Mr Squills and I performed our journey without adventure, and, as we
were not alone on the coach, with little conversation. We put up at a
small inn at the city, and the next morning I sallied forth to see
Trevanion--for we agreed that he would be the best person to advise
us. But, on arriving at St James's Square, I had the disappointment of
hearing that the whole family had gone to Paris three days before, and
were not expected to return till the meeting of Parliament.
This was a sad discouragement, for I had counted much on Trevanion's
clear head, and that extraordinary range of accomplishment in all
matters of business--all that related to practical life--which my old
patron pre-eminently possessed. The next thing would be to find
Trevanion's lawyer, (for Trevanion was one of those men whose
solicitors are sure to be able and active.) But the fact was, that he
left so little to lawyers, that he had never had occasion to
communicate with one since I had known him; and I was therefore in
ignorance of the very name of his solicitor; nor could the porter, who
was left in charge of the house, enlighten me. Luckily, I bethought
myself of Sir Sedley Beaudesert, who could scarcely fail to give me
the information required, and who, at all events, might recommend me
some other lawyer. So to him I went.
I found Sir Sedley at breakfast with a young gentleman who seemed
about twenty. The good baronet was delighted to see me; but I thought
it was with a little confusion, rare to his cordial ease, that he
presented me to his cousin, Lord Castleton. It was a name familiar to
me, though I had never before met its patrician owner.
The Marquis of Castleton was indeed a subject of envy to young idlers,
and afforded a theme of interest to gray-beard politicians. Often had
I heard of "that lucky fellow Castleton," who, when of age, would step
into one of those colossal fortunes which would realise the dreams of
Aladdin--a fortune that had been out to nurse since his minority.
Often had I heard graver gossips wonder whether Castleton would take
any active part in public life--whether he would keep up the family
influence. His mother (still alive) was a superior woman, and had
devoted herself, from his childhood, to supply a father's loss, and
fit him for his great position. It was said that he was clever--had
been educated by a tutor of great academic distinction, and was
reading for a double first class at Oxford. This young marquis was
indeed the head of one of those few houses still left in England that
retain feudal importance. He was important, not only from his rank and
his vast fortune, but from an immense circle of powerful connections;
from the ability of his two predecessors, who had been keen
politicians and cabinet-ministers; from the _prestige_ they had
bequeathed to his name; from the peculiar nature of his property,
which gave him the returning interest in no less than six
parliamentary seats in Great Britain and Ireland--besides that
indirect ascendency which the head of the Castletons had always
exercised over many powerful and noble allies of that princely house.
I was not aware that he was related to Sir Sedley, whose world of
action was so remote from politics; and it was with some surprise that
I now heard that announcement, and certainly with some interest that
I, perhaps from the verge of poverty, gazed on this young heir of
fabulous El-Dorados.
It was easy to see that Lord Castleton had been brought up with a
careful knowledge of his future greatness, and its serious
responsibilities. He stood immeasurably aloof from all the
affectations common to the youth of minor patricians. He had not been
taught to value himself on the cut of a coat, or the shape of a hat.
His world was far above St James's Street and the clubs. He was
dressed plainly, though in a style peculiar to himself--a white
neckcloth, (which was not at that day quite so uncommon for morning
use as it is now,) trowsers without straps, thin shoes and gaiters.
There was nothing in his manner of the supercilious apathy which
characterises the dandy introduced to some one whom he doubts if he
can nod to from the bow-window at White's--none of such vulgar
coxcombries had Lord Castleton; and yet a young gentleman more
emphatically coxcomb it was impossible to see. He had been told, no
doubt, that, as the head of a house which was almost in itself a party
in the state, he should be bland and civil to all men; and this duty
being grafted upon a nature singularly cold and unsocial, gave to his
politeness something so stiff, yet so condescending, that it brought
the blood to one's cheek--though the momentary anger was
counterbalanced by something almost ludicrous in the contrast between
this gracious majesty of deportment, and the insignificant figure,
with the boyish beardless face, by which it was assumed. Lord
Castleton did not content himself with a mere bow at our introduction.
