was thus that I +first became acquainted with Mordaunt’s occupations and pursuits; for +what ennobled his benevolence was the remarkable obscurity in which it +was veiled. It was in disguise and in secret that his generosity flowed; +and so studiously did he conceal his name, and hide even his features, +during his brief visits to “the house of mourning,” that only one like +myself, a close and minute investigator of whatever has once become an +object of interest, could have traced his hand in the various works of +happiness it had aided or created. + +One day, among some old ruins, I met him with his young daughter. By +great good-fortune I preserved the latter, who had wandered away from +her father, from a fall of loose stones, which would inevitably have +crushed her. I was myself much hurt by my effort, having received +upon my shoulder a fragment of the falling stones; and thus our old +acquaintance was renewed, and gradually ripened into intimacy; not, I +must own, without great patience and constant endeavour on my part; for +his gloom and lonely habits rendered him utterly impracticable of access +to any (as Lord Aspeden would say) but a diplomatist. I saw a great +deal of him during the six months I remained in Italy, and--but you know +already how warmly I admire his extraordinary powers and venerate his +character--Lord Aspeden’s recall to England separated us. + +A general election ensued. I was returned for ----. I entered eagerly +into domestic politics; your friendship, Lord Aspeden’s kindness, my +own wealth and industry, made my success almost unprecedentedly rapid. +Engaged heart and hand in those minute yet engrossing labours for which +the aspirant in parliamentary and state intrigue must unhappily forego +the more enlarged though abstruser speculations of general philosophy, +and of that morality which may be termed universal, politics, I have +necessarily been employed in very different pursuits from those to which +Mordaunt’s contemplations are devoted, yet have I often recalled his +maxims, with admiration at their depth, and obtained applause for +opinions which were only imperfectly filtered from the pure springs of +his own. + +It is about six months since he has returned to England, and he has very +lately obtained a seat in Parliament: so that we may trust soon to see +his talents displayed upon a more public and enlarged theatre than they +hitherto have been; and though I fear his politics will be opposed to +ours, I anticipate his public debut with that interest which genius, +even when adverse to one’s self, always inspires. Yet I confess that I +am desirous to see and converse with him once more in the familiarity +and kindness of private intercourse. The rage of party, the narrowness +of sectarian zeal, soon exclude from our friendship all those who differ +from our opinions; and it is like sailors holding commune for the last +time with each other, before their several vessels are divided by the +perilous and uncertain sea, to confer in peace and retirement for a +little while with those who are about to be launched with us on that +same unquiet ocean where any momentary caprice of the winds may disjoin +us forever, and where our very union is only a sympathy in toil and a +fellowship in danger. + +Adieu, my dear duke! it is fortunate for me that our public opinions +are so closely allied, and that I may so reasonably calculate in private +upon the happiness and honour of subscribing myself your affectionate +friend, C. L. + +Such was the letter to which we shall leave the explanation of much that +has taken place within the last three years of our tale, and which, in +its tone, will serve to show the kindness and generosity of heart and +feeling that mingled (rather increased than abated by the time which +brought wisdom) with the hardy activity and resolute ambition that +characterized the mind of our “Disowned.” We now consign him to such +repose as the best bedroom in the Golden Fleece can afford, and conclude +the chapter. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + + Though the wilds of enchantment all vernal and bright, + In the days of delusion by fancy combined + With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, + Abandon my soul, like a dream of the night, + And leave but a desert behind, + + Be hush’d my dark spirit, for Wisdom condemns + When the faint and the feeble deplore; + Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems + A thousand wild waves on the shore.--CAMPBELL. + +“Shall I order the carriage round, sir?” said Harrison; “it is past +one.” + +“Yes; yet stay: the day is fine; I will ride; let the carriage come on +in the evening; see that my horse is saddled; you looked to his mash +last night?” + +“I did, sir. He seems wonderfully fresh: would you please to have me +stay here with the carriage, sir, till the groom comes on with the other +horse?” + +“Ay, do: I don’t know yet how far strange servants may be welcome where +I am going.” + +“Now, that’s lucky!” said Harrison to himself, as he shut the door: “I +shall have a good five hours’ opportunity of making my court here. Miss +Elizabeth is really a very pretty girl, and might not be a bad match. I +don’t see any brothers; who knows but she may succeed to the inn--hem! A +servant may be ambitious as well as his master, I suppose.” + +So meditating, Harrison sauntered to the stables; saw (for he was an +admirable servant, and could, at a pinch, dress a horse as well as its +master) that Clarence’s beautiful steed received the utmost nicety of +grooming which the ostler could bestow; led it himself to the door; held +the stirrup for his master, with the mingled humility and grace of his +profession, and then strutted away--“pride on his brow and glory in his +eye”--to be the cynosure and oracle of the taproom. + +Meanwhile Linden rode slowly onwards. As he passed that turn of the town +by which he had for the first time entered it, the recollection of the +eccentric and would-be gypsy flashed upon him. “I wonder,” thought +he, “where that singular man is now, whether he still preserves his +itinerant and woodland tastes,-- + + ‘Si flumina sylvasque inglorius amet,’ + [“If, unknown to fame, he love the streams and the woods.”] + +or whether, as his family increased in age or number, he has turned from +his wanderings, and at length found out ‘the peaceful hermitage?’ How +glowingly the whole scene of that night comes across me,--the wild +tents, their wilder habitants, the mingled bluntness, poetry, honest +good-nature, and spirit of enterprise which constituted the chief’s +nature; the jovial meal and mirth round the wood fire, and beneath the +quiet stars, and the eagerness and zest with which I then mingled in the +merriment. Alas! how ill the fastidiousness and refinement of after days +repay us for the elastic, buoyant, ready zeal with which our first youth +enters into whatever is joyous, without pausing to ask if its cause and +nature be congenial to our habits or kindred to our tastes. After all, +there really was something philosophical in the romance of the jovial +gypsy, childish as it seemed; and I should like much to know if the +philosophy has got the better of the romance, or the romance, growing +into habit, become commonplace and lost both its philosophy and its +enthusiasm. Well, after I leave Mordaunt, I will try and find out my old +friend.” + +With this resolution Clarence’s thoughts took a new channel, and he soon +entered upon Mordaunt’s domain. As he rode through the park where brake +and tree were glowing in the yellow tints which Autumn, like Ambition, +gilds ere it withers, he paused for a moment to recall the scene as he +last beheld it. It was then spring--spring in its first and flushest +glory--when not a blade of grass but sent a perfume to the air, the +happy air,-- + + “Making sweet music while the young leaves danced:” + +when every cluster of the brown fern, that now lay dull and motionless +around him, and amidst which the melancholy deer stood afar off gazing +upon the intruder, was vocal with the blithe melodies of the infant +year,--the sharp, yet sweet, voices of birds,--and (heard at intervals) +the chirp of the merry grasshopper or the hum of the awakened bee. He +sighed, as he now looked around, and recalled the change both of time +and season; and with that fondness of heart which causes man to knit his +own little life to the varieties of time, the signs of heaven, or the +revolutions of Nature, he recognized something kindred in the change of +scene to the change of thought and feeling which years had wrought in +the beholder. + +Awaking from his revery, he hastened his horse’s pace, and was soon +within sight of the house. Vavasour, during the few years he had +possessed the place, had conducted and carried through improvements and +additions to the old mansion, upon a scale equally costly and judicious. +The heavy and motley magnificence of the architecture in which the house +had been built remained unaltered; but a wing on either side, though +exactly corresponding in style to the intermediate building, gave, by +the long colonnade which ran across the one and the stately windows +which adorned the other, an air not only of grander extent, but more +cheerful lightness to the massy and antiquated pile. It was, assuredly, +in the point of view by which Clarence now approached it, a structure +which possessed few superiors in point of size and effect; and +harmonized so well with the nobly extent of the park, the ancient woods, +and the venerable avenues, that a very slight effort of imagination +might have poured from the massive portals the pageantries of old days, +and the gay galliard of chivalric romance with which the scene was in +such accordance, and which in a former age it had so often witnessed. + +Ah, little could any one who looked upon that gorgeous pile, and the +broad lands which, beyond the boundaries of the park, swelled on the +hills of the distant landscape, studded at frequent intervals with +the spires and villages, which adorned the wide baronies of +Mordaunt,--little could he who thus gazed around have imagined that the +owner of all he surveyed had passed the glory and verdure of his manhood +in the bitterest struggles with gnawing want, rebellious pride, and +urgent passion, without friend or aid but his own haughty and supporting +virtue, sentenced to bear yet in his wasted and barren heart the sign of +the storm he had resisted, and the scathed token of the lightning he had +braved. None but Crauford, who had his own reasons for taciturnity, and +the itinerant broker, easily bribed into silence, had ever known of +the extreme poverty from which Mordaunt had passed to his rightful +possessions. It was whispered, indeed, that he had been reduced to +narrow and straitened circumstances; but the whisper had been only the +breath of rumour, and the imagined poverty far short of the reality: +for the pride of Mordaunt (the great, almost the sole, failing in his +character) could not endure that all he had borne and baffled should be +bared to the vulgar eye; and by a rare anomaly of mind, indifferent as +he was to renown, he was morbidly susceptible of shame. + +When Clarence rang at the ivy-covered porch, and made inquiry for +Mordaunt, he was informed that the latter was in the park, by the river, +where most of his hours during the day-time were spent. + +“Shall I send to acquaint him that you are come, sir?” said the servant. + +“No,” answered Clarence, “I will leave my horse to one of the grooms, +and stroll down to the river in search of your master.” + +Suiting the action to the word, he dismounted, consigned his steed to +the groom, and following the direction indicated to him, bent his way to +the “river.” + +As he descended the hill, the brook (for it did not deserve, though it +received, a higher name) opened enchantingly upon his view. Amidst the +fragrant reed and the wild-flower, still sweet though fading, and tufts +of tedded grass, all of which, when crushed beneath the foot, sent +a mingled tribute to its sparkling waves, the wild stream took its +gladsome course, now contracted by gloomy firs, which, bending over the +water, cast somewhat of their own sadness upon its surface; now glancing +forth from the shade, as it “broke into dimples and laughed in the sun;” + now washing the gnarled and spreading roots of some lonely ash, +which, hanging over it still and droopingly, seemed--the hermit of the +scene--to moralize on its noisy and various wanderings; now winding +round the hill and losing itself at last amidst thick copses, where day +did never more than wink and glimmer, and where, at night, its waters, +brawling through their stony channel, seemed like a spirit’s wail, and +harmonized well with the scream of the gray owl wheeling from her dim +retreat, or the moaning and rare sound of some solitary deer. + +As Clarence’s eye roved admiringly over the scene before him, it dwelt +at last upon a small building situated on the wildest part of the +opposite bank; it was entirely overgrown with ivy, and the outline only +remained to show the Gothic antiquity of the architecture. It was +a single square tower, built none knew when or wherefore, and, +consequently, the spot of many vagrant guesses and wild legends among +the surrounding gossips. On approaching yet nearer, he perceived, alone +and seated on a little mound beside the tower, the object of his search. + +Mordaunt was gazing with vacant yet earnest eye upon the waters beneath; +and so intent was either his mood or look that he was unaware of +Clarence’s approach. Tears fast and large were rolling from those +haughty eyes, which men who shrank from their indifferent glance little +deemed were capable of such weak and feminine emotion. Far, far through +the aching void of time were the thoughts of the reft and solitary +mourner; they were dwelling, in all the vivid and keen intensity of +grief which dies not, upon the day when, about that hour and on that +spot, he sat with Isabel’s young cheek upon his bosom, and listened to +a voice now only heard in dreams. He recalled the moment when the fatal +letter, charged with change and poverty, was given to him, and the pang +which had rent his heart as he looked around upon a scene over which +spring had just then breathed, and which he was about to leave to a +fresh summer and a new lord; and then that deep, fond, half-fearful gaze +with which Isabel had met his eye, and the feeling, proud even in its +melancholy, with which he had drawn towards his breast all that earth +had left to him, and thanked God in his heart of hearts that she was +spared. + +“And I am once more master,” thought he, “not only of all I then held, +but of all which my wealthier forefathers possessed. But she who was the +sharer of my sorrows and want,--oh, where is she? Rather, ah, rather +a hundredfold that her hand was still clasped in mine, her spirit +supporting me through poverty and trial, and her soft voice murmuring +the comfort that steals away care, than to be thus heaped with wealth +and honour, and alone,--alone, where never more can come love or hope, +or the yearnings of affection or the sweet fulness of a heart that seems +fathomless in its tenderness, yet overflows! Had my lot, when she left +me, been still the steepings of bitterness, the stings of penury, the +moody silence of hope, the damp and chill of sunless and aidless years, +which rust the very iron of the soul away; had my lot been thus, as it +had been, I could have borne her death, I could have looked upon her +grave, and wept not,--nay, I could have comforted my own struggles with +the memory of her escape; but thus, at the very moment of prosperity, to +leave the altered and promising earth, ‘to house with darkness and +with death;’ no little gleam of sunshine, no brief recompense for the +agonizing past, no momentary respite between tears and the tomb. Oh, +Heaven! what--what avail is a wealth which comes too late, when she, who +could alone have made wealth bliss, is dust; and the light that should +have gilded many and happy days flings only a ghastly glare upon the +tomb?” + +Starting from these reflections, Mordaunt half-unconsciously rose, +and dashing the tears from his eyes, was about to plunge into the +neighbouring thicket, when, looking up, he beheld Clarence, now within +a few paces of him. He started, and seemed for one moment irresolute +whether to meet or shun his advance, but probably deeming it too late +for the latter, he banished, by one of those violent efforts with which +men of proud and strong minds vanquish emotion, all outward sign of the +past agony; and hastening towards his guest, greeted him with a welcome +which, though from ordinary hosts it might have seemed cold, appeared +to Clarence, who knew his temper, more cordial than he had ventured to +anticipate. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + + Mr father urged me sair, + But my mither didna speak, + Though she looked into my face, + Till my heart was like to break.--Auld Robin Gray. + +“It is rather singular,” said Lady Westborough to her daughter as they +sat alone one afternoon in the music-room at Westborough Park,--“it is +rather singular that Lord Ulswater should not have come yet. He said he +should certainly be here before three o’clock.” + +“You know, Mamma, that he has some military duties to detain him +at W----,” answered Lady Flora, bending over a drawing in which she +appeared to be earnestly engaged. + +“True, my dear, and it was very kind in Lord ---- to quarter the troop +he commands in his native county; and very fortunate that W----, being +his head-quarters, should also be so near us. But I cannot conceive that +any duty can be sufficiently strong to detain him from you,” added +Lady Westborough, who had been accustomed all her life to a devotion +unparalleled in this age. “You seem very indulgent, Flora.” + +“Alas! she should rather say very indifferent,” thought Lady Flora: but +she did not give her thought utterance; she only looked up at her mother +for a moment, and smiled faintly. + +Whether there was something in that smile or in the pale cheek of her +daughter that touched her we know not, but Lady Westborough was touched: +she threw her arms round Lady Flora’s neck, kissed her fondly, and said, +“You do not seem well to-day, my love, are you?” + +“Oh!--very--very well,” answered Lady Flora, returning her mother’s +caress, and hiding her eyes, to which the tears had started. + +“My child,” said Lady Westborough, “you know that both myself and your +father are very desirous to see you married to Lord Ulswater,--of high +and ancient birth, of great wealth, young, unexceptionable in person and +character, and warmly attached to you, it would be impossible even for +the sanguine heart of a parent to ask for you a more eligible match. But +if the thought really does make you wretched,--and yet,--how can it?” + +“I have consented,” said Flora, gently; “all I ask is, do not speak to +me more of the--the event than you can avoid.” + +Lady Westborough pressed her hand, sighed, and replied not. + +The door opened, and the marquis, who had within the last year become +a cripple, with the great man’s malady, dire podagra, was wheeled in on +his easy-chair; close behind him followed Lord Ulswater. + +“I have brought you,” said the marquis, who piqued himself on a vein of +dry humour,--“I have brought you, young lady, a consolation for my ill +humours. Few gouty old fathers make themselves as welcome as I do; eh, +Ulswater?” + +“Dare I apply to myself Lord Westborough’s compliment?” said the young +nobleman, advancing towards Lady Flora; and drawing his seat near her, +he entered into that whispered conversation so significant of courtship. +But there was little in Lady Flora’s manner by which an experienced eye +would have detected the bride elect: no sudden blush, no downcast, yet +sidelong look, no trembling of the hand, no indistinct confusion of +the voice, struggling with unanalyzed emotions. No: all was calm, cold, +listless; her cheek changed not tint nor hue, and her words, clear +and collected, seemed to contradict whatever the low murmurs of +her betrothed might well be supposed to insinuate. But, even in his +behaviour, there was something which, had Lady Westborough been less +contented than she was with the externals and surface of manner, would +have alarmed her for her daughter. A cloud, sullen and gloomy, sat upon +his brow; and his lip alternately quivered with something like scorn, +or was compressed with a kind of stifled passion. Even in the exultation +that sparkled in his eye, when he alluded to their approaching marriage, +there was an expression that almost might have been termed fierce, and +certainly was as little like the true orthodox ardour of “gentle +swain,” as Lady Flora’s sad and half unconscious coldness resembled the +diffident passion of the “blushing maiden.” + +“You have considerably passed the time in which we expected you, my +lord,” said Lady Westborough, who, as a beauty herself, was a little +jealous of the deference due to the beauty of her daughter. + +“It is true.,” said Lord Ulswater, glancing towards the opposite glass, +and smoothing his right eyebrow with his forefinger, “it is true, but I +could not help it. I had a great deal of business to do with my troop: I +have put them into a new manoeuvre. Do you know, my lord [turning to the +marquis], I think it very likely the soldiers may have some work on the +---- of this month?” + +“Where, and wherefore?” asked Lord Westborough, whom a sudden twinge +forced into the laconic. + +“At W----. Some idle fellows hold a meeting there on that day; and if I +may judge by bills and advertisements, chalkings on the walls, and, more +than all popular rumour, I have no doubt but what riot and sedition are +intended: the magistrates are terribly frightened. I hope we shall have +some cutting and hewing: I have no patience with the rebellious dogs.” + +“For shame! for shame!” cried Lady Westborough, who, though a worldly, +was by no means an unfeeling, woman “the poor people are misguided; they +mean no harm.” + +Lord Ulswater smiled scornfully. “I never dispute upon politics, but at +the head of my men,” said he, and turned the conversation. + +Shortly afterwards Lady Flora, complaining of indisposition, rose, left +the apartment, and retired to her own room. There she sat motionless +and white as death for more than an hour. A day or two afterwards Miss +Trevanion received the following letter from her:-- + +Most heartily, most truly do I congratulate you, my dearest Eleanor, +upon your approaching marriage. You may reasonably hope for all that +happiness can afford; and though you do affect (for I do not think +that you feel) a fear lest you should not be able to fix a character, +volatile and light, like your lover’s; yet when I recollect his +warmth of heart and high sense, and your beauty, gentleness, charms of +conversation, and purely disinterested love for one whose great worldly +advantages might so easily bias or adulterate affection, I own that I +have no dread for your future fate, no feeling that can at all darken +the brightness of anticipation. Thank you, dearest, for the delicate +kindness with which you allude to my destiny: me indeed you cannot +congratulate as I can you. But do not grieve for me, my generous +Eleanor: if not happy, I shall, I trust, be at least contented. My poor +father implored me with tears in his eyes; my mother pressed my hand, +but spoke not; and I, whose affections were withered and hopes strewn, +should I not have been hard-hearted indeed if they had not wrung from me +a consent? And oh should I not be utterly lost, if in that consent which +blessed them I did not find something of peace and consolation? + +Yes, dearest, in two months, only two months, I shall be Lord Ulswater’s +wife; and when we meet, you shall look narrowly at me, and see if he or +you have any right to complain of me. + +Have you seen Mr. Linden lately? Yet do not answer the question: I ought +not to cherish still that fatal clinging interest for one who has so +utterly forgotten me. But I do rejoice in his prosperity; and when I +hear his praises, and watch his career, I feel proud that I should once +have loved him! Oh, how could he be so false, so cruel, in the very +midst of his professions of undying, unswerving faith to me; at the very +moment when I was ill, miserable, wasting my very heart, for anxiety on +his account,--and such a woman too! And had he loved me, even though his +letter was returned, would not his conscience have told him he deserved +it, and would he not have sought me out in person, and endeavoured to +win from my folly his forgiveness? But without attempting to see me, or +speak to me, or soothe a displeasure so natural, to leave the country +in silence, almost in disdain; and when we met again, to greet me with +coldness and hauteur, and never betray, by word, sign, or look, that he +had ever been to me more than the merest stranger! Fool! Fool! that I +am, to waste another thought upon him; but I will not, and ought not to +do so. In two months I shall not even have the privilege of remembrance. + +I wish, Eleanor,--for I assure you that I have tried and tried,--that +I could find anything to like and esteem (since love is out of the +question) in this man, who seems so great, and, to me, so unaccountable +a favourite with my parents. His countenance and voice are so harsh +and stern; his manner at once so self-complacent and gloomy; his very +sentiments so narrow, even in their notions of honour; his very courage +so savage, and his pride so constant and offensive,--that I in vain +endeavour to persuade myself of his virtues, and recur, at least, to the +unwearying affection for me which he professes. It is true that he has +been three times refused; that I have told him I cannot love him; that I +have even owned former love to another: he still continues his suit, +and by dint of long hope has at length succeeded. But at times I could +almost think that he married me from very hate, rather than love: there +is such an artificial smoothness in his stern voice, such a latent +meaning in his eye; and when he thinks I have not noticed him, I have, +on suddenly turning towards him, perceived so dark and lowering an +expression upon his countenance that my heart has died within me for +very fear. + +Had my mother been the least less kind, my father the least less urgent, +I think, nay, I know, I could not have gained such a victory over myself +as I have done in consenting to the day. But enough of this. I did not +think I should have run on so long and so foolishly; but we, dearest, +have been children and girls and women together: we have loved each +other with such fondness and unreserve that opening my heart to you +seems only another phrase for thinking aloud. + +However, in two months I shall have no right even to thoughts; perhaps +I may not even love you: till then, dearest Eleanor, I am, as ever, your +affectionate and faithful friend, F. A. + +Had Lord Westborough, indeed, been “less urgent,” or her mother “less +kind,” nothing could ever have wrung from Lady Flora her consent to a +marriage so ungenial and ill-omened. + +Thrice had Lord Ulswater (then Lord Borodaile) been refused, before +finally accepted; and those who judge only from the ordinary effects of +pride would be astonished that he should have still persevered. But his +pride was that deep-rooted feeling which, so far from being repelled by +a single blow, fights stubbornly and doggedly onward, till the battle is +over and its object gained. From the moment he had resolved to address +Lady Flora Ardenne he had also resolved to win her. For three years, +despite of a refusal, first gently, then more peremptorily, urged, he +fixed himself in her train. He gave out that he was her affianced. In +all parties, in all places, he forced himself near her, unheeding alike +of her frowns or indifference; and his rank, his hauteur, his fierceness +of mien, and acknowledged courage kept aloof all the less arrogant and +hardy pretenders to Lady Flora’s favour. For this, indeed, she rather +thanked than blamed him; and it was the only thing which in the least +reconciled her modesty to his advances or her pride to his presumption. + +He had been prudent as well as bold. The father he had served, and the +mother he had won. Lord Westborough, addicted a little to politics, +a good deal to show, and devotedly to gaming, was often greatly and +seriously embarrassed. Lord Ulswater, even during the life of his father +(who was lavishly generous to him), was provided with the means of +relieving his intended father-in-law’s necessities; and caring little +for money in comparison to a desired object, he was willing enough, we +do not say to bribe, but to influence, Lord Westborough’s consent. These +matters of arrangement were by no means concealed from the marchioness, +who, herself ostentatious and profuse, was in no small degree benefited +by them; and though they did not solely procure, yet they certainly +contributed to conciliate, her favour. + +Few people are designedly and systematically wicked: even the worst find +good motives for bad deeds, and are as intent upon discovering glosses +for conduct to deceive themselves as to delude others. What wonder, +then, that poor Lady Westborough, never too rigidly addicted to +self-examination, and viewing all things through a very worldly +medium, saw only, in the alternate art and urgency employed against +her daughter’s real happiness, the various praiseworthy motives of +permanently disentangling Lady Flora from an unworthy attachment, of +procuring for her an establishment proportioned to her rank, and a +husband whose attachment, already shown by such singular perseverance, +was so likely to afford her everything which, in Lady Westborough’s +eyes, constituted felicity? + +All our friends, perhaps, desire our happiness; but then it must +invariably be in their own way. What a pity that they do not employ the +same zeal in making us happy in ours! + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + + If thou criest after knowledge, and liftest up thy voice for understanding; + If thou seekest her as silver, and searchest for her as for hid treasures: + Then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and find the knowledge of God. + --Proverbs ii. 3, 4, 5. + +While Clarence was thus misjudged by one whose affections and conduct +he, in turn, naturally misinterpreted; while Lady Flora was alternately +struggling against and submitting to the fate which Lady Westborough saw +approach with gladness, the father with indifference, and the bridegroom +with a pride that partook less of rapture than revenge,--our unfortunate +lover was endeavouring to glean, from Mordaunt’s conversation and +example, somewhat of that philosophy so rare except in the theories +of the civilized and the occasional practice of the barbarian, which, +though it cannot give us a charm against misfortune, bestows, at least, +upon us the energy to support it. + +We have said already that when the first impression produced by +Mordaunt’s apparent pride and coldness wore away, it required little +penetration to discover the benevolence and warmth of his mind. But none +ignorant of his original disposition, or the misfortunes of his life, +could ever have pierced the depth of his self-sacrificing nature, +or measured the height of his lofty and devoted virtue. Many men may +perhaps be found who will give up to duty a cherished wish or even a +darling vice; but few will ever renounce to it their rooted tastes, +or the indulgence of those habits which have almost become by long use +their happiness itself. Naturally melancholy and thoughtful, feeding +the sensibilities of his heart upon fiction, and though addicted to +the cultivation of reason rather than fancy, having perhaps more of +the deeper and acuter characteristics of the poet than those calm +and half-callous properties of nature supposed to belong to the +metaphysician and the calculating moralist, Mordaunt was above all men +fondly addicted to solitude, and inclined to contemplations less useful +than profound. The untimely death of Isabel, whom he had loved with that +love which is the vent of hoarded and passionate musings long nourished +upon romance, and lavishing the wealth of a soul that overflows with +secreted tenderness upon the first object that can bring reality to +fiction,--that event had not only darkened melancholy into gloom, but +had made loneliness still more dear to his habits by all the ties +of memory and all the consecrations of regret. The companionless +wanderings; the midnight closet; the thoughts which, as Hume said of +his own, could not exist in the world, but were all busy with life in +seclusion,--these were rendered sweeter than ever to a mind for which +the ordinary objects of the world were now utterly loveless; and the +musings of solitude had become, as it were, a rightful homage and +offering to the dead. We may form, then, some idea of the extent to +which, in Mordaunt’s character, principle predominated over inclination, +and regard for others over the love of self, when we see him tearing +his spirit from its beloved retreats and abstracted contemplations, +and devoting it to duties from which its fastidious and refined +characteristics were particularly calculated to revolt. When we have +considered his attachment to the hermitage, we can appreciate the virtue +which made him among the most active citizens in the great world; +when we have considered the natural selfishness of grief, the pride of +philosophy, the indolence of meditation, the eloquence of wealth, which +says, “Rest, and toil not,” and the temptation within, which says, “Obey +the voice,”--when we have considered these, we can perhaps do justice +to the man who, sometimes on foot and in the coarsest attire, travelled +from inn to inn and from hut to hut; who made human misery the object +of his search and human happiness of his desire; who, breaking aside an +aversion to rude contact, almost feminine in its extreme, voluntarily +sought the meanest companions, and subjected himself to the coarsest +intrusions; for whom the wail of affliction or the moan of hunger was +as a summons which allowed neither hesitation nor appeal; who seemed +possessed of a ubiquity for the purposes of good almost resembling that +attributed to the wanderer in the magnificent fable of Melmoth for the +temptations to evil; who, by a zeal and labour that brought to habit and +inclination a thousand martyrdoms, made his life a very hour-glass, in +which each sand was a good deed or a virtuous design. + +Many plunge into public affairs, to which they have had a previous +distaste, from the desire of losing the memory of a private affliction; +but so far from wishing to heal the wounds of remembrance by the +anodynes which society can afford, it was only in retirement that +Mordaunt found the flowers from which balm could be distilled. Many are +through vanity magnanimous, and benevolent from the selfishness of fame +but so far from seeking applause where he bestowed favour, Mordaunt +had sedulously shrouded himself in darkness and disguise. And by that +increasing propensity to quiet, so often found among those addicted to +lofty or abstruse contemplation, he had conquered the ambition of youth +with the philosophy of a manhood that had forestalled the affections +of age. Many, in short, have become great or good to the community by +individual motives easily resolved into common and earthly elements of +desire; but they who inquire diligently into human nature have not often +the exalted happiness to record a character like Mordaunt’s, actuated +purely by a systematic principle of love, which covered mankind, as +heaven does earth, with an atmosphere of light extending to the remotest +corners and penetrating the darkest recesses. + +It was one of those violent and gusty evenings which give to an English +autumn something rude, rather than gentle, in its characteristics, that +Mordaunt and Clarence sat together, + + “And sowed the hours with various seeds of talk.” + +The young Isabel, the only living relic of the departed one, sat by her +father’s side upon the floor; and though their discourse was far beyond +the comprehension of her years, yet did she seem to listen with a quiet +and absorbed attention. In truth, child as she was, she so loved, and +almost worshipped, her father that the very tones of his voice had in +them a charm which could always vibrate, as it were, to her heart; and +hush her into silence; and that melancholy and deep though somewhat low +voice, when it swelled or trembled with thought,--which in Mordaunt was +feeling,--made her sad, she knew not why; and when she heard it, she +would creep to his side, and put her little hand on his, and look up +to him with eyes in whose tender and glistening blue the spirit of her +mother seemed to float. She was serious and thoughtful and loving beyond +the usual capacities of childhood; perhaps her solitary condition and +habits of constant intercourse with one so grave as Mordaunt, and who +always, when not absent on his excursions of charity, loved her to be +with him, had given to her mind a precocity of feeling, and tinctured +the simplicity of infancy with what ought to have been the colours of +after years. She was not inclined to the sports of her age; she loved, +rather, and above all else, to sit by Mordaunt’s side and silently pore +over some books or feminine task, and to steal her eyes every now and +then away from her employment, in order to watch his motions or provide +for whatever her vigilant kindness of heart imagined he desired. And +often, when he saw her fairy and lithe form hovering about him and +attending on his wants, or her beautiful countenance glow with pleasure, +when she fancied she supplied them, he almost believed that Isabel yet +lived, though in another form, and that a love so intense and holy as +hers had been, might transmigrate, but could not perish. + +The young Isabel had displayed a passion for music so early that it +almost seemed innate; and as, from the mild and wise education she +received, her ardour had never been repelled on the one hand or +overstrained on the other, so, though she had but just passed her +seventh year, she had attained to a singular proficiency in the art,--an +art that suited well with her lovely face and fond feelings and innocent +heart; and it was almost heavenly, in the literal acceptation of the +word, to hear her sweet though childish voice swell along the still +pure airs of summer, and to see her angelic countenance all rapt and +brilliant with the enthusiasm which her own melodies created. + +Never had she borne the bitter breath of unkindness, nor writhed beneath +that customary injustice which punishes in others the sins of our own +temper and the varied fretfulness of caprice; and so she had none of +the fears and meannesses and acted untruths which so usually pollute and +debase the innocence of childhood. But the promise of her ingenuous brow +(over which the silken hair flowed, parted into two streams of gold), +and of the fearless but tender eyes, and of the quiet smile which sat +forever upon the rosy mouth, like Joy watching Love, was kept in its +fullest extent by the mind, from which all thoughts, pure, kind, and +guileless, flowed like waters from a well which a spirit has made holy +for its own dwelling. + +On this evening we have said that she sat by her father’s side +and listened, though she only in part drank in its sense, to his +conversation with his guest. + +The room was of great extent and surrounded with books, over which at +close intervals the busts of the departed Great and the immortal Wise +looked down. There was the sublime beauty of Plato, the harsher and +more earthly countenance of Tully, the only Roman (except Lucretius) who +might have been a Greek. There the mute marble gave the broad front of +Bacon (itself a world), and there the features of Locke showed how the +mind wears away the links of flesh with the file of thought. And over +other departments of those works which remind us that man is made little +lower than the angels, the stern face of the Florentine who sung of hell +contrasted with the quiet grandeur enthroned on the fair brow of the +English poet,--“blind but bold,”--and there the glorious but genial +countenance of him who has found in all humanity a friend, conspicuous +among sages and minstrels, claimed brotherhood with all. + +The fire burned clear and high, casting a rich twilight (for there +was no other light in the room) over that Gothic chamber, and shining +cheerily upon the varying countenance of Clarence and the more +contemplative features of his host. In the latter you might see that +care and thought had been harsh but not unhallowed companions. In the +lines which crossed his expanse of brow, time seemed to have buried many +hopes; but his mien and air, if loftier, were gentler than in younger +days; and though they had gained somewhat in dignity, had lost greatly +in reserve. + +There was in the old chamber, with its fretted roof and ancient +“garniture,” the various books which surrounded it, walls that the +learned built to survive themselves, and in the marble likenesses +of those for whom thought had won eternity, joined to the hour, the +breathing quiet, and the hearth-light, by whose solitary rays we +love best in the eves of autumn to discourse on graver or subtler +themes,--there was in all this a spell which seemed particularly to +invite and to harmonize with that tone of conversation, some portions of +which we are now about to relate. + +“How loudly,” said Clarence, “that last gust swept by; you remember that +beautiful couplet in Tibullus,-- + + ‘Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem, + Et dominam tenero detinuisse sinu.’” + [“Sweet on our couch to hear the winds above, + And cling with closer heart to her we love.”] + +“Ay,” answered Mordaunt, with a scarcely audible sigh, “that is the +feeling of the lover at the immites ventos, but we sages of the lamp +make our mistress Wisdom, and when the winds rage without it is to her +that we cling. See how, from the same object, different conclusions are +drawn! The most common externals of nature, the wind and the wave, the +stars and the heavens, the very earth on which we tread, never excite in +different bosoms the same ideas; and it is from our own hearts, and not +from an outward source, that we draw the hues which colour the web of +our existence.” + +“It is true,” answered Clarence. “You remember that in two specks of the +moon the enamoured maiden perceived two unfortunate lovers, while the +ambitious curate conjectured that they were the spires of a cathedral? +But it is not only to our feelings, but also to our reasonings, that we +give the colours which they wear. The moral, for instance, which to one +man seems atrocious, to another is divine. On the tendency of the same +work what three people will agree? And how shall the most sanguine +moralist hope to benefit mankind when he finds that, by the multitude, +his wisest endeavours to instruct are often considered but as +instruments to pervert?” + +“I believe,” answered Mordaunt, “that it is from our ignorance that our +contentions flow: we debate with strife and with wrath, with bickering +and with hatred; but of the thing debated upon we remain in the +profoundest darkness. Like the labourers of Babel, while we endeavour +in vain to express our meaning to each other, the fabric by which, for +a common end, we would have ascended to heaven from the ills of earth +remains forever unadvanced and incomplete. Let us hope that knowledge +is the universal language which shall reunite us. As, in their sublime +allegory, the Ancients signified that only through virtue we arrive at +honour, so let us believe that only through knowledge can we arrive at +virtue!” + +“And yet,” said Clarence, “that seems a melancholy truth for the mass of +the people, who have no time for the researches of wisdom.” + +“Not so much so as at first we might imagine,” answered Mordaunt: “the +few smooth all paths for the many. The precepts of knowledge it is +difficult to extricate from error but, once discovered, they gradually +pass into maxims; and thus what the sage’s life was consumed in +acquiring becomes the acquisition of a moment to posterity. Knowledge +is like the atmosphere: in order to dispel the vapour and dislodge +the frost, our ancestors felled the forest, drained the marsh, and +cultivated the waste, and we now breathe without an effort, in the +purified air and the chastened climate, the result of the labour of +generations and the progress of ages! As to-day, the common mechanic may +equal in science, however inferior in genius, the friar [Roger Bacon] +whom his contemporaries feared as a magician, so the opinions which now +startle as well as astonish may be received hereafter as acknowledged +axioms, and pass into ordinary practice. We cannot even tell how far +the sanguine theories of certain philosophers [See Condorcet “On the +Progress of the Human Mind,” written some years after the supposed date +of this conversation, but in which there is a slight, but eloquent and +affecting, view of the philosophy to which Mordaunt refers.] deceive +them when they anticipate, for future ages, a knowledge which shall +bring perfection to the mind, baffle the diseases of the body, and even +protract to a date now utterly unknown the final destination of life: +for Wisdom is a palace of which only the vestibule has been entered; +nor can we guess what treasures are hid in those chambers of which the +experience of the past can afford us neither analogy nor clew.” + +“It was, then,” said Clarence, who wished to draw his companion into +speaking of himself, “it was, then, from your addiction to studies not +ordinarily made the subject of acquisition that you date (pardon me) +your generosity, your devotedness, your feeling for others, and your +indifference to self?” + +“You flatter me,” said Mordaunt, modestly (and we may be permitted to +crave attention to his reply, since it unfolds the secret springs of +a character so singularly good and pure), “you flatter me: but I will +answer you as if you had put the question without the compliment; nor, +perhaps, will it be wholly uninstructive, as it will certainly be new, +to sketch, without recurrence to events or what I may call exterior +facts, a brief and progressive History of One Human Mind.” + +“Our first era of life is under the influence of the primitive feelings: +we are pleased, and we laugh; hurt, and we weep: we vent our little +passions the moment they are excited: and so much of novelty have we +to perceive, that we have little leisure to reflect. By and by, fear +teaches us to restrain our feelings: when displeased, we seek to revenge +the displeasure, and are punished; we find the excess of our joy, +our sorrow, our anger, alike considered criminal, and chidden into +restraint. From harshness we become acquainted with deceit: the promise +made is not fulfilled, the threat not executed, the fear falsely +excited, and the hope wilfully disappointed; we are surrounded by +systematized delusion, and we imbibe the contagion.” + +“From being forced into concealing thoughts which we do conceive, we +begin to affect those which we do not: so early do we learn the two main +tasks of life, To Suppress and To Feign, that our memory will not carry +us beyond that period of artifice to a state of nature when the +twin principles of veracity and belief were so strong as to lead the +philosophers of a modern school into the error of terming them innate.” + [Reid: On the Human Mind.] + +“It was with a mind restless and confused, feelings which were +alternately chilled and counterfeited (the necessary results of my first +tuition), that I was driven to mix with others of my age. They did not +like me, nor do I blame them. ‘Les manieres que l’on neglige comme de +petites choses, sont souvent ce qui fait que les hommes decident de vous +en bien ou en mal. [“Those manners which one neglects as trifling are +often the cause of the opinion, good or bad, formed of you by men.”] +Manner is acquired so imperceptibly that we have given its origin to +Nature, as we do the origin of all else for which our ignorance can +find no other source. Mine was unprepossessing: I was disliked, and I +returned the feeling; I sought not, and I was shunned. Then I thought +that all were unjust to me, and I grew bitter and sullen and morose: I +cased myself in the stubbornness of pride; I pored over the books which +spoke of the worthlessness of man; and I indulged the discontent of +myself by brooding over the frailties of my kind.” + +“My passions were strong: they told me to suppress them. The precept was +old, and seemed wise: I attempted to enforce it. I had already begun, in +earlier infancy, the lesson: I had now only to renew it. Fortunately I +was diverted from this task, or my mind in conquering its passions would +have conquered its powers. I learned in after lessons that the passions +are not to be suppressed; they are to be directed; and, when directed, +rather to be strengthened than subdued.” + +“Observe how a word may influence a life: a man whose opinion I +esteemed, made of me the casual and trite remark, that ‘my nature +was one of which it was impossible to augur evil or good: it might be +extreme in either.’ This observation roused me into thought: could +I indeed be all that was good or evil? had I the choice, and could I +hesitate which to choose? But what was good and what was evil? That +seemed the most difficult inquiry.” + +“I asked and received no satisfactory reply: in the words of Erasmus, +‘Totius negotii caput ac fontem ignorant, divinant, ac delirant omnes;’ +[“All ignore, guess, and rave about the head and fountain of the whole +question at issue.”] so I resolved myself to inquire and to decide. I +subjected to my scrutiny the moralist and the philosopher. I saw that +on all sides they disputed, but I saw that they grew virtuous in the +dispute: they uttered much that was absurd about the origin of good, but +much more that was exalted in its praise; and I never rose from any work +which treated ably upon morals, whatever were its peculiar opinions, +but I felt my breast enlightened and my mind ennobled by my studies. The +professor of one sect commanded me to avoid the dogmatist of another +as the propagator of moral poison; and the dogmatist retaliated on the +professor: but I avoided neither; I read both, and turned all ‘into +honey and fine gold.’ No inquiry into wisdom, however superficial, +is undeserving attention. The vagaries of the idlest fancy will often +chance, as it were, upon the most useful discoveries of truth, and +serve as a guide to after and to slower disciples of wisdom; even as +the peckings of birds in an unknown country indicate to the adventurous +seamen the best and the safest fruits.” + +“From the works of men I looked into their lives; and I found that there +was a vast difference (though I am not aware that it has before +been remarked) between those who cultivated a talent, and those who +cultivated the mind: I found that the mere men of genius were often +erring or criminal in their lives; but that vice or crime in the +disciples of philosophy was strikingly unfrequent and rare. The +extremest culture of reason had not, it is true, been yet carried far +enough to preserve the labourer from follies of opinion, but a moderate +culture had been sufficient to deter him from the vices of life. And +only to the sons of Wisdom, as of old to the sages of the East, seemed +given the unerring star, which, through the travail of Earth and the +clouds of Heaven, led them at the last to their God!” + +“When I gleaned this fact from biography, I paused, and said, ‘Then +must there be something excellent in Wisdom, if it can even in its +most imperfect disciples be thus beneficial to morality.’ Pursuing this +sentiment, I redoubled my researches, and, behold, the object of +my quest was won! I had before sought a satisfactory answer to the +question, ‘What is Virtue?’ from men of a thousand tenets, and my heart +had rejected all I had received. ‘Virtue,’ said some, and my soul bowed +reverently to the dictate, ‘Virtue is Religion.’ I heard and humbled +myself before the Divine Book. Let me trust that I did not humble myself +in vain! But the dictate satisfied less than it awed; for either it +limited Virtue to the mere belief, or by extending it to the practice, +of Religion, it extended also the inquiry to the method in which the +practice should be applied. But with the first interpretation of the +dictate who could rest contented?--for while, in the perfect enforcement +of the tenets of our faith, all virtue may be found, so in the +passive and the mere belief in its divinity, we find only an engine as +applicable to evil as to good: the torch which should illumine the altar +has also lighted the stake, and the zeal of the persecutor has been no +less sincere than the heroism of the martyr. Rejecting, therefore, this +interpretation, I accepted the other: I felt in my heart, and I rejoiced +as I felt it, that in the practice of Religion the body of all virtue +could be found. But, in that conviction, had I at once an answer to my +inquiries? Could the mere desire of good be sufficient to attain it; and +was the attempt at virtue synonymous with success? On the contrary, have +not those most desirous of obeying the precepts of God often sinned the +most against their spirit, and has not zeal been frequently the most +ardent when crime was the most rife? [There can be no doubt that they +who exterminated the Albigenses, established the Inquisition, lighted +the fires at Smithfield, were actuated, not by a desire to do evil, but +(monstrous as it may seem) to do good; not to counteract, but to enforce +what they believed the wishes of the Almighty; so that a good intention, +without the enlightenment to direct it to a fitting object, may be as +pernicious to human happiness as one the most fiendish. We are told of +a whole people who used to murder their guests, not from ferocity or +interest, but from the pure and praiseworthy motive of obtaining the +good qualities, which they believed, by the murder of the deceased, +devolved upon them!] But what, if neither sincerity nor zeal was +sufficient to constitute goodness; what if in the breasts of the +best-intentioned crime had been fostered the more dangerously because +the more disguised,--what ensued? That the religion which they +professed, they believed, they adored, they had also misunderstood; and +that the precepts to be drawn from the Holy Book they had darkened by +their ignorance or perverted by their passions! Here then, at once, +my enigma was solved; here then, at once, I was led to the goal of my +inquiry! Ignorance and the perversion of passion are but the same thing, +though under different names; for only by our ignorance are our passions +perverted. Therefore, what followed?--that, if by ignorance the greatest +of God’s gifts had been turned to evil, Knowledge alone was the light +by which even the pages of Religion should be read. It followed that the +Providence that knew that the nature it had created should be constantly +in exercise, and that only through labour comes improvement, had wisely +ordained that we should toil even for the blessing of its holiest and +clearest laws. It had given us in Religion, as in this magnificent +world, treasures and harvests which might be called forth in +incalculable abundance; but had decreed that through our exertions only +should they be called forth a palace more gorgeous than the palaces +of enchantment was before us, but its chambers were a labyrinth which +required a clew.” + +“What was that clew? Was it to be sought for in the corners of earth, or +was it not beneficially centred in ourselves? Was it not the exercise +of a power easy for us to use, if we would dare to do so? Was it not the +simple exertion of the discernment granted to us for all else? Was it +not the exercise of our reason? ‘Reason!’ cried the Zealot, ‘pernicious +and hateful instrument, it is fraught with peril to yourself and to +others: do not think for a moment of employing an engine so fallacious +and so dangerous.’ But I listened not to the Zealot: could the steady +and bright torch which, even where the Star of Bethlehem had withheld +its diviner light, had guided some patient and unwearied steps to the +very throne of Virtue, become but a deceitful meteor to him who kindled +it for the aid of Religion, and in an eternal cause? Could it be +perilous to task our reason, even to the utmost, in the investigation of +the true utility and hidden wisdom of the works of God, when God himself +had ordained that only through some exertion of our reason should we +know either from Nature or Revelation that He himself existed? ‘But,’ +cried the Zealot again, ‘but mere mortal wisdom teaches men presumption, +and presumption doubt.’ ‘Pardon me,’ I answered; ‘it is not Wisdom, +but Ignorance, which teaches men presumption: Genius may be sometimes +arrogant, but nothing is so diffident as Knowledge.’ ‘But,’ resumed +the Zealot, ‘those accustomed to subtle inquiries may dwell only on the +minutiae of faith,--inexplicable, because useless to explain, and argue +from those minutiae against the grand and universal truth.’ Pardon me +again: it is the petty not the enlarged mind which prefers casuistry +to conviction; it is the confined and short sight of Ignorance which, +unable to comprehend the great bearings of truth, pries only into its +narrow and obscure corners, occupying itself in scrutinizing the atoms +of a part, while the eagle eye of Wisdom contemplates, in its widest +scale, the luminous majesty of the whole. Survey our faults, our errors, +our vices,--fearful and fertile field! Trace them to their causes: all +those causes resolve themselves into one,--Ignorance! For as we have +already seen that from this source flow the abuses of Religion, so also +from this source flow the abuses of all other blessings,--of talents, of +riches, of power; for we abuse things, either because we know not their +real use, or because, with an equal blindness, we imagine the abuse more +adapted to our happiness. But as ignorance, then, is the sole spring +of evil, so, as the antidote to ignorance is knowledge, it necessarily +follows that, were we consummate in knowledge, we should be perfect in +good. He, therefore, who retards the progress of intellect countenances +crime,--nay, to a State, is the greatest of criminals; while he who +circulates that mental light more precious than the visual is the +holiest improver and the surest benefactor of his race. Nor let us +believe, with the dupes, of a shallow policy, that there exists upon the +earth one prejudice that can be called salutary or one error beneficial +to perpetrate. As the petty fish which is fabled to possess the property +of arresting the progress of the largest vessel to which it clings, even +so may a single prejudice, unnoticed or despised, more than the adverse +blast or the dead calm, delay the bark of Knowledge in the vast seas of +Time.” + +“It is true that the sanguineness of philanthropists may have carried +them too far; it is true (for the experiment has not yet been made) that +God may have denied to us, in this state, the consummation of knowledge, +and the consequent perfection in good; but because we cannot be perfect +are we to resolve we will be evil? One step in knowledge is one step +from sin: one step from sin is one step nearer to Heaven: Oh! never let +us be deluded by those who, for political motives, would adulterate the +divinity of religious truths; never let us believe that our Father in +Heaven rewards most the one talent unemployed, or that prejudice and +indolence and folly find the most favour in His sight! The very heathen +has bequeathed to us a nobler estimate of His nature; and the same +sentence which so sublimely declares ‘TRUTH IS THE BODY OF GOD’ declares +also ‘AND LIGHT IS HIS SHADOW.’” [Plato.] + +“Persuaded, then, that knowledge contained the key to virtue, it was to +knowledge that I applied. The first grand lesson which it taught me +was the solution of a phrase most hackneyed, least understood; namely, +‘common-sense.’ [Koinonoaemosunae, sensus communis.] It is in the +Portico of the Greek sage that that phrase has received its legitimate +explanation; it is there we are taught that ‘common-sense’ signifies +‘the sense of the common interest.’ Yes! it is the most beautiful truth +in morals that we have no such thing as a distinct or divided interest +from our race. In their welfare is ours; and, by choosing the broadest +paths to effect their happiness, we choose the surest and the shortest +to our own. As I read and pondered over these truths, I was sensible +that a great change was working a fresh world out of the former +materials of my mind. My passions, which before I had checked into +uselessness, or exerted to destruction, now started forth in a nobler +shape, and prepared for a new direction: instead of urging me to +individual aggrandizement, they panted for universal good, and coveted +the reward of Ambition only for the triumphs of Benevolence.” + +“This is one stage of virtue; I cannot resist the belief that there is +a higher: it is when we begin to love virtue, not for its objects, but +itself. For there are in knowledge these two excellences: first, that it +offers to every man, the most selfish and the most exalted, his peculiar +inducement to good. It says to the former, ‘Serve mankind, and you serve +yourself;’ to the latter, ‘In choosing the best means to secure your +own happiness, you will have the sublime inducement of promoting the +happiness of mankind.’” + +“The second excellence of Knowledge is that even the selfish man, when +he has once begun to love Virtue from little motives, loses the motives +as he increases the love; and at last worships the deity, where before +he only coveted the gold upon its altar.” + +“And thus I learned to love Virtue solely for its own beauty. I said +with one who, among much dross, has many particles of ore, ‘If it be not +estimable in itself, I can see nothing estimable in following it for the +sake of a bargain.’ [Lord Shaftesbury.] + +“I looked round the world, and saw often Virtue in rags and Vice in +purple: the former conduces to happiness, it is true, but the happiness +lies within and not in externals. I contemned the deceitful folly +with which writers have termed it poetical justice to make the good +ultimately prosperous in wealth, honour, fortunate love, or successful +desires. Nothing false, even in poetry, can be just; and that pretended +moral is, of all, the falsest. Virtue is not more exempt than Vice from +the ills of fate, but it contains within itself always an energy +to resist them, and sometimes an anodyne to soothe,--to repay your +quotation from Tibullus,-- + + ‘Crura sonant ferro, sed canit inter opus!’” + [“The chains clank on its limbs, but it sings amidst its tasks.”] + +“When in the depths of my soul I set up that divinity of this nether +earth, which Brutus never really understood, if, because unsuccessful in +its efforts, he doubted its existence, I said in the proud prayer with +which I worshipped it, ‘Poverty may humble my lot, but it shall not +debase thee; Temptation may shake my nature, but not the rock on which +thy temple is based; Misfortune may wither all the hopes that have +blossomed around thine altar, but I will sacrifice dead leaves when the +flowers are no more. Though all that I have loved perish, all that I +have coveted fade away, I may murmur at fate, but I will have no voice +but that of homage for thee! Nor, while thou smilest upon my way, would +I exchange with the loftiest and happiest of thy foes! More bitter than +aught of what I then dreamed have been my trials, but I have fulfilled +my vow!’” + +“I believe that alone to be a true description of Virtue which makes +it all-sufficient to itself, that alone a just portraiture of its +excellence which does not lessen its internal power by exaggerating its +outward advantages, nor degrade its nobility by dwelling only on its +rewards. The grandest moral of ancient lore has ever seemed to me that +which the picture of Prometheus affords; in whom neither the shaking +earth, nor the rending heaven, nor the rock without, nor the vulture +within, could cause regret for past benevolence, or terror for future +evil, or envy, even amidst tortures, for the dishonourable prosperity +of his insulter! [Mercury.--See the “Prometheus” of Aeschylus.] Who +that has glowed over this exalted picture will tell us that we must make +Virtue prosperous in order to allure to it, or clothe Vice with misery +in order to revolt us from its image? Oh! who, on the contrary, would +not learn to adore Virtue, from the bitterest sufferings of such a +votary, a hundredfold more than he would learn to love Vice from the +gaudiest triumphs of its most fortunate disciples?” + +Something there was in Mordaunt’s voice and air, and the impassioned +glow of his countenance, that, long after he had ceased, thrilled in +Clarence’s heart, “like the remembered tone of a mute lyre.” And when +a subsequent event led him at rash moments to doubt whether Virtue was +indeed the chief good, Linden recalled the words of that night and the +enthusiasm with which they were uttered, repented that in his doubt he +had wronged the truth, and felt that there is a power in the deep heart +of man to which even Destiny is submitted! + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + + Will you hear the letter? + ..... + This is the motley-minded gentleman that I have before met in the + forest.--As You Like It. + +A morning or two after the conversation with which our last chapter +concluded, Clarence received the following letter from the Duke of +Haverfield:-- + +Your letter, my dear Linden, would have been answered before, but for an +occurrence which is generally supposed to engross the whole attention of +the persons concerned in it. Let me see,--ay, three,--yes, I have been +exactly three days married! Upon my honour, there is much less in the +event than one would imagine; and the next time it happens I will not +put myself to such amazing trouble and inconvenience about it. But one +buys wisdom only by experience. Now, however, that I have communicated +to you the fact, I expect you, in the first place, to excuse my +negligence for not writing before; for (as I know you are fond of +the literae humaniores, I will give the sentiment the dignity of a +quotation)-- + + “Un veritable amant ne connoit point d’amis;” + [“A true lover recognizes no friends.”--CORNEILLE.] + +and though I have been three days married, I am still a lover! In +the second place, I expect you to be very grateful that, all things +considered, I write to you so soon; it would indeed not be an ordinary +inducement that could make me “put pen to paper” (is not that the true +vulgar, commercial, academical, metaphorical, epistolary style?) so +shortly after the fatal ceremony. So, had I nothing to say but in reply +to your comments on state affairs (hang them!) or in applause of your +Italian friend, of whom I say, as Charles II. said of the honest yeoman, +“I can admire virtue, though I can’t imitate it,” I think it highly +probable that your letter might still remain in a certain box of +tortoise-shell and gold (formerly belonging to the great Richelieu, and +now in my possession), in which I at this instant descry, “with many +a glance of woe and boding dire,” sundry epistles, in manifold +handwritings, all classed under the one fearful denomination,-- +“unanswered.” + +No, my good Linden, my heart is inditing of a better matter than this. +Listen to me, and then stay at your host’s or order your swiftest steed, +as seems most meet to you. + +You said rightly that Miss Trevanion, now her Grace of Haverfield, +was the intimate friend of Lady Flora Ardenne. I have often talked to +her--namely, Eleanor, not Lady Flora--about you, and was renewing the +conversation yesterday, when your letter, accidentally lying before me, +reminded me of you. + +Sundry little secrets passed in due conjugal course from her possession +into mine. I find that you have been believed by Lady Flora to have +played the perfidious with La Meronville; that she never knew of your +application to her father! and his reply; that, on the contrary, she +accused you of indifference in going abroad without attempting to obtain +an interview or excuse your supposed infidelity; that her heart is +utterly averse to a union with that odious Lord Boro--bah! I mean Lord +Ulswater; and that--prepare, Linden--she still cherishes your memory, +even through time, change, and fancied desertion, with a tenderness +which--which--deuce take it, I never could write sentiment: but you +understand me; so I will not conclude the phrase. “Nothing in oratory,” + said my cousin D----, who was, entre nous, more honest than eloquent, +“like a break!”--“down! you should have added,” said I. + +I now, my dear Linden, leave you to your fate. For my part, though I +own Lord Ulswater is a lord whom ladies in love with the et ceteras of +married pomp might well desire, yet I do think it would be no difficult +matter for you to eclipse him. I cannot, it is true, advise you to run +away with Lady Flora. Gentlemen don’t run away with the daughters of +gentlemen; but, without running away, you may win your betrothed +and Lord Ulswater’s intended. A distinguished member of the House of +Commons, owner of Scarsdale, and representative of the most ancient +branch of the Talbots,--mon Dieu! you might marry a queen dowager, and +decline settlements! + +And so, committing thee to the guidance of that winged god, who, if +three days afford any experience, has made thy friend forsake pleasure +only to find happiness, I bid thee, most gentle Linden, farewell. HAVERFIELD. + +Upon reading this letter, Clarence felt as a man suddenly transformed. +From an exterior of calm and apathy, at the bottom of which lay one +bitter and corroding recollection, he passed at once into a state of +emotion, wild, agitated, and confused; yet, amidst all, was foremost +a burning and intense hope, which for long years he had not permitted +himself to form. + +He descended into the breakfast parlour. Mordaunt, whose hours of +appearing, though not of rising, were much later than Clarence’s, was +not yet down; and our lover had full leisure to form his plans, before +his host made his entree. + +“Will you ride to-day?” said Mordaunt; “there are some old ruins in the +neighbourhood well worth the trouble of a visit.” + +“I grieve to say,” answered Clarence, “that I must take my leave of you. +I have received intelligence this morning which may greatly influence my +future life, and by which I am obliged to make an excursion to another +part of the country, nearly a day’s journey, on horseback.” + +Mordaunt looked at his guest, and conjectured by his heightened colour, +and an embarrassment which he in vain endeavoured to conceal, that the +journey might have some cause for its suddenness and despatch which +the young senator had his peculiar reasons for concealing. Algernon +contented himself, therefore, with expressing his regret at Linden’s +abrupt departure, without incurring the indiscreet hospitality of +pressing a longer sojourn beneath his roof. + +Immediately after breakfast, Clarence’s horse was brought to the door, +and Harrison received orders to wait with the carriage at W---- until +his master returned. Not a little surprised, we trow, was the worthy +valet at his master’s sudden attachment to equestrian excursions. +Mordaunt accompanied his visitor through the park, and took leave of him +with a warmth which sensibly touched Clarence, in spite of the absence +and excitement of his thoughts; indeed, the unaffected and simple +character of Linden, joined to his acute, bold, and cultivated mind, had +taken strong hold of Mordaunt’s interest and esteem. + +It was a mild autumnal morning, but thick clouds in the rear +prognosticated rain; and the stillness of the wind, the low flight of +the swallows, and the lowing of the cattle, slowly gathering towards +the nearest shelter within their appointed boundaries, confirmed the +inauspicious omen. Clarence had passed the town of W----, and was +entering into a road singularly hilly, when he “was aware,” as the +quaint old writers of former days expressed themselves, of a tall +stranger, mounted on a neat well-trimmed galloway, who had for the +last two minutes been advancing towards a closely parallel line with +Clarence, and had, by sundry glances and hems, denoted a desire of +commencing acquaintance and conversation with his fellow traveller. + +At last he summoned courage, and said, with a respectful, though +somewhat free, air, “That is a very fine horse of yours, sir; I have +seldom seen so fast a walker: if all his other paces are equally good, +he must be quite a treasure.” + +All men have their vanities. Clarence’s was as much in his horse’s +excellence as his own; and, gratified even with the compliment of a +stranger, he replied to it by joining in the praise, though with a +modest and measured forbearance, which the stranger, if gifted with +penetration, could easily have discerned was more affected than sincere. + +“And yet, sir;” resumed Clarence’s new companion, “my little palfrey +might perhaps keep pace with your steed; look, I lay the rein on his +neck, and, you see, he rivals--by heaven, he outwalks--yours.” + +Not a little piqued and incensed, Linden also relaxed his rein, and +urged his horse to a quicker step: but the lesser competitor not only +sustained, but increased, his superiority; and it was only by breaking +into a trot that Linden’s impatient and spirited steed could overtake +him. Hitherto Clarence had not honoured his new companion with more than +a rapid and slight glance; but rivalry, even in trifles, begets respect, +and our defeated hero now examined him with a more curious eye. + +The stranger was between forty and fifty,--an age in which, generally, +very little of the boy has survived the advance of manhood; yet was +there a hearty and frank exhilaration in the manner and look of the +person we describe which is rarely found beyond the first stage of +youth. His features were comely and clearly cut, and his air and +appearance indicative of a man who might equally have belonged to the +middle or the upper orders. But Clarence’s memory, as well as attention, +was employed in his survey of the stranger; and he recognized, in a +countenance on which time had passed very lightly, an old and ofttimes +recalled acquaintance. However, he did not immediately make himself +known. “I will first see,” thought he, “whether he can remember his +young guest in the bronzed stranger after eight years’ absence.” + +“Well,” said Clarence, as he approached the owner of the palfrey, who +was laughing with childish glee at his conquest, “well, you have won, +sir; but the tortoise might beat the hare in walking, and I content +myself with thinking that at a trot or a gallop the result of a race +would have been very different.” + +“I am not so sure of that, sir,” said the sturdy stranger, patting the +arched neck of his little favourite: “if you would like to try either, I +should have no objection to venture a trifling wager on the event.” + +“You are very good,” said Clarence, with a smile in which urbanity was +a little mingled with contemptuous incredulity; “but I am not now at +leisure to win your money: I have a long day’s journey before me, and +must not tire a faithful servant; yet I do candidly confess that I +think” (and Clarence’s recollection of the person he addressed made him +introduce the quotation) “that my horse + + ‘Excels a common one + In shape, in courage, colour, pace, and bone.’” + +“Eh, sir,” cried our stranger, as his eyes sparkled at the verses: “I +would own that your horse were worth all the horses in the kingdom, +if you brought Will Shakspeare to prove it. And I am also willing to +confess that your steed does fairly merit the splendid praise which +follows the lines you have quoted,-- + + ‘Round hoofed, short jointed, fetlocks shag and long, + Broad breast, full eyes, small head, and nostril wide, + High crest, short ears, straight legs, and passing strong, + Thin mane, thick tale, broad buttock, tender hide.’” + +“Come,” said Clarence, “your memory has atoned for your horse’s victory, +and I quite forgive your conquest in return for your compliment; but +suffer me to ask how long you have commenced cavalier. The Arab’s +tent is, if I err not, more a badge of your profession than the Arab’s +steed.” + +King Cole (for the stranger was no less a person) looked at his +companion in surprise. “So you know me, then, sir! Well, it is a hard +thing for a man to turn honest, when people have so much readier a +recollection of his sins than his reform.” + +“Reform!” quoth Clarence, “am I then to understand that your Majesty has +abdicated your dominions under the greenwood tree?” + +“You are,” said Cole, eying his acquaintance inquisitively; “you are. + + ‘I fear no more the heat of the sun, + Nor the furious winter’s rages; + I my worldly task have done, + Home am gone, and ta’en my wages.’” + +“I congratulate you,” said Clarence: “but only in part; for I have often +envied your past state, and do not know enough of your present to say +whether I should equally envy that.” + +“Why,” answered Cole, “after all, we commit a great error in imagining +that it is the living wood or the dead wall which makes happiness. ‘My +mind to me a kingdom is;’ and it is that which you must envy, if you +honour anything belonging to me with that feeling.” + +“The precept is both good and old,” answered Clarence; “yet I think it +was not a very favourite maxim of yours some years ago. I remember a +time when you thought no happiness could exist out of ‘dingle and bosky +dell.’ If not very intrusive on your secrets, may I know how long you +have changed your sentiments and manner of life? The reason of the +change I dare not presume to ask.” + +“Certainly,” said the quondam gypsy, musingly, “certainly I have seen +your face before, and even the tone of your voice strikes me as not +wholly unfamiliar: yet I cannot for the life of me guess whom I have the +honour of addressing. However, sir, I have no hesitation in answering +your questions. It was just five years ago, last summer, when I left +the Tents of Kedar. I now reside about a mile hence. It is but a hundred +yards off the high road, and if you would not object to step aside and +suffer a rasher, or aught else, to be ‘the shoeing-horn to draw on a cup +of ale,’ as our plain forefathers were wont wittily to say, why, I shall +be very happy to show you my habitation. You will have a double welcome, +from the circumstance of my having been absent from home for the last +three days.” + +Clarence, mindful of his journey, was about to decline the invitation, +when a few heavy drops falling began to fulfil the cloudy promise of the +morning. “Trust,” said Cole, “one who has been for years a watcher of +the signs and menaces of the weather: we shall have a violent shower +immediately. You have now no choice but to accompany me home.” + +“Well,” said Clarence, yielding with a good grace, “I am glad of so good +an excuse for intruding on your hospitality. + + ‘O sky! + Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, + And make me travel forth without my cloak?’” + +“Bravo!” cried the ex-chief, too delighted to find a comrade so well +acquainted with Shakspeare’s sonnets to heed the little injustice +Clarence had done the sky, in accusing it of a treachery its black +clouds had by no means deserved. “Bravo, sir; and now, my palfrey +against your steed,--trot, eh? or gallop?” + +“Trot, if it must be so,” said Clarence, superciliously; “but I am a few +paces before you.” + +“So much the better,” cried the jovial chief. “Little John’s mettle will +be the more up: on with you, sir; he who breaks into a canter loses; +on!” + +And Clarence slightly touching his beautiful steed, the race was begun. +At first his horse, which was a remarkable stepper, as the modern +Messrs. Anderson and Dyson would say, greatly gained the advantage. “To +the right,” cried the ci-devant gypsy, as Linden had nearly passed +a narrow lane which led to the domain of the ex-king. The turn gave +“Little John” an opportunity which he seized to advantage; and, to +Clarence’s indignant surprise, he beheld Cole now close behind, now +beside, and now--now--before! In the heat of the moment he put spurs +rather too sharply to his horse, and the spirited animal immediately +passed his competitor, but--in a canter! + +“Victoria!” cried Cole, keeping back his own steed. “Victoria! confess +it!” + +“Pshaw,” said Clarence, petulantly. + +“Nay, sir, never mind it,” quoth the retired sovereign; “perhaps it was +but a venial transgression of your horse, and on other ground I should +not have beat you.” + +It is very easy to be generous when one is quite sure one is the victor. +Clarence felt this, and, muttering out something about the sharp angle +in the road, turned abruptly from all further comment on the subject by +saying, “We are now, I suppose, entering your territory. Does not this +white gate lead to your new (at least new to me) abode?” + +“It does,” replied Cole, opening the said gate, and pausing as if to +suffer his guest and rival to look round and admire. The house, in full +view, was of red brick, small and square, faced with stone copings, +and adorned in the centre with a gable roof, on which was a ball of +glittering metal. A flight of stone steps led to the porch, which was of +fair size and stately, considering the proportions of the mansion: over +the door was a stone shield of arms, surmounted by a stag’s head; and +above this heraldic ornament was a window of great breadth, compared to +the other conveniences of a similar nature. On either side of the house +ran a slight iron fence, the protection of sundry plots of gay flowers +and garden shrubs, while two peacocks were seen slowly stalking towards +the enclosure to seek a shelter from the increasing shower. At the back +of the building, thick trees and a rising hill gave a meet defence from +the winds of winter; and, in front, a sloping and small lawn afforded +pasture for few sheep and two pet deer. Towards the end of this lawn +were two large fishponds, shaded by rows of feathered trees. On the +margin of each of these, as if emblematic of ancient customs, was a +common tent; and in the intermediate space was a rustic pleasure-house, +fenced from the encroaching cattle, and half hid by surrounding laurel +and the parasite ivy. + +All together there was a quiet and old-fashioned comfort, and even +luxury, about the place, which suited well with the eccentric character +of the abdicated chief; and Clarence, as he gazed around, really felt +that he might perhaps deem the last state of the owner not worse than +the first. + +Unmindful of the rain, which now began to pour fast and full, Cole +suffered “Little John’s” rein to fall over his neck, and the spoiled +favourite to pluck the smooth grass beneath, while he pointed out to +Clarence the various beauties of his seat. + +“There, sir,” said he, “by those ponds in which, I assure you, old Isaac +might have fished with delight, I pass many a summer’s day. I was +always a lover of the angle, and the farthest pool is the most beautiful +bathing-place imaginable;--as glorious Geoffrey Chaucer says,-- + + ‘The gravel’s gold; the water pure as glass, + The baukes round the well environing; + And softe as velvet the younge grass + That thereupon lustily come springing.’” + +“And in that arbour, Lucy--that is, my wife--sits in the summer evenings +with her father and our children; and then--ah! see our pets come to +welcome me,” pointing to the deer, who had advanced within a few yards +of him, but, intimidated by the stranger, would not venture within +reach--“Lucy loved choosing her favourites among animals which had +formerly been wild, and, faith, I loved it too. But you observe the +house, sir: it was built in the reign of Queen Anne; it belonged to +my mother’s family; but my father sold it, and his son five years ago +rebought it. Those arms belonged to my maternal ancestry. Look, look +at the peacocks creeping along: poor pride theirs that can’t stand the +shower! But, egad, that reminds me of the rain. Come, sir, let us make +for our shelter.” And, resuming their progress, a minute more brought +them to the old-fashioned porch. Cole’s ring summoned a man, not decked +in “livery gay,” but, “clad in serving frock,” who took the horses with +a nod, half familiar, half respectful, at his master’s injunctions of +attention and hospitality to the stranger’s beast; and then our old +acquaintance, striking through a small low hall, ushered Clarence into +the chief sitting-room of the mansion. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + + We are not poor; although we have + No roofs of cedar, nor our brave + Baiae, nor keep + Account of such a flock of sheep, + Nor bullocks fed + To lard the shambles; barbles bred + To kiss our hands; nor do we wish + For Pollio’s lampreys in our dish. + + If we can meet and so confer + Both by a shining salt-cellar, + And have our roof, + Although not arched, yet weather-proof, + And ceiling free + From that cheap candle-bawdery, + We’ll eat our bean with that full mirth + As we were lords of all the earth. + HERRICK, from HORACE. + +On entering the room, Clarence recognized Lucy, whom eight years had +converted into a sleek and portly matron of about thirty-two, without +stealing from her countenance its original expression of mingled modesty +and good-nature. She hastened to meet her husband, with an eager and +joyous air of welcome seldom seen on matrimonial faces after so many +years of wedlock. + +A fine, stout boy, of about eleven years old, left a crossbow, which on +his father’s entrance he had appeared earnestly employed in mending, to +share with his mother the salutations of the Returned. An old man sat +in an armchair by the fire, gazing on the three with an affectionate and +gladdening eye, and playfully detaining a child of about four years old, +who was struggling to escape to dear “papa”! + +The room was of oak wainscot, and the furniture plain, solid, and +strong, and cast in the fashion still frequently found in those country +houses which have remained unaltered by innovation since the days of +George II. + +Three rough-coated dogs, of a breed that would have puzzled a +connoisseur, gave themselves the rousing shake, and, deserting the +luxurious hearth, came in various welcome to their master. + +One rubbed himself against Cole’s sturdy legs, murmuring soft +rejoicings: he was the grandsire of the canine race, and his wick of +life burned low in the socket. Another sprang up almost to the face of +his master, and yelled his very heart out with joy; that was the son, +exulting in the vigour of matured doghood; and the third scrambled and +tumbled over the others, uttering his paeans in a shrill treble, and +chiding most snappishly at his two progenitors for interfering with his +pretensions to notice; that was the infant dog, the little reveller +in puppy childishness! Clarence stood by the door, with his fine +countenance smiling benevolently at the happiness he beheld, and +congratulating himself that for one moment the group had forgot that he +was a stranger. + +As soon as our gypsy friend had kissed his wife, shaken hands with his +eldest hope, shaken his head at his youngest, smiled his salutation at +the father-in-law, and patted into silence the canine claimants of +his favour, he turned to Clarence, and saying, half bashfully, half +good-humouredly, “See what a troublesome thing it is to return home, +even after three days’ absence. Lucy, dearest, welcome a new friend!” + he placed a chair by the fireside for his guest, and motioned him to be +seated. + +The chief expression of Clarence’s open and bold countenance was centred +in the eyes and forehead; and, as he now doffed his hat, which had +hitherto concealed that expression, Lucy and her husband recognized him +simultaneously. + +“I am sure, sir,” cried the former, “that I am glad to see you once +more!” + +“Ah! my young guest under the gypsy awning!” exclaimed the latter, +shaking him heartily by the hand: “where were my eyes that they did not +recognize you before? + +“Eight years,” answered Clarence, “have worked more change with me and +my friend here” (pointing to the boy, whom he had left last so mere a +child) “than they have with you and his blooming mother. The wonder is, +not that you did not remember me before, but that you remember me now!” + +“You are altered, sir, certainly,” said the frank chief. “Your face is +thinner, and far graver, and the smooth cheeks of the boy (for, craving +your pardon, you were little more then) are somewhat darkened by the +bronzed complexion with which time honours the man.” + +And the good Cole sighed, as he contrasted Linden’s ardent countenance +and elastic figure, when he had last beheld him, with the serious and +thoughtful face of the person now before him: yet did he inly own that +years, if they had in some things deteriorated from, had in others +improved the effect of Clarence’s appearance; they had brought decision +to his mien and command to his brow, and had enlarged, to an ampler +measure of dignity and power, the proportions of his form. Something, +too, there was in his look, like that of a man who has stemmed fate and +won success; and the omen of future triumph, which our fortune-telling +chief had drawn from his features when first beheld, seemed already in +no small degree to have been fulfilled. + +Having seen her guest stationed in the seat of honour opposite her +father, Lucy withdrew for a few moments, and, when she reappeared, was +followed by a neat-handed sort of Phillis for a country-maiden, bearing +such kind of “savoury messes” as the house might be supposed to afford. + +“At all events, mine host,” said Clarence, “you did not desert the +flesh-pots of Egypt when you forsook its tents.” + +“Nay,” quoth the worthy Cole, seating himself at the table, “either +under the roof or the awning we may say, in the words of the old +epilogue,--[To the play of “All Fools,” by Chapman.] + + ‘We can but bring you meat and set you stools, + And to our best cheer say, + You all are welcome.’” + +“We are plain people still; but if you can stay till dinner, you shall +have a bottle of such wine as our fathers’ honest souls would have +rejoiced in.” + +“I am truly sorry that I cannot tarry with you, after so fair a +promise,” replied Clarence; “but before night I must be many miles +hence.” + +Lucy came forward timidly. “Do you remember this ring, sir?” said she +(presenting one); “you dropped it in my boy’s frock when we saw you +last.” + +“I did so,” answered Clarence. “I trust that he will not now disdain +a stranger’s offering. May it be as ominous of good luck to him as my +night in your caravan has proved to me!” + +“I am heartily glad to hear that you have prospered,” said Cole; “now, +let us fall to.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + + Out of these convertites + There is much matter to be heard and learned.--SHAKSPEARE. + +“If you are bent upon leaving us so soon,” said the honest Cole, +as Clarence, refusing all further solicitation to stay, seized the +opportunity which the cessation of the rain afforded him, and rose to +depart, “if you are bent upon leaving us so soon, I will accompany you +back again into the main road, as in duty bound.” + +“What, immediately on your return!” said Clarence. “No, no; not a step. +What would my fair hostess say to me if I suffered it?” + +“Rather, what would she say to me if I neglected such a courtesy? Why, +sir, when I meet one who knows Shakspeare’s sonnets, to say nothing +of the lights of the lesser stars, as well as you, only once in eight +years, do you not think I would make the most of him? Besides, it is but +a quarter of a mile to the road, and I love walking after a shower.” + +“I am afraid, Mrs. Cole,” said Clarence, “that I must be selfish enough +to accept the offer.” And Mrs. Cole, blushing and smiling her assent and +adieu, Clarence shook hands with the whole party, grandfather and child +included, and took his departure. + +As Cole was now a pedestrian, Linden threw the rein over his arm, and +walked on foot by his host’s side. + +“So,” said he, smiling, “I must not inquire into the reasons of your +retirement?” + +“On the contrary,” replied Cole: “I have walked with you the more +gladly from my desire of telling them to you; for we all love to seem +consistent, even in our chimeras. About six years ago, I confess that I +began to wax a little weary of my wandering life: my child, in growing +up, required playmates; shall I own that I did not like him to find them +among the children of my own comrades? The old scamps were good enough +for me, but the young ones were a little too bad for my son. Between you +and me only be it said, my juvenile hope was already a little corrupted. +The dog Mim--you remember Mim, sir--secretly taught him to filch as well +as if he had been a bantling of his own; and, faith, our smaller goods +and chattels, especially of an edible nature, began to disappear, with +a rapidity and secrecy that our itinerant palace could very ill sustain. +Among us (i.e. gypsies) there is a law by which no member of the gang +may steal from another: but my little heaven-instructed youth would +by no means abide by that distinction; and so boldly designed and well +executed were his rogueries that my paternal anxiety saw nothing before +him but Botany Bay on the one hand and Newgate courtyard on the other.” + +“A sad prospect for the heir apparent!” quoth Clarence. + +“It was so!” answered Cole; “and it made me deliberate. Then, as one +gets older one’s romance oozes out a little in rheums and catarrhs. I +began to perceive that, though I had been bred I had not been educated +as a gypsy; and, what was worse, Lucy, though she never complained, felt +that the walls of our palace were not exempt from the damps of winter, +nor our royal state from the Caliban curses of-- + + ‘Cramps and + Side stitches that do pen our breath up.’” + +“She fell ill; and during her illness I had sundry bright visions of +warm rooms and coal fires, a friend with whom I could converse upon +Chaucer, and a tutor for my son who would teach him other arts than +those of picking pockets and pilfering larders. Nevertheless, I was a +little ashamed of my own thoughts; and I do not know whether they would +have been yet put into practice, but for a trifling circumstance which +converted doubt and longing into certainty.” + +“Our crank cuffins had for some time looked upon me with suspicion +and coldness: my superior privileges and comforts they had at first +forgiven, on account of my birth and my generosity to them; but by +degrees they lost respect for the one and gratitude for the other; +and as I had in a great measure ceased from participating in their +adventures, or, during Lucy’s illness, which lasted several months, +joining in their festivities, they at length considered me as a drone +in a hive, by no means compensating by my services as an ally for my +admittance into their horde as a stranger. You will easily conceive, +when this once became the state of their feelings towards me, with how +ill a temper they brooked the lordship of my stately caravan and my +assumption of superior command. Above all, the women, who were very +much incensed at Lucy’s constant seclusion from their orgies, fanned the +increasing discontent; and, at last, I verily believe that no eyesore +could have been more grievous to the Egyptians than my wooden habitation +and the smoke of its single chimney.” + +“From ill-will the rascals proceeded to ill acts; and one dark night, +when we were encamped on the very same ground as that which we occupied +when we received you, three of them, Mim at their head, attacked me in +mine own habitation. I verily believe, if they had mastered me, they +would have robbed and murdered us all; except perhaps my son, whom they +thought ill-used by depriving him of Mim’s instructive society. Howbeit, +I was still stirring when they invaded me, and, by the help of the poker +and a tolerably strong arm, I repelled the assailants; but that very +night I passed from the land of Egypt, and made with all possible +expedition to the nearest town, which was, as you may remember, W----.” + +“Here, the very next day, I learned that the house I now inhabit was to +be sold. It had (as I before said) belonged to my mother’s family, and +my father had sold it a little before his death. It was the home from +which I had been stolen, and to which I had been returned: often in my +star-lit wanderings had I flown to it in thought; and now it seemed as +if Providence itself, in offering to my age the asylum I had above all +others coveted for it, was interested in my retirement from the empire +of an ungrateful people and my atonement in rest for my past sins in +migration.” + +“Well, sir, in short, I became the purchaser of the place you have +just seen, and I now think that, after all, there is more happiness in +reality than romance: like the laverock, here will I build my nest,-- + + ‘Here give my weary spirit rest, + And raise my low-pitched thoughts above + Earth, or what poor mortals love.’” + +“And your son,” said Clarence, “has he reformed?” + +“Oh, yes,” answered Cole. “For my part, I believe the mind is less evil +than people say it is; its great characteristic is imitation, and it +will imitate the good as well as the bad, if we will set the example. +I thank Heaven, sir, that my boy now might go from Dan to Beersheba and +not filch a groat by the way.” + +“What do you intend him for?” said Clarence. + +“Why, he loves adventure, and, faith, I can’t break him of that, for +I love it too; so I think I shall get him a commission in the army, in +order to give him a fitting and legitimate sphere wherein to indulge his +propensities.” + +“You could not do better,” said Clarence. “But your fine sister, what +says she to your amendment?” + +“Oh! she wrote me a long letter of congratulation upon it and every +other summer she is graciously pleased to pay me a visit of three months +long; at which time, I observe, that poor Lucy is unusually smart +and uncomfortable. We sit in the best room, and turn out the dogs; +my father-in-law smokes his pipe in the arbour, instead of the +drawing-room; and I receive sundry hints, all in vain, on the propriety +of dressing for dinner. In return for these attentions on our part, my +sister invariably brings my boy a present of a pair of white gloves, and +my wife a French ribbon of the newest pattern; in the evening, instead +of my reading Shakspeare, she tells us anecdotes of high life, and, +when she goes away, she gives us, in return for our hospitality, a very +general and very gingerly invitation to her house. Lucy sometimes talks +to me about accepting it; but I turn a deaf ear to all such overtures, +and so we continue much better friends than we should be if we saw more +of each other.” + +“And how long has your father-in-law been with you?” + +“Ever since we have been here. He gave up his farm, and cultivates mine +for me; for I know nothing of those agricultural matters. I made his +coming a little surprise, in order to please Lucy: you should have +witnessed their meeting.” + +“I think I have now learned all particulars,” said Clarence; “it only +remains for me to congratulate you: but are you, in truth, never tired +of the monotony and sameness of domestic life?” + +“Yes! and then I do, as I have just done, saddle Little John, and go +on an excursion of three or four days, or even weeks, just as the whim +seizes me; for I never return till I am driven back by the yearning for +home, and the feeling that after all one’s wanderings there is no place +like it. Whether in private life or public, sir, in parting with a +little of one’s liberty one gets a great deal of comfort in exchange.” + +“I thank you truly for your frankness,” said Clarence; “it has solved +many doubts with respect to you that have often occurred to me. And now +we are in the main road, and I must bid you farewell: we part, but our +paths lead to the same object; you return to happiness, and I seek it.” + +“May you find it, and I not lose it, sir,” said the wanderer reclaimed; +and, shaking hands, the pair parted. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + + Quicquid agit Rufus, nihil est, nisi Naevia Rufo, + Si gaudet, si flet, si tacet, hanc loquitur; + Coenat, propinat, poscit, negat, annuit, una est Naevia; + si non sit Naevia, mutus erit. + Scriberet hesterna patri cum luce salutem + Naevia lux, inquit, Naevia numen, ave.--MART. + + [“Whatever Rufus does is nothing, except Naevia be at his elbow. + Be he joyful or sorrowful, be he even silent, he is still harping + upon her. He eats, he drinks, he talks, he denies, he assents; + Naevia is his sole theme: no Naevia, and he’s dumb. Yesterday at + daybreak, he would fain write a letter of salutation to his + father: ‘Hail, Naevia, light of my eyes,’ quoth he; ‘hail, Naevia, + my divine one.’”] + +“The last time,” said Clarence to himself, “that I travelled this road, +on exactly the same errand that I travel now, I do remember that I was +honoured by the company of one in all respects the opposite to mine +honest host; for, whereas in the latter there is a luxuriant and wild +eccentricity, an open and blunt simplicity, and a shrewd sense, which +looks not after pence, but peace; so, in the mind of the friend of +the late Lady Waddilove there was a flat and hedged-in primness and +narrowness of thought; an enclosure of bargains and profits of all +species,--mustard-pots, rings, monkeys, chains, jars, and plum-coloured +velvet inexpressibles; his ideas, with the true alchemy of trade, turned +them all into gold: yet was he also as shrewd and acute as he with whose +character he contrasts,--equally with him seeking comfort and gladness, +and an asylum for his old age. Strange that all tempers should have a +common object, and never a common road to it! But since I have begun the +contrast, let me hope that it may be extended in its omen unto me; let +me hope that as my encountering with the mercantile Brown brought me +ill-luck in my enterprise, thereby signifying the crosses and vexations +of those who labour in the cheateries and overreachings which constitute +the vocation of the world; so my meeting with the philosophical Cole, +who has, both in vagrancy and rest, found cause to boast of happiness, +authorities from his studies to favour his inclination to each, and +reason to despise what he, with Sir Kenelm Digby, would wisely call-- + + ‘The fading blossoms of the earth;’ + +so my meeting with him may prove a token of good speed to mine errand, +and thereby denote prosperity to one who seeks not riches, nor honour, +nor the conquest of knaves, nor the good word of fools, but happy love, +and the bourne of its quiet home.” + +Thus, half meditating, half moralizing, and drawing, like a true lover, +an omen of fear or hope from occurrences in which plain reason could +have perceived neither type nor token, Clarence continued and concluded +his day’s journey. He put up at the same little inn he had visited three +years ago, and watched his opportunity of seeing Lady Flora alone. More +fortunate in that respect than he had been before, such opportunity the +very next day presented to him. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + + Duke.--Sir Valentine! Thur.--Yonder is Silvia, and Silvia’s mine. + Val.--Thurio, give back.--The Two Gentlemen of Verona. + +“I think, Mamma,” said Lady Flora to her mother, “that as the morning is +so beautiful, I will go into the pavilion to finish my drawing.” + +“But Lord Ulswater will be here in an hour, or perhaps less: may I tell +him where you are, and suffer him to join you?” + +“If you will accompany him,” answered Lady Flora, coldly, as she took up +her portefeuille and withdrew. + +Now the pavilion was a small summer-house of stone, situated in the +most retired part of the grounds belonging to Westborough Park. It was +a favourite retreat with Lady Flora, even in the winter months, for +warm carpeting, a sheltered site, and a fireplace constructed more for +comfort than economy made it scarcely less adapted to that season than +to the more genial suns of summer. + +The morning was so bright and mild that Lady Flora left open the door +as she entered; she seated herself at the table, and, unmindful of her +pretended employment, suffered the portefeuille to remain unopened. +Leaning her cheek upon her hand, she gazed vacantly on the ground, and +scarcely felt the tears which gathered slowly to her eyes, but, falling +not, remained within the fair lids, chill and motionless, as if the +thought which drew them there was born of a sorrow less agitated than +fixed and silent. + +The shadow of a man darkened the threshold, and there paused. + +Slowly did Flora raise her eyes, and the next moment Clarence Linden was +by her side and at her feet. + +“Flora,” said he, in a tone trembling with its own emotions, “Flora, +have years indeed separated us forever, or dare I hope that we have +misconstrued each other’s hearts, and that at this moment they yearn to +be united with more than the fondness and fidelity of old? Speak to me, +Flora, one word.” + +But she had sunk on the chair overpowered, surprised, and almost +insensible; and it was not for some moments that she could utter words +rather wrung from than dictated by her thoughts. + +“Cruel and insulting, for what have you come? is it at such a time that +you taunt me with the remembrance of my past folly, or your--your--” She +paused for a moment, confused and hesitating, but presently recovering +herself, rose, and added, in a calmer tone, “Surely you have no excuse +for this intrusion: you will suffer me to leave you.” + +“No,” exclaimed Clarence, violently agitated, “no! Have you not wronged +me, stung me, wounded me to the core by your injustice? and will you not +hear now how differently I have deserved from you? On a bed of fever +and pain I thought only of you; I rose from it animated by the hope of +winning you! Though, during the danger of my wound and my consequent +illness, your parents alone, of all my intimate acquaintances, neglected +to honour with an inquiry the man whom you professed to consecrate with +your regard, yet scarcely could my hand trace a single sentence before I +wrote to you requesting an interview, in order to disclose my birth and +claim your plighted faith! That letter was returned to me unanswered, +unopened. My friend and benefactor, whose fortune I now inherit, +promised to call upon your father and advocate my cause. Death +anticipated his kindness. As soon as my sorrow for his loss permitted +me, I came to this very spot! For three days I hovered about your house, +seeking the meeting that you would fain deny me now. I could not any +longer bear the torturing suspense I endured: I wrote to you; your +father answered the letter. Here, here I have it still: read! note well +the cool, the damning insult of each line. I see that you knew not of +this: I rejoice at it! Can you wonder that, on receiving it, I subjected +myself no more to such affronts? I hastened abroad. On my return I met +you. Where? In crowds, in the glitter of midnight assemblies, in the +whirl of what the vain call pleasure! I observed your countenance, your +manner; was there in either a single token of endearing or regretful +remembrance? None! I strove to harden my heart; I entered into politics, +business, intrigue; I hoped, I longed, I burned to forget you, but in +vain!” + +“At last I heard that Rumour, though it had long preceded, had not +belied, the truth, and that you were to be married,--married to Lord +Ulswater! I will not say what I suffered, or how idly I summoned pride +to resist affection! But I would not have come now to molest you, Flora, +to trouble your nuptial rejoicings with one thought of me, if, forgive +me, I had not suddenly dreamed that I had cause to hope you had +mistaken, not rejected my heart; that--you turn away, Flora, you blush, +you weep! Oh, tell me, by one word, one look, that I was not deceived!” + +“No, no, Clarence,” said Flora, struggling with her tears: “it is +too late, too late now! Why, why did I not know this before? I have +promised, I am pledged; in less than two months I shall be the wife of +another!” + +“Never!” cried Clarence, “never! You promised on a false belief: they +will not bind you to such a promise. Who is he that claims you? I am +his equal in birth, in the world’s name,--and oh, by what worlds +his superior in love! I will advance my claim to you in his very +teeth,--nay, I will not stir from these domains till you, your father, +and my rival, have repaired my wrongs.” + +“Be it so, sir!” cried a voice behind, and Clarence turned and beheld +Lord Ulswater! His dark countenance was flushed with rage, which he in +vain endeavoured to conceal; and the smile of scorn that he strove +to summon to his lip made a ghastly and unnatural contrast with the +lowering of his brow and the fire of his eyes. “Be it so, sir,” he said, +slowly advancing, and confronting Clarence. “You will dispute my claims +to the hand Lady Flora Ardenne has long promised to one who, however +unworthy of the gift, knows, at least, how to defend it. It is well; let +us finish the dispute elsewhere. It is not the first time we shall have +met, if not as rivals, as foes.” + +Clarence turned from him without reply, for he saw Lady Westborough had +just entered the pavilion, and stood mute and transfixed at the door, +with surprise, fear, and anger depicted upon her regal and beautiful +countenance. + +“It is to you, madam,” said Clarence, approaching towards her, “that I +venture to appeal. Your daughter and I, four long years ago, exchanged +our vows: you flattered me with the hope that those vows were not +displeasing to you; since then a misunderstanding, deadly to my +happiness and to hers, divided us. I come now to explain it. My birth +may have seemed obscure; I come to clear it: my conduct doubtful; I come +to vindicate it. I find Lord Ulswater my rival. I am willing to compare +my pretensions to his. I acknowledge that he has titles which I have +not; that he has wealth, to which mine is but competence: but titles and +wealth, as the means of happiness, are to be referred to your daughter, +to none else. You have only, in an alliance with me, to consider my +character and my lineage: the latter flows from blood as pure as that +which warms the veins of my rival; the former stands already upon an +eminence to which Lord Ulswater in his loftiest visions could never +aspire. For the rest, madam, I adjure you, solemnly, as you value your +peace of mind, your daughter’s happiness, your freedom from the agonies +of future remorse and unavailing regret,--I adjure you not to divorce +those whom God, who speaks in the deep heart and the plighted vow, has +already joined. This is a question in which your daughter’s permanent +woe or lasting happiness from this present hour to the last sand of life +is concerned. It is to her that I refer it: let her be the judge.” + +And Clarence moved from Lady Westborough, who, agitated, confused, awed +by the spell of a power and a nature of which she had not dreamed, stood +pale and speechless, vainly endeavouring to reply: he moved from her +towards Lady Flora, who leaned, sobbing and convulsed with contending +emotions, against the wall; but Lord Ulswater, whose fiery blood +was boiling with passion, placed himself between Clarence and the +unfortunate object of the contention. + +“Touch her not, approach her not!” he said, with a fierce and menacing +tone. “Till you have proved your pretensions superior to mine, unknown, +presuming, and probably base-born as you are, you will only pass over my +body to your claims.” + +Clarence stood still for one moment, evidently striving to master the +wrath which literally swelled his form beyond its ordinary proportions; +and Lady Westborough, recovering herself in the brief pause, passed +between the two, and, taking her daughter’s arm, led her from the +pavilion. + +“Stay, madam, for one instant!” cried Clarence, and he caught hold of +her robe. + +Lady Westborough stood quite erect and still; and, drawing her stately +figure to its full height, said with that quiet dignity by which a +woman so often stills the angrier passions of men, “I lay the prayer and +command of a mother upon you, Lord Ulswater, and on you, sir, whatever +be your real rank and name, not to make mine and my daughter’s presence +the scene of a contest which dishonours both. Still further, if Lady +Flora’s hand and my approval be an object of desire to either, I make +it a peremptory condition with both of you, that a dispute already +degrading to her name pass not from word to act. For you, Mr. Linden, +if so I may call you, I promise that my daughter shall be left free and +unbiased to give that reply to your singular conduct which I doubt not +her own dignity and sense will suggest.” + +“By Heaven!” exclaimed Lord Ulswater, utterly beside himself with rage +which, suppressed at the beginning of Lady Westborough’s speech, had +been kindled into double fury by its conclusion, “you will not suffer +Lady Flora, no, nor any one but her affianced bridegroom, her only +legitimate defender, to answer this arrogant intruder! You cannot think +that her hand, the hand of my future wife, shall trace line or word to +one who has so insulted her with his addresses and me with his rivalry.” + +“Man!” cried Clarence, abruptly, and seizing Lord Ulswater fiercely by +the arm, “there are some causes which will draw fire from ice: beware, +beware how you incense me to pollute my soul with the blood of a--” + +“What!” exclaimed Lord Ulswater. + +Clarence bent down and whispered one word in his ear. + +Had that word been the spell with which the sorcerers of old disarmed +the fiend, it could not have wrought a greater change upon Lord +Ulswater’s mien and face. He staggered back several paces, the glow +of his swarthy cheek faded into a deathlike paleness; the word which +passion had conjured to his tongue died there in silence; and he stood +with eyes dilated and fixed on Clarence’s face, on which their gaze +seemed to force some unwilling certainty. + +But Linden did not wait for him to recover his self-possession: he +hurried after Lady Westborough, who, with her daughter, was hastening +home. + +“Pardon me, Lady Westborough,” he said, as he approached, with a tone +and air of deep respect, “pardon me; but will you suffer me to hope that +Lady Flora and yourself will, in a moment of greater calmness, consider +over all I have said? and-that she--that you, Lady Flora” (added +he, changing the object of his address), “will vouchsafe one line of +unprejudiced, unbiased reply, to a love which, however misrepresented +and calumniated, has in it, I dare to say, nothing that can disgrace +her to whom, with an enduring constancy, and undimmed, though unhoping, +ardour, it has been inviolably dedicated?” + +Lady Flora, though she spoke not, lifted her eyes to his; and in that +glance was a magic which made his heart burn with a sudden and flashing +joy that atoned for the darkness of years. + +“I assure you, sir,” said Lady Westborough, touched, in spite of +herself, with the sincerity and respect of Clarence’s bearing, “that +Lady Flora will reply to any letter of explanation or proposal: for +myself, I will not even see her answer. Where shall it be sent to you?” + +“I have taken my lodgings at the inn by your park gates. I shall remain +there till--till--” + +Clarence paused, for his heart was full; and, leaving the sentence to +be concluded as his listeners pleased, he drew himself aside from their +path and suffered them to proceed. + +As he was feeding his eyes with the last glimpse of their forms, ere a +turn in the grounds snatched them from his view, he heard a rapid step +behind, and Lord Ulswater, approaching, laid his hand upon Linden’s +shoulder, and said calmly,-- + +“Are you furnished with proof to support the word you uttered?” + +“I am!” replied Clarence, haughtily. + +“And will you favour me with it?” + +“At your leisure, my lord,” rejoined Clarence. + +“Enough! Name your time and I will attend you.” + +“On Tuesday: I require till then to produce my witnesses.” + +“So be it; yet stay: on Tuesday I have military business at W----, some +miles hence; the next day let it be; the place of meeting where you +please.” + +“Here, then, my lord,” answered Clarence; “you have insulted me grossly +before Lady Westborough and your affianced bride, and before them my +vindication and answer should be given.” + +“You are right,” said Lord Ulswater; “be it here, at the hour of +twelve.” Clarence bowed his assent and withdrew. Lord Ulswater remained +on the spot, with downcast eyes, and a brow on which thought had +succeeded passion. + +“If true,” said he aloud, though unconsciously, “if this be true, why, +then I owe him reparation, and he shall have it at my hands. I owe it to +him on my account, and that of one now no more. Till we meet, I will +not again see Lady Flora; after that meeting, perhaps I may resign her +forever.” + +And with these words the young nobleman, who, despite of many evil and +overbearing qualities, had, as we have said, his redeeming virtues, in +which a capricious and unsteady generosity was one, walked slowly to the +house; wrote a brief note to Lady Westborough, the purport of which the +next chapter will disclose; and then, summoning his horse, flung himself +on its back, and rode hastily away. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + + We will examine if those accidents, + Which common fame calls injuries, happen to him + Deservedly or no.--The New Inn. +FROM LORD ULSWATER TO LADY WESTBOROUGH. + +Forgive me, dearest Lady Westborough, for my violence: you know and +will allow for the infirmities of my temper. I have to make you and Lady +Flora one request, which I trust you will not refuse me. + +Do not see or receive any communication from Mr. Linden till Wednesday; +and on that day at the hour of twelve suffer me to meet him at your +house. I will then either prove him to be the basest of impostors, or, +if I fail in this and Lady Flora honours my rival with one sentiment +of preference, I will without a murmur submit to her decree and my +rejection. Dare I trust that this petition will be accorded to one who +is, with great regard and esteem, etc. + +“This is fortunate,” said Lady Westborough gently to her daughter, who, +leaning her head on her mother’s bosom, suffered hopes, the sweeter for +their long sleep, to divide, if not wholly to possess, her heart. “We +shall have now time well and carefully to reflect over what will be best +for your future happiness. We owe this delay to one to whom you have +been affianced. Let us, therefore, now merely write to Mr. Linden, to +inform him of Lord Ulswater’s request; and to say that if he will meet +his lordship at the time appointed, we, that is I, shall be happy to see +him.” + +Lady Flora sighed, but she saw the reasonableness of her mother’s +proposal, and pressing Lady Westborough’s hand murmured her assent. + +“At all events,” thought Lady Westborough, as she wrote to Clarence, +“the affair can but terminate to advantage. If Lord Ulswater proves +Mr. Linden’s unworthiness, the suit of the latter is of course at +rest forever: if not, and Mr. Linden be indeed all that he asserts, +my daughter’s choice cannot be an election of reproach; Lord Ulswater +promises peaceably to withdraw his pretensions; and though Mr. Linden +may not possess his rank or fortune, he is certainly one with whom, if +of ancient blood, any family would be proud of an alliance.” + +Blending with these reflections a considerable share of curiosity +and interest in a secret which partook so strongly of romance, Lady +Westborough despatched her note to Clarence. The answer returned was +brief, respectful, and not only acquiescent in but grateful for the +proposal. + +With this arrangement both Lady Westborough and Lady Flora were +compelled, though with very different feelings, to be satisfied; and an +agreement was established between them, to the effect that if Linden’s +name passed unblemished through the appointed ordeal Lady Flora was to +be left to, and favoured in, her own election; while, on the contrary, +if Lord Ulswater succeeded in the proof he had spoken of, his former +footing in the family was to be fully re-established and our unfortunate +adventurer forever discarded. + +To this Lady Flora readily consented; for with a sanguine and certain +trust in her lover’s truth and honour, which was tenfold more strong +for her late suspicions, she would not allow herself a doubt as to the +result; and with an impatience, mingled with a rapturous exhilaration +of spirit, which brought back to her the freshness and radiancy of her +youngest years, she counted the hours and moments to the destined day. + +While such was the state of affairs at Westborough Park, Clarence was +again on horseback and on another excursion. By the noon of the day +following that which had seen his eventful meeting with Lady Flora, he +found himself approaching the extreme boundaries of the county in +which Mordaunt Court and the memorable town of W---- were situated. The +characteristics of the country were now materially changed from +those which gave to the vicinity of Algernon’s domains its wild and +uncultivated aspect. + +As Clarence slowly descended a hill of considerable steepness and +length, a prospect of singular and luxurious beauty opened to his view. +The noblest of England’s rivers was seen, through “turfs and shades and +flowers,” pursuing “its silver-winding way.” On the opposite banks lay, +embosomed in the golden glades of autumn, the busy and populous town +that from the height seemed still and lifeless as an enchanted city, +over which the mid-day sun hung like a guardian spirit. Behind, in +sweeping diversity, stretched wood and dale, and fields despoiled of +their rich harvest, yet still presenting a yellow surface to the eye; +and ever and anon some bright patch of green, demanding the gaze as if +by a lingering spell from the past spring; while, here and there, spire +and hamlet studded the landscape, or some lowly cot lay, backed by the +rising ground or the silent woods, white and solitary, and sending up +its faint tribute of smoke in spires to the altars of Heaven. The river +was more pregnant of life than its banks: barge and boat were gliding +gayly down the wave, and the glad oar of the frequent and slender +vessels consecrated to pleasure was seen dimpling the water, made by +distance smoother than glass. + +On the right side of Clarence’s road, as he descended the hill, lay wide +plantations of fir and oak, divided from the road by a park paling, the +uneven sides of which were covered with brown moss, and which, at rare +openings in the young wood, gave glimpses of a park, seemingly extending +over great space, the theatre of many a stately copse and oaken grove, +which might have served the Druids with fane and temple meet for the +savage sublimity of their worship. + +Upon these unfrequent views, Clarence checked his horse, and gazed, with +emotions sweet yet bitter, over the pales, along the green expanse which +they contained. And once, when through the trees he caught a slight +glimpse of the white walls of the mansion they adorned, all the years +of his childhood seemed to rise on his heart, thrilling to its farthest +depths with a mighty and sorrowful yet sweet melody, and-- + + “Singing of boyhood back, the voices of his home.” + +Home! yes, amidst those groves had the April of his life lavished its +mingled smiles and tears! There was the spot hallowed by his earliest +joys! and the scene of sorrows still more sacred than joys! and now, +after many years, the exiled boy came back, a prosperous and thoughtful +man, to take but one brief glance of that home which to him had been +less hospitable than a stranger’s dwelling, and to find a witness among +those who remembered him of his very birth and identity! + +He wound the ascent at last, and entering a small town at the foot of +the hill, which was exactly facing the larger one on the opposite shore +of the river, put up his horse at one of the inns, and then, with a +beating heart, remounted the hill, and entering the park by one of its +lodges found himself once more in the haunts of his childhood. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + + Oh, the steward, the steward: I might have guessed as much. + Tales of the Crusaders. + +The evening was already beginning to close, and Clarence was yet +wandering in the park, and retracing, with his heart’s eye, each knoll +and tree and tuft once so familiar to his wanderings. + +At the time we shall again bring him personally before the reader, he +was leaning against an iron fence that, running along the left wing of +the house, separated the pleasure-grounds from the park, and gazing +with folded arms and wistful eyes upon the scene on which the dusk of +twilight was gradually gathering. + +The house was built originally in the reign of Charles II.; it had since +received alteration and additions, and now presented to the eye a vast +pile of Grecian or rather Italian architecture, heterogeneously blended +with the massive window, the stiff coping, and the heavy roof which the +age immediately following the Revolution introduced. The extent of the +building and the grandeur of the circling demesnes were sufficient to +render the mansion imposing in effect; while, perhaps, the style of +the architecture was calculated to conjoin a stately comfort with +magnificence, and to atone in solidity for any deficiency in grace. + +At a little distance from the house, and placed on a much more +commanding site, were some ancient and ivy-grown ruins, now scanty +indeed and fast mouldering into decay, but sufficient to show the +antiquarian the remains of what once had been a hold of no ordinary size +and power. These were the wrecks of the old mansion, which was recorded +by tradition to have been reduced to this state by accidental +fire, during the banishment of its loyal owner in the time of the +Protectorate. Upon his return the present house was erected. + +As Clarence was thus stationed he perceived an elderly man approach +towards him. “This is fortunate,” said he to himself,--“the very person +I have been watching for. Well, years have passed lightly over old +Wardour: still the same precise garb, the same sturdy and slow step, the +same upright form.” + +The person thus designated now drew near enough for parlance; and, in +a tone a little authoritative, though very respectful, inquired if +Clarence had any business to transact with him. + +“I beg pardon,” said Clarence, slouching his hat over his face, “for +lingering so near the house at this hour: but I have seen it many years +ago, and indeed been a guest within its walls; and it is rather my +interest for an old friend, than my curiosity to examine a new one, +which you are to blame for my trespass.” + +“Oh, sir,” answered Mr. Wardour, a short and rather stout man, of +about sixty-four, attired in a chocolate coat, gray breeches, and silk +stockings of the same dye, which, by the waning light, took a sombrer +and sadder hue, “oh, sir, pray make no apology. I am only sorry the hour +is so late that I cannot offer to show you the interior of the house: +perhaps, if you are staying in the neighbourhood, you would like to see +it to-morrow. You were here, I take it, sir, in my old lord’s time? + +“I was!--upon a visit to his second son: we had been boys together.” + +“What! Master Clinton?” cried the old man, with extreme, animation; +and then, suddenly changing his voice, added, in a subdued and saddened +tone, “Ah, poor young gentleman, I wonder where he is now?” + +“Why, is he not in this country?” asked Clarence. + +“Yes--no--that is, I can’t exactly say where he is; I wish I could: poor +Master Clinton! I loved him as my own son.” + +“You surprise me,” said Clarence. “Is there anything in the fate of +Clinton L’Estrange that calls forth your pity? If so, you would gratify +a much better feeling than curiosity if you would inform me of it. The +fact is that I came here to seek him; for I have been absent from the +country many years, and on my return my first inquiry was for my old +friend and schoolfellow. None knew anything of him in London, and +I imagined therefore that he might have settled down into a country +gentleman. I was fully prepared to find him marshalling the fox-hounds +or beating the preserves; and you may consequently imagine my +mortification on learning at my inn that he had not been residing here +for many years; further I know not!” + +“Ay, ay, sir,” said the old steward, who had listened very attentively +to Clarence’s detail, “had you pressed one of the village gossips a +little closer, you would doubtless have learned more. But ‘t is a story +I don’t much love telling, although formerly I could have talked of +Master Clinton by the hour together to any one who would have had the +patience to listen to me.” + +“You have really created in me a very painful desire to learn more,” + said Clarence; “and, if I am not intruding on any family secrets, you +would oblige me greatly by whatever information you may think proper to +afford to an early and attached friend of the person in question.” + +“Well, sir, well,” replied Mr. Wardour, who, without imputation on +his discretion, loved talking as well as any other old gentleman of +sixty-four, “if you will condescend to step up to my house, I shall feel +happy and proud to converse with a friend of my dear young master; and +you are heartily welcome to the information I can give you.” + +“I thank you sincerely,” said Clarence; “but suffer me to propose, as an +amendment to your offer, that you accompany me for an hour or two to my +inn.” + +“Nay, sir,” answered the old gentleman, in a piqued tone, “I trust you +will not disdain to honour me with your company. Thank Heaven, I can +afford to be hospitable now and then.” + +Clarence, who seemed to have his own reasons for the amendment he had +proposed, still struggled against this offer, but was at last, from fear +of offending the honest steward, obliged to accede. + +Striking across a path, which led through a corner of the plantation +to a space of ground containing a small garden, quaintly trimmed in the +Dutch taste, and a brick house of moderate dimensions, half overgrown +with ivy and jessamine, Clarence and his inviter paused at the door of +the said mansion, and the latter welcomed his guest to his abode. + +“Pardon me,” said Clarence, as a damsel in waiting opened the door, “but +a very severe attack of rheumatism obliges me to keep on my hat: you +will, I hope, indulge me in my rudeness.” + +“To be sure, to be sure, sir. I myself suffer terribly from rheumatism +in the winter; though you look young, sir, very young, to have an +old man’s complaint. Ah, the people of my day were more careful of +themselves, and that is the reason we are such stout fellows in our +age.” + +And the worthy steward looked complacently down at legs which very +substantially filled their comely investments. “True, sir,” said +Clarence, laying his hand upon that of the steward, who was just about +to open the door of an apartment; “but suffer me at least to request you +not to introduce me to any of the ladies of your family. I could not, +were my very life at stake, think of affronting them by not doffing +my hat. I have the keenest sense of what is due to the sex, and I must +seriously entreat you, for the sake of my health during the whole of +the coming winter, to suffer our conversation not to take place in their +presence.” + +“Sir, I honour your politeness,” said the prim little steward: “I, +myself, like every true Briton, reverence the ladies; we will therefore +retire to my study. Mary, girl,” turning to the attendant, “see that we +have a nice chop for supper in half an hour; and tell your mistress that +I have a gentleman of quality with me upon particular business, and must +not be disturbed.” + +With these injunctions, the steward led the way to the farther end of +the house, and, having ushered his guest into a small parlour, adorned +with sundry law-books, a great map of the estate, a print of the +late owner of it, a rusty gun slung over the fireplace, two stuffed +pheasants, and a little mahogany buffet,--having, we say, led Clarence +to this sanctuary of retiring stewardship, he placed a seat for him and +said,--“Between you and me, sir, be it respectfully said, I am not +sorry that our little confabulation should pass alone. Ladies are very +delightful, very delightful, certainly: but they won’t let one tell a +story one’s own way; they are fidgety, you know, sir,--fidgety, nothing +more; ‘t is a trifle, but it is unpleasant. Besides, my wife was Master +Clinton’s foster-mother, and she can’t hear a word about him, without +running on into a long rigmarole of what he did as a baby, and so +forth. I like people to be chatty, sir, but not garrulous; I can’t bear +garrulity, at least in a female. But, suppose, sir, we defer our story +till after supper? A glass of wine or warm punch makes talk glide more +easily; besides, sir, I want something to comfort me when I talk about +Master Clinton. Poor gentleman, he was so comely, so handsome!” + +“Did you think so?” said Clarence, turning towards the fire. + +“Think so!” ejaculated the steward, almost angrily; and forthwith he +launched out into an encomium on the perfections, personal, moral, and +mental, of Master Clinton which lasted till the gentle Mary entered to +lay the cloth. This reminded the old steward of the glass of wine which +was so efficacious in making talk glide easily; and, going to the +buffet before mentioned, he drew forth two bottles, both of port. +Having carefully and warily decanted both, he changed the subject of his +praise; and, assuring Clarence that the wine he was about to taste +was at least as old as Master Clinton, having been purchased in joyous +celebration of the young gentleman’s birthday, he whiled away the +minutes with a glowing eulogy on its generous qualities, till Mary +entered with the supper. + +Clarence, with an appetite sharpened, despite his romance, by a long +fast, did ample justice to the fare; and the old steward, warming into +familiarity with the virtues of the far-famed port, chatted and laughed +in a strain half simple and half shrewd. + +The fire being stirred up to a free blaze, the hearth swept, and all +the tokens of supper, save and except the kingly bottle and its subject +glasses, being removed, the steward and his guest drew closer to each +other, and the former began his story. + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + + The actors are at hand, and by their show + You shall know all that you are like to know. + Midsummer-Night’s Dream. + +“You know, probably, sir, that my late lord was twice married; by his +first wife he had three children, only one of whom, the youngest, though +now the present earl, survived the first period of infancy. When Master +Francis, as we always called him, in spite of his accession to the +title of viscount, was about six years old, my lady died, and a year +afterwards my lord married again. His second wife was uncommonly +handsome: she was a Miss Talbot (a Catholic), daughter of Colonel +Talbot, and niece to the celebrated beau, Squire Talbot of Scarsdale +Park. Poor lady! they say that she married my lord through a momentary +pique against a former lover. However that may be, she was a fine, +high-spirited creature: very violent in temper, to be sure, but generous +and kind when her passion was over; and however haughty to her equals +charitable and compassionate to the poor.” + +“She had but one son, Master Clinton. Never, sir, shall I forget the +rejoicings that were made at his birth: for my lord doted on his second +wife, and had disliked his first, whom he had married for her fortune; +and it was therefore natural that he should prefer the child of the +present wife to Master Francis. Ah, it is sad to think how love can +change! Well, sir, my lord seemed literally to be wrapped up in the +infant: he nursed it and fondled it, and hung over it, as if he had +been its mother rather than its father. My lady desired that it might +be christened by one of her family names; and my lord consenting, it was +called Clinton. (The wine is with you, sir! Do observe that it has not +changed colour in the least, notwithstanding its age.)” + +“My lord was fond of a quiet, retired life; indeed, he was a great +scholar, and spent the chief part of his time among his books. Dr. +Latinas, the young gentleman’s tutor, said his lordship made Greek +verses better than Dr. Latinas could make English ones, so you may judge +of his learning. But my lady went constantly to town, and was among the +gayest of the gay; nor did she often come down here without bringing a +whole troop of guests. Lord help us, what goings on there used to be at +the great house!--such dancing and music, and dining and supping, and +shooting-parties, fishing-parties, gypsy-parties: you would have thought +all England was merrymaking there.” + +“But my lord, though he indulged my lady in all her whims and +extravagance, seldom took much share in them himself. He was constantly +occupied with his library and children, nor did he ever suffer either +Master Francis or Master Clinton to mix with the guests. He kept them +very close at their studies, and when the latter was six years old, I +do assure you, sir, he could say his Propria quae maribus better than I +can. (You don’t drink, sir.) When Master Francis was sixteen, and Master +Clinton eight, the former was sent abroad on his travels with a +German tutor, and did not return to England for many years afterwards; +meanwhile Master Clinton grew up to the age of fourteen, increasing in +comeliness and goodness. He was very fond of his studies, much more +so than Master Francis had been, and was astonishingly forward for his +years. So my lord loved him better and better, and would scarcely ever +suffer him to be out of his sight.” + +“When Master Clinton was about the age I mentioned, namely, fourteen, a +gentleman of the name of Sir Clinton Manners became a constant visitor +at the house. Report said that he was always about my lady in London +at Ranelagh, and the ball-rooms and routs, and all the fine places; and +certainly he was scarcely ever from her side in the pleasure parties +at the Park. But my lady said that he was a cousin of hers, and an old +playmate in childhood, and so he was; and unhappily for her, something +more too. My lord, however, shut up in his library, did not pay any +attention to my lady’s intimacy with Sir Clinton; on the contrary, as he +was a cousin and friend of hers, his lordship seemed always happy to see +him, and was the only person in the neighbourhood who had no suspicion +of what was going on.” + +“Oh, sir, it is a melancholy story, and I can scarcely persuade myself +to tell it. (It is really delicious wine this-six-and-twenty years old +last birthday--to say nothing of its age before I bought it.) Ah! well, +sir, the blow came at last like a thunderclap: my lady, finding disguise +was in vain, went off with Sir Clinton. Letters were discovered which +showed that they had corresponded for years; that he was her lover +before marriage; that she, in a momentary passion with him, had accepted +my lord’s offer; that she had always repented her precipitation; and +that she had called her son after his name: all this, and much more, +sir, did my lord learn, as it were, at a single blow.” + +“He obtained a divorce, and Sir Clinton and my lady went abroad. But +from that time my lord was never the same man. Always proud and gloomy, +he now became intolerably violent and morose. He shut himself up, saw no +company of any description, rarely left the house, and never the park; +and, from being one of the gayest places in the country, sir, the +mansion became as dreary and deserted as if it had been haunted. (It is +for you to begin the second bottle, sir.)” + +“But the most extraordinary change in my lord was in his conduct to +Master Clinton: from doting upon him, to a degree that would have spoilt +any temper less sweet than my poor young master’s, he took the most +violent aversion to him. From the circumstance of his name, and the long +intimacy existing between my lady and her lover, his lordship would not +believe that Master Clinton was his own child; and indeed I must confess +there seemed good ground for his suspicions. Besides this, Master +Clinton took very much after his mother. He had her eyes, hair, and +beautiful features, so that my lord could never see him without being +reminded of his disgrace; therefore whenever the poor young gentleman +came into his presence, he would drive him out with oaths and threats +which rang through the whole house. He could not even bear that +he should have any attendance or respect from the servants, for he +considered him quite as an alien like, and worse than a stranger; and +his lordship’s only delight seemed to consist in putting upon him every +possible indignity and affront. But Master Clinton was a high-spirited +young gentleman; and, after having in vain endeavoured to soothe my lord +by compliance and respect, he at last utterly avoided his lordship’s +presence.” + +“He gave up his studies in a great measure, and wandered about the +park and woods all day and sometimes even half the night; his mother’s +conduct and his father’s unkindness seemed to prey upon his health and +mind, and at last he grew almost as much altered as my lord. From being +one of the merriest boys possible, full of life and spirits, he became +thoughtful and downcast, his step lost its lightness, and his eye all +the fire which used once quite to warm one’s heart when one looked at +it; in short, sir, the sins of the mother were visited as much upon the +child as the husband. (Not the least tawny, sir, you see, though it is +so old!)” + +“My lord at first seemed to be glad that he now never saw his son, but, +by degrees, I think he missed the pleasure of venting his spleen upon +him; and so he ordered my young master not to stir out without his +leave, and confined him closer than ever to his studies. (Well, sir, if +it were not for this port I could not get out another sentence.) +There used then to be sad scenes between them: my lord was a terribly +passionate man, and said things sharper than a two-edged sword, as the +psalms express it; and though Master Clinton was one of the mildest and +best-tempered boys imaginable, yet he could not at all times curb his +spirit; and, to my mind, when a man is perpetually declaring he is not +your father, one may now and then be forgiven in forgetting that you are +to behave as his son.” + +“Things went on in this way sadly enough for about three years and a +half, when Master Clinton was nearly eighteen. One evening, after +my lord had been unusually stormy, Master Clinton’s spirit warmed, I +suppose, and, from word to word, the dispute increased, till my lord, in +a furious rage, ordered in the servants, and told them to horsewhip his +son. Imagine, sir, what a disgrace to that noble house! But there was +not one of them who would not rather have cut off his right hand than +laid a finger upon Master Clinton, so greatly was he beloved; and, +at last, my lord summoned his own gentleman, a German, six feet high, +entirely devoted to his lordship, and commanded him, upon pain of +instant dismissal, to make use in his presence of a horsewhip which he +put into his hand.” + +“The German did not dare refuse, so he approached Master Clinton. The +servants were still in the room, and perhaps they would have been +bold enough to rescue Master Clinton, had there been any need of their +assistance; but he was a tall youth, as bold as a hero, and, when the +German approached, he caught him by the throat, threw him down, and very +nearly strangled him; he then, while my lord was speechless with rage, +left the room, and did not return all night. (What a body it has, +sir--ah!)” + +“The next morning I was in a little room adjoining my lord’s study, +looking over some papers and maps. His lordship did not know of my +presence, but was sitting alone at breakfast, when Master Clinton +suddenly entered the study; the door leading to my room was ajar, and I +heard all the conversation that ensued.” + +“My lord asked him very angrily how he had dared absent himself all +night; but Master Clinton, making no reply to this question, said, in +a very calm, loud voice, which I think I hear now, ‘My lord, after the +insult you have offered to me, it is perhaps unnecessary to observe that +nothing could induce me to remain under your roof. I come, therefore, to +take my last leave of you.’” + +“He paused, and my lord (probably like me, being taken by surprise) +making no reply, he continued, ‘You have often told me, my lord, that I +am not your son; if this be possible, so much the more must you rejoice +at the idea of ridding your presence of an intruder.’ ‘And how, sir, +do you expect to live, except upon my bounty?’ exclaimed my lord. ‘You +remember,’ answered my young master, ‘that a humble dependant of my +mother’s family, who had been our governess in childhood, left me at +her death the earnings of her life. I believe they amount to nearly +a thousand pounds; I look to your lordship’s honour either for the +principal or the yearly interest, as may please you best: further I ask +not from you.’ ‘And do you think, sir,’ cried my lord, almost screaming +with passion, ‘that upon that beggarly pittance you shall go forth to +dishonour more than it is yet dishonoured the name of my ancient house? +Do you think, sir, that that name to which you have no pretension, +though the law iniquitously grants it you, shall be sullied either +with trade or robbery? for to one or the other you must necessarily +be driven.’ ‘I foresaw your speech, my lord, and am prepared with an +answer. Far be it from me to thrust myself into any family, the head of +which thinks proper to reject me; far be it from me to honour my humble +fortunes with a name which I am as willing as yourself to disown: I +purpose, therefore, to adopt a new one; and, whatever may be my future +fate, that name will screen me both from your remembrance and the +world’s knowledge. Are you satisfied now, my lord?’” + +“His lordship did not answer for some minutes: at last, he said +sneeringly, ‘Go, boy, go! I am delighted to hear you have decided so +well. Leave word with my steward where you wish your clothes to be sent +to you: Heaven forbid I should rob you either of your wardrobe or your +princely fortune. Wardour will transmit to you the latter, even to the +last penny, by the same conveyance as that which is honoured by the +former. And now good-morning, sir; yet stay, and mark my words: never +dare to re-enter my house, or to expect an iota more of fortune or +favour from me. And, hark you, sir: if you dare violate your word; if +you dare, during my life, at least, assume a name which you were born +to sully,--my curse, my deepest, heartiest, eternal curse, be upon +your head in this world and the next!’ ‘Fear not, my lord: my word is +pledged,’ said the young gentleman; and the next moment I heard his +parting step in the hall.” + +“Sir, my heart was full (your glass is empty!) and my head spun round +as if I were on a precipice: but I was determined my young master should +not go till I had caught another glimpse of his dear face; so I gently +left the room I was in, and, hastening out of the house by a private +entrance, met Master Clinton in the park, not very far from the spot +where I saw you, sir, just now. To my surprise there was no sign of +grief or agitation upon his countenance. I had never seen him look so +proud, or for years so happy.” + +“‘Wardour,’ said he, in a gay tone, when he saw me, ‘I was going to your +house: my father has at last resolved that I should, like my brother, +commence my travels; and I wish to leave with you the address of the +place to which my clothes, etc., will be sent.’ + +“I could not contain any longer when I heard this, sir: I burst into +tears, confessed that I had accidentally heard his conversation with +my lord, and besought him not to depart so hastily, and with so small +a fortune; but he shook his head and would not hear me. ‘Believe me, my +good Wardour,’ said he, ‘that since my unhappy mother’s flight, I have +never felt so elated or so happy as I do now: one should go through what +I have done, to learn the rapture of independence.’ He then told me to +have his luggage sent to him, under his initials of C. L., at the Golden +Fleece, the principal inn in the town of W----, which, you know, sir, is +at the other end of the county, on the road to London; and then, kindly +shaking me by the hand, he broke away from me: but he turned back before +he had got three paces, and said (and then, for the first time, the +pride of his countenance fell, and the tears stood in his eyes), +‘Wardour, do not divulge what you have heard: put as good a face upon my +departure as you can, and let the blame, if any, fall upon me, not upon +your lord; after all he is to be pitied, not blamed, and I can never +forget that he once loved me.’ He did not wait for my answer,--perhaps +he did not like to show me how much he was affected,--but hurried down +the park, and I soon lost sight of him. My lord that very morning sent +for me, demanded what address his son had left, and gave me a letter, +enclosing, I suppose, a bill for my poor young master’s fortune, +ordering it to be sent with the clothes immediately.” + +“Sir, I have never seen or heard aught of the dear gentleman since; you +must forgive me, I cannot help tears, sir--(the wine is with you).” + +“But the mother, the mother!” said Clarence, earnestly; “what became of +her? she died abroad, two years since, did she not?” + +“She did, sir,” answered the honest steward, refilling his glass. “They +say that she lived very unhappily with Sir Clinton, who did not marry +her; till all of a sudden she disappeared, none knew whither.” + +Clarence redoubled his attention. + +“At last,” resumed the steward, “two years ago, a letter came from her +to my lord; she was a nun in some convent (in Italy I think) to which +she had, at the time of her disappearance, secretly retired. The letter +was written on her death-bed, and so affectingly, I suppose, that even +my stern lord was in tears for several days after he received it. But +the principal passage in it was relative to her son: it assured my lord +(for so with his own lips he told me just before he died, some months +ago) that Master Clinton was in truth his son, and that it was not till +she had been tempted many years after her marriage that she had fallen; +she implored my lord to believe this ‘on the word of one for whom earth +and earth’s objects were no more;’ those were her words.” + +“Six months ago, when my lord lay on the bed from which he never +rose, he called me to him and said, ‘Wardour, you have always been the +faithful servant of our house, and warmly attached to my second son; +tell my poor boy, if ever you see him, that I did at last open my +eyes to my error and acknowledge him as my child; tell him that I have +desired his brother (who was then, sir, kneeling by my lord’s side), as +he values my blessing, to seek him out and repair the wrong I have +done him; and add that my best comfort in death was the hope of his +forgiveness.’” + +“Did he, did he say that?” exclaimed Clarence, who had been violently +agitated during the latter part of this recital, and now sprang from +his seat. “My father, my father! would that I had borne with thee more! +mine, mine was the fault; from thee should have come the forgiveness!” + +The old steward sat silent and aghast. At that instant his wife entered, +with a message of chiding at the lateness of the hour upon her lip, but +she started back when she saw Clarence’s profile, as he stood leaning +against the wall. + +“Good heavens!” cried she, “is it, is it,--yes, it is my young master, +my own foster-son!” + +Rightly had Clarence conjectured, when he had shunned her presence. +Years had indeed wrought a change in his figure and face; acquaintance, +servant, friend, relation,--the remembrance of his features had passed +from all: but she who had nursed him as an infant on her lap and fed +him from her breast, she who had joined the devotion of clanship to the +fondness of a mother, knew him at a glance. “Yes,” cried he, as he threw +himself into her withered and aged arms, “it is I, the child you reared, +come, after many years, to find too late, when a father is no more, that +he had a right to a father’s home.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + + Let us go in, + And charge us there upon inter’gatories.--SHAKSPEARE. + +“But did not any one recognize you in your change of name?” said the old +foster-mother, looking fondly upon Clarence, as he sat the next morning +by her side. “How could any one forget so winsome a face who had once +seen it?” + +“You don’t remember,” said Clarence (as we will yet continue to call our +hero), smiling, “that your husband had forgotten it.” + +“Ay, sir,” cried the piqued steward, “but that was because you wore your +hat slouched over your eyes: if you had taken off that, I should have +known you directly.” + +“However that may be,” said Clarence, unwilling to dwell longer on an +occurrence which he saw hurt the feelings of the kind Mr. Wardour, “it +is very easy to explain how I preserved my incognito. You recollect that +my father never suffered me to mix with my mother’s guests: so that I +had no chance of their remembering me, especially as during the last +three years and a half no stranger had ever entered our walls. Add to +this that I was in the very time of life in which a few years work the +greatest change, and on going to London I was thrown entirely among +people who could never have seen me before. Fortunately for me, I became +acquainted with my mother’s uncle; circumstances subsequently led me to +disclose my birth to him, upon a promise that he would never call me by +any other name than that which I had assumed. He, who was the best, +the kindest, the most generous of human beings, took a liking to me. He +insisted not only upon his relationship to me, as my grand-uncle, but +upon the justice of repairing to me the wrongs his unhappy niece had +caused me. The delicacy of his kindness, the ties of blood, and +an accident which had enabled me to be of some service to him, all +prevented my resisting the weight of obligation with which he afterwards +oppressed me. He procured me an appointment abroad: I remained there +four years. When I returned, I entered, it is true, into very general +society: but four years had, as you may perceive, altered me greatly; +and even had there previously existed any chance of my being recognized, +that alteration would probably have been sufficient to insure my +secret.” + +“But your brother,--my present lord,--did you never meet him, sir?” + +“Often, my good mother; but you remember that I was little more than six +years old when he left England, and when he next saw me I was about two +and twenty: it would have been next to a miracle, or, at least, would +have required the eyes of love like yours, to have recalled me to memory +after such an absence.” + +“Well--to turn to my story--I succeeded, partly as his nearest relation, +but principally from an affection dearer than blood, to the fortune +of my grand-uncle, Mr. Talbot. Fate prospered with me: I rose in the +world’s esteem and honour, and soon became prouder of my borrowed +appellation than of all the titles of my lordly line. Circumstances +occurring within the last week which it will be needless to relate, +but which may have the greatest influence over my future life, made it +necessary to do what I had once resolved I would never do,--prove my +identity and origin. Accordingly I came here to seek you.” + +“But why did not my honoured young master disclose himself last night?” + asked the steward. + +“I might say,” answered Clarence, “because I anticipated great pleasure +in a surprise; but I had another reason; it was this: I had heard of my +poor father’s death, and I was painfully anxious to learn if at the last +he had testified any relenting towards me, and yet more so to ascertain +the manner of my unfortunate mother’s fate. Both abroad and in England, +I had sought tidings of her everywhere, but in vain; in mentioning my +mother’s retiring into a convent, you have explained the reason why my +efforts were so fruitless. With these two objects in view, I thought +myself more likely to learn the whole truth as a stranger than in my +proper person; for in the latter case, I deemed it probable that your +delicacy and kindness might tempt you to conceal whatever was calculated +to wound my feelings, and to exaggerate anything that might tend to +flatter or to soothe them. Thank Heaven, I now learn that I have a right +to the name my boyhood bore, and that my birth is not branded with the +foulest of private crimes, and that in death my father’s heart yearned +to his too hasty but repentant son. Enough of this: I have now only to +request you, my friend, to accompany me, before daybreak on Wednesday +morning, to a place several miles hence. Your presence there will be +necessary to substantiate the proof for which I came hither.” + +“With all my heart, sir,” cried the honest steward; “and after Wednesday +you will, I trust, assume your rightful name.” + +“Certainly,” replied Clarence; “since I am no longer ‘the Disowned.’” + +Leaving Clarence now for a brief while to renew his acquaintance with +the scenes of his childhood, and to offer the tribute of his filial +tears to the ashes of a father whose injustice had been but “the +stinging of a heart the world had stung,” we return to some old +acquaintances in the various conduct of our drama. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + + Upon his couch the veiled Mokanna lay.--The Veiled Prophet. + +The autumn sun broke through an apartment in a villa in the +neighbourhood of London, furnished with the most prodigal yet not +tasteless attention to luxury and show, within which, beside a table +strewed with newspapers, letters, and accounts, lay Richard Crauford, +extended carelessly upon a sofa which might almost have contented the +Sybarite who quarrelled with a rose-leaf. At his elbow was a bottle +half emptied and a wineglass just filled. An expression of triumph +and enjoyment was visible upon his handsome but usually inexpressive +countenance. + +“Well,” said he, taking up a newspaper, “let us read this paragraph +again. What a beautiful sensation it is to see one’s name in print. ‘We +understand that Richard Crauford, Esq., M. P. for ----, is to be raised +to the dignity of the peerage. There does not perhaps exist in the +country a gentleman more universally beloved and esteemed’ (mark that, +Dicky Crauford). ‘The invariable generosity with which his immense +wealth has been employed, his high professional honour, the undeviating +and consistent integrity of his political career’ (ay, to be sure, it is +only your honest fools who are inconsistent: no man can deviate who has +one firm principle, self-interest), ‘his manly and energetic attention +to the welfare of religion’ (he! he! he!), ‘conjoined to a fortune +almost incalculable, render this condescension of our gracious Sovereign +no less judicious than deserved! We hear that the title proposed for the +new peer is that of Viscount Innisdale, which, we believe, was formerly +in the noble family of which Mr. Crauford is a distant branch.’ + +“He! he! he! Bravo! bravo! Viscount Innisdale, noble family, distant +branch,--the devil I am! What an ignoramus my father was not to know +that! Why, rest his soul, he never knew who his grandfather was; but the +world shall not be equally ignorant of that important point. Let me see, +who shall be Viscount Innisdale’s great-grandfather? Well, well, whoever +he is, here’s long life to his great-grandson! ‘Incalculable fortune!’ +Ay, ay, I hope at all events it will never be calculated. But now for +my letters. Bah! this wine is a thought too acid for the cellars of +Viscount Innisdale! What, another from Mother H----! Dark eyes, small +mouth, sings like an angel, eighteen! Pish! I am too old for such +follies now: ‘t is not pretty for Viscount Innisdale. Humph! Lisbon, +seven hundred pounds five shillings and seven-pence--half-penny, is it, +or farthing? I must note that down. Loan for King of Prussia. Well, must +negotiate that to-morrow. Ah, Hockit, the wine-merchant, pipe of claret +in the docks, vintage of 17--. Bravo! all goes smooth for Viscount +Innisdale! Pish! from my damnable wife! What a pill for my lordship! +What says she?” + + DAWLISH, DEVONSHIRE. +You have not, my dearest Richard, answered my letters for months. I do +not, however, presume to complain of your silence; I know well that you +have a great deal to occupy your time, both in business and pleasure. +But one little line, dear Richard,--one little line, surely that is not +too much now and then. I am most truly sorry to trouble you again about +money; and you must know that I strive to be as saving as possible; +(“Pish--curse the woman; sent her twenty pounds three months ago!”) but +I really am so distressed, and the people here are so pressing; and, +at all events, I cannot bear the thought of your wife being disgraced. +Pray, forgive me, Richard, and believe how painful it is in me to say so +much. I know you will answer this! and, oh, do, do tell me how you are. + +Ever your affectionate wife, CAROLINE CRAUFORD. + +“Was there ever poor man so plagued? Where’s my note book? Mem.--Send +Car. to-morrow 20 pounds to last her the rest of the year. Mem.--Send +Mother H----, 100 pounds. Mem.--Pay Hockit’s bill, 830 pounds. Bless me, +what shall I do with Viscountess Innisdale? Now, if I were not married, +I would be son-in-law to a duke. Mem.--Go down to Dawlish, and see if +she won’t die soon. Healthy situation, I fear,--devilish unlucky,--must +be changed. Mem.--Swamps in Essex. Who’s that?” + +A knock at the door disturbed Mr. Crauford in his meditations. He +started up, hurried the bottle and glass under the sofa, where the +descending drapery completely hid them; and, taking up a newspaper, said +in a gentle tone, “Come in.” A small thin man, bowing at every step, +entered. + +“Ah! Bradley, is it you, my good fellow?” said Crauford: “glad to see +you,--a fine morning: but what brings you from town so early?” + +“Why, sir,” answered Mr. Bradley, very obsequiously, “something +unpleasant has--” + +“Merciful Heaven!” cried Crauford, blanched into the whiteness of death, +and starting up from the sofa with a violence which frightened the +timid Mr. Bradley to the other end of the room, “the counting-house, the +books,--all safe?” + +“Yes, sir, yes, at present, but--” + +“But what, man?” + +“Why, honoured sir,” returned Mr. Bradley, bowing to the ground, “your +partner, Mr. Jessopp, has been very inquisitive about the accounts. +He says Mr. Da Costa, the Spanish merchant, has been insinuating very +unpleasant hints, and that he must have a conversation with you at your +earliest convenience; and when, sir, I ventured to remonstrate about the +unreasonableness of attending to what Mr. Da Costa said, Mr. Jessopp +was quite abusive, and declared that there seemed some very mysterious +communication between you (begging your pardon, sir) and me, and that +he did not know what business I, who had no share in the firm, had to +interfere.” + +“But,” said Crauford, “you were civil to him; did not reply hotly, eh! +my good Bradley?” + +“Lord forbid, sir; Lord forbid, that I should not know my place better, +or that I should give an unbecoming word to the partner of my honoured +benefactor. But, sir, if I dare venture to say so, I think Mr. Jessopp +is a little jealous or so of you; he seemed quite in a passion at the +paragraph in the paper about my honoured master’s becoming a lord.” + +“Right, honest Bradley, right; he is jealous: we must soothe him. Go, my +good fellow, go to him with my compliments, and say that I will be with +him by one. Never fear this business will be easily settled.” + +And, bowing himself out of the room, Bradley withdrew. Left alone, a +dark cloud gathered over the brow of Mr. Crauford. + +“I am on a precipice,” thought he; “but if my own brain does not turn +giddy with the prospect, all yet may be safe. Cruel necessity, that +obliged me to admit another into the business, that foiled me of +Mordaunt, and drove me upon this fawning rascal! So, so: I almost think +there is a Providence, now that Mordaunt has grown rich; but then his +wife died; ay, ay, God saved him, but the devil killed her. [Dieu a puni +ce fripon, le diable a noye les autres.