“Had many a man such fortune as I,
In what a heaven would they think themselves.”
TAILOR.
It now became necessary for Markham to return to London; but he forgot
not, in his way thither, to pay his dutiful respects to his parents.
It is true that he had been placed in a very unpleasant situation, by
the unexpectedly large bequest of the late Mr. Martindale; so that,
however pleased he might be with an opportunity afforded him of being
serviceable to his father, there was an alloy in that pleasure by means
of the error in the will, or rather the misapprehension of the devisor.
So mingled is the complexion of life’s events, that our brightest days
are not cloudless, and our darkest nights are not without some glimmering
of a friendly star; and surely we may be content to have our joys a
little abated, when by the same token we may anticipate that our sorrows
will be somewhat alleviated.
After the interview which Markham had had with the Earl of Trimmerstone
he felt his mind lightened of burden, and his spirits were greatly
revived. And, considering that he wore the habiliments of sorrow, he
carried on his countenance the aspect and look of much cheerfulness and
composure of mind: for he was happy in the consciousness of having done
that which he knew and felt to be right.
For Markham’s sake and our own we must be allowed a short digression on
the subject of bright faces and black suits. It is a piece of arrant
foolery, and detestably silly cant, to make a sneering prating about
the manner in which people bear or feel the loss of their friends
or relatives. Sorrow is not to be measured by everlasting length of
face: any one may assume dull, cold, melancholy looks, and heave sighs
with every passing minute; but they who most regret the departed have
oftentimes brighter and gayer looks than those who think they ought to
be sorry, but feel that they are not. Markham regretted the loss of a
good friend, of a cheerful companion, of a kind patron, and good adviser;
but Markham had reason, good reason, to be pleased and satisfied with
himself, that he had got rid of what might be a reproach, and that he
possessed the means of saving his venerated and respected parents from
the calamity of an old age of poverty and privation.
He spent a very short time with his father and mother, and then hastened
to town to give immediate attention to his professional duties, and to
his business as executor.
The intelligence of what was called his good fortune reached town long
before him. Many and ridiculous were the rumors concerning the immense
property which had devolved to him. So outrageous and unfounded were
the tales told of his wealth, that had he been disposed to say it, he
might have persuaded not a few that his riches were equal to or beyond
the largest known property in the kingdom. At his chambers he found a
myriad of cards. The little card-racks which Miss Henderson had painted
for him were choked even to suffocation. Cards were on his chimney-piece,
and cards were lying on his table. There also appeared a goodly host of
prospectuses and syllabuses and proposals; and specimens and schemes;
and catalogues and first numbers of new periodicals, and shop-bills, and
addresses to the public, and cases of distress; and plans of estates, and
notices of sale, and recommendatory letters and applications for places;
and letters from coachmen, footmen, butlers, stable-boys, postilions,
cooks, housemaids, housekeepers, kitchen-maids, valets, and a multitude
of others too numerous to mention. There was a whole week’s work before
him to read them all.
At sight of all this he sighed, stared, shaked his head and smiled;
and he thought to himself, that it was a very good thing that he was
not prime minister, for then he should be pestered with myriads more
applications, and with matters not so easy to be disposed of.
His card-rack was a complete memorandum-book, for there he read the names
of every individual whom he had ever seen or spoken to, and besides them
a great many more. What could be more natural than for Mr. Jackson to
say to Dr. Smith, “I am going to call on Markham?” And what could be
more natural than for Dr. Smith to say, “I will go with you, and you may
introduce me?” So then Markham’s friend, Jackson, leaves his card, and
Jackson’s friend, Dr. Smith, leaves his card too.
Markham had never been of a covetous disposition; but now he felt most
especially and peculiarly delighted, that there was no foundation for the
intemperate and extravagant reports concerning his immense wealth.
A paradoxical friend of ours, who makes it a rule to believe every
thing that all the world disbelieves, and to disbelieve all that the
rest of the world believes, has started an ingenious theory concerning
the “_fortunate youth_,” who made such a noise some years ago. It is
our friend’s theory, that the story of his immense wealth was perfectly
true, but that he found so much trouble in the disposal of it, and was
annoyed by and threatened with such a host of applications, dependents,
and acquaintances, that to get rid of all trouble he destroyed all the
documents of his wealth, and sunk back for the sake of ease and quiet
into his original insignificance and obscurity.
There is some plausibility in this theory; and it must be acknowledged
that such was Markham’s state of mind at those symptoms of botheration
which he saw in his chambers, in his card-racks, and on his table, that
it would not have been much to be wondered at, if, on the supposition
that his wealth was really so great as it was reported to be, he had
adopted the same plan to get rid of his annoyances.
Knowing, however, that so great a weight of responsibility did not rest
upon him, he perused and glanced over these solicitations of attention
with a much more calm and composed mind. Very few of them appeared to
him deserving of notice; and as far as concerned the callers, whose
cards adorned his racks, there were not above five per cent that needed
any return. With respect to some of them he thought, rather humorously
indeed, that it might be advisable to send them back to their owners
accompanied with an affidavit sworn before the Lord Mayor, that Horatio
Markham’s legacy did not exceed twenty thousand pounds.
There was one place, however, where he resolved to pay his immediate
respects, and for which no hint of card-leaving was necessary. This call
was of course on the daughter of the late Mr. Martindale. Under present
circumstances, such call was absolutely necessary; it was also to himself
highly and truly agreeable. He had not forgotten, nor could he well
forget Clara Rivolta. He was quite uncertain what place he now held in
her esteem; he knew not what might be the effect of attempting to renew
the acquaintance; and Markham was quite as delicate and fastidious in
affairs of the heart as in affairs of the purse. He recollected also the
stern-looking Father Martini, and he thought of the force of bigotry
and fanaticism, and of the power which superstition has over many minds
otherwise intelligent, rational, and amiable. There was in his mind also
the thought that so far as pecuniary matters were concerned, there was
not now that objection which formerly there had been; and he thought also
that Dr. Crack had taken Miss Henderson away from amongst the obstacles,
and that Mr. Tippetson had very effectually disposed of himself: there
remained therefore but one impediment, but that one might be insuperable.
Markham found the mother and daughter together as usual. But
notwithstanding his previous determination to observe as accurately and
attentively as possible the looks and manners of Clara and her mother,
so as to draw some decisive inferences from them, he found himself
too deeply interested and too much agitated to make any thing like a
satisfactory observation. These ladies had of course heard something
of the rumors which were so loudly and widely circulated respecting
Markham’s good fortune; but they were not by any means aware of the
extent of Mr. Martindale’s property; he might for aught they knew have
left behind him fifty times the amount attributed to him. They would not,
however, and could not believe the dirty insinuations that Markham had
endeavoured, and but too successfully, to induce the old gentleman to
bequeath to him an unreasonable and enormous share of his wealth.
Signora Rivolta knew, or fancied she knew, Markham’s character too well
to imagine it possible that he should have been guilty of any thing like
meanness. In the language also of the letter which he had written to
her on examining into the affairs of the deceased, there was obviously
a strong and clear feeling of sincerity. The daughter of the late Mr.
Martindale therefore received the executor and residuary-legatee with
great cordiality, and the manners of confidence and friendship.
Markham was so far in self-possession as to see that he was not
a totally unwelcome visitor. This discovery gave him some little
confidence; but it was possible, and he thought of that possibility,
that all suspicion of his designs towards Clara had vanished from the
mind of Signora Rivolta. He began to speak about the departed, to state
the nature of the property which he had left behind him. Signora Rivolta
listened, more as a matter of duty than of interest or curiosity. Markham
explained that some months must elapse before the property could be
appropriated according to the will of the testator.
“Mr. Markham,” said the mother of Clara, “I am perfectly well satisfied
that the business is placed in very proper hands, and I thank you for the
trouble which you are taking. I hope, too, that my Lord Trimmerstone has
not suffered you to give way to that romantic generosity which you spoke
of in your letter to me.”
“Excuse me, madam,” replied Markham, “I do not consider that there was
any thing romantic or even generous in the surrender to which you refer.
I am desirous of preserving on my mind the recollection of my late worthy
friend; and I could not dwell with satisfaction on this recollection, if
I were sensible of having taken an advantage of an error to withhold from
his family what of right belongs to them.”
“Such feelings are an honor to you, sir; but I cannot think that the Earl
of Trimmerstone will take advantage of your scrupulous feelings. I know
very little of his lordship, but I do not think him capable of such a
want of generosity.”
“The Earl of Trimmerstone,” replied Markham, “is by no means deficient in
generosity; that was never his character. But I am happy to say that I
have been able to convince and persuade his lordship of the propriety of
his taking upon himself the disposal of that property, which I consider,
and which every honest man would consider, as unappropriated by its late
possessor.”
The daughter of the late John Martindale was not slow in apprehending the
feeling of Horatio Markham; and it was pleasant to Clara to hear such
conversation between the barrister and her mother.
This conversation was presently interrupted by the entrance of that
frightful-looking priest, whose inquisitor-like visage had so horrified
Markham a short time before. The young man would have retired, but
Signora Rivolta desired him to stay, and forthwith she introduced him
by name to the dreaded priest. And when Father Martini spoke to the
barrister, there was in his voice something not altogether unpleasant.
There was solemnity and formality, but there was also kindness and
even persuasiveness; and as Markham entered more particularly into
conversation with him, there were in his sentiments and expressions
strong manifestations of liberal feelings and comprehensive views. Now as
Markham knew that Father Martini was zealous for the faith and discipline
of his own church, he also supposed that he must be grossly ignorant
and illiberal. Markham’s reasoning run thus: Father Martini professes a
religion which is absurd and irrational; therefore Father Martini must be
an absurd and irrational man: Father Martini professes a religion which
assumes to be the only way of salvation; Father Martini, therefore,
must suppose that all the rest of the world must be lost, and therefore
he must be exceedingly illiberal. Older men than Markham, and men of
greater pretence than he, have used the same leaky logic, without perhaps
acknowledging it to themselves. Not frequently is it forgotten that nine
times out of ten a man’s character has more influence on his religion
than his religion has on his character; as a man’s shoe more frequently
takes the shape of his foot, than his foot takes the shape of his shoe.
But discussions of this nature are for shoemakers and theologians. So we
proceed with our narrative.
Markham became rather pleased with the aged priest, and was also pleased
with himself for his own liberality. The priest also was pleased with
Markham, and thought him a very promising subject for conversion, on
account of the great candour with which he spoke of the Catholic church,
and the temperate manner in which he discussed divers points on which,
in their interview, they happened to touch. The logic of the priest was
not indeed much better than the logic of Markham; for candour towards an
opponent is not always a symptom of conversion to the said opponent’s
creed or theory. There needs, in order to conversion, a strong principle
of partisanship. This our young friend possessed not. Nevertheless,
the two happened to be well pleased with each other; and there is some
good, some religion even, in brotherly love. There is not a great
superabundance of that article in the world; whenever therefore it does
appear, it should be greeted well.
Markham, after a long conversation with Father Martini, retired. When
he was gone, the priest observed to Signora Rivolta that he could not
think that so ingenuous a young man could be a very obstinate heretic;
but that, in all probability, if some few of his prejudices could be
removed, he might be induced, as being a man of good sense, to embrace
the Catholic faith. Precisely the same opinion did Markham entertain
concerning Father Martini. It was a great pity, the barrister thought,
that a man of such liberal feelings, enlightened views, and benevolent
disposition, should have been brought up in a faith so contradictory to
common sense, and so revolting to the understanding, and all the best
feelings of the mind. Both were thus happy in their own thoughts, and
pleased with their own theories.
Clara Rivolta now listened with unusual interest and earnestness to
the conversation which passed between her mother and Father Martini;
and every moment was she in expectation, in trembling expectation, of
hearing something said concerning the arrangement recommended, in order
to keep herself in the steady profession of the Catholic faith. But the
conversation took a more secular turn, and mention was made of the will
of the late Mr. Martindale.
Signora Rivolta was a little surprised at the very particular and earnest
manner in which Father Martini inquired concerning the will and its
particulars.
“You should have inquired, father,” said she, “when the gentleman who
has just left us was present. He is one of the executors, and is in
possession of all the several specifications and items of the will.”
“And who,” said the priest, “is inheritor of the greater part of the
property?”
“That,” replied the lady, “is doubtful. From the little that I can
recollect of the will, I believe it was Mr. Martindale’s design to give
the greater part of his property to the Earl of Trimmerstone; but, in
consequence of some error or misapprehension as to the extent and value
of the property, I understand that a very large proportion, perhaps
nearly half, devolves to Mr. Markham as residuary-legatee.”
“And was he related to Mr. Martindale?”
“No, father,” replied Signora Rivolta; “but an accidental acquaintance
led Mr. Martindale to think very highly of this gentleman’s moral and
intellectual qualities; and observing his disinterestedness and good
feeling in various instances, it was the intention of my late father
to leave him a legacy; and the young gentleman has shown a proper, and
perhaps an almost refined and fastidious feeling on the subject.”
Hereupon Signora Rivolta went on to state the particulars, of which
the reader is already in possession. Father Martini on this looked
thoughtful; and several times he was about to speak, but he checked
himself, and at last he abruptly said, “Of what does the property
consist?”
“That I cannot tell you,” said the daughter of the late John Martindale;
“but Mr. Markham will be here again to-morrow, and you may learn from him
all that you wish to know on the subject.”