Much to my wonder how he came by the information he displayed, he made
me a little speech after the manner of Louis XIV. to a provincial
noble--studiously modelled upon that royal maxim of urbane policy
which instructs a king that he should know something of the birth,
parentage, and family, of his meanest gentleman. It was a little
speech, in which my father's learning, and my uncle's services, and
the amiable qualities of your humble servant, were neatly
interwoven--delivered in a falsetto tone, as if learned by heart,
though it must have been necessarily impromptu; and then, reseating
himself, he made a gracious motion of the head and hand, as if to
authorise me to do the same.
Conversation succeeded, by galvanic jerks and spasmodic starts--a
conversation that Lord Castleton contrived to tug so completely out of
poor Sir Sedley's ordinary course of small and polished small-talk,
that that charming personage, accustomed, as he well deserved, to be
Coryphæus at his own table, was completely silenced. With his light
reading, his rich stores of anecdote, his good-humoured knowledge of
the drawing-room world, he had scarce a word that would fit into the
great, rough, serious matters which Lord Castleton threw upon the
table, as he nibbled his toast. Nothing but the most grave and
practical subjects of human interest seemed to attract this future
leader of mankind. The fact is that Lord Castleton had been taught
everything that relates to _property_--(a knowledge which embraces a
very wide circumference.) It had been said to him "You will be an
immense proprietor--knowledge is essential to your self-preservation.
You will be puzzled, bubbled, ridiculed, duped every day of your life,
if you do not make yourself acquainted with all by which property is
assailed or defended, impoverished or increased. You have a vast stake
in the country--you must learn all the interests of Europe--nay, of
the civilised world--for those interests react on the country, and the
interests of the country are of the greatest possible consequence to
the interests of the Marquis of Castleton." Thus the state of the
Continent--the policy of Metternich--the condition of the Papacy--the
growth of Dissent--the proper mode of dealing with the general spirit
of Democracy, which was the epidemic of European monarchies--the
relative proportions of the agricultural and manufacturing
population--corn-laws, currency, and the laws that regulate wages--a
criticism on the leading speakers of the House of Commons, with some
discursive observations on the importance of fattening cattle--the
introduction of flax into Ireland--emigration--the condition of the
poor--the doctrines of Mr Owen--the pathology of potatoes; the
connexion between potatoes, pauperism, and patriotism; these, and
suchlike stupendous subjects for reflection--all branching, more or
less intricately, from the single idea of the Castleton property--the
young lord discussed and disposed of in half-a-dozen prim, poised
sentences--evincing, I must say in justice, no inconsiderable
information, and a mighty solemn turn of mind. The oddity was, that
the subjects so selected and treated should not come rather from some
young barrister, or mature political economist, than from so gorgeous
a lily of the field. Of a less man, certainly, one would have
said--"Cleverish, but a prig;" but there really was something so
respectable in a man born to such fortunes, and having nothing to do
but to bask in the sunshine, voluntarily taking such pains with
himself, and condescending to identify his own interests--the
interests of the Castleton property--with the concerns of his lesser
fellow-mortals, that one felt the young marquis had in him the stuff
to become a very considerable man.
Poor Sir Sedley, to whom all these matters were as unfamiliar as the
theology of the Talmud, after some vain efforts to slip the
conversation into easier grooves, fairly gave in, and, with a
compassionate smile on his handsome countenance, took refuge in his
easy-chair and the contemplation of his snuff-box.
At last, to our great relief, the servant announced Lord Castleton's
carriage; and with another speech of overpowering affability to me,
and a cold shake of the hand to Sir Sedley, Lord Castleton went his
way.
The breakfast parlour looked on the street, and I turned mechanically
to the window as Sir Sedley followed his guest out of the room. A
travelling carriage, with four post-horses, was at the door; and a
servant, who looked like a foreigner, was in waiting with his master's
cloak. As I saw Lord Castleton step into the street, and wrap himself
in his costly mantle lined with sables, I observed, more than I had
while he was in the room, the enervate slightness of his frail form,
and the more than paleness of his thin, joyless face; and then,
instead of envy, I felt compassion for the owner of all this pomp and
grandeur--felt that I would not have exchanged my hardy health, and
easy humour, and vivid capacities of enjoyment in things the slightest
and most within the reach of all men, for the wealth and greatness
which that poor youth perhaps deserved the more for putting them so
little to the service of pleasure.
"Well," said Sir Sedley, "and what do you think of him?"
"He is just the sort of man Trevanion would like," said I, evasively.
"That is true," answered Sir Sedley, in a serious tone of voice, and
looking at me somewhat earnestly. "Have you heard?--but no, you cannot
have heard yet."
"Heard what?"
"My dear young friend," said the kindest and most delicate of all fine
gentlemen, sauntering away that he might not observe the emotion he
caused, "Lord Castleton is going to Paris to join the Trevanions. The
object Lady Ellinor has had at heart for many a long year is won, and
our pretty Fanny will be Marchioness of Castleton when her betrothed
is of age--that is, in six months. The two mothers have settled it all
between them!"
I made no answer, but continued to look out of the window.
"This alliance," resumed Sir Sedley, "was all that was wanting to
assure Trevanion's position. When parliament meets, he will have some
great office. Poor man! how I shall pity him! It is extraordinary to
me," continued Sir Sedley, benevolently going on, that I might have
full time to recover myself, "how contagious that disease called
business is in our foggy England! Not only Trevanion, you see, has the
complaint in its very worst and most complicated form, but that poor
dear cousin of mine, who is so young, (here Sir Sedley sighed) and
might enjoy himself so much, is worse than you were when Trevanion was
fagging you to death. But, to be sure, a great name and position, like
Castleton's, must be a very heavy affliction to a conscientious mind.
You see how the sense of its responsibilities has _aged_ him
already--positively, two great wrinkles under his eyes. Well, after
all, I admire him, and respect his tutor: a soil naturally very thin,
I suspect, has been most carefully cultivated; and Castleton, with
Trevanion's help, will be the first man in the peerage--prime-minister
some day, I dare say. And, when I think of it, how grateful I ought to
feel to his father and mother, who produced him quite in their old
age; for, if he had not been born, I should have been the most
miserable of men--yes, positively, that horrible marquisate would have
come to me! I never think over Horace Walpole's regrets, when he got
the earldom of Orford, without the deepest sympathy, and without a
shudder at the thought of what my dear Lady Castleton was kind enough
to save me from--all owing to the Ems waters, after twenty years'
marriage! Well, my young friend, and how are all at home?"
As when, some notable performer not having yet arrived behind the
scenes, or having to change his dress, or not having yet quite
recovered an unlucky extra tumbler of exciting fluids--and the green
curtain has therefore unduly delayed its ascent--you perceive that the
thorough-bass in the orchestra charitably devotes himself to a prelude
of astonishing prolixity, calling in _Lodoiska_ or _Der Freischutz_ to
beguile the time, and allow the procrastinating histrion leisure
sufficient to draw on his flesh-coloured pantaloons, and give himself
the proper complexion for a Coriolanus or Macbeth--even so had Sir
Sedley made that long speech, requiring no rejoinder, till he saw the
time had arrived when he could artfully close with the flourish of a
final interrogative, in order to give poor Pisistratus Caxton all
preparation to compose himself, and step forward. There is certainly
something of exquisite kindness, and thoughtful benevolence, in that
rarest of gifts,--_fine breeding_; and when now, remanned and
resolute, I turned round and saw Sir Sedley's soft blue eye shyly, but
benignantly, turned to me--while, with a grace no other snuff-taker
ever had since the days of Pope, he gently proceeded to refresh
himself by a pinch of the celebrated Beaudesert mixture--I felt my
heart as gratefully moved towards him as if he had conferred on me
some colossal obligation. And this crowning question--"And how are all
at home?" restored me entirely to my self-possession, and for the
moment distracted the bitter current of my thoughts.
I replied by a brief statement of my father's involvement, disguising
our apprehensions as to its extent, speaking of it rather as an
annoyance than a possible cause of ruin, and ended by asking Sir
Sedley to give me the address of Trevanion's lawyer.
The good baronet listened with great attention; and that quick
penetration which belongs to a man of the world enabled him to detect,
that I had smoothed over matters more than became a faithful narrator.
He shook his head, and, seating himself on the sofa, motioned me to
come to his side; then, leaning his arm over my shoulder, he said in
his seductive, winning way--
"We two young fellows should understand each other, when we talk of
money matters. I can say to you what I could not to my respectable
senior--by three years; your excellent father. Frankly, then, I
suspect this is a bad business. I know little about newspapers, except
that I have to subscribe to one in my county, which costs me a small
income; but I know that a London daily paper might ruin a man in a few
weeks. And as for shareholders, my dear Caxton, I was once teased into
being a shareholder in a canal that ran through my property, and
ultimately ran off with £30,000 of it! The other shareholders were all
drowned in the canal, like Pharaoh and his hosts in the Red Sea. But
your father is a great scholar, and must not be plagued with such
matters. I owe him a great deal. He was very kind to me at Cambridge,
and gave me the taste for reading, to which I owe the pleasantest
hours of my life. So, when you and the lawyers have found out what the
extent of the mischief is, you and I must see how we can best settle
it.
"What the deuce! my young friend--I have no 'encumbrances,' as the
servants, with great want of politeness, call wives and children. And
I am not a miserable great landed millionnaire, like that poor dear
Castleton, who owes so many duties to society that he can't spend a
shilling, except in a grand way and purely to benefit the public. So
go, my boy, to Trevanion's lawyer: he is mine too. Clever
fellow--sharp as a needle. Mr Pike, in Great Ormond Street--name on a
brass plate; and when he has settled the amount, we young scapegraces
will help each other, without a word to the old folks."
What good it does to a man, throughout life, to meet kindness and
generosity like this in his youth!
I need not say that I was too faithful a representative of my father's
scholarly pride, and susceptible independence of spirit, to accept
this proposal; and probably Sir Sedley, rich and liberal as he was,
did not dream of the extent to which his proposal might involve him.
But I expressed my gratitude, so as to please and move this last relic
of the De Coverleys, and went from his house straight to Mr Pike's
office, with a little note of introduction from Sir Sedley. I found Mr
Pike exactly the man I had anticipated from Trevanion's
character--short, quick, intelligent, in question and answer;
imposing, and somewhat domineering, in manner--not overcrowded with
business, but with enough for experience and respectability; neither
young nor old; neither a pedantic machine of parchment, nor a jaunty
off-hand coxcomb of West End manners.
"It is an ugly affair," said he, "but one that requires management.
Leave it all in my hands for three days. Don't go near Mr Tibbets, nor
Mr Peck; and on Saturday next, at two o'clock, if you will call here,
you shall know my opinion of the whole matter." With that Mr Pike
glanced at the clock, and I took up my hat and went.
There is no place more delightful than a great capital, if you are
comfortably settled in it--have arranged the methodical disposal of
your time, and know how to take business and pleasure in due
proportions. But a flying visit to a great capital, in an unsettled,
unsatisfactory way--at an inn--an inn in the city, too--with a great
worrying load of business on your mind, of which you are to hear no
more for three days; and an aching, jealous, miserable sorrow at the
heart, such as I had--leaving you no labour to pursue, and no pleasure
that you have the heart to share in--oh, a great capital then is
indeed forlorn, wearisome, and oppressive! It is the Castle of
Indolence, not as Thomson built it, but as Beckford drew in his Hall
of Eblis--a wandering up and down, to and fro--a great awful space,
with your hand pressed to your heart; and--oh for a rush on some
half-tamed horse, through the measureless green wastes of Australia!