--VOLTAIRE: Candide.] He! he! he! +But, seriously, seriously, there is danger in the very air I breathe! I +must away to that envious Jessopp instantly; but first let me finish the +bottle.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + + A strange harmonious inclination + Of all degrees to reformation.--Hudibras. + +About seven miles from W----, on the main road from ----, there was +in 17-- a solitary public-house, which by the by is now a magnificent +hotel. Like many of its brethren in the more courtly vicinity of the +metropolis, this amoenum hospitium peregrinae gentis then had its +peculiar renown for certain dainties of the palate; and various in +degree and character were the numerous parties from the neighbouring +towns and farms, which upon every legitimate holiday were wont to +assemble at the mansion of mine host of the Jolly Angler, in order to +feast upon eel-pie and grow merry over the true Herefordshire cider. + +But upon that special day on which we are about to introduce our reader +into the narrow confines of its common parlour, the said hostelry was +crowded with persons of a very different description from the peaceable +idlers who were ordinarily wont to empty mine host’s larder, and forget +the price of corn over the divine inspirations of pomarial nectar. +Instead of the indolent, satisfied air of the saturnalian merrymaker, +the vagrant angler, or the gentleman farmer, with his comely dame who +“walked in silk attire, and siller had to spare;” instead of the quiet +yet glad countenances of such hunters of pleasure and eaters of eel-pie, +or the more obstreperous joy of urchins let loose from school to taste +some brief and perennial recreation, and mine host’s delicacies at the +same time; instead of these, the little parlour presented a various and +perturbed group, upon whose features neither eel-pie nor Herefordshire +cider had wrought the relaxation of a holiday or the serenity of a +momentary content. + +The day to which we now refer was the one immediately preceding that +appointed for the far-famed meeting at W----; and many of the patriots, +false or real, who journeyed from a distance to attend that rendezvous, +had halted at our host’s of the Jolly Angler, both as being within a +convenient space from the appointed spot, and as a tabernacle where +promiscuous intrusion and (haply) immoderate charges were less likely to +occur than at the bustling and somewhat extraordinary hotels and inns of +the town of W----. + +The times in which this meeting was held were those of great popular +excitement and discontent; and the purport of the meeting proposed was +to petition Parliament against the continuance of the American war and +the King against the continuance of his ministers. + +Placards of an unusually inflammatory and imprudent nature had +given great alarm to the more sober and well-disposed persons in the +neighbourhood of W----; and so much fear was felt or assumed upon the +occasion that a new detachment of Lord Ulswater’s regiment had been +especially ordered into the town; and it was generally rumoured that the +legal authorities would interfere, even by force, for the dispersion +of the meeting in question. These circumstances had given the measure a +degree of general and anxious interest which it would not otherwise +have excited; and while everybody talked of the danger of attending the +assembly, everybody resolved to thrust himself into it. + +It was about the goodly hour of noon, and the persons assembled were +six in number, all members of the most violent party, and generally +considered by friend and foe as embracers of republican tenets. One of +these, a little, oily, corpulent personage, would have appeared far +too sleek and well fed for a disturber of things existing, had not a +freckled, pimpled, and fiery face, a knit brow, and a small black eye of +intolerable fierceness belied the steady and contented appearance of his +frame and girth. This gentleman, by name Christopher Culpepper, spoke in +a quick, muffled, shuffling sort of tone, like the pace of a Welsh pony, +somewhat lame, perfectly broken-winded, but an exemplary ambler for all +that. + +Next to him sat, with hands clasped over his knees, a thin, small man, +with a countenance prematurely wrinkled and an air of great dejection. +Poor Castleton! his had been, indeed, the bitter lot of a man, honest +but weak, who attaches himself, heart and soul, to a public cause which, +in his life at least, is hopeless. Three other men were sitting by +the open window, disputing, with the most vehement gestures, upon +the character of Wilkes; and at the other window, alone, silent, and +absorbed, sat a man whose appearance and features were singularly +calculated to arrest and to concentrate attention. His raven hair, +grizzled with the first advance of age, still preserved its strong, wiry +curl and luxuriant thickness. His brows, large, bushy, and indicative of +great determination, met over eyes which at that moment were fixed +upon vacancy with a look of thought and calmness very unusual to their +ordinary restless and rapid glances. His mouth, that great seat of +character, was firmly and obstinately shut; and though, at the first +observation, its downward curve and iron severity wore the appearance +of unmitigated harshness, disdain, and resolve, yet a more attentive +deducer of signs from features would not have been able to detect in its +expression anything resembling selfishness or sensuality, and in +that absence would have found sufficient to redeem the more repellent +indications of mind which it betrayed. + +Presently the door was opened, and the landlord, making some apology +to both parties for having no other apartment unoccupied, introduced a +personage whose dress and air, as well as a kind of saddle-bag, which he +would not intrust to any other bearer than himself, appeared to denote +him as one rather addicted to mercantile than political speculations. +Certainly he did not seem much at home among the patriotic reformers, +who, having glared upon him for a single moment, renewed, without +remark, their several attitudes or occupations. + +The stranger, after a brief pause, approached the solitary reformer +whom we last described; and making a salutation, half timorous and half +familiar, thus accosted him,-- + +“Your servant, Mr. Wolfe, your servant. I think I had the pleasure of +hearing you a long time ago at the Westminster election: very eloquent +you were, sir, very!” + +Wolfe looked up for an instant at the face of the speaker, and, not +recognizing it, turned abruptly away, threw open the window, and, +leaning out, appeared desirous of escaping from all further intrusion on +the part of the stranger; but that gentleman was by no means of a nature +easily abashed. + +“Fine day, sir, for the time of year; very fine day, indeed. October +is a charming month, as my lamented friend and customer, the late Lady +Waddilove, was accustomed to say. Talking of that, sir, as the winter +is now approaching, do you not think it would be prudent, Mr. Wolfe, to +provide yourself with an umbrella? I have an admirable one which I might +dispose of: it is from the effects of the late Lady Waddilove. ‘Brown,’ +said her ladyship, a short time before her death, ‘Brown, you are a good +creature; but you ask too much for the Dresden vase. We have known each +other a long time; you must take fourteen pounds ten shillings, and you +may have that umbrella in the corner into the bargain.’ Mr. Wolfe, +the bargain was completed, and the umbrella became mine: it may now be +yours.” + +And so saying, Mr. Brown, depositing his saddle-bag on the ground, +proceeded to unfold an umbrella of singular antiquity and form,--a very +long stick, tipped with ivory, being surmounted with about a quarter of +a yard of sea-green silk, somewhat discoloured by time and wear. + +“It is a beautiful article, sir,” said Mr. Brown, admiringly surveying +it: “is it not?” + +“Pshaw!” said Wolfe, impatiently, “what have I to do with your goods +and chattels? Go and palm the cheatings and impositions of your pitiful +trade upon some easier gull.” + +“Cheatings and impositions, Mr. Wolfe!” cried the slandered Brown, +perfectly aghast; “I would have you to know, sir, that I have served the +first families in the country, ay, and in this county too, and never had +such words applied to me before. Sir, there was the late Lady Waddilove, +and the respected Mrs. Minden, and her nephew the ambassador, and the +Duchess of Pugadale, and Mr. Mordaunt of Mordaunt Court, poor gentleman, +though he is poor no more,” and Mr. Brown proceeded to enumerate the +long list of his customers. + +Now, we have stated that Wolfe, though he had never known the rank of +Mordaunt, was acquainted with his real name, and, as the sound caught +his ear, he muttered, “Mordaunt, Mordaunt, ay, but not my former +acquaintance,--not him who was called Glendower. No, no: the man cannot +mean him.” + +“Yes, sir, but I do mean him,” cried Brown, in a rage. “I do mean +that Mr. Glendower, who afterwards took another name, but whose real +appellation is Mr. Algernon Mordaunt of Mordaunt Court, in this county, +sir.” + +“What description of man is he?” said Wolfe; “rather tall, slender, with +an air and mien like a king’s, I was going to say, but better than a +king’s, like a freeman’s?” + +“Ay, ay--the same,” answered Mr. Brown, sullenly; “but why should I tell +you? ‘Cheating and imposition,’ indeed! I am sure my word can be of no +avail to you; and I sha’ n’t stay here any longer to be insulted, Mr. +Wolfe, which, I am sure, talking of freemen, no freeman ought to submit +to; but as the late Lady Waddilove once very wisely said to me, ‘Brown, +never have anything to do with those republicans: they are the worst +tyrants of all.’ Good morning, Mr. Wolfe; gentlemen, your servant; +‘cheating and imposition,’ indeed! and Mr. Brown banged the door as he +departed. + +“Wolfe,” said Mr. Christopher Culpepper, “who is that man?” + +“I know not,” answered the republican, laconically, and gazing on the +ground, apparently in thought. + +“He has the air of a slave,” quoth the free Culpepper, and slaves cannot +bear the company of freemen; therefore he did right to go, whe-w! Had +we a proper and thorough and efficient reform, human nature would not +be thus debased by trades and callings and barters and exchange, for +all professions are injurious to the character and the dignity of man, +whe-w! but, as I shall prove upon the hustings to-morrow, it is in vain +to hope for any amendment in the wretched state of things until the +people of these realms are fully, freely, and fairly represented, whe-w! +Gentlemen, it is past two, and we have not ordered dinner, whe-w!” (N. +B.--This ejaculation denotes the kind of snuffle which lent peculiar +energy to the dicta of Mr. Culpepper.) + +“Ring the bell, then, and summon the landlord,” said, very pertinently, +one of the three disputants upon the character of Wilkes. + +The landlord appeared; dinner was ordered. + +“Pray,” said Wolfe, “has that man, Mr. Brown I think he called himself, +left the inn?” + +“He has, sir, for he was mightily offended at something which--” + +“And,” interrupted Wolfe, “how far hence does Mr. Mordaunt live?” + +“About five miles on the other side of W----,” answered mine host. + +Wolfe rose, seized his hat, and was about to depart. + +“Stay, stay,” cried citizen Christopher Culpepper; “you will not leave +us till after dinner?” + +“I shall dine at W----,” answered Wolfe, quitting the room. + +“Then our reckoning will be heavier,” said Culpepper. “It is not +handsome in Wolfe to leave us, whe-w! Really I think that our brother +in the great cause has of late relaxed in his attentions and zeal to the +goddess of our devotions, whe-w!” + +“It is human nature!” cried one of the three disputants upon the +character of Wilkes. + +“It is not human nature!” cried the second disputant, folding his arms +doggedly, in preparation for a discussion. + +“Contemptible human nature!” exclaimed the third disputant, +soliloquizing with a supercilious expression of hateful disdain. + +“Poor human nature!” murmured Castleton, looking upward with a sigh; and +though we have not given to that gentleman other words than these, we +think they are almost sufficient to let our readers into his character. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + + Silvis, ubi passim + Palantes error certo de tramite pellit, + Ille sinistrorsum, hic dextrorsum abit; unus utrique + Error, sed variis illudit partibus.--HORACE. + + [“Wandering in those woods where error evermore forces life’s + stragglers from the beaten path,--this one deflects to the left, + his fellow chooses the exact contrary. The fault is all the same + in each, but it excuses itself by a thousand different reasons.”] + +As Wolfe strode away from the inn, he muttered to himself,-- + +“Can it be that Mordaunt has suddenly grown rich? If so, I rejoice at +it. True, that he was not for our cause, but he had the spirit and the +heart which belonged to it. Had he not been bred among the prejudices +of birth, or had he lived in stormier times, he might have been the +foremost champion of freedom. As it is, I rather lament than condemn. +Yet I would fain see him once more. Perhaps prosperity may have altered +his philosophy. But can he, indeed, be the same Mordaunt of whom that +trading itinerant spoke? Can he have risen to the pernicious eminence of +a landed aristocrat? Well, it is worth the journey; for if he have +power in the neighbourhood, I am certain that he will exert it for our +protection; and, at the worst, I shall escape from the idle words of my +compatriots. Oh! if it were possible that the advocates could debase +the glory of the cause, how long since should I have flinched from the +hardship and the service to which my life is devoted! Self-interest; +Envy, that snarls at all above it, without even the beast’s courage +to bite; Folly, that knows not the substance of Freedom, but loves +the glitter of its name; Fear, that falters; Crime, that seeks in +licentiousness an excuse; Disappointment, only craving occasion to rail; +Hatred; Sourness, boasting of zeal, but only venting the blackness of +rancour and evil passion,--all these make our adherents, and give our +foes the handle and the privilege to scorn and to despise. But man +chooses the object, and Fate only furnishes the tools. Happy for our +posterity, that when the object is once gained, the frailty of the tools +will be no more!” + +Thus soliloquizing, the republican walked rapidly onwards, till a turn +of the road brought before his eye the form of Mr. Brown, seated upon a +little rough pony, and “whistling as he went for want of thought.” + +Wolfe quickened his pace, and soon overtook him. + +“You must forgive me, my good man,” said he, soothingly; “I meant not to +impeach your honesty or your calling. Perhaps I was hasty and peevish; +and, in sad earnest, I have much to tease and distract me.” + +“Well, sir, well,” answered Mr. Brown, greatly mollified; “I am sure no +Christian can be more forgiving than I am; and, since you are sorry +for what you were pleased to say, let us think no more about it. But +touching the umbrella, Mr. Wolfe, have you a mind for that interesting +and useful relic of the late Lady Waddilove?” + +“Not at present, I thank you,” said Wolfe, mildly; “I care little for +the inclemencies of the heavens, and you may find many to whom your +proffered defence from them may be more acceptable. But tell me if +the Mr. Mordaunt you mentioned was ever residing in town, and in very +indifferent circumstances?” + +“Probably he was,” said the cautious Brown, who, as we before said, had +been bribed into silence, and who now grievously repented that passion +had betrayed him into the imprudence of candour; “but I really do not +busy myself about other people’s affairs. ‘Brown,’ said the late Lady +Waddilove to me, ‘Brown, you are a good creature, and never talk of what +does not concern you.’ Those, Mr. Wolfe, were her ladyship’s own words.” + +“As you please,” said the reformer, who did not want shrewdness, and saw +that his point was already sufficiently gained; “as you please. And now, +to change the subject, I suppose we shall have your attendance at the +meeting at W---- to-morrow?” + +“Ay,” replied the worthy Brown: “I thought it likely I should meet many +of my old customers in the town on such a busy occasion; so I went a +little out of my way home to London, in order to spend a night or two +there. Indeed, I have some valuable articles for Mr. Glumford, the +magistrate, who will be in attendance to-morrow.” + +“They say,” observed Wolfe, “that the magistrates, against all law, +right, and custom, will dare to interfere with and resist the meeting. +Think you report says true?” + +“Nay,” returned Brown, prudently, “I cannot exactly pretend to decide +the question: all I know is that Squire Glumford said to me, at his own +house, five days ago, as he was drawing on his boots, ‘Brown,’ said he, +‘Brown, mark my words, we shall do for those rebellious dogs!’” + +“Did he say so?” muttered Wolfe, between his teeth. “Oh, for the old +times, or those yet to come, when our answer would have been, or shall +be, the sword!” + +“And you know,” pursued Mr. Brown, “that Lord Ulswater and his regiment +are in town, and have even made great preparations against the meeting a +week ago.” + +“I have heard this,” said Wolfe; “but I cannot think that any body of +armed men dare interrupt or attack a convocation of peaceable subjects, +met solely to petition Parliament against famine for themselves and +slavery for their children.” + +“Famine!” quoth Mr. Brown. “Indeed it is very true, very! times are +dreadfully bad. I can scarcely get my own living; Parliament certainly +ought to do something: but you must forgive me, Mr. Wolfe; it may be +dangerous to talk with you on these matters; and, now I think of it, the +sooner I get to W---- the better; good morning; a shower’s coming on. +You won’t have the umbrella, then?” + +“They dare not,” said Wolfe to himself, “no, no,--they dare not attack +us; they dare not;” and clenching his fist, he pursued, with a quicker +step, and a more erect mien, his solitary way. + +When he was about the distance of three miles from W----, he was +overtaken by a middle-aged man of a frank air and a respectable +appearance. “Good day, sir,” said he; “we seem to be journeying the same +way: will it be against your wishes to join company?” + +Wolfe assented, and the stranger resumed:-- + +“I suppose, sir, you intend to be present at the meeting at W---- +to-morrow? There will be an immense concourse, and the entrance of a +new detachment of soldiers, and the various reports of the likelihood of +their interference with the assembly, make it an object of some interest +and anxiety to look forward to.” + +“True, true,” said Wolfe, slowly, eying his new acquaintance with a +deliberate and scrutinizing attention. “It will, indeed, be interesting +to see how far an evil and hardy government will venture to encroach +upon the rights of the people, which it ruins while it pretends to +rule.” + +“Of a truth,” rejoined the other, “I rejoice that I am no politician. +I believe my spirit is as free as any cooped in the narrow dungeon of +earth’s clay can well be; yet I confess that it has drawn none of its +liberty from book, pamphlet, speech, or newspaper, of modern times.” + +“So much the worse for you, sir,” said Wolfe, sourly: “the man who has +health and education can find no excuse for supineness or indifference +to that form of legislation by which his country decays or prospers.” + +“Why,” said the other, gayly, “I willingly confess myself less of a +patriot than a philosopher; and as long as I am harmless, I strive +very little to be useful, in a public capacity; in a private one, as a +father, a husband, and a neighbour, I trust I am not utterly without my +value.” + +“Pish!” cried Wolfe; “let no man who forgets his public duties prate of +his private merits. I tell you, man, that he who can advance by a single +hair’s-breadth the happiness or the freedom of mankind has done more to +save his own soul than if he had paced every step of the narrow circle +of his domestic life with the regularity of clockwork.” + +“You may be right,” quoth the stranger, carelessly; “but I look on +things in the mass, and perhaps see only the superficies, while you, +I perceive already, are a lover of the abstract. For my part, Harry +Fielding’s two definitions seem to me excellent. ‘Patriot,--a candidate +for a place!’ ‘Politics,--the art of getting such a place!’ Perhaps, +sir, as you seem a man of education, you remember the words of our great +novelist.” + +“No!” answered Wolfe, a little contemptuously; “I cannot say that I +burden my memory with the deleterious witticisms and shallow remarks of +writers of fancy. It has been a mighty and spreading evil to the world +that the vain fictions of the poets or the exaggerations of novelists +have been hitherto so welcomed and extolled. Better had it been for us +if the destruction of the lettered wealth at Alexandria had included all +the lighter works which have floated, from their very levity, down the +stream of time, an example and a corruption to the degraded geniuses of +later days.” + +The eyes of the stranger sparkled. “Why, you outgoth the Goth!” + exclaimed he, sharply. “But you surely preach against what you have not +studied. Confess that you are but slightly acquainted with Shakspeare, +and Spenser, and noble Dan Chaucer. Ay, if you knew them as well as I +do, you would, like me, give-- + + ‘To hem faith and full credence, + And in your heart have hem in reverence.’” + +“Pish!” again muttered Wolfe; and then rejoined aloud, “It grieves me to +see time so wasted, and judgment so perverted, as yours appears to have +been; but it fills me with pity and surprise, as well as grief, to find +that, so far from shame at the effeminacy of your studies, you appear to +glory and exult in them.” + +“May the Lord help me, and lighten thee,” said Cole; for it was he. +“You are at least not a novelty in human wisdom, whatever you may be in +character; for you are far from the only one proud of being ignorant, +and pitying those who are not so.” + +Wolfe darted one of his looks of fire at the speaker, who, nothing +abashed, met the glance with an eye, if not as fiery, at least as bold. + +“I see,” said the republican, “that we shall not agree upon the topics +you have started. If you still intrude your society upon me, you will, +at least, choose some other subject of conversation.” + +“Pardon me,” said Cole, whose very studies, while they had excited, in +their self-defence, his momentary warmth, made him habitually courteous +and urbane, “pardon me for my hastiness of expression. I own myself in +fault.” And, with this apology, our ex-king slid into the new topics +which the scenery and the weather afforded him. + +Wolfe, bent upon the object of his present mission, made some inquiries +respecting Mordaunt; and though Cole only shared the uncertain +information of the country gossips as to the past history of that +person, yet the little he did know was sufficient to confirm the +republican in his belief of Algernon’s identity; while the ex-gypsy’s +account of his rank and reputation in the country made Wolfe doubly +anxious to secure, if possible, his good offices and interference on +behalf of the meeting. But the conversation was not always restricted to +neutral and indifferent ground, but ever and anon wandered into +various allusions or opinions from the one, certain to beget retort or +controversy in the other. + +Had we time and our reader patience, it would have been a rare and fine +contrast to have noted more at large the differences of thought and +opinion between the companions: each in his several way so ardent for +liberty, and so impatient of the control and customs of society; each +so enthusiastic for the same object, yet so coldly contemptuous to the +enthusiasm of the other. The one guided only by his poetical and +erratic tastes, the other solely by dreams, seeming to the world no less +baseless, yet, to his own mind, bearing the name of stern judgment and +inflexible truth. Both men of active and adventurous spirits, to whom +forms were fetters and ceremonies odious; yet, deriving from that +mutual similarity only pity for mutual perversion, they were memorable +instances of the great differences congeniality itself will occasion, +and of the never-ending varieties which minds, rather under the +influence of imagination than judgment, will create. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + + Gratis anhelans, multa agendo, nihil agens.--PHAEDRUS. + [“Panting and labouring in vain; doing much,--effecting nothing.”] + +Upon entering the town, the streets displayed all the bustle and +excitement which the approaching meeting was eminently calculated to +create in a place ordinarily quiescent and undisturbed: groups of men +were scattered in different parts, conversing with great eagerness; +while here and there some Demosthenes of the town, impatient of the +coming strife, was haranguing his little knot of admiring friends, +and preparing his oratorical organs by petty skirmishing for the grand +battle of the morrow. Now and then the eye roved upon the gaunt forms +of Lord Ulswater’s troopers, as they strolled idly along the streets, in +pairs, perfectly uninterested by the great event which set all the +more peaceable inmates of the town in a ferment, and returning, with +a slighting and supercilious glance, the angry looks and muttered +anathemas which, ever and anon, the hardier spirits of the petitioning +party liberally bestowed upon them. + +As Wolfe and his comrade entered the main street, the former was +accosted by some one of his compatriots, who, seizing him by the arm, +was about to apprise the neighbouring idlers, by a sudden exclamation, +of the welcome entrance of the eloquent and noted republican. But Wolfe +perceived and thwarted his design. + +“Hush!” said he, in a low voice; “I am only now on my way to an old +friend, who seems a man of influence in these parts, and may be of avail +to us on the morrow; keep silence, therefore, with regard to my coming +till I return. I would not have my errand interrupted.” + +“As you will,” said the brother spirit: “but whom have you here, +a fellow-labourer?” and the reformer pointed to Cole, who, with an +expression of shrewd humour, blended with a sort of philosophical +compassion, stood at a little distance waiting for Wolfe, and eying the +motley groups assembled before him. + +“No,” answered Wolfe; “he is some vain and idle sower of unprofitable +flowers; a thing who loves poetry, and, for aught I know, writes it: but +that reminds me that I must rid myself of his company; yet stay; do you +know this neighbourhood sufficiently to serve me as a guide?” + +“Ay,” quoth the other; “I was born within three miles of the town.” + +“Indeed!” rejoined Wolfe; “then perhaps you can tell me if there is any +way of reaching a place called Mordaunt Court without passing through +the more public and crowded thoroughfares.” + +“To be sure,” rejoined the brother spirit; “you have only to turn to the +right up yon hill, and you will in an instant be out of the purlieus +and precincts of W----, and on your shortest road to Mordaunt Court; but +surely it is not to its owner that you are bound?” + +“And why not?” said Wolfe. + +“Because,” replied the other, “he is the wealthiest, the highest, and, +as report says, the haughtiest aristocrat of these parts.” + +“So much the better, then,” said Wolfe, “can he aid us in obtaining a +quiet hearing to-morrow, undisturbed by those liveried varlets of hire, +who are termed, in sooth, Britain’s defence! Much better, when we think +of all they cost us to pamper and to clothe, should they be termed +Britain’s ruin: but farewell for the present; we shall meet to-night; +your lodgings--?” + +“Yonder,” said the other, pointing to a small inn opposite; and Wolfe, +nodding his adieu, returned to Cole, whose vivacious and restless nature +had already made him impatient of his companion’s delay. + +“I must take my leave of you now,” said Wolfe, “which I do with a hearty +exhortation that you will change your studies, fit only for effeminate +and enslaved minds.” + +“And I return the exhortation,” answered Cole. “Your studies seem to me +tenfold more crippling than mine: mine take all this earth’s restraints +from me, and yours seem only to remind you that all earth is restraint: +mine show me whatever worlds the fondest fancy could desire; yours only +the follies and chains of this. In short, while ‘my mind to me a kingdom +is,’ yours seems to consider the whole universe itself nothing but +a great meeting for the purpose of abusing ministers and demanding +reform!” + +Not too well pleased by this answer, and at the same time indisposed to +the delay of further reply, Wolfe contented himself with an iron +sneer of disdain, and, turning on his heel, strode rapidly away in the +direction his friend had indicated. + +Meanwhile, Cole followed him with his eye till he was out of sight, +and then muttered to himself, “Never was there a fitter addition to old +Barclay’s ‘Ship of Fools’! I should not wonder if this man’s patriotism +leads him from despising the legislature into breaking the law; +and, faith, the surest way to the gallows is less through vice than +discontent: yet I would fain hope better things for him; for, methinks, +he is neither a common declaimer nor an ordinary man.” + +With these words the honest Cole turned away, and, strolling towards the +Golden Fleece, soon found himself in the hospitable mansion of Mistress +and Mister Merrylack. + +While the ex-king was taking his ease at his inn, Wolfe proceeded +to Mordaunt Court. The result of the meeting that there ensued was a +determination on the part of Algernon to repair immediately to W----. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + + The commons here in Kent are up in arms.--Second Part of Henry VI. + +When Mordaunt arrived at W----, he found that the provincial deities +(who were all assembled at dinner with the principal inhabitants of the +town), in whose hands the fate of the meeting was placed, were in great +doubt and grievous consternation. He came in time, first to balance the +votes, and ultimately to decide them. His mind, prudent and acute, when +turned to worldly affairs, saw at a glance the harmless though noisy +nature of the meeting; and he felt that the worst course the government +or the county could pursue would be to raise into importance, by +violence, what otherwise would meet with ridicule from most and +indifference from the rest. + +His large estates, his ancient name, his high reputation for talent, +joined to that manner, half eloquent and half commanding, which rarely +fails of effect when deliberation only requires a straw on either side +to become decision,--all these rendered his interference of immediate +avail; and it was settled that the meeting should, as similar assemblies +had done before, proceed and conclude, undisturbed by the higher powers, +so long as no positive act of sedition to the government or danger to +the town was committed. + +Scarcely was this arrangement agreed upon, before Lord Ulswater, who had +hitherto been absent, entered the room in which the magisterial conclave +was assembled. Mr. Glumford (whom our readers will possibly remember as +the suitor to Isabel St. Leger, and who had at first opposed, and then +reluctantly subscribed to, Mordaunt’s interference) bustled up to him. + +“So, so, my lord,” said he, “since I had the honour of seeing your +lordship, quite a new sort of trump has been turned up.” + +“I do not comprehend your metaphorical elegances of speech, Mr. +Glumford,” said Lord Ulswater. + +Mr. Glumford explained. Lord Ulswater’s cheek grew scarlet. “So Mr. +Mordaunt has effected this wise alteration,” said he. + +“Nobody else, my lord, nobody else: and I am sure, though your +lordship’s estates are at the other end of the county, yet they are much +larger than his; and since your lordship has a troop at your command, +and that sort of thing, I would not, if I were your lordship, suffer any +such opposition to your wishes.” + +Without making a reply to this harangue, Lord Ulswater stalked haughtily +up to Mordaunt, who was leaning against the wainscot and conversing with +those around him. + +“I cannot but conceive, Mr. Mordaunt,” said he, with a formal bow, “that +I have been misinformed in the intelligence I have just received.” + +“Lord Ulswater will perhaps inform me to what intelligence he alludes.” + +“That Mr. Mordaunt, the representative of one of the noblest families in +England, has given the encouragement and influence of his name and rank +to the designs of a seditious and turbulent mob.” + +Mordaunt smiled slightly, as he replied, “Your lordship rightly believes +that you are misinformed. It is precisely because I would not have the +mob you speak of seditious or turbulent that I have made it my +request that the meeting of to-morrow should be suffered to pass off +undisturbed.” + +“Then, sir,” cried Lord Ulswater, striking the table with a violence +which caused three reverend potentates of the province to start back +in dismay, “I cannot but consider such interference on your part to the +last degree impolitic and uncalled for: these, sir, are times of great +danger to the State, and in which it is indispensably requisite to +support and strengthen the authority of the law.” + +“I waive, at present,” answered Mordaunt, “all reply to language neither +courteous nor appropriate. I doubt not but that the magistrates will +decide as is most in accordance with the spirit of that law which, in +this and in all times, should be supported.” + +“Sir,” said Lord Ulswater, losing his temper more and more, as he +observed that the bystanders, whom he had been accustomed to awe, all +visibly inclined to the opinion of Mordaunt, “sir, if your name has been +instrumental in producing so unfortunate a determination on the part +of the magistrates, I shall hold you responsible to the government for +those results which ordinary prudence may calculate upon.” + +“When Lord Ulswater,” said Mordaunt, sternly, “has learned what is +due not only to the courtesies of society, but to those legitimate +authorities of his country, who (he ventures to suppose) are to be +influenced contrary to their sense of duty by any individual, then he +may perhaps find leisure to make himself better acquainted with the +nature of those laws which he now so vehemently upholds.” + +“Mr. Mordaunt, you will consider yourself answerable to me for those +words,” said Lord Ulswater, with a tone of voice unnaturally calm; and +the angry flush of his countenance gave place to a livid paleness. Then, +turning on his heel, he left the room. + +As he repaired homeward he saw one of his soldiers engaged in a loud +and angry contest with a man in the plain garb of a peaceful citizen; a +third person, standing by, appeared ineffectually endeavouring to pacify +the disputants. A rigid disciplinarian, Lord Ulswater allowed not even +party feeling, roused as it was, to conquer professional habits. He +called off the soldier, and the man with whom the latter had been +engaged immediately came up to Lord Ulswater, with a step as haughty as +his own. The third person, who had attempted the peacemaker, followed +him. + +“I presume, sir,” said he, “that you are an officer of this man’s +regiment.” + +“I am the commanding officer, sir,” said Lord Ulswater, very little +relishing the air and tone of the person who addressed him. + +“Then,” answered the man (who was, indeed, no other than Wolfe, who, +having returned to W---- with Mordaunt, had already succeeded in +embroiling himself in a dispute), “then, sir, I look to you for his +punishment and my redress;” and Wolfe proceeded in his own exaggerated +language to detail a very reasonable cause of complaint. The fact was +that Wolfe, meeting one of his compatriots and conversing with him +somewhat loudly, had uttered some words which attracted the spleen of +the soldier, who was reeling home very comfortably intoxicated; and the +soldier had most assuredly indulged in a copious abuse of the d--d rebel +who could not walk the streets without chattering sedition. + +Wolfe’s friend confirmed the statement. + +The trooper attempted to justify himself; but Lord Ulswater saw his +intoxication in an instant, and, secretly vexed that the complaint was +not on the other side, ordered the soldier to his quarters, with a brief +but sure threat of punishment on the morrow. Not willing, however, to +part with the “d--d rebel” on terms so flattering to the latter, Lord +Ulswater, turning to Wolfe with a severe and angry air, said,-- + +“As for you, fellow, I believe the whole fault was on your side; and if +you dare again give vent to your disaffected ravings, I shall have you +sent to prison to tame your rank blood upon bread and water. Begone, and +think yourself fortunate to escape now!” + +The fierce spirit of Wolfe was in arms on the instant; and his reply, in +subjecting him to Lord Ulswater’s threat, might at least have prevented +his enlightening the public on the morrow, had not his friend, a +peaceable, prudent man, seized him by the arm, and whispered, “What +are you about? Consider for what you are here: another word may rob the +assembly of your presence. A man bent on a public cause must not, on the +eve of its trial, enlist in a private quarrel.” + +“True, my friend, true,” said Wolfe, swallowing his rage and eying Lord +Ulswater’s retreating figure with a menacing look; “but the time may yet +come when I shall have license to retaliate on the upstart.” + +“So be it,” quoth the other; “he is our bitterest enemy. You know, +perhaps, that he is Lord Ulswater of the ---- regiment? It has been at +his instigation that the magistrates proposed to disturb the meeting. He +has been known publicly to say that all who attended the assembly ought +to be given up to the swords of his troopers.” + +“The butchering dastard, to dream even of attacking unarmed men: but +enough of him; I must tarry yet in the street to hear what success our +intercessor has obtained.” And as Wolfe passed the house in which the +magisterial conclave sat, Mordaunt came out and accosted him. + +“You have sworn to me that your purpose is peaceable.” said Mordaunt. + +“Unquestionably,” answered Wolfe. + +“And you will pledge yourself that no disturbance, that can either be +effected or counteracted by yourself and friends, shall take place?” + +“I will.” + +“Enough!” answered Mordaunt. “Remember that if you commit the least act +that can be thought dangerous I may not be able to preserve you from the +military. As it is, your meeting will be unopposed.” + +Contrary to Lord Ulswater’s prediction, the meeting went off as quietly +as an elderly maiden’s tea-party. The speakers, even Wolfe, not only +took especial pains to recommend order and peace, but avoided, for the +most part, all inflammatory enlargement upon the grievances of which +they complained. And the sage foreboders of evil, who had locked up +their silver spoons, and shaken their heads very wisely for the last +week, had the agreeable mortification of observing rather an appearance +of good humour upon the countenances of the multitude than that +ferocious determination against the lives and limbs of the well-affected +which they had so sorrowfully anticipated. + +As Mordaunt (who had been present during the whole time of the meeting) +mounted his horse and quitted the ground, Lord Ulswater, having just +left his quarters, where he had been all day in expectation of some +violent act of the orators or the mob demanding his military services, +caught sight of him with a sudden recollection of his own passionate +threat. There had been nothing in Mordaunt’s words which would in our +times have justified a challenge; but in that day duels were fought upon +the slightest provocation. Lord Ulswater therefore rode up at once to +a gentleman with whom he had some intimate acquaintance, and briefly +saying that he had been insulted both as an officer and gentleman by Mr. +Mordaunt, requested his friend to call upon that gentleman and demand +satisfaction. + +“To-morrow,” said Lord Ulswater, “I have the misfortune to be +unavoidably engaged. The next day you can appoint place and time of +meeting.” + +“I must first see the gentleman to whom Mr. Mordaunt may refer me,” said +the friend, prudently; “and perhaps your honour may be satisfied without +any hostile meeting at all.” + +“I think not,” said Lord Ulswater, carelessly, as he rode away; “for Mr. +Mordaunt is a gentleman, and gentlemen never apologize.” + +Wolfe was standing unobserved near Lord Ulswater while the latter thus +instructed his proposed second. “Man of blood,” muttered the republican; +“with homicide thy code of honour, and massacre thine interpretation of +law, by violence wouldst thou rule, and by violence mayst thou perish!” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + + Jam te premet nox, fabulaeque Manes, + Et domus exilis Plutonis.--HORACE. + + [“This very hour Death shall overcome thee, and the fabled Manes, + and the shadowy Plutonian realms receive thee.”] + +The morning was dull and heavy as Lord Ulswater mounted his horse, +and unattended took his way towards Westborough Park. His manner was +unusually thoughtful and absent; perhaps two affairs upon his hands, +either of which seemed likely to end in bloodshed, were sufficient to +bring reflection even to the mind of a cavalry officer. + +He had scarcely got out of the town before he was overtaken by our +worthy friend Mr. Glumford. As he had been a firm ally of Lord Ulswater +in the contest respecting the meeting, so, when he joined and saluted +that nobleman, Lord Ulswater, mindful of past services, returned his +greeting with an air rather of condescension than hauteur. To say truth, +his lordship was never very fond of utter loneliness, and the respectful +bearing of Glumford, joined to that mutual congeniality which sympathy +in political views always occasions, made him more pleased with the +society than shocked with the intrusion of the squire; so that when +Glumford said, “If your lordship’s way lies along this road for the next +five or six miles, perhaps you will allow me the honour of accompanying +you,” Lord Ulswater graciously signified his consent to the proposal, +and carelessly mentioning that he was going to Westborough Park, slid +into that conversation with his new companion which the meeting and its +actors afforded. + +Turn we for an instant to Clarence. At the appointed hour he had arrived +at Westborough Park, and, bidding his companion, the trusty Wardour, +remain within the chaise which had conveyed them, he was ushered with +a trembling heart, but a mien erect and self-composed, into Lady +Westborough’s presence; the marchioness was alone. + +“I am sensible, sir,” said she, with a little embarrassment, “that it is +not exactly becoming to my station and circumstances to suffer a meeting +of the present nature between Lord Ulswater and yourself to be held +within this house; but I could not resist the request of Lord Ulswater, +conscious from his character that it could contain nothing detrimental +to the--to the consideration and delicacy due to Lady Flora Ardenne.” + +Clarence bowed. “So far as I am concerned,” said he, “I feel confident +that Lady Westborough will not repent of her condescension.” + +There was a pause. + +“It is singular,” said Lady Westborough, looking to the clock upon an +opposite table, “that Lord Ulswater has not yet arrived.” + +“It is,” said Clarence, scarcely conscious of his words, and wondering +whether Lady Flora would deign to appear. Another pause. Lady +Westborough felt the awkwardness of her situation. + +Clarence made an effort to recover himself. + +“I do not see,” said he, “the necessity of delaying the explanation I +have to offer to your ladyship till my Lord Ulswater deems it suitable +to appear. Allow me at once to enter upon a history, told in few words +and easily proved.” + +“Stay,” said Lady Westborough, struggling with her curiosity; “it is due +to one who has stood in so peculiar a situation in our family to wait +yet a little longer for his coming. We will therefore, till the hour is +completed, postpone the object of our meeting.” + +Clarence again bowed and was silent. Another and a longer pause +ensued: it was broken by the sound of the clock striking; the hour was +completed. + +“Now,” began Clarence, when he was interrupted by a sudden and violent +commotion in the hall. Above all was heard a loud and piercing cry, +in which Clarence recognized the voice of the old steward. He rose +abruptly, and stood motionless and aghast; his eyes met those of +Lady Westborough, who, pale and agitated, lost for the moment all her +habitual self-command. The sound increased: Clarence rushed from the +room into the hall; the open door of the apartment revealed to Lady +Westborough, as to him, a sight which allowed her no further time for +hesitation. She hurried after Clarence into the hall, gave one look, +uttered one shriek of horror, and fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + + Iden.--But thou wilt brave me in these saucy terms. Cade.-- + Brave thee I ay, by the best blood that ever was broached, + and beard thee too.--SHAKSPEARE. + +“You see, my lord,” said Mr. Glumford to Lord Ulswater, as they rode +slowly on, “that as long as those rebellious scoundrels are indulged in +their spoutings and meetings, and that sort of thing, that--that there +will be no bearing them.” + +“Very judiciously remarked, sir,” replied Lord Ulswater. “I wish all +gentlemen of birth and consideration viewed the question in the same +calm, dispassionate, and profound light that you do. Would to Heaven +it were left to me to clear the country of those mutinous and dangerous +rascals: I would make speedy and sure work of it.” + +“I am certain you would, my lord; I am certain you would. It is a +thousand pities that pompous fellow Mordaunt interfered yesterday, with +his moderation, and policy, and all that sort of thing; so foolish, +you know, my lord,--mere theory and romance, and that sort of thing: we +should have had it all our own way, if he had not.” + +Lord Ulswater played with his riding-whip, but did not reply. Mr. +Glumford continued,-- + +“Pray, my lord, did your lordship see what an ugly ill-dressed set +of dogs those meetingers were; that Wolfe, above all? Oh, he’s a +horrid-looking fellow. By the by, he left the town this very morning; I +saw him take leave of his friends in the street just before I set out. +He is going to some other meeting,--on foot too. Only think of the folly +of talking about the policy and prudence and humanity, and that sort +of thing, of sparing such a pitiful poor fellow as that; can’t afford a +chaise, or a stage-coach even, my lord,--positively can’t.” + +“You see the matter exactly in its true light, Mr. Glumford,” said his +lordship, patting his fine horse, which was somewhat impatient of the +slow pace of its companion. + +“A very beautiful animal of your lordship,” said Mr. Glumford, spurring +his own horse,--a heavy, dull quadruped with an obstinate ill-set tail, +a low shoulder, and a Roman nose. “I am very partial to horses myself, +and love a fine horse as well as anybody.” Lord Ulswater cast a glance +at his companion’s steed, and seeing nothing in its qualities to justify +this assertion of attachment to fine horses was silent: Lord Ulswater +never flattered even his mistress, much less Mr. Glumford. + +“I will tell you, my lord,” continued Mr. Glumford, “what a bargain +this horse was;” and the squire proceeded, much to Lord Ulswater’s +discontent, to retail the history of his craft in making the said +bargain. + +The riders were now entering a part of the road, a little more than two +miles from Westborough Park, in which the features of the neighbouring +country took a bolder and ruder aspect than they had hitherto worn. On +one side of the road, the view opened upon a descent of considerable +depth, and the dull sun looked drearily over a valley in which large +fallow fields, a distant and solitary spire, and a few stunted and +withering trees formed the chief characteristics. On the other side of +the road a narrow footpath was separated from the highway by occasional +posts; and on this path Lord Ulswater (how the minute and daily +occurrences of life show the grand pervading principles of character!) +was, at the time we refer to, riding, in preference to the established +thoroughfare for equestrian and aurigal travellers. The side of this +path farthest from the road was bordered by a steep declivity of stony +and gravelly earth, which almost deserved the dignified appellation of +a precipice; and it was with no small exertion of dexterous horsemanship +that Lord Ulswater kept his spirited and susceptible steed upon the +narrow and somewhat perilous path, in spite of its frequent starts at +the rugged descent below. + +“I think, my lord, if I may venture to say so,” said Mr. Glumford, +having just finished the narration of his bargain, “that it would be +better for you to take the high road just at present; for the descent +from the footpath is steep and abrupt, and deuced crumbling! so that if +your lordship’s horse shied or took a wrong step, it might be attended +with unpleasant consequences,--a fall, or that sort of thing.” + +“You are very good, sir,” said Lord Ulswater, who, like most proud +people, conceived advice an insult; “but I imagine myself capable of +guiding my horse, at least upon a road so excellent as this.” + +“Certainly, my lord, certainly; I beg your pardon; but--bless me, who is +that tall fellow in black, talking to himself yonder, my lord? The turn +of the road hides him from you just at present; but I see him well. +Ha! ha! what gestures he uses! I dare say he is one of the petitioners, +and--yes, my lord, by Jupiter, it is Wolfe himself! You had better +(excuse me, my lord) come down from the footpath: it is not wide enough +for two people; and Wolfe, I dare say, a d--d rascal, would not get out +of the way for the devil himself! He’s a nasty, black, fierce-looking +fellow; I would not for something meet him in a dark night, or that sort +of thing!” + +“I do not exactly understand, Mr. Glumford,” returned Lord Ulswater, +with a supercilious glance at that gentleman, “what peculiarities of +temper you are pleased to impute to me, or from what you deduce the +supposition that I shall move out of my way for a person like Mr. Woolt, +or Wolfe, or whatever be his name.” + +“I beg your pardon, my lord, I am sure,” answered Glumford: “of course +your lordship knows best, and if the rogue is impertinent, why, I’m +a magistrate, and will commit him; though, to be sure,” continued our +righteous Daniel, in a lower key, “he has a right to walk upon the +footpath without being ridden over, or that sort of thing.” + +The equestrians were now very near Wolfe, who, turning hastily round, +perceived, and immediately recognized Lord Ulswater. “Ah-ha!” muttered +he to himself, “here comes the insolent thirster for blood, grudging us +seemingly even the meagre comfort of the path which his horse’s hoofs +are breaking up; yet, thank Heaven,” added the republican, looking with +a stern satisfaction at the narrowness of the footing, “he cannot very +well pass me, and the free lion does not move out of his way for such +pampered kine as those to which this creature belongs.” + +Actuated by this thought, Wolfe almost insensibly moved entirely into +the middle of the path, so that with the posts on one side, and the +abrupt and undefended precipice, if we may so call it, on the other, +it was quite impossible for any horseman to pass the republican, unless +over his body. + +Lord Ulswater marked the motion, and did not want penetration to +perceive the cause. Glad of an opportunity to wreak some portion of +his irritation against a member of a body so offensive to his mind, and +which had the day before obtained a sort of triumph over his exertions +against them, and rendered obstinate in his intention by the pique he +had felt at Glumford’s caution, Lord Ulswater, tightening his rein +and humming with apparent indifference a popular tune, continued his +progress till he was within a foot of the republican. Then, checking his +horse for a moment, he called, in a tone of quiet arrogance, to Wolfe to +withdraw himself on one side till he had passed. + +The fierce blood of the republican, which the least breath of oppression +sufficed to kindle, and which yet boiled with the remembrance of Lord +Ulswater’s threat to him two nights before, was on fire at this command. +He stopped short, and turning half round, stood erect in the strength +and power of his singularly tall and not ungraceful form. “Poor and +proud fool,” said he, with a voice of the most biting scorn, and fixing +an eye eloquent of ire and menaced danger upon the calmly contemptuous +countenance of the patrician, “poor and proud fool, do you think that +your privileges have already reached so pleasant a pitch that you may +ride over men like dust? Off, fool! the basest peasant in England, +degraded as he is, would resist while he ridiculed your arrogance.” + +Without deigning any reply, Lord Ulswater spurred his horse; the +spirited animal bounded forward almost on the very person of the +obstructer of the path; with uncommon agility Wolfe drew aside from the +danger, seized with a powerful grasp the bridle, and abruptly arresting +the horse backed it fearfully towards the descent. Enraged beyond all +presence of mind, the fated nobleman, raising his whip, struck violently +at the republican. The latter, as he felt the blow, uttered a single +shout of such ferocity that it curdled the timorous blood of Glumford, +and with a giant and iron hand he backed the horse several paces down +the precipice. The treacherous earth crumbled beneath the weight, and +Lord Ulswater spurring his steed violently at the same instant that +Wolfe so sharply and strongly curbed it, the affrighted animal reared +violently, forced the rein from Wolfe, stood erect for a moment of +horror to the spectator, and then, as its footing and balance alike +failed, it fell backward, and rolled over and over its unfortunate and +helpless rider. + +“Good heavens!” cried Glumford, who had sat quietly upon his dozing +horse, watching the result of the dispute, “what have you done? you have +killed his lordship,--positively killed him,--and his horse, too, I dare +say. You shall be hanged for this, sir, as sure as I am a magistrate, +and that sort of thing.” + +Unheeding this denunciation, Wolfe had made to the spot where rider and +horse lay blent together at the foot of the descent; and assisting the +latter to rise, bent down to examine the real effect of his violence. +“Methinks,” said he, as he looked upon the hueless but still defying +features of the horseman, “methinks I have seen that face years +before,--but where? Perhaps my dreams have foretold me this.” + +Lord Ulswater was utterly senseless; and as Wolfe raised him, he saw +that the right side of the head was covered with blood, and that one arm +seemed crushed and broken. Meanwhile a carriage had appeared, was hailed +by Glumford, stopped; and on being informed of the circumstance and +the rank of the sufferer, the traveller, a single gentleman, descended, +assisted to raise the unhappy nobleman, placed him in the carriage, and, +obeying Glumford’s instructions, proceeded slowly to Westborough Park. + +“But the ruffian, the rebel, the murderer?” said Mr. Glumford, both +querulously and inquiringly, looking towards Wolfe, who, without having +attempted to assist his victim, stood aloof, with arms folded, and an +expression of sated ferocity upon his speaking features. + +“Oh! as to him,” quoth the traveller, stepping into his carriage, in +order to support the mangled man, “you, sir, and my valet can bring him +along with you, or take him to the next town, or do, in short, with him +just as you please, only be sure he does not escape; drive on, post-boy, +very gently.” And poor Mr. Glumford found the muscular form of the stern +Wolfe consigned to the sole care of himself and a very diminutive man in +pea-green silk stockings, who, however excellently well he might perform +the office of valet, was certainly by no means calculated in physical +powers for the detention of a criminal. + +Wolfe saved the pair a world of trouble and anxiety. + +“Sir,” said he, gravely, turning to Glumford, “you beheld the affray, +and whatever its consequences will do me the common justice of +witnessing as to the fact of the first aggressor. It will, however, be +satisfactory to both of us to seize the earliest opportunity of putting +the matter upon a legal footing, and I shall therefore return to W----, +to which town you will doubtless accompany me.” + +“With all my heart!” cried Mr. Glumford, feeling as if a mountain of +responsibility were taken from his breast. “And I wish to Heaven you may +be transported instead of hanged.” + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + + But gasping heaved the breath that Lara drew, + And dull the film along his dim eye grew.--BYRON. + +The light broke partially through the half-closed shutters of the room +in which lay Lord Ulswater, who, awakened to sense and pain by the +motion of the carriage, had now relapsed into insensibility. By the side +of the sofa on which he was laid, knelt Clarence, bathing one hand with +tears violent and fast; on the opposite side leaned over, with bald +front, and an expression of mingled fear and sorrow upon his intent +countenance, the old steward; while, at a little distance, Lord +Westborough, who had been wheeled into the room, sat mute in his chair, +aghast with bewilderment and horror, and counting every moment to the +arrival of the surgeon, who had been sent for. The stranger to whom the +carriage belonged stood by the window, detailing in a low voice to +the chaplain of the house what particulars of the occurrence he was +acquainted with, while the youngest scion of the family, a boy of about +ten years, and who in the general confusion had thrust himself unnoticed +into the room, stood close to the pair, with open mouth and thirsting +ears and a face on which childish interest at a fearful tale was +strongly blent with the more absorbed feeling of terror at the truth. + +Slowly Lord Ulswater opened his eyes; they rested upon Clarence. + +“My brother! my brother!” cried Clarence, in a voice of powerful +anguish, “is it thus--thus that you have come hither to--” He stopped +in the gushing fulness of his heart. Extricating from Clarence the only +hand he was able to use, Lord Ulswater raised it to his brow, as if in +the effort to clear remembrance; and then, turning to Wardour, seemed to +ask the truth of Clarence’s claim,--at least so the old man interpreted +the meaning of his eye, and the faint and scarce intelligible words +which broke from his lips. + +“It is; it is, my honoured lord,” cried he, struggling with his emotion; +“it is your brother, your lost brother, Clinton L’Estrange.” And as he +said these words, Clarence felt the damp chill hand of his brother press +his own, and knew by that pressure and the smile--kind, though brief +from exceeding pain--with which the ill-fated nobleman looked upon him, +that the claim long unknown was at last acknowledged, and the ties long +broken united, though in death. + +The surgeon arrived: the room was cleared of all but Clarence; the first +examination was sufficient. Unaware of Clarence’s close relationship to +the sufferer, the surgeon took him aside. “A very painful operation,” + said he, “might be performed, but it would only torture, in vain, the +last moments of the patient; no human skill can save or even protract +his life.” + +The doomed man, who, though in great pain, was still sensible, stirred. +His brother flew towards him. “Flora,” he murmured, “let me see her, I +implore.” + +Curbing, as much as he was able, his emotion, and conquering his +reluctance to leave the sufferer even for a moment, Clarence flew +in search of Lady Flora. He found her; in rapid and hasty words, +he signified the wish of the dying man, and hurried her, confused, +trembling, and scarce conscious of the melancholy scene she was about to +witness, to the side of her affianced bridegroom. + +I have been by the death-beds of many men, and I have noted that shortly +before death, as the frame grows weaker and weaker, the fiercer passions +yield to those feelings better harmonizing with the awfulness of the +hour. Thoughts soft and tender, which seem little to belong to the +character in the health and vigour of former years, obtain then an +empire, brief, indeed, but utter for the time they last; and this is +the more impressive because (as in the present instance I shall have +occasion to portray) in the moments which succeed and make the very +latest of life, the ruling passion, suppressed for an interval by such +gentler feelings, sometimes again returns to take its final triumph over +that frail clay, which, through existence, it has swayed, agitated, and +moulded like wax unto its will. + +When Lord Ulswater saw Flora approach and bend weepingly over him, a +momentary softness stole over his face. Taking her hand he extended +it towards Clarence, and turning to the latter faltered out, “Let +this--my--brother--atone--for--;” apparently unable to finish the +sentence, he then relaxed his hold and sank upon the pillow; and so +still, so apparently breathless did he remain for several minutes, that +they thought the latest agony was over. + +As, yielding to this impression, Clarence was about to withdraw the +scarce conscious Flora from the chamber, words, less tremulous and +indistinct than aught which he had yet uttered, broke from Lord +Ulswater’s lips. Clarence hastened to him; and bending over his +countenance saw that even through the rapid changes and shades of death, +it darkened with the peculiar characteristics of the unreleased soul +within: the brow was knit into more than its wonted sternness and pride; +and in the eye which glared upon the opposite wall, the light of the +waning life broke into a momentary blaze,--that flash, so rapid and +evanescent, before the air drinks in the last spark of the being it +has animated, and night--the starless and eternal--falls over the +extinguished lamp! The hand of the right arm (which was that unshattered +by the fall) was clenched and raised; but, when the words which came +upon Clarence’s ear had ceased, it fell heavily by his side, like a clod +of that clay which it had then become. In those words it seemed as if, +in the confused delirium of passing existence, the brave soldier mingled +some dim and bewildered recollection of former battles with that of his +last most fatal though most ignoble strife. + +“Down, down with them!” he muttered between his teeth, though in a +tone startlingly deep and audible; “down with them! No quarter to the +infidels! strike for England and Effingham. Ha!--who strives for +flight there!--kill him! no mercy, I say,--none!--there, there, I have +despatched him; ha! ha! What, still alive?--off, slave, off! Oh, slain! +slain in a ditch, by a base-born hind; oh, bitter! bitter! bitter!” And +with these words, of which the last, from their piercing anguish and +keen despair, made a dread contrast with the fire and defiance of the +first, the jaw fell, the flashing and fierce eye glazed and set, and all +of the haughty and bold patrician which the earth retained was--dust! + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + + Il n’est jamais permis de deteriorer une ame humaine pour + l’avantage des autres, ni de faire un scelerat pour le + service des honnetes gens.--ROUSSEAU. + + [“It is not permitted us to degrade one single soul for the + sake of conferring advantage on others, nor to make a rogue + for the good of the honest.”] + +As the reader approaches the termination of this narrative, and +looks back upon the many scenes he has passed, perhaps, in the mimic +representation of human life, he may find no unfaithful resemblance to +the true. + +As, amongst the crowd of characters jostled against each other in their +course, some drop off at the first, the second, or the third stage, and +leave a few only continuing to the last, while Fate chooses her agents +and survivors among those whom the bystander, perchance, least noticed +as the objects of her selection; and they who, haply, seemed to him, at +first, among the most conspicuous as characters, sink, some abruptly, +some gradually, into actors of the least importance in events; as the +reader notes the same passion, in different strata, producing the most +opposite qualities, and gathers from that notice some estimate of the +vast perplexity in the code of morals, deemed by the shallow so plain +a science; when he finds that a similar and single feeling will produce +both the virtue we love and the vice we detest, the magnanimity we +admire and the meanness we despise; as the feeble hands of the author +force into contrast ignorance and wisdom, the affectation of philosophy +and its true essence, coarseness and refinement, the lowest vulgarity +of sentiment with an exaltation of feeling approaching to morbidity, the +reality of virtue with the counterfeit, the glory of the Divinity with +the hideousness of the Idol, sorrow and eager joy, marriage and death, +tears and their young successors, smiles; as all, blent together, these +varieties of life form a single yet many-coloured web, leaving us to +doubt whether, in fortune the bright hue or the dark, in character the +base material or the rich, predominate,--the workman of the web could +almost reconcile himself to his glaring and great deficiency in art +by the fond persuasion that he has, at least in his choice of tint and +texture, caught something of the likeness of Nature: but he knows, +to the abasement of his vanity, that these enumerated particulars of +resemblance to life are common to all, even to the most unskilful of his +brethren; and it is not the mere act of copying a true original, but +the rare circumstance of force and accuracy in the copy, which can alone +constitute a just pretension to merit, or flatter the artist with the +hope of a moderate success. + +The news of Lord Ulswater’s untimely death soon spread around the +neighbourhood, and was conveyed to Mordaunt by the very gentleman whom +that nobleman had charged with his hostile message. Algernon repaired at +once to W----, to gather from Wolfe some less exaggerated account of the +affray than that which the many tongues of Rumour had brought to him. + +It was no difficult matter to see the precise share of blame to be +attached to Wolfe; and, notwithstanding the biased account of Glumford +and the strong spirit of party then existing in the country, no rational +man could for a moment term the event of a sudden fray a premeditated +murder, or the violence of the aggrieved the black offence of a wilful +criminal. Wolfe, therefore, soon obtained a release from the confinement +to which he had been at first committed; and with a temper still more +exasperated by the evident disposition of his auditors to have treated +him, had it been possible, with the utmost rigour, he returned to +companions well calculated by their converse and bent of mind to inflame +the fester of his moral constitution. + +It happens generally that men very vehement in any particular opinion +choose their friends, not for a general similarity of character, but +in proportion to their mutual congeniality of sentiment upon that +particular opinion; it happens, also, that those most audibly violent, +if we may so speak, upon any opinion, moral or political, are rarely the +wisest or the purest of their party. Those with whom Wolfe was +intimate were men who shared none of the nobler characteristics of the +republican; still less did they participate in or even comprehend the +enlightened and benevolent views for which the wise and great men of +that sect--a sect to which all philanthropy is, perhaps too fondly, +inclined to lean--have been so conspicuously eminent. On the contrary, +Wolfe’s comrades, without education and consequently without principle, +had been driven to disaffection by desperate fortunes and ruined +reputations acting upon minds polluted by the ignorance and hardened +among the dross of the populace. But the worst can by constant +intercourse corrupt the best; and the barriers of good and evil, often +confused in Wolfe’s mind by the blindness of his passions, seemed, as +his intercourse with these lawless and ruffian associates thickened, to +be at last utterly broken down and swept away. + +Unhappily too--soon after Wolfe’s return to London--the popular +irritation showed itself in mobs, perhaps rather to be termed disorderly +than seditious. The ministers, however, thought otherwise; the military +were summoned, and much injury, resulting, it is to be hoped, from +accident, not design, ensued to many of the persons assembled. Some +were severely wounded by the swords of the soldiers; others maimed and +trampled upon by the horses, which shared the agitation or irritability +of their riders; and a few, among whom were two women and three +children, lost their lives. Wolfe had been one of the crowd; and +the scene, melancholy as it really was, and appearing to his temper +unredeemed and inexcusable on the part of the soldiers, left on his mind +a deep and burning impression of revenge. Justice (as they termed it) +was demanded by strong bodies of the people upon the soldiers; but the +administration, deeming it politic rather to awe than to conciliate, so +far from censuring the military, approved their exertions. + +From that time Wolfe appears to have resolved upon the execution of a +design which he had long imperfectly and confusedly meditated. + +This was no less a crime (and to him did conscientiously seem no less +a virtue) than to seize a favourable opportunity for assassinating the +most prominent member of the administration, and the one who, above all +the rest, was the most odious to the disaffected. It must be urged, +in extenuation of the atrocity of this design, that a man perpetually +brooding over one scheme, which to him has become the very sustenance of +existence, and which scheme, perpetually frustrated, grows desperate by +disappointment, acquires a heat of morbid and oblique enthusiasm, which +may be not unreasonably termed insanity; and that, at the very time +Wolfe reconciled it to his conscience to commit the murder of his fellow +creature, he would have moved out of his path for a worm. Assassination, +indeed, seemed to him justice; and a felon’s execution the glory of +martyrdom. And yet, O Fanatic, thou didst anathematize the Duellist as +the Man of blood: what is the Assassin? + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + + And thou that, silent at my knee, + Dost lift to mine thy soft, dark, earnest eyes, + Filled with the love of childhood, which I see + Pure through its depths,--a thing without disguise. + Thou that hast breathed in slumber on my breast, + When I have checked its throbs to give thee rest, + Mine own, whose young thoughts fresh before me rise, + Is it not much that I may guide thy prayer, + And circle thy young soul with free and healthful air?--HEMANS. + +The events we have recorded, from the time of Clarence’s visit to +Mordaunt to the death of Lord Ulswater, took place within little more +than a week. We have now to pass in silence over several weeks; and +as it was the commencement of autumn when we introduced Clarence and +Mordaunt to our reader, so it is the first opening of winter in which we +will resume the thread of our narration. + +Mordaunt had removed to London; and, although he had not yet taken +any share in public business, he was only watching the opportunity to +commence a career the brilliancy of which those who knew aught of his +mind began already to foretell. But he mixed little, if at all, with the +gayer occupants of the world’s prominent places. Absorbed alternately in +his studies and his labours of good, the halls of pleasure were seldom +visited by his presence; and they who in the crowd knew nothing of +him but his name, and the lofty bearing of his mien, recoiled from the +coldness of his exterior; and, while they marvelled at his retirement +and reserve, saw in both but the moroseness of the student and the gloom +of the misanthropist. + +But the nobleness of his person; the antiquity of his birth; his wealth, +his unblemished character, and the interest thrown over his name by +the reputation of talent and the unpenetrated mystery of his life, all +powerfully spoke in his favour to those of the gentler sex, who judge us +not only from what we are to others, but from what they imagine we +can be to them. From such allurements, however, as from all else, the +mourner turned only the more deeply to cherish the memory of the dead; +and it was a touching and holy sight to mark the mingled excess of +melancholy and fondness with which he watched over that treasure in +whose young beauty and guileless heart his departed Isabel had yet left +the resemblance of her features and her love. There seemed between them +to exist even a dearer and closer tie than that of daughter and sire; +for, in both, the objects which usually divide the affections of the man +or the child had but a feeble charm: Isabel’s mind had expanded beyond +her years, and Algernon’s had outgrown his time; so that neither the +sports natural to her age, nor the ambition ordinary to his, were +sufficient to wean or to distract the unity of their love. When, after +absence, his well-known step trod lightly in the hall, her ear, which +had listened and longed and thirsted for the sound, taught her fairy +feet to be the first to welcome his return; and when the slightest +breath of sickness menaced her slender frame, it was his hand that +smoothed her pillow, and his smile that cheered away her pain; and when +she sank into sleep she knew that a father’s heart watched over her +through the long but untiring night; that a father’s eye would be the +first which, on waking, she would meet. + +“Oh! beautiful, and rare as beautiful,” was that affection; in the +parent no earthlier or harder sternness in authority, nor weakness in +doting, nor caprice in love; in the child no fear debasing reverence, +yet no familiarity diminishing respect. But Love, whose pride is in +serving, seemed to make at once soft and hallowed the offices mutually +rendered; and Nature, never counteracted in her dictates, wrought, +without a visible effort, the proper channels into which those offices +should flow; and that Charity which not only covers sins, but lifts the +veil from virtues, whose beauty might otherwise have lain concealed, +linked them closer and closer, and threw over that link the sanctity of +itself. For it was Algernon’s sweetest pleasure to make her young hands +the ministers of good to others, and to drink at such times from the +rich glow of her angel countenance the purified selfishness of his +reward. And when after the divine joy of blessing, which, perhaps, the +youngest taste yet more vividly than their sires, she threw her arms +around his neck and thanked him with glad tears for the luxury he had +bestowed upon her, how could they, in that gushing overflow of heart, +help loving each other the more, or feeling that in that love there was +something which justified the excess? + +Nor have we drawn with too exaggerating a pencil, nor, though Isabel’s +mind was older than her years, extended that prematureness to her heart. +For, where we set the example of benevolence, and see that the example +is in nought corrupted, the milk of human kindness will flow not the +less readily from the youngest breast, and out of the mouths of babes +will come the wisdom of charity and love! + +Ever since Mordaunt’s arrival in town, he had sought out Wolfe’s abode, +for the purpose of ministering to the poverty under which he rightly +conjectured that the republican laboured. But the habitation of one, +needy, distressed, seldom living long in one place, and far less +notorious of late than he had formerly been, was not easy to discover; +nor was it till after long and vain search that he ascertained the +retreat of his singular acquaintance. The day in which he effected this +object we shall have hereafter occasion to specify. Meanwhile we return +to Mr. Crauford. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + + Plot on thy little hour, and skein on skein + Weave the vain mesh, in which thy subtle soul + Broods on its venom! Lo! behind, before, + Around thee, like an armament of cloud, + The black Fate labours onward--ANONYMOUS. + +The dusk of a winter’s evening gathered over a room in Crauford’s house +in town, only relieved from the closing darkness by an expiring and +sullen fire, beside which Mr. Bradley sat, with his feet upon the +fender, apparently striving to coax some warmth into the icy palms of +his spread hands. Crauford himself was walking up and down the room with +a changeful step, and ever and anon glancing his bright, shrewd eye at +the partner of his fraud, who, seemingly unconscious of the observation +he underwent, appeared to occupy his attention solely with the +difficulty of warming his meagre and withered frame. + +“Ar’n’t you very cold there, sir?” said Bradley, after a long pause, and +pushing himself farther into the verge of the dying embers, “may I not +ring for some more coals?” + +“Hell and the--: I beg your pardon, my good Bradley, but you vex me +beyond patience; how can you think of such trifles when our very lives +are in so imminent a danger?” + +“I beg your pardon, my honoured benefactor, they are indeed in danger!” + +“Bradley, we have but one hope,--fidelity to each other. If we persist +in the same story, not a tittle can be brought home to us,--not a +tittle, my good Bradley; and though our characters may be a little +touched, why, what is a character? Shall we eat less, drink less, +enjoy less, when we have lost it? Not a whit. No, my friend, we will go +abroad: leave it to me to save from the wreck of our fortunes enough to +live upon like princes.” + +“If not like peers, my honoured benefactor.” + +“‘Sdeath!--yes, yes, very good,--he! he! he! if not peers. Well, all +happiness is in the senses, and Richard Crauford has as many senses as +Viscount Innisdale; but had we been able to protract inquiry another +week, Bradley, why, I would have been my Lord, and you Sir John.” + +“You bear your losses like a hero, sir,” said Mr. Bradley. “To be sure: +there is no loss, man, but life,--none; let us preserve that--and it +will be our own fault if we don’t--and the devil take all the rest. But, +bless me, it grows late, and, at all events, we are safe for some hours; +the inquiry won’t take place till twelve to-morrow, why should we not +feast till twelve to-night? Ring, my good fellow: dinner must be nearly +ready.” + +“Why, honoured sir,” said Bradley, “I want to go home to see my wife and +arrange my house. Who knows but I may sleep in Newgate to-morrow?” + +Crauford, who had been still walking to and fro, stopped abruptly at +this speech; and his eye, even through the gloom, shot out a livid and +fierce light, before which the timid and humble glance of Mr. Bradley +quailed in an instant. + +“Go home!--no, my friend, no: I can’t part with you tonight, no, not +for an instant. I have many lessons to give you. How are we to learn our +parts for to-morrow, if we don’t rehearse them beforehand? Do you not +know that a single blunder may turn what I hope will be a farce into a +tragedy? Go home!--pooh! pooh! why, man, I have not seen my wife, nor +put my house to rights, and if you do but listen to me I tell you again +and again that not a hair of our heads can be touched.” + +“You know best, honoured sir; I bow to your decision.” + +“Bravo, honest Brad! and now for dinner. I have the most glorious +champagne that ever danced in foam to your lip. No counsellor like the +bottle, believe me!” + +And the servant entering to announce dinner, Crauford took Bradley’s +arm, and leaning affectionately upon it, passed through an obsequious +and liveried row of domestics to a room blazing with light and plate. A +noble fire was the first thing which revived Bradley’s spirit; and, +as he spread his hands over it before he sat down to the table, he +surveyed, with a gleam of gladness upon his thin cheeks, two vases of +glittering metal formerly the boast of a king, in which were immersed +the sparkling genii of the grape. + +Crauford, always a gourmand, ate with unusual appetite, and pressed the +wine upon Bradley with an eager hospitality, which soon somewhat clouded +the senses of the worthy man. The dinner was removed, the servants +retired, and the friends were left alone. + +“A pleasant trip to France!” cried Crauford, filling a bumper. “That’s +the land for hearts like ours. I tell you what, little Brad, we will +leave our wives behind us, and take, with a new country and new names, a +new lease of life. What will it signify to men making love at Paris what +fools say of them in London? Another bumper, honest Brad,--a bumper to +the girls! What say you to that, eh?” + +“Lord, sir, you are so facetious, so witty! It must be owned that a +black eye is a great temptation,--Lira-lira, la-la!” and Mr. Bradley’s +own eyes rolled joyously. + +“Bravo, Brad!--a song, a song! but treason to King Burgundy! Your glass +is--” + +“Empty, honoured sir, I know it!--Lira-lira la!--but it is easily +filled! We who have all our lives been pouring from one vessel into +another know how to keep it up to the last! + + ‘Courage then, cries the knight, we may yet be forgiven, + Or at worst buy the bishop’s reversion in heaven; + Our frequent escapes in this world show how true ‘t is + That gold is the only Elixir Salutis. + Derry down, Derry down.’ + + ‘All you who to swindling conveniently creep, + Ne’er piddle; by thousands the treasury sweep + Your safety depends on the weight of the sum, + For no rope was yet made that could tie up a plum. + Derry down, etc.’” + + [From a ballad called “The Knight and the Prelate.”] + +“Bravissimo, little Brad!--you are quite a wit! See what it is to have +one’s faculties called out. Come, a toast to old England, the land +in which no man ever wants a farthing who has wit to steal it,--‘Old +England forever!’ your rogue is your only true patriot!” and Crauford +poured the remainder of the bottle, nearly three parts full, into a +beaker, which he pushed to Bradley. That convivial gentleman emptied it +at a draught, and, faltering out, “Honest Sir John!--room for my Lady +Bradley’s carriage,” dropped down on the floor insensible. + +Crauford rose instantly, satisfied himself that the intoxication was +genuine, and giving the lifeless body a kick of contemptuous disgust, +left the room, muttering, “The dull ass, did he think it was on his +back that I was going to ride off? He! he! he! But stay, let me feel my +pulse. Too fast by twenty strokes! One’s never sure of the mind if one +does not regulate the body to a hair! Drank too much; must take a powder +before I start.” + +Mounting by a back staircase to his bedroom, Crauford unlocked a chest, +took out a bundle of clerical clothes, a large shovel hat, and a huge +wig. Hastily, but not carelessly, induing himself in these articles of +disguise, he then proceeded to stain his fair cheeks with a preparation +which soon gave them a swarthy hue. Putting his own clothes in the +chest, which he carefully locked (placing the key in his pocket), he +next took from a desk on his dressing-table a purse; opening this, +he extracted a diamond of great size and immense value, which, years +before, in preparation of the event that had now taken place, he had +purchased. + +His usual sneer curled his lip as he gazed at it. “Now,” said he, “is +it not strange that this little stone should supply the mighty wants +of that grasping thing, man? Who talks of religion, country, wife, +children? This petty mineral can purchase them all! Oh, what a bright +joy speaks out in your white cheek, my beauty! What are all human charms +to yours? Why, by your spell, most magical of talismans, my years may +walk, gloating and revelling, through a lane of beauties, till they fall +into the grave! Pish! that grave is an ugly thought,--a very, very ugly +thought! But come, my sun of hope, I must eclipse you for a while! Type +of myself, while you hide, I hide also; and when I once more let you +forth to the day, then shine out Richard Crauford,--shine out!” So +saying, he sewed the diamond carefully in the folds of his shirt; and, +rearranging his dress, took the cooling powder, which he weighed out +to a grain, with a scrupulous and untrembling hand; descended the back +stairs; opened the door, and found himself in the open street. + +The clock struck ten as he entered a hackney-coach and drove to another +part of London. “What, so late!” thought he; “I must be at Dover in +twelve hours: the vessel sails then. Humph! some danger yet! What a +pity that I could not trust that fool! He! he! he!--what will he think +tomorrow, when he wakes and finds that only one is destined to swing!” + +The hackney-coach stopped, according to his direction, at an inn in the +city. Here Crauford asked if a note had been left for Dr. Stapylton. One +(written by himself) was given to him. + +“Merciful Heaven!” cried the false doctor, as he read it, “my daughter +is on a bed of death!” + +The landlord’s look wore anxiety; the doctor seemed for a moment +paralyzed by silent woe. He recovered, shook his head piteously, and +ordered a post-chaise and four on to Canterbury without delay. + +“It is an ill wind that blows nobody good!” thought the landlord, as he +issued the order into the yard. + +The chaise was soon out; the doctor entered; off went the post-boys; and +Richard Crauford, feeling his diamond, turned his thoughts to safety and +to France. + +A little, unknown man, who had been sitting at the bar for the last two +hours sipping brandy and water, and who from his extreme taciturnity and +quiet had been scarcely observed, now rose. “Landlord,” said he, “do you +know who that gentleman is?” + +“Why,” quoth Boniface, “the letter to him was directed, ‘For the Rev. +Dr. Stapylton; will be called for.’” + +“Ah,” said the little man, yawning, “I shall have a long night’s work of +it. Have you another chaise and four in the yard?” + +“To be sure, sir, to be sure!” cried the landlord in astonishment. + +“Out with it, then! Another glass of brandy and water,--a little +stronger, no sugar!” + +The landlord stared; the barmaid stared; even the head-waiter, a very +stately person, stared too. + +“Hark ye,” said the little man, sipping his brandy and water, “I am a +deuced good-natured fellow, so I’ll make you a great man to-night; for +nothing makes a man so great as being let into a great secret. Did you +ever hear of the rich Mr. Crauford?” + +“Certainly: who has not?” + +“Did you ever see him?” + +“No! I can’t say I ever did.” + +“You lie, landlord: you saw him to-night.” + +“Sir!” cried the landlord, bristling up. + +The little man pulled out a brace of pistols, and very quietly began +priming them out of a small powder-flask. + +The landlord started back; the head-waiter cried “Rape!” and the barmaid +“Murder!” + +“Who the devil are you, sir?” cried the landlord. + +“Mr. Tickletrout! the celebrated officer,--thief-taker, as they call +it. Have a care, ma’am, the pistols are loaded. I see the chaise is out; +there’s the reckoning, landlord.” + +“O Lord! I’m sure I don’t want any reckoning: too great an honour for my +poor house to be favoured with your company; but [following the little +man to the door] whom did you please to say you were going to catch?” + +“Mr. Crauford, alias Dr. Stapylton.” + +“Lord! Lord! to think of it,--how shocking! What has he done?” + +“Swindled, I believe.” + +“My eyes! And why, sir, did not you catch him when he was in the bar?” + +“Because then I should not have got paid for my journey to Dover. Shut +the door, boy; first stage on to Canterbury.” And, drawing a woollen +nightcap over his ears, Mr. Tickletrout resigned himself to his +nocturnal excursion. + +On the very day on which the patent for his peerage was to have been +made out, on the very day on which he had afterwards calculated on +reaching Paris, on that very day was Mr. Richard Crauford lodged in +Newgate, fully committed for a trial of life and death. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + + There, if, O gentle love! I read aright + The utterance that sealed thy sacred bond, + ‘T was listening to those accents of delight + She hid upon his breast those eyes, beyond + Expression’s power to paint, all languishingly fond.--CAMPBELL. + +“And you will positively leave us for London,” said Lady Flora, +tenderly, “and to-morrow too!” This was said to one who under the name +of Clarence Linden has played the principal part in our drama, and whom +now, by the death of his brother succeeding to the honours of his house, +we present to our reader as Clinton L’Estrange, Earl of Ulswater. + +They were alone in the memorable pavilion; and though it was winter the +sun shone cheerily into the apartment; and through the door, which was +left partly open, the evergreens, contrasting with the leafless boughs +of the oak and beech, could be just descried, furnishing the lover with +some meet simile of love, and deceiving the eyes of those willing to be +deceived with a resemblance to the departed summer. The unusual mildness +of the day seemed to operate genially upon the birds,--those children of +light and song; and they grouped blithely beneath the window and round +the door, where the hand of the kind young spirit of the place had so +often ministered to their wants. Every now and then, too, you might hear +the shrill glad note of the blackbird keeping measure to his swift and +low flight, and sometimes a vagrant hare from the neighbouring +preserves sauntered fearlessly by the half-shut door, secure, from long +experience, of an asylum in the vicinity of one who had drawn from the +breast of Nature a tenderness and love for all its offspring. + +Her lover sat at Flora’s feet; and, looking upward, seemed to seek out +the fond and melting eyes which, too conscious of their secret, turned +bashfully from his gaze. He had drawn her arm over his shoulder; and +clasping that small and snowy hand, which, long coveted with a miser’s +desire, was at length won, he pressed upon it a thousand kisses, sweeter +beguilers of time than even words. All had been long explained; the +space between their hearts annihilated; doubt, anxiety, misconstruction, +those clouds of love, had passed away, and left not a wreck to obscure +its heaven. + +“And you will leave us to-morrow; must it be to-morrow?” + +“Ah! Flora, it must; but see, I have your lock of hair--your beautiful, +dark hair--to kiss, when I am away from you, and I shall have your +letters, dearest,--a letter every day; and oh! more than all, I shall +have the hope, the certainty, that when we meet again, you will be mine +forever.” + +“And I, too, must, by seeing it in your handwriting, learn to reconcile +myself to your new name. Ah! I wish you had been still Clarence,--only +Clarence. Wealth, rank, power,--what are all these but rivals to poor +Flora?” + +Lady Flora sighed, and the next moment blushed; and, what with the sigh +and the blush, Clarence’s lips wandered from the hands to the cheek, and +thence to a mouth on which the west wind seemed to have left the sweets +of a thousand summers. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + + A Hounsditch man, one of the devil’s near kinsmen,--a + broker.--Every Man in His Humour. + +We have here discovered the most dangerous piece of lechery that ever +was known in the commonwealth.--Much Ado about Nothing. + +It was an evening of mingled rain and wind, the hour about nine, when +Mr. Morris Brown, under the shelter of that admirable umbrella of +sea-green silk, to which we have before had the honour to summon +the attention of our readers, was, after a day of business, plodding +homeward his weary way. The obscure streets through which his course was +bent were at no time very thickly thronged, and at the present hour the +inclemency of the night rendered them utterly deserted. It is true that +now and then a solitary female, holding up, with one hand, garments +already piteously bedraggled, and with the other thrusting her umbrella +in the very teeth of the hostile winds, might be seen crossing the +intersected streets, and vanishing amid the subterranean recesses +of some kitchen area, or tramping onward amidst the mazes of the +metropolitan labyrinth, till, like the cuckoo, “heard,” but no longer +“seen,” the echo of her retreating pattens made a dying music to the +reluctant ear; or indeed, at intervals of unfrequent occurrence, a +hackney vehicle jolted, rumbling, bumping over the uneven stones, as if +groaning forth its gratitude to the elements for which it was indebted +for its fare. Sometimes also a chivalrous gallant of the feline species +ventured its delicate paws upon the streaming pavement, and shook, with +a small but dismal cry, the raindrops from the pyramidal roofs of its +tender ears. + +But, save these occasional infringements on its empire, solitude, dark, +comfortless, and unrelieved, fell around the creaking footsteps of Mr. +Morris Brown. “I wish,” soliloquized the worthy broker, “that I had been +able advantageously to dispose of this cursed umbrella of the late Lady +Waddilove; it is very little calculated for any but a single lady of +slender shape, and though it certainly keeps the rain off my hat, it +only sends it with a double dripping upon my shoulders. Pish, deuce take +the umbrella! I shall catch my death of cold.” + +These complaints of an affliction that was assuredly sufficient to +irritate the naturally sweet temper of Mr. Brown, only ceased as that +industrious personage paused at the corner of the street, for the +purpose of selecting the driest path through which to effect the +miserable act of crossing to the opposite side. Occupied in stretching +his neck over the kennel, in order to take the fullest survey of its +topography which the scanty and agitated lamps would allow, the unhappy +wanderer, lowering his umbrella, suffered a cross and violent gust of +wind to rush, as if on purpose, against the interior. The rapidity with +which this was done, and the sudden impetus, which gave to the inflated +silk the force of a balloon, happening to occur exactly at the moment +Mr. Brown was stooping with such wistful anxiety over the pavement, that +gentleman, to his inexpressible dismay, was absolutely lifted, as it +were, from his present footing, and immersed in a running rivulet of +liquid mire, which flowed immediately below the pavement. Nor was this +all: for the wind, finding itself somewhat imprisoned in the narrow +receptacle it had thus abruptly entered, made so strenuous an exertion +to extricate itself, that it turned Lady Waddilove’s memorable relic +utterly inside out; so that when Mr. Brown, aghast at the calamity of +his immersion, lifted his eyes to heaven, with a devotion that had in +it more of expostulation than submission, he beheld, by the melancholy +lamps, the apparition of his umbrella,--the exact opposite to its +legitimate conformation, and seeming, with its lengthy stick and +inverted summit, the actual and absolute resemblance of a gigantic +wineglass. + +“Now,” said Mr. Brown, with that ironical bitterness so common to +intense despair, “now, that’s what I call pleasant.” + +As if the elements were guided and set on by all the departed souls +of those whom Mr. Brown had at any time overreached in his profession, +scarcely had the afflicted broker uttered this brief sentence, before +a discharge of rain, tenfold more heavy than any which had yet fallen, +tumbled down in literal torrents upon the defenceless head of the +itinerant. + +“This won’t do,” said Mr. Brown, plucking up courage and splashing out +of the little rivulet once more into terra firma, “this won’t do: I must +find a shelter somewhere. Dear, dear, how the wet runs down me! I am for +all the world like the famous dripping well in Derbyshire. What a beast +of an umbrella! I’ll never buy one again of an old lady: hang me if I +do.” + +As the miserable Morris uttered these sentences, which gushed out, +one by one, in a broken stream of complaint, he looked round and +round--before, behind, beside--for some temporary protection or retreat. +In vain: the uncertainty of the light only allowed him to discover +houses in which no portico extended its friendly shelter, and where even +the doors seemed divested of the narrow ledge wherewith they are, in +more civilized quarters, ordinarily crowned. + +“I shall certainly have the rheumatism all this winter,” said Mr. Brown, +hurrying onward as fast as he was able. Just then, glancing desperately +down a narrow lane, which crossed his path, he perceived the scaffolding +of a house in which repair or alteration had been at work. A ray of hope +flashed across him; he redoubled his speed, and, entering the welcome +haven, found himself entirely protected from the storm. The extent of +the scaffolding was, indeed, rather considerable; and though the extreme +narrowness of the lane and the increasing gloom of the night left Mr. +Brown in almost total darkness, so that he could not perceive the exact +peculiarities of his situation, yet he was perfectly satisfied with +the shelter he had obtained; and after shaking the rain from his hat, +squeezing his coat sleeves and lappets, satisfying himself that it was +only about the shoulders that he was thoroughly wetted, and thrusting +two pocket-handkerchiefs between his shirt and his skin, as preventives +to the dreaded rheumatism, Mr. Brown leaned luxuriously back against +the wall in the farthest corner of his retreat, and busied himself with +endeavouring to restore his insulted umbrella to its original utility of +shape. + +Our wanderer had been about three minutes in this situation; when he +heard the voices of two men, who were hastening along the lane. + +“But do stop,” said one; and these were the first words distinctly +audible to the ear of Mr. Brown, “do stop, the rain can’t last much +longer, and we have a long way yet to go.” + +“No, no,” said the other, in a voice more imperious than the first, +which was evidently plebeian and somewhat foreign in its tone, “no, we +have no time. What signify the inclemencies of weather to men feeding +upon an inward and burning thought, and made, by the workings of the +mind, almost callous to the contingencies of the frame?” + +“Nay, my very good friend,” said the first speaker, with positive though +not disrespectful earnestness, “that may be all very fine for you, who +have a constitution like a horse; but I am quite a--what call you it--an +invalid, eh? and have a devilish cough ever since I have been in this +d--d country; beg your pardon, no offence to it; so I shall just step +under cover of this scaffolding for a few minutes, and if you like the +rain so much, my very good friend, why, there is plenty of room in the +lane to--(ugh! ugh! ugh!) to enjoy it.” + +As the speaker ended, the dim light, just faintly glimmering at the +entrance of the friendly shelter, was obscured by his shadow, and +presently afterwards his companion, joining him, said,-- + +“Well, if it must be so; but how can you be fit to brave all the +perils of our scheme, when you shrink, like a palsied crone, from the +sprinkling of a few water-drops?” + +“A few water-drops, my very good friend,” answered the other, “a +few--what call you them, ay, water-falls rather; (ugh! ugh!) but let me +tell you, my brother citizen, that a man may not like to get his skin +wet with waters and would yet thrust his arm up to the very elbow in +blood! (ugh! ugh!)” + +“The devil!” mentally ejaculated Mr. Brown, who at the word “scheme” had +advanced one step from his retreat, but who now at the last words of the +intruder drew back as gently as a snail into his shell; and although his +person was far too much enveloped in shade to run the least chance of +detection, yet the honest broker began to feel a little tremor vibrate +along the chords of his thrilling frame, and a new anathema against the +fatal umbrella rise to his lips. + +“Ah!” quoth the second, “I trust that it may be so; but, to return to +our project, are you quite sure that these two identical ministers are +in the regular habit of walking homeward from that Parliament which +their despotism has so degraded?” + +“Sure? ay, that I am; Davidson swears to it!” + +“And you are also sure of their persons, so that, even in the dusk, you +can recognize them? for you know I have never seen them.” + +“Sure as fivepence!” returned the first speaker, to whose mind the lives +of the persons referred to were of considerably less value than the sum +elegantly specified in his metaphorical reply. + +“Then,” said the other, with a deep, stern determination of tone, “then +shall this hand, by which one of the proudest of our oppressors has +already fallen, be made a still worthier instrument of the wrath of +Heaven!” + +“You are a d--d pretty shot, I believe,” quoth the first speaker, as +indifferently as if he were praising the address of a Norfolk squire. + +“Never did my eye misguide me, or my aim swerve a hair’s-breadth from +its target! I thought once, when I learned the art as a boy, that in +battle, rather than in the execution of a single criminal, that skill +would avail me.” + +“Well, we shall have a glorious opportunity to-morrow night!” answered +the first speaker; “that is, if it does not rain so infernally as it +does this night; but we shall have a watch of many hours, I dare say.” + +“That matters but little,” replied the other conspirator; “nor even if, +night after night, the same vigil is renewed and baffled, so that it +bring its reward at last.” + +“Right,” quoth the first; “I long to be at it!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--what a +confounded cough I have! it will be my death soon, I’m thinking.” + +“If so,” said the other, with a solemnity which seemed ludicrously +horrible, from the strange contrast of the words and object, “die at +least with the sanctity of a brave and noble deed upon your conscience +and your name!” + +“Ugh! ugh!--I am but a man of colour, but I am a patriot, for all +that, my good friend! See, the violence of the rain has ceased; we +will proceed;” and with these words the worthy pair left the place to +darkness and Mr. Brown. + +“O Lord!” said the latter, stepping forth, and throwing, as it were, in +that exclamation, a whole weight of suffocating emotion from his chest, +“what bloody miscreants! Murder his Majesty’s ministers!--‘shoot them +like pigeons!’--‘d--d pretty shot!’ indeed. O Lord! what would the late +Lady Waddilove, who always hated even the Whigs so cordially, say, if +she were alive? But how providential that I should have been here! Who +knows but I may save the lives of the whole administration, and get +a pension or a little place in the post-office? I’ll go to the prime +minister directly,--this very minute! Pish! ar’n’t you right now, +you cursed thing?” upbraiding the umbrella, which, half-right and +half-wrong, seemed endued with an instinctive obstinacy for the sole +purpose of tormenting its owner. + +However, losing this petty affliction in the greatness of his present +determination, Mr. Brown issued out of his lair, and hastened to put his +benevolent and loyal intentions into effect. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + + When laurelled ruffians die, the Heaven and Earth, + And the deep Air give warning. Shall the good + Perish and not a sign?--ANONYMOUS. + +It was the evening after the event recorded in our last chapter: all +was hushed and dark in the room where Mordaunt sat alone; the low +and falling embers burned dull in the grate, and through the unclosed +windows the high stars rode pale and wan in their career. The room, +situated at the back of the house, looked over a small garden, where the +sickly and hoar shrubs, overshadowed by a few wintry poplars and grim +firs, saddened in the dense atmosphere of fog and smoke, which broods +over our island city. An air of gloom hung comfortless and chilling over +the whole scene externally and within. The room itself was large and +old, and its far extremities, mantled as they were with dusk and shadow, +impressed upon the mind that involuntary and vague sensation, not +altogether unmixed with awe, which the eye, resting upon a view that it +can but dimly and confusedly define, so frequently communicates to the +heart. There was a strange oppression at Mordaunt’s breast with which he +in vain endeavoured to contend. Ever and anon, an icy but passing chill, +like the shivers of a fever, shot through his veins, and a wild and +unearthly and objectless awe stirred through his hair, and his eyes +filled with a glassy and cold dew, and sought, as by a self-impulse, the +shadowy and unpenetrated places around, which momently grew darker and +darker. Little addicted by his peculiar habits to an over-indulgence of +the imagination, and still less accustomed to those absolute conquests +of the physical frame over the mental, which seem the usual sources of +that feeling we call presentiment, Mordaunt rose, and walking to and +fro along the room, endeavoured by the exercise to restore to his veins +their wonted and healthful circulation. It was past the hour in which +his daughter retired to rest: but he was often accustomed to steal up to +her chamber, and watch her in her young slumbers; and he felt this night +a more than usual desire to perform that office of love; so he left the +room and ascended the stairs. It was a large old house that he tenanted. +The staircase was broad, and lighted from above by a glass dome; and as +he slowly ascended, and the stars gleamed down still and ghastly upon +his steps, he fancied--but he knew not why--that there was an omen in +their gleam. He entered the young Isabel’s chamber: there was a light +burning within; he stole to her bed, and putting aside the curtain, +felt, as he looked upon her peaceful and pure beauty, a cheering warmth +gather round his heart. How lovely is the sleep of childhood! What +worlds of sweet, yet not utterly sweet, associations, does it not +mingle with the envy of our gaze! What thoughts and hopes and cares +and forebodings does it not excite! There lie in that yet ungrieved and +unsullied heart what unnumbered sources of emotion! what deep fountains +of passion and woe! Alas! whatever be its earlier triumphs, the victim +must fall at last! As the hart which the jackals pursue, the moment its +race is begun the human prey is foredoomed for destruction, not by +the single sorrow, but the thousand cares: it may baffle one race of +pursuers, but a new succeeds; as fast as some drop off exhausted, others +spring up to renew and to perpetuate the chase; and the fated, though +flying victim never escapes but in death. There was a faint smile upon +his daughter’s lip, as Mordaunt bent down to kiss it; the dark lash +rested on the snowy lid--ah, that tears had no well beneath its +surface!---and her breath stole from her rich lips with so regular and +calm a motion that, like the “forest leaves,” it “seemed stirred with +prayer!” [And yet the forest leaves seem stirred with prayer.--BYRON.] +One arm lay over the coverlet, the other pillowed her head, in the +unrivalled grace of infancy. + +Mordaunt stooped once more, for his heart filled as he gazed upon his +child, to kiss her cheek again, and to mingle a blessing with the +kiss. When he rose, upon that fair smooth face there was one bright and +glistening drop; and Isabel stirred in sleep, and, as if suddenly vexed +by some painful dream, she sighed deeply as she stirred. It was the last +time that the cheek of the young and predestined orphan was ever pressed +by a father’s kiss or moistened by a father’s tear! He left the room +silently; no sooner had he left it, than, as if without the precincts +of some charmed and preserving circle, the chill and presentiment at his +heart returned. There is a feeling which perhaps all have in a momentary +hypochondria felt at times: it is a strong and shuddering impression +which Coleridge has embodied in his own dark and supernatural verse, +that something not of earth is behind us; that if we turned our gaze +backward we should behold that which would make the heart as a bolt of +ice, and the eye shrivel and parch within its socket. And so intense +is the fancy that when we turn, and all is void, from that very void we +could shape a spectre, as fearful as the image our terror had foredrawn. +Somewhat such feeling had Mordaunt now, as his steps sounded hollow and +echoless on the stairs, and the stars filled the air around him with +their shadowy and solemn presence. Breaking by a violent effort from a +spell of which he felt that a frame somewhat overtasked of late was the +real enchanter, he turned once more into the room which he had left to +visit Isabel. He had pledged his personal attendance at an important +motion in the House of Commons for that night, and some political papers +were left upon his table which he had promised to give to one of the +members of his party. He entered the room, purposing to stay only a +minute; an hour passed before he left it: and his servant afterwards +observed that, on giving him some orders as he passed through the hall +to the carriage, his cheek was as white as marble, and that his step, +usually so haughty and firm, reeled and trembled like a fainting man’s. +Dark and inexplicable Fate! weaver of wild contrasts, demon of this +hoary and old world, that movest through it, as a spirit moveth over +the waters, filling the depths of things with a solemn mystery and an +everlasting change! Thou sweepest over our graves, and Joy is born from +the ashes: thou sweepest over Joy, and lo, it is a grave! Engine and +tool of the Almighty, whose years cannot fade, thou changest the earth +as a garment, and as a vesture it is changed; thou makest it one +vast sepulchre and womb united, swallowing and creating life! and +reproducing, over and over, from age to age, from the birth of creation +to the creation’s doom, the same dust and atoms which were our fathers, +and which are the sole heirlooms that through countless generations they +bequeath and perpetuate to their sons. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + + Methinks, before the issue of our fate, + A spirit moves within us, and impels + The passion of a prophet to our lips.--ANONYMOUS. + + O vitae Philosophia dux, virtutis indagatrix!-CICERO. + [“O Philosophy, conductress of life, searcher after virtue!”] + +Upon leaving the House of Commons, Mordaunt was accosted by Lord +Ulswater, who had just taken his seat in the Upper House. Whatever +abstraction or whatever weakness Mordaunt might have manifested before +he had left his home, he had now entirely conquered both; and it was +with his usual collected address that he replied to Lord Ulswater’s +salutations, and congratulated him on his change of name and accession +of honours. + +It was a night of uncommon calm and beauty; and, although the moon +was not visible, the frosty and clear sky, “clad in the lustre of its +thousand stars,” [Marlowe] seemed scarcely to mourn either the hallowing +light or the breathing poesy of her presence; and when Lord Ulswater +proposed that Mordaunt should dismiss his carriage, and that they should +walk home, Algernon consented not unwillingly to the proposal. He felt, +indeed, an unwonted relief in companionship; and the still air and the +deep heavens seemed to woo him from more unwelcome thoughts, as with a +softening and a sister’s love. + +“Let us, before we return home,” said Lord Ulswater, “stroll for a few +moments towards the bridge: I love looking at the river on a night like +this.” + +Whoever inquires into human circumstances will be struck to find how +invariably a latent current of fatality appears to pervade them. It is +the turn of the atom in the scale which makes our safety or our peril, +our glory or our shame, raises us to the throne or sinks us to the +grave. A secret voice at Mordaunt’s heart prompted him to dissent +from this proposal, trifling as it seemed and welcome as it was to his +present and peculiar mood: he resisted the voice,--the moment passed +away, and the last seal was set upon his doom; they moved onward towards +the bridge. At first both were silent, for Lord Ulswater used the +ordinary privilege of a lover and was absent and absorbed, and his +companion was never the first to break a taciturnity natural to his +habits. At last Lord Ulswater said, “I rejoice that you are now in +the sphere of action most likely to display your talents: you have not +spoken yet, I think; indeed, there has been no fitting opportunity, but +you will soon, I trust.” + +“I know not,” said Mordaunt, with a melancholy smile, “whether you +judge rightly in thinking the sphere of political exertion the one most +calculated for me; but I feel at my heart a foreboding that my planet +is not fated to shine in any earthly sphere. Sorrow and misfortune have +dimmed it in its birth, and now it is waning towards its decline.” + +“Its decline!” repeated his companion, “no, rather its meridian. You are +in the vigor of your years, the noon of your prosperity, the height of +your intellect and knowledge; you require only an effort to add to these +blessings the most lasting of all,--Fame!” + +“Well,” said Mordaunt, and a momentary light flashed over his +countenance, “the effort will be made. I do not pretend not to have felt +ambition. No man should make it his boast, for it often gives to our +frail and earth-bound virtue both its weapon and its wings; but when the +soil is exhausted its produce fails; and when we have forced our hearts +to too great an abundance, whether it be of flowers that perish or of +grain that endures, the seeds of after hope bring forth but a languid +and scanty harvest. My earliest idol was ambition; but then came others, +love and knowledge, and afterwards the desire to bless. That desire you +may term ambition: but we will suppose them separate passions; for by +the latter I would signify the thirst for glory, either in evil or in +good; and the former teaches us, though by little and little, to gain +its object, no less in secrecy than for applause; and Wisdom, which +opens to us a world, vast, but hidden from the crowd, establishes also +over that world an arbiter of its own, so that its disciples grow proud, +and, communing with their own hearts, care for no louder judgment than +the still voice within. It is thus that indifference not to the welfare +but to the report of others grows over us; and often, while we are the +most ardent in their cause, we are the least anxious for their esteem.” + +“And yet,” said Lord Ulswater, “I have thought the passion for esteem is +the best guarantee for deserving it.” + +“Nor without justice: other passions may supply its place, and produce +the same effects; but the love of true glory is the most legitimate +agent of extensive good, and you do right to worship and enshrine it. +For me it is dead: it Survived--ay, the truth shall out!--poverty, want, +disappointment, baffled aspirations,--all, all, but the deadness, the +lethargy of regret when no one was left upon this altered earth to +animate its efforts, to smile upon its success, then the last spark +quivered and died; and--and--but forgive me--on this subject I am not +often wont to wander. I would say that ambition is for me no more; not +so are its effects: but the hope of serving that race whom I have loved +as brothers, but who have never known me,--who, by the exterior” (and +here something bitter mingled with his voice), “pass sentence upon the +heart; in whose eyes I am only the cold, the wayward, the haughty, the +morose,--the hope of serving them is to me, now, a far stronger passion +than ambition was heretofore; and whatever for that end the love of +fame would have dictated, the love of mankind will teach me still more +ardently to perform.” + +They were now upon the bridge. Pausing, they leaned over, and looked +along the scene before them. Dark and hushed, the river flowed sullenly +on, save where the reflected stars made a tremulous and broken beam on +the black surface of the water, or the lights of the vast City, which +lay in shadow on its banks, scattered at capricious intervals a pale but +unpiercing wanness rather than lustre along the tide, or save where the +stillness was occasionally broken by the faint oar of the boatman or the +call of his rude voice, mellowed almost into music by distance and the +element. + +But behind them, as they leaned, the feet of passengers on the great +thoroughfare passed not oft,--but quick; and that sound, the commonest +of earth’s, made rarer and rarer by the advancing night, contrasted +rather than destroyed the quiet of the heaven and the solemnity of the +silent stars. + +“It is an old but a just comparison,” said Mordaunt’s companion, “which +has likened life to a river such as we now survey, gliding alternately +in light or in darkness, in sunshine or in storm, to that great ocean in +which all waters meet.” + +“If,” said Algernon, with his usual thoughtful and pensive smile, “we +may be allowed to vary that simile, I would, separating the universal +and eternal course of Destiny from the fleeting generations of human +life, compare the river before us to that course, and not it, but the +city scattered on its banks, to the varieties and mutability of life. +There (in the latter) crowded together in the great chaos of social +union, we herd in the night of ages, flinging the little lustre of +our dim lights over the sullen tide which rolls beside us,--seeing the +tremulous ray glitter on the surface, only to show us how profound is +the gloom which it cannot break, and the depths which it is too faint +to pierce. There Crime stalks, and Woe hushes her moan, and Poverty +couches, and Wealth riots,--and Death, in all and each, is at his silent +work. But the stream of Fate, unconscious of our changes and decay, +glides on to its engulfing bourne; and, while it mirrors the faintest +smile or the lightest frown of heaven, beholds, without a change upon +its surface, the generations of earth perish, and be renewed, along its +banks!” + +There was a pause; and by an involuntary and natural impulse, they +turned from the waves beneath to the heaven which, in its breathing +contrast, spread all eloquently, yet hushed, above. They looked upon +the living and intense stars, and felt palpably at their hearts that +spell--wild, but mute--which nothing on or of earth can inspire; that +pining of the imprisoned soul, that longing after the immortality on +high, which is perhaps no imaginary type of the immortality ourselves +are heirs to. + +“It is on such nights as these,” said Mordaunt, who first broke the +silence, but with a low and soft voice, “that we are tempted to believe +that in Plato’s divine fancy there is as divine a truth; that ‘our souls +are indeed of the same essence as the stars,’ and that the mysterious +yearning, the impatient wish which swells and soars within us to mingle +with their glory, is but the instinctive and natural longing to re-unite +the divided portion of an immortal spirit, stored in these cells of +clay, with the original lustre of the heavenly and burning whole!” + +“And hence then,” said his companion, pursuing the idea, “might we also +believe in that wondrous and wild influence which the stars have been +fabled to exercise over our fate; hence might we shape a visionary clew +to their imagined power over our birth, our destinies, and our death.” + +“Perhaps,” rejoined Mordaunt, and Lord Ulswater has since said that his +countenance as he spoke wore an awful and strange aspect, which lived +long and long afterwards in the memory of his companion, “perhaps they +are tokens and signs between the soul and the things of Heaven which do +not wholly shame the doctrine of him [Socrates, who taught the belief in +omens.] from whose bright wells Plato drew (while he coloured with his +own gorgeous errors) the waters of his sublime lore.” As Mordaunt thus +spoke, his voice changed: he paused abruptly, and, pointing to a distant +quarter of the heavens, said,-- + +“Look yonder; do you see, in the far horizon, one large and solitary +star, that, at this very moment, seems to wax pale and paler, as my hand +points to it?” + +“I see it; it shrinks and soars, while we gaze into the farther depths +of heaven, as if it were seeking to rise to some higher orbit.” + +“And do you see,” rejoined Mordaunt, “yon fleecy but dusky cloud which +sweeps slowly along the sky towards it? What shape does that cloud wear +to your eyes?” + +“It seems to me,” answered Lord Ulswater, “to assume the exact semblance +of a funeral procession: the human shape appears to me as distinctly +moulded in the thin vapours as in ourselves; nor would it perhaps ask +too great indulgence from our fancy to image amongst the darker forms in +the centre of the cloud one bearing the very appearance of a bier,--the +plume, and the caparison, and the steeds, and the mourners! Still, as I +look, the likeness seems to me to increase!” + +“Strange!” said Mordaunt, musingly, “how strange is this thing which we +call the mind! Strange that the dreams and superstitions of childhood +should cling to it with so inseparable and fond a strength! I remember, +years since, that I was affected even as I am now, to a degree which +wiser men might shrink to confess, upon gazing on a cloud exactly +similar to that which at this instant we behold. But see: that cloud has +passed over the star; and now, as it rolls away, look, the star itself +has vanished into the heavens.” + +“But I fear,” answered Lord Ulswater, with a slight smile, “that we can +deduce no omen either from the cloud or the star: would, indeed, that +Nature were more visibly knit with our individual existence! Would that +in the heavens there were a book, and in the waves a voice, and on the +earth a token of the mysteries and enigmas of our fate!” + +“And yet,” said Mordaunt, slowly, as his mind gradually rose from its +dream-like oppression to its wonted and healthful tone, “yet, in truth, +we want neither sign nor omen from other worlds to teach us all that it +is the end of existence to fulfil in this; and that seems to me a far +less exalted wisdom which enables us to solve the riddles, than that +which elevates us above the chances, of the future.” + +“But can we be placed above those chances;--can we become independent +of that fate to which the ancients taught that even their deities were +submitted?” + +“Let us not so wrong the ancients,” answered Mordaunt; “their poets +taught it, not their philosophers. Would not virtue be a dream, a +mockery indeed, if it were, like the herb of the field, a thing of +blight and change, of withering and renewal, a minion of the sunbeam and +the cloud? Shall calamity deject it? Shall prosperity pollute? then let +it not be the object of our aspiration, but the byword of our contempt. +No: let us rather believe, with the great of old, that when it is based +on wisdom, it is throned above change and chance! throned above the +things of a petty and sordid world! throned above the Olympus of the +heathen! throned above the Stars which fade, and the Moon which waneth +in her course! Shall we believe less of the divinity of Virtue than +an Athenian Sage? Shall we, to whose eyes have been revealed without a +cloud the blaze and the glory of Heaven, make Virtue a slave to those +chains of earth which the Pagan subjected to her feet? But if by her we +can trample on the ills of life, are we not a hundredfold more by her +the vanquishers of death? All creation lies before us: shall we cling +to a grain of dust? All immortality is our heritage: shall we gasp and +sicken for a moment’s breath? What if we perish within an hour?