“Sure there are poets that did never dream
Upon Parnassus.”--DENHAM.
“Walk sober off, before a sprightlier age
Come tittering on, and shove you from the stage.”--POPE.
“Hence to repose your trust in me was wise.”
DRYDEN’S _Absalom and Achitophel_.
MR. FREDERICK CLEVELAND, a younger son of the Earl of Byrneham, and
therefore entitled to the style and distinction of “Honourable,” was the
guardian of Ernest Maltravers. He was now about the age of forty-three;
a man of letters and a man of fashion, if the last half-obsolete
expression be permitted to us, as being at least more classical and
definite than any other which modern euphuism has invented to convey the
same meaning. Highly educated, and with natural abilities considerably
above mediocrity, Mr. Cleveland early in life had glowed with the
ambition of an author.... He had written well and gracefully--but his
success, though respectable, did not satisfy his aspirations. The
fact is, that a new school of literature ruled the public, despite the
critics--a school very different from that in which Mr. Cleveland formed
his unimpassioned and polished periods. And as that old Earl, who in the
time of Charles the First was the reigning wit of the court, in the time
of Charles the Second was considered too dull even for a butt, so
every age has its own literary stamp and coinage, and consigns the
old circulation to its shelves and cabinets as neglected curiosities.
Cleveland could not become the fashion with the public as an author,
though the coteries cried him up and the reviewers adored him--and
the ladies of quality and the amateur dilettanti bought and bound his
volumes of careful poetry and cadenced prose. But Cleveland had high
birth and a handsome competence--his manners were delightful, his
conversation fluent--and his disposition was as amiable as his mind was
cultured. He became, therefore, a man greatly sought after in society
both respected and beloved. If he had not genius, he had great good
sense; he did not vex his urbane temper and kindly heart with walking
after a vain shadow, and disquieting himself in vain. Satisfied with an
honourable and unenvied reputation, he gave up the dream of that higher
fame which he clearly saw was denied to his aspirations--and maintained
his good-humour with the world, though in his secret soul he thought
it was very wrong in its literary caprices. Cleveland never married: he
lived partly in town, but principally at Temple Grove, a villa not far
from Richmond. Here, with an excellent library, beautiful grounds, and
a circle of attached and admiring friends, which comprised all the more
refined and intellectual members of what is termed, by emphasis, _Good
Society_--this accomplished and elegant person passed a life perhaps
much happier than he would have known had his young visions been
fulfilled, and it had become his stormy fate to lead the rebellious and
fierce Democracy of Letters.
Cleveland was indeed, if not a man of high and original genius, at
least very superior to the generality of patrician authors. In retiring,
himself, from frequent exercise in the arena, he gave up his mind
with renewed zest to the thoughts and masterpieces of others. From a
well-read man, he became a deeply instructed one. Metaphysics, and some
of the material sciences, added new treasures to information more light
and miscellaneous, and contributed to impart weight and dignity to a
mind that might otherwise have become somewhat effeminate and frivolous.
His social habits, his clear sense, and benevolence of judgment, made
him also an exquisite judge of all those indefinable nothings, or little
things, that, formed into a total, become knowledge of the Great World.
I say the Great World--for of the world without the circle of the great,
Cleveland naturally knew but little. But of all that related to that
subtle orbit in which gentlemen and ladies move in elevated and ethereal
order, Cleveland was a profound philosopher. It was the mode with many
of his admirers to style him the Horace Walpole of the day. But though
in some of the more external and superficial points of character they
were alike, Cleveland had considerably less cleverness, and infinitely
more heart.
The late Mr. Maltravers, a man not indeed of literary habits but an
admirer of those who were--an elegant, high-bred, hospitable
_seigneur de province_--had been one of the earliest of Cleveland’s
friends--Cleveland had been his fag at Eton--and he found Hal
Maltravers--(Handsome Hal!) had become the darling of the clubs, when he
made his own _debut_ in society. They were inseparable for a season or
two--and when Mr. Maltravers married, and enamoured of country pursuits,
proud of his old hall, and sensibly enough conceiving that he was a
greater man in his own broad lands than in the republican aristocracy
of London, settled peaceably at Lisle Court, Cleveland corresponded with
him regularly, and visited him twice a year. Mrs. Maltravers died in
giving birth to Ernest, her second son. Her husband loved her tenderly,
and was long inconsolable for her loss. He could not bear the sight
of the child that had cost him so dear a sacrifice. Cleveland and his
sister, Lady Julia Danvers, were residing with him at the time of this
melancholy event; and with judicious and delicate kindness, Lady Julia
proposed to place the unconscious offender amongst her own children for
some months. The proposition was accepted, and it was two years before
the infant Ernest was restored to the paternal mansion. During the
greater part of that time, he had gone through all the events and
revolutions of baby life under the bachelor roof of Frederick Cleveland.
The result of this was, that the latter loved the child like a father.
Ernest’s first intelligible word hailed Cleveland as “papa;” and when
the urchin was at length deposited at Lisle Court, Cleveland talked
all the nurses out of breath with admonitions, and cautions, and
injunctions, and promises, and threats, which might have put many a
careful mother to the blush. This circumstance formed a new tie between
Cleveland and his friend. Cleveland’s visits were now three times a
year instead of twice. Nothing was done for Ernest without Cleveland’s
advice. He was not even breeched till Cleveland gave his grave consent.
Cleveland chose his school, and took him to it,--and he spent a week of
every vacation in Cleveland’s house. The boy never got into a scrape,
or won a prize, or wanted _a tip_, or coveted a book, but what Cleveland
was the first to know of it. Fortunately, too, Ernest manifested by
times tastes which the graceful author thought similar to his own. He
early developed very remarkable talents, and a love for learning--though
these were accompanied with a vigour of life and soul--an energy--a
daring--which gave Cleveland some uneasiness, and which did not appear
to him at all congenial with the moody shyness of an embryo genius, or
the regular placidity of a precocious scholar. Meanwhile the relation
between father and son was rather a singular one. Mr. Maltravers had
overcome his first, not unnatural, repugnance to the innocent cause of
his irremediable loss. He was now fond and proud of his boy--as he was
of all things that belonged to him. He spoiled and petted him even more
than Cleveland did. But he interfered very little with his education or
pursuits. His eldest son, Cuthbert, did not engross all his heart, but
occupied all his care. With Cuthbert he connected the heritage of his
ancient name, and the succession of his ancestral estates. Cuthbert
was not a genius, nor intended to be one; he was to be an accomplished
gentleman, and a great proprietor. The father understood Cuthbert, and
could see clearly both his character and career. He had no scruple in
managing his education, and forming his growing mind. But Ernest puzzled
him. Mr. Maltravers was even a little embarrassed in the boy’s society;
he never quite overcame that feeling of strangeness towards him which he
had experienced when he first received him back from Cleveland, and took
Cleveland’s directions about his health and so forth. It always seemed
to him as if his friend shared his right to the child; and he thought
it a sort of presumption to scold Ernest, though he very often swore
at Cuthbert. As the younger son grew up, it certainly was evident that
Cleveland did understand him better than his own father did; and so, as
I have before said, on Cleveland the father was not displeased passively
to shift the responsibility of the rearing.
Perhaps Mr. Maltravers might not have been so indifferent, had Ernest’s
prospects been those of a younger son in general. If a profession had
been necessary for him, Mr. Maltravers would have been naturally anxious
to see him duly fitted for it. But from a maternal relation Ernest
inherited an estate of about four thousand pounds a year; and he was
thus made independent of his father. This loosened another tie between
them; and so by degrees Mr. Maltravers learned to consider Ernest less
as his own son, to be advised or rebuked, praised or controlled, than
as a very affectionate, promising, engaging boy, who, somehow or other,
without any trouble on his part, was very likely to do great credit to
his family, and indulge his eccentricities upon four thousand pounds a
year. The first time that Mr. Maltravers was seriously perplexed about
him was when the boy, at the age of sixteen, having taught himself
German, and intoxicated his wild fancies with _Werter_ and _The
Robbers_, announced his desire, which sounded very like a demand, of
going to Gottingen instead of to Oxford. Never were Mr. Maltravers’s
notions of a proper and gentlemanlike finish to education more
completely and rudely assaulted. He stammered out a negative, and
hurried to his study to write a long letter to Cleveland, who, himself
an Oxford prize-man, would, he was persuaded, see the matter in the same
light. Cleveland answered the letter in person: listened in silence to
all the father had to say, and then strolled through the park with
the young man. The result of the latter conference was, that Cleveland
declared in favour of Ernest.
“But, my dear Frederick,” said the astonished father, “I thought the boy
was to carry off all the prizes at Oxford?”
“I carried off some, Maltravers; but I don’t see what good they did me.”
“Oh, Cleveland!”
“I am serious.”
“But it is such a very odd fancy.”
“Your son is a very odd young man.”
“I fear he is so--I fear he is, poor fellow! But what will he learn at
Gottingen?”
“Languages and Independence,” said Cleveland.
“And the classics--the classics--you are such an excellent Grecian!”
“There are great Grecians in Germany,” answered Cleveland; “and Ernest
cannot well unlearn what he knows already. My dear Maltravers, the boy
is not like most clever young men. He must either go through action, and
adventure, and excitement in his own way, or he will be an idle dreamer