That is the place for a man who has no home in the Babel, and whose
hand is ever pressing to his heart, with its dull, burning pain.
Mr Squills decoyed me the second evening into one of the small
theatres; and very heartily did Mr Squills enjoy all he saw, and all
he heard. And while, with a convulsive effort of the jaws, I was
trying to laugh too, suddenly, in one of the actors, who was
performing the worshipful part of a parish beadle, I recognised a face
that I had seen before. Five minutes afterwards, I had disappeared
from the side of Squills, and was amidst that strange world--BEHIND
THE SCENES.
My beadle was much too busy and important to allow me a good
opportunity to accost him, till the piece was over. I then seized hold
of him, as he was amicably sharing a pot of porter with a gentleman in
black shorts and a laced waistcoat, who was to play the part of a
broken-hearted father in the Domestic Drama in Three Acts, that would
conclude the amusements of the evening.
"Excuse me," said I apologetically; "but, as the Swan pertinently
observes,--'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?'"
"The Swan, sir!" cried the beadle aghast--"the Swan never demeaned
himself by such d--d broad Scotch as that!"
"The Tweed has its swans as well as the Avon, Mr Peacock."
"St--st--hush--hush--h--u--sh!" whispered the beadle in great alarm,
and eyeing me, with savage observation, under his corked eyebrows.
Then, taking me, by the arm, he jerked me away. When he had got as far
as the narrow limits of that little stage would allow us, Mr Peacock
said--
"Sir, you have the advantage of me; I don't remember you. Ah! you need
not look!--by gad, sir, I am not to be bullied,--it was all fair play.
If you will play with gentlemen, sir, you must run the consequences."
I hastened to appease the worthy man.
"Indeed, Mr Peacock, if you remember, I refused to play with you; and,
so far from wishing to offend you, I now come on purpose to compliment
you on your excellent acting, and to inquire if you have heard
anything lately of your young friend, Mr Vivian.
"Vivian?--never heard the name, sir. Vivian! Pooh, you are trying to
hoax me; very good."
"I assure you, Mr Peac"--
"St--st--How the deuce did you know that I was once called Peac--that
is, people called me Peac--A friendly nickname, no more--drop it, sir,
or you 'touch me with noble anger!'"
"Well, well; 'the rose, by any name, will smell as sweet,' as the
Swan, this time at least, judiciously observes. But Mr Vivian, too,
seems to have other names at his disposal. I mean a young, dark,
handsome man--or rather boy--with whom I met you in company by the
roadside, one morning."
"O--h!" said Mr Peacock, looking much relieved, "I know whom you mean,
though I don't remember to have had the pleasure of seeing you before.
No; I have not heard anything of the young man lately. I wish I did
know something of him. He was a 'gentleman in my own way.' Sweet Will
has hit him off to a hair!--
'The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword.'
Such a hand with a cue!--you should have seen him seek 'the bubble
reputation at the _cannon's_ mouth!' I may say, (continued Mr Peacock,
emphatically,) that he was a regular trump--trump!" he reiterated with
a start, as if the word had stung him--"trump! he was a BRICK!"
Then fixing his eyes on me, dropping his arms, interlacing his
fingers, in the manner recorded of Talma in the celebrated "Qu'en
dis-tu?" he resumed in a hollow voice, slow and distinct--
"When--saw--you--him,--young m--m--a--n--nnn?"
Finding the tables thus turned on myself, and not willing to give Mr
Peac-- any clue to poor Vivian--who thus appeared, to my great
satisfaction, to have finally dropped an acquaintance more versatile
than reputable--I contrived, by a few evasive sentences, to keep Mr
Peac--'s curiosity at a distance, till he was summoned in haste to
change his attire for the domestic drama. And so we parted.