--what +if already the black cloud lowers over us?--what if from our hopes and +projects, and the fresh woven ties which we have knit around our life, +we are abruptly torn?--shall we be the creatures or the conquerors of +fate? Shall we be the exiled from a home, or the escaped from a dungeon? +Are we not as birds which look into the Great Air only through a barred +cage? Shall we shrink and mourn when the cage is shattered, and all +space spreads around us,--our element and our empire? No; it was not +for this that, in an elder day, Virtue and Valour received but a common +name! The soul, into which that Spirit has breathed its glory, is not +only above Fate,--it profits by her assaults! Attempt to weaken it, and +you nerve it with a new strength; to wound it, and you render it more +invulnerable; to destroy it, and you make it immortal! This, indeed, +is the Sovereign whose realm every calamity increases, the Hero whose +triumph every invasion augments; standing on the last sands of life, and +encircled by the advancing waters of Darkness and Eternity, it becomes +in its expiring effort doubly the Victor and the King!” + +Impressed by the fervour of his companion, with a sympathy almost +approaching to awe, Lord Ulswater pressed Mordaunt’s hand, but offered +no reply; and both, excited by the high theme of their conversation, +and the thoughts which it produced, moved in silence from their post and +walked slowly homeward. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + + Is it possible? + Is’t so? I can no longer what I would + No longer draw back at my liking! I + Must do the deed because I thought of it. + ...... + What is thy enterprise,--thy aim, thy object? + Hast honestly confessed it to thyself? + O bloody, frightful deed! + ...... + Was that my purpose when we parted? + O God of Justice!--COLERIDGE: Wallenstein. + +We need scarcely say that one of the persons overheard by Mr. Brown was +Wolfe, and the peculiar tone of oratorical exaggeration, characteristic +of the man, has already informed the reader with which of the two he is +identified. + +On the evening after the conversation--the evening fixed for the +desperate design on which he had set the last hazard of his life--the +republican, parting from the companions with whom he had passed the day, +returned home to compose the fever of his excited thoughts, and have a +brief hour of solitary meditation, previous to the committal of that act +which he knew must be his immediate passport to the jail and the gibbet. +On entering his squalid and miserable home, the woman of the house, a +blear-eyed and filthy hag, who was holding to her withered breast an +infant, which, even in sucking the stream that nourished its tainted +existence, betrayed upon its haggard countenance the polluted nature of +the mother’s milk, from which it drew at once the support of life and +the seeds of death,--this woman, meeting him in the narrow passage, +arrested his steps to acquaint him that a gentleman had that day called +upon him and left a letter in his room with strict charge of care and +speed in its delivery. The visitor had not, however, communicated his +name, though the curiosity excited by his mien and dress had prompted +the crone particularly to demand it. + +Little affected by this incident, which to the hostess seemed no +unimportant event, Wolfe pushed the woman aside with an impatient +gesture, and, scarcely conscious of the abuse which followed this +motion, hastened up the sordid stairs to his apartment. He sat himself +down upon the foot of his bed, and, covering his face with his hands, +surrendered his mind to the tide of contending emotions which rushed +upon it. + +What was he about to commit? Murder!--murder in its coldest and most +premeditated guise! “No!” cried he aloud, starting from the bed, and +dashing his clenched hand violently against his brow, “no! no! no! it +is not murder: it is justice! Did not they, the hirelings of Oppression, +ride over their crushed and shrieking countrymen, with drawn blades and +murderous hands? Was I not among them at the hour? Did I not with these +eyes see the sword uplifted and the smiter strike? Were not my ears +filled with the groans of their victims and the savage yells of the +trampling dastards?--yells which rang in triumph over women and babes +and weaponless men! And shall there be no vengeance? Yes, it shall fall, +not upon the tools, but the master; not upon the slaves, but the despot. +Yet,” said he, suddenly pausing, as his voice sank into a whisper, +“assassination!--in another hour perhaps; a deed irrevocable; a seal set +upon two souls,--the victim’s and the judge’s! Fetters and the felon’s +cord before me! the shouting mob! the stigma!--no, no, it will not be +the stigma; the gratitude, rather, of future times, when motives will +be appreciated and party hushed! Have I not wrestled with wrong from my +birth? have I not rejected all offers from the men of an impious power? +have I made a moment’s truce with the poor man’s foe? have I not thrice +purchased free principles with an imprisoned frame? have I not bartered +my substance, and my hopes, and the pleasures of this world for my +unmoving, unswerving faith in the Great Cause? am I not about to crown +all by one blow,--one lightning blow, destroying at once myself and a +criminal too mighty for the law? and shall not history do justice to +this devotedness,--this absence from all self, hereafter--and admire, +even if it condemn?” + +Buoying himself with these reflections, and exciting the jaded current +of his designs once more into an unnatural impetus, the unhappy man +ceased and paced with rapid steps the narrow limits of his chamber; his +eye fell upon something bright, which glittered amidst the darkening +shadows of the evening. At that sight his heart stood still for a +moment: it was the weapon of intended death; he took it up, and as he +surveyed the shining barrel, and felt the lock, a more settled sternness +gathered at once over his fierce features and stubborn heart. The pistol +had been bought and prepared for the purpose with the utmost nicety, not +only for use but show; nor is it unfrequent to find in such instances +of premeditated ferocity in design a fearful kind of coxcombry lavished +upon the means. + +Striking a light, Wolfe reseated himself deliberately, and began with +the utmost care to load the pistol; that scene would not have been an +unworthy sketch for those painters who possess the power of giving to +the low a force almost approaching to grandeur, and of augmenting the +terrible by a mixture of the ludicrous. The sordid chamber, the damp +walls, the high window, in which a handful of discoloured paper +supplied the absence of many a pane; the single table of rough oak, the +rush-bottomed and broken chair, the hearth unconscious of a fire, over +which a mean bust of Milton held its tutelary sway; while the dull +rushlight streamed dimly upon the swarthy and strong countenance of +Wolfe, intent upon his work,--a countenance in which the deliberate +calmness that had succeeded the late struggle of feeling had in it a +mingled power of energy and haggardness of languor,--the one of the +desperate design, the other of the exhausted body; while in the +knit brow, and the iron lines, and even in the settled ferocity of +expression, there was yet something above the stamp of the vulgar +ruffian,--something eloquent of the motive no less than the deed, and +significant of that not ignoble perversity of mind which diminished the +guilt, yet increased the dreadness of the meditated crime, by mocking it +with the name of virtue. + +As he had finished his task, and hiding the pistol on his person waited +for the hour in which his accomplice was to summon him to the fatal +deed, he perceived, close by him on the table, the letter which the +woman had spoken of, and which till then, he had, in the excitement of +his mind, utterly forgotten. He opened it mechanically; an enclosure +fell to the ground. He picked it up; it was a bank-note of considerable +amount. The lines in the letter were few, anonymous, and written in a +hand evidently disguised. They were calculated peculiarly to touch the +republican, and reconcile him to the gift. In them the writer professed +to be actuated by no other feeling than admiration for the unbending +integrity which had characterized Wolfe’s life, and the desire that +sincerity in any principles, however they might differ from his own, +should not be rewarded only with indigence and ruin. + +It is impossible to tell how far, in Wolfe’s mind, his own desperate +fortunes might insensibly have mingled with the motives which led him to +his present design: certain it is that wherever the future is hopeless +the mind is easily converted from the rugged to the criminal; and +equally certain it is that we are apt to justify to ourselves many +offences in a cause where we have made great sacrifices; and, perhaps, +if this unexpected assistance had come to Wolfe a short time before, +it might, by softening his heart and reconciling him in some measure +to fortune, have rendered him less susceptible to the fierce voice of +political hatred and the instigation of his associates. Nor can we, who +are removed from the temptations of the poor,--temptations to which ours +are as breezes which woo to storms which “tumble towers,”--nor can we +tell how far the acerbity of want, and the absence of wholesome +sleep, and the contempt of the rich, and the rankling memory of better +fortunes, or even the mere fierceness which absolute hunger produces in +the humours and veins of all that hold nature’s life, nor can we tell +how far these madden the temper, which is but a minion of the body, +and plead in irresistible excuse for the crimes which our wondering +virtue--haughty because unsolicited--stamps with its loftiest +reprobation! + +The cloud fell from Wolfe’s brow, and his eye gazed, musingly and rapt, +upon vacancy. Steps were heard ascending; the voice of a distant clock +tolled with a distinctness which seemed like strokes palpable as well +as audible to the senses; and, as the door opened and his accomplice +entered, Wolfe muttered, “Too late! too late!”--and first crushing +the note in his hands, then tore it into atoms, with a vehemence which +astonished his companion, who, however, knew not its value. + +“Come,” said he, stamping his foot violently upon the floor, as if to +conquer by passion all internal relenting, “come, my friend, not another +moment is to be lost; let us hasten to our holy deed!” + +“I trust,” said Wolfe’s companion, when they were in the open street, +“that we shall not have our trouble in vain; it is a brave night for it! +Davidson wanted us to throw grenades into the ministers’ carriages, as +the best plan; and, faith, we can try that if all else fails!” + +Wolfe remained silent: indeed he scarcely heard his companion; for +a sullen indifference to all things around him had wrapped his +spirit,--that singular feeling, or rather absence from feeling, common +to all men, when bound on some exciting action, upon which their minds +are already and wholly bent; which renders them utterly without thought, +when the superficial would imagine they were the most full of it, and +leads them to the threshold of that event which had before engrossed all +their most waking and fervid contemplation with a blind and mechanical +unconsciousness, resembling the influence of a dream. + +They arrived at the place they had selected for their station; sometimes +walking to and fro in order to escape observation, sometimes hiding +behind the pillars of a neighbouring house, they awaited the coming of +their victims. The time passed on; the streets grew more and more empty; +and, at last, only the visitation of the watchman or the occasional +steps of some homeward wanderer disturbed the solitude of their station. + +At last, just after midnight, two men were seen approaching towards +them, linked arm in arm, and walking very slowly. + +“Hist! hist!” whispered Wolfe’s comrade, “there they are at last; is +your pistol cocked?” + +“Ay,” answered Wolfe, “and yours: man, collect yourself your hand +shakes.” + +“It is with the cold then,” said the ruffian, using, unconsciously, a +celebrated reply; “let us withdraw behind the pillar.” + +They did so: the figures approached them; the night, though star-lit, +was not sufficiently clear to give the assassins more than the outline +of their shapes and the characters of their height and air. + +“Which,” said Wolfe, in a whisper,--for, as he had said, he had never +seen either of his intended victims,--“which is my prey?” + +“Oh, the nearest to you,” said the other, with trembling accents; “you +know his d--d proud walk, and erect head that is the way he answers +the people’s petitions, I’ll be sworn. The taller and farther one, who +stoops more in his gait, is mine.” + +The strangers were now at hand. + +“You know you are to fire first, Wolfe,” whispered the nearer ruffian, +whose heart had long failed him, and who was already meditating escape. + +“But are you sure, quite sure, of the identity of our prey?” said Wolfe, +grasping his pistol. + +“Yes, yes,” said the other; and, indeed, the air of the nearest person +approaching them bore, in the distance, a strong resemblance to that of +the minister it was supposed to designate. His companion, who appeared +much younger and of a mien equally patrician, but far less proud, seemed +listening to the supposed minister with the most earnest attention. +Apparently occupied with their conversation, when about twenty yards +from the assassins they stood still for a few moments. + +“Stop, Wolfe, stop,” said the republican’s accomplice, whose Indian +complexion, by fear, and the wan light of the lamps and skies, faded +into a jaundiced and yellow hue, while the bony whiteness of his teeth +made a grim contrast with the glare of his small, black, sparkling +eyes. “Stop, Wolfe, hold your hand. I see, now, that I was mistaken; the +farther one is a stranger to me, and the nearer one is much thinner than +the minister: pocket your pistol,--quick! quick!--and let us withdraw.” + +Wolfe dropped his hand, as if dissuaded from his design but as he +looked upon the trembling frame and chattering teeth of his terrified +accomplice, a sudden, and not unnatural, idea darted across his mind +that he was wilfully deceived by the fears of his companion; and that +the strangers, who had now resumed their way, were indeed what his +accomplice had first reported them to be. Filled with this impression, +and acting upon the momentary spur which it gave, the infatuated +and fated man pushed aside his comrade, with a muttered oath at his +cowardice and treachery, and taking a sure and steady, though quick, aim +at the person, who was now just within the certain destruction of his +hand, he fired the pistol. The stranger reeled and fell into the arms of +his companion. + +“Hurrah!” cried the murderer, leaping from his hiding place, and +walking with rapid strides towards his victim, “hurrah! for liberty and +England!” + +Scarce had he uttered those prostituted names, before the triumph of +misguided zeal faded suddenly and forever from his brow and soul. + +The wounded man leaned back in the supporting arms of his chilled and +horror-stricken friend; who, kneeling on one knee to support him, fixed +his eager eyes upon the pale and changing countenance of his burden, +unconscious of the presence of the assassin. + +“Speak, Mordaunt; speak! how is it with you?” he said. Recalled from his +torpor by the voice, Mordaunt opened his eyes, and muttering, “My child, +my child,” sank back again; and Lord Ulswater (for it was he) felt, by +his increased weight, that death was hastening rapidly on its victim. + +“Oh!” said he, bitterly, and recalling their last conversation--“oh! +where, where, when this man--the wise, the kind, the innocent, almost +the perfect--falls thus in the very prime of existence, by a sudden blow +from an obscure hand, unblest in life, inglorious in death,--oh! where, +where is this boasted triumph of Virtue, or where is its reward?” + +True to his idol at the last, as these words fell upon his dizzy and +receding senses, Mordaunt raised himself by a sudden though momentary +exertion, and, fixing his eyes full upon Lord Ulswater, his moving lips +(for his voice was already gone) seemed to shape out the answer, “It is +here!” + +With this last effort, and with an expression upon his aspect which +seemed at once to soften and to hallow the haughty and calm character +which in life it was wont to bear, Algernon Mordaunt fell once more back +into the arms of his companion and immediately expired. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + + Come, Death, these are thy victims, and the axe + Waits those who claimed the chariot.--Thus we count + Our treasures in the dark, and when the light + Breaks on the cheated eye, we find the coin + Was skulls-- + ...... + Yet the while + Fate links strange contrasts, and the scaffold’s gloom + Is neighboured by the altar.--ANONYMOUS. + +When Crauford’s guilt and imprisonment became known; when inquiry +developed, day after day, some new maze in the mighty and intricate +machinery of his sublime dishonesty; when houses of the most reputed +wealth and profuse splendour, whose affairs Crauford had transacted, +were discovered to have been for years utterly undermined and beggared, +and only supported by the extraordinary genius of the individual by +whose extraordinary guilt, now no longer concealed, they were suddenly +and irretrievably destroyed; when it was ascertained that, for nearly +the fifth part of a century, a system of villany had been carried on +throughout Europe, in a thousand different relations, without a single +breath of suspicion, and yet which a single breath of suspicion could +at once have arrested and exposed; when it was proved that a man whose +luxury had exceeded the pomp of princes, and whose wealth was supposed +more inexhaustible than the enchanted purse of Fortunatus, had for +eighteen years been a penniless pensioner upon the prosperity of others; +when the long scroll of this almost incredible fraud was slowly, piece +by piece, unrolled before the terrified curiosity of his public, an +invading army at the Temple gates could scarcely have excited such +universal consternation and dismay. + +The mob, always the first to execute justice, in their own inimitable +way took vengeance upon Crauford by burning the house no longer his, +and the houses of his partners, who were the worst and most innocent +sufferers for his crime. No epithet of horror and hatred was too severe +for the offender; and serious apprehension for the safety of Newgate, +his present habitation, was generally expressed. The more saintly +members of that sect to which the hypocrite had ostensibly belonged, +held up their hands, and declared that the fall of the Pharisee was a +judgment of Providence. Nor did they think it worth while to make, for a +moment, the trifling inquiry how far the judgment of Providence was also +implicated in the destruction of the numerous and innocent families he +had ruined! + +But, whether from that admiration for genius, common to the vulgar, +which forgets all crime in the cleverness of committing it, or from that +sagacious disposition peculiar to the English, which makes a hero of any +person eminently wicked, no sooner did Crauford’s trial come on than the +tide of popular feeling experienced a sudden revulsion. It became, in an +instant, the fashion to admire and to pity a gentleman so talented and +so unfortunate. Likenesses of Mr. Crauford appeared in every print-shop +in town; the papers discovered that he was the very fac-simile of the +great King of Prussia. The laureate made an ode upon him, which was set +to music; and the public learned, with tears of compassionate regret +at so romantic a circumstance, that pigeon-pies were sent daily to his +prison, made by the delicate hands of one of his former mistresses. Some +sensation, also, was excited by the circumstance of his poor wife (who +soon afterwards died of a broken heart) coming to him in prison, and +being with difficulty torn away; but then, conjugal affection is so very +commonplace, and there was something so engrossingly pathetic in the +anecdote of the pigeon-pies! + +It must be confessed that Crauford displayed singular address and +ability upon his trial; and fighting every inch of ground, even to the +last, when so strong a phalanx of circumstances appeared against him +that no hope of a favourable verdict could for a moment have supported +him, he concluded the trial with a speech delivered by himself, so +impressive, so powerful, so dignified, yet so impassioned, that the +whole audience, hot as they were, dissolved into tears. + +Sentence was passed,--Death! But such was the infatuation of the people +that every one expected that a pardon, for crime more complicated and +extensive than half the “Newgate Calendar” could equal, would of course +be obtained. Persons of the highest rank interested themselves in his +behalf; and up to the night before his execution, expectations, almost +amounting to certainty, were entertained by the criminal, his friends, +and the public. On that night was conveyed to Crauford the positive and +peremptory assurance that there was no hope. Let us now enter his cell, +and be the sole witnesses of his solitude. + +Crauford was, as we have seen, a man in some respects of great moral +courage, of extraordinary daring in the formation of schemes, of +unwavering resolution in supporting them, and of a temper which rather +rejoiced in, than shunned, the braving of a distant danger for the sake +of an adequate reward. But this courage was supported and fed solely by +the self-persuasion of consummate genius, and his profound confidence +both in his good fortune and the inexhaustibility of his resources. +Physically he was a coward! immediate peril to be confronted by the +person, not the mind, had ever appalled him like a child. He had never +dared to back a spirited horse. He had been known to remain for days in +an obscure ale-house in the country, to which a shower had accidentally +driven him, because it had been idly reported that a wild beast had +escaped from a caravan and been seen in the vicinity of the inn. No dog +had ever been allowed in his household lest it might go mad. In a +word, Crauford was one to whom life and sensual enjoyments were +everything,--the supreme blessings, the only blessings. + +As long as he had the hope, and it was a sanguine hope, of saving life, +nothing had disturbed his mind from its serenity. His gayety had never +forsaken him; and his cheerfulness and fortitude had been the theme of +every one admitted to his presence. But when this hope was abruptly +and finally closed; when Death, immediate and unavoidable,--Death, the +extinction of existence, the cessation of sense,--stood bare and hideous +before him, his genius seemed at once to abandon him to his fate, and +the inherent weakness of his nature to gush over every prop and barrier +of his art. + +“No hope!” muttered he, in a voice of the keenest anguish, “no +hope; merciful God! none, none? What, I, I, who have shamed kings in +luxury,--I to die on the gibbet, among the reeking, gaping, swinish +crowd with whom--O God, that I were one of them even! that I were the +most loathsome beggar that ever crept forth to taint the air with sores! +that I were a toad immured in a stone, sweltering in the atmosphere of +its own venom! a snail crawling on these very walls, and tracking his +painful path in slime!--anything, anything, but death! And such death! +The gallows, the scaffold, the halter, the fingers of the hangman +paddling round the neck where the softest caresses have clung and sated. +To die, die, die! What, I whose pulse now beats so strongly! whose blood +keeps so warm and vigorous a motion! in the very prime of enjoyment and +manhood; all life’s million paths of pleasure before me,--to die, to +swing to the winds, to hang,--ay, ay--to hang! to be cut down, distorted +and hideous; to be thrust into the earth with worms; to rot, or--or--or +hell! is there a hell?--better that even than annihilation!” + +“Fool! fool!--damnable fool that I was” (and in his sudden rage he +clenched his own flesh till the nails met in it); “had I but got to +France one day sooner! Why don’t you save me, save me, you whom I have +banqueted and feasted, and lent money to! one word from you might have +saved me; I will not die! I don’t deserve it! I am innocent! I tell you, +Not guilty, my lord,--not guilty! Have you no heart, no consciences? +Murder! murder! murder!” and the wretched man sank upon the ground, and +tried with his hands to grasp the stone floor, as if to cling to it from +some imaginary violence. + +Turn we from him to the cell in which another criminal awaits also the +awful coming of his latest morrow. + +Pale, motionless, silent, with his face bending over his bosom and hands +clasped tightly upon his knees, Wolfe sat in his dungeon, and collected +his spirit against the approaching consummation of his turbulent and +stormy fate. His bitterest punishment had been already past; mysterious +Chance, or rather the Power above chance, had denied to him the haughty +triumph of self-applause. No sophistry, now, could compare his doom to +that of Sidney, or his deed to the act of the avenging Brutus. + +Murder--causeless, objectless, universally execrated--rested, and would +rest (till oblivion wrapped it) upon his name. It had appeared, too, +upon his trial, that he had, in the information he had received, been +the mere tool of a spy in the ministers’ pay; and that, for weeks before +his intended deed, his design had been known, and his conspiracy only +not bared to the public eye because political craft awaited a riper +opportunity for the disclosure. He had not then merely been the blind +dupe of his own passions, but, more humbling still, an instrument in the +hands of the very men whom his hatred was sworn to destroy. Not a wreck, +not a straw, of the vain glory for which he had forfeited life and +risked his soul, could he hug to a sinking heart, and say, “This is my +support.” + +The remorse of gratitude embittered his cup still further. On Mordaunt’s +person had been discovered a memorandum of the money anonymously +inclosed to Wolfe on the day of the murder; and it was couched in words +of esteem which melted the fierce heart of the republican into the only +tears he had shed since childhood. From that time, a sullen, silent +spirit fell upon him. He spoke to none,--heeded none; he made no defence +on trial, no complaint of severity, no appeal from judgment. The iron +had entered into his soul; but it supported, while it tortured. Even +now as we gaze upon his inflexible and dark countenance, no transitory +emotion; no natural spasm of sudden fear for the catastrophe of the +morrow; no intense and working passions, struggling into calm; no +sign of internal hurricanes, rising as it were from the hidden depths, +agitate the surface, or betray the secrets of the unfathomable world +within. The mute lip; the rigid brow; the downcast eye; a heavy and +dread stillness, brooding over every feature,--these are all we behold. + +Is it that thought sleeps, locked in the torpor of a senseless and +rayless dream; or that an evil incubus weighs upon it, crushing its +risings, but deadening not its pangs? Does Memory fly to the green +fields and happy home of his childhood, or the lonely studies of his +daring and restless youth, or his earliest homage to that Spirit of +Freedom which shone bright and still and pure upon the solitary chamber +of him who sang of heaven [Milton]; or (dwelling on its last and most +fearful object) rolls it only through one tumultuous and convulsive +channel,--Despair? Whatever be within the silent and deep heart, pride, +or courage, or callousness, or that stubborn firmness, which, once +principle, has grown habit, cover all as with a pall; and the strung +nerves and the hard endurance of the human flesh sustain what the +immortal mind perhaps quails beneath, in its dark retreat, but once +dreamed that it would exult to bear. + +The fatal hour had come! and, through the long dim passages of the +prison, four criminals were led forth to execution. The first was +Crauford’s associate, Bradley. This man prayed fervently; and, though +he was trembling and pale, his mien and aspect bore something of the +calmness of resignation. + +It has been said that there is no friendship among the wicked. I +have examined this maxim closely, and believe it, like most popular +proverbs,--false. In wickedness there is peril, and mutual terror is the +strongest of ties. At all events, the wicked can, not unoften, excite +an attachment in their followers denied to virtue. Habitually courteous, +caressing, and familiar, Crauford had, despite his own suspicions of +Bradley, really touched the heart of one whom weakness and want, not +nature, had gained to vice; and it was not till Crauford’s guilt was by +other witnesses undeniably proved that Bradley could be tempted to make +any confession tending to implicate him. + +He now crept close to his former partner, and frequently clasped his +hand, and besought him to take courage and to pray. But Crauford’s eye +was glassy and dim, and his veins seemed filled with water: so +numbed and cold and white was his cheek. Fear, in him, had passed its +paroxysms, and was now insensibility; it was only when they urged him to +pray that a sort of benighted consciousness strayed over his countenance +and his ashen lips muttered something which none heard. + +After him came the Creole, who had been Wolfe’s accomplice. On the night +of the murder, he had taken advantage of the general loneliness and +the confusion of the few present, and fled. He was found, however, fast +asleep in a garret, before morning, by the officers of justice; and, on +trial, he had confessed all. This man was in a rapid consumption. The +delay of another week would have given to Nature the termination of his +life. He, like Bradley, seemed earnest and absorbed in prayer. + +Last came Wolfe, his tall, gaunt frame worn by confinement and internal +conflict into a gigantic skeleton; his countenance, too, had undergone a +withering change; his grizzled hair seemed now to have acquired only the +one hoary hue of age; and, though you might trace in his air and eye the +sternness, you could no longer detect the fire, of former days. Calm, as +on the preceding night, no emotion broke over his dark but not defying +features. He rejected, though not irreverently, all aid from the +benevolent priest, and seemed to seek in the pride of his own heart a +substitute for the resignation of Religion. + +“Miserable man!” at last said the good clergyman, in whom zeal overcame +kindness, “have you at this awful hour no prayer upon your lips?” + +A living light shot then for a moment over Wolfe’s eye and brow. “I +have!” said he; and raising his clasped hands to Heaven, he continued in +the memorable words of Sidney, “Lord, defend Thy own cause, and defend +those who defend it! Stir up such as are faint; direct those that are +willing; confirm those that waver; give wisdom and integrity to all: +order all things so as may most redound to Thine own glory! + +“I had once hoped,” added Wolfe, sinking in his tone, “I had once hoped +that I might with justice have continued that holy prayer; [“Grant that +I may die glorifying Thee for all Thy mercies, and that at the last Thou +hast permitted me to be singled out as a witness of Thy truth, and even +by the confession of my opposers for that OLD CAUSE in which I was from +my youth engaged, and for which Thou hast often and wonderfully declared +Thyself.”--ALGERNON SIDNEY.] but--” he ceased abruptly; the glow passed +from his countenance, his lip quivered, and the tears stood in his eyes; +and that was the only weakness he betrayed, and those were his last +words. + +Crauford continued, even while the rope was put round him, mute and +unconscious of everything. It was said that his pulse (that of an +uncommonly strong and healthy man on the previous day) had become so low +and faint that, an hour before his execution, it could not be felt. He +and the Creole were the only ones who struggled; Wolfe died, seemingly, +without a pang. + +From these feverish and fearful scenes, the mind turns, with a feeling +of grateful relief, to contemplate the happiness of one whose candid +and high nature, and warm affections, Fortune, long befriending, had at +length blessed. + +It was on an evening in the earliest flush of returning spring that Lord +Ulswater, with his beautiful bride, entered his magnificent domains. It +had been his wish and order, in consequence of his brother’s untimely +death, that no public rejoicings should be made on his marriage: but +the good old steward could not persuade himself entirely to enforce +obedience to the first order of his new master; and as the carriage +drove into the park-gates, crowds on crowds were assembled to welcome +and to gaze. + +No sooner had they caught a glimpse of their young lord, whose +affability and handsome person had endeared him to all who remembered +his early days, and of the half-blushing, half-smiling countenance +beside him, than their enthusiasm could be no longer restrained. The +whole scene rang with shouts of joy; and through an air filled with +blessings, and amidst an avenue of happy faces, the bridal pair arrived +at their home. + +“Ah! Clarence (for so I must still call you),” said Flora, her beautiful +eyes streaming with delicious tears, “let us never leave these kind +hearts; let us live amongst them, and strive to repay and deserve the +blessings which they shower upon us! Is not Benevolence, dearest, better +than Ambition?” + +“Can it not rather, my own Flora, be Ambition itself?” + + + + +CONCLUSION. + + So rest you, merry gentlemen.--Monsieur Thomas. + +The Author has now only to take his leave of the less important +characters whom he has assembled together; and then, all due courtesy to +his numerous guests being performed, to retire himself to repose. + +First, then, for Mr. Morris Brown: In the second year of Lord Ulswater’s +marriage, the worthy broker paid Mrs. Minden’s nephew a visit, in which +he persuaded that gentleman to accept, “as presents,” two admirable fire +screens, the property of the late Lady Waddilove: the same may be now +seen in the housekeeper’s room at Borodaile Park by any person +willing to satisfy his curiosity and--the housekeeper. Of all further +particulars respecting Mr. Morris Brown, history is silent. + +In the obituary for 1792, we find the following paragraph: + +“Died at his house in Putney, aged seventy-three, Sir Nicholas Copperas, +Knt., a gentleman well known on the Exchange for his facetious humour. +Several of his bons-mots are still recorded in the Common Council. When +residing many years ago in the suburbs of London, this worthy gentleman +was accustomed to go from his own house to the Exchange in a coach +called ‘the Swallow,’ that passed his door just at breakfast-time; +upon which occasion he was wont wittily to observe to his accomplished +spouse, ‘And now, Mrs. Copperas, having swallowed in the roll, I will +e’en roll in the Swallow!’ His whole property is left to Adolphus +Copperas, Esq., banker.” + +And in the next year we discover,-- + +“Died, on Wednesday last, at her jointure house, Putney, in her +sixty-eighth year, the amiable and elegant Lady Copperas, relict of the +late Sir Nicholas, Knt.” + +Mr. Trollolop, having exhausted the whole world of metaphysics, died +like Descartes, “in believing he had left nothing unexplained.” + +Mr. Callythorpe entered the House of Commons at the time of the French +Revolution. He distinguished himself by many votes in favour of Mr. +Pitt, and one speech which ran thus: “Sir, I believe my right honourable +friend who spoke last (Mr. Pitt) designs to ruin the country: but I will +support him through all. Honourable Gentlemen may laugh; but I’m a true +Briton, and will not serve my friend the less because I scorn to flatter +him.” + +Sir Christopher Findlater lost his life by an accident arising from the +upsetting of his carriage, his good heart not having suffered him to +part with a drunken coachman. + +Mr. Glumford turned miser in his old age; and died of want, and an +extravagant son. + +Our honest Cole and his wife were always among the most welcome visitors +at Lord Ulswater’s. In his extreme old age, the ex-king took a journey +to Scotland, to see the Author of “The Lay of the Last Minstrel.” Nor +should we do justice to the chief’s critical discernment if we neglected +to record that, from the earliest dawn of that great luminary of +our age, he predicted its meridian splendour. The eldest son of the +gypsy-monarch inherited his father’s spirit, and is yet alive, a +general, and G.C.B. + +Mr. Harrison married Miss Elizabeth, and succeeded to the Golden Fleece. + +The Duke of Haverfield and Lord Ulswater continued their friendship +through life; and the letters of our dear Flora to her correspondent, +Eleanor, did not cease even with that critical and perilous period +to all maiden correspondents,--Marriage. If we may judge from the +subsequent letters which we have been permitted to see, Eleanor never +repented her brilliant nuptials, nor discovered (as the Duchess of ---- +once said from experience) “that Dukes are as intolerable for husbands +as they are delightful for matches.” + +And Isabel Mordaunt?--Ah! not in these pages shall her history be told +even in epitome. Perhaps for some future narrative, her romantic and +eventful fate may be reserved. Suffice it for the present, that the +childhood of the young heiress passed in the house of Lord Ulswater, +whose proudest boast, through a triumphant and prosperous life, was to +have been her father’s friend; and that as she grew up, she inherited +her mother’s beauty and gentle heart, and seemed to bear in her deep +eyes and melancholy smile some remembrance of the scenes in which her +infancy had been passed. + +But for Him, the husband and the father, whose trials through this wrong +world I have portrayed,--for him let there be neither murmurs at the +blindness of Fate, nor sorrow at the darkness of his doom. Better that +the lofty and bright spirit should pass away before the petty business +of life had bowed it, or the sordid mists of this low earth breathed a +shadow on its lustre! Who would have asked that spirit to have struggled +on for years in the intrigues, the hopes, the objects of meaner souls? +Who would have desired that the heavenward and impatient heart should +have grown insured to the chains and toil of this enslaved state, or +hardened into the callousness of age? Nor would we claim the vulgar +pittance of compassion for a lot which is exalted above regret! Pity +is for our weaknesses: to our weaknesses only be it given. It is +the aliment of love; it is the wages of ambition; it is the rightful +heritage of error! But why should pity be entertained for the soul which +never fell? for the courage which never quailed? for the majesty never +humbled? for the wisdom which, from the rough things of the common +world, raised an empire above earth and destiny? for the stormy +life?--it was a triumph! for the early death?--it was immortality! + +I have stood beside Mordaunt’s tomb: his will had directed that he +should sleep not in the vaults of his haughty line; and his last +dwelling is surrounded by a green and pleasant spot. The trees shadow +it like a temple; and a silver though fitful brook wails with a constant +yet not ungrateful dirge at the foot of the hill on which the tomb is +placed. I have stood there in those ardent years when our wishes know no +boundary and our ambition no curb; yet, even then, I would have changed +my wildest vision of romance for that quiet grave, and the dreams of the +distant spirit whose relics reposed beneath it. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Disowned, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DISOWNED, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 7639-0.txt or 7639-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/6/3/7639/ + +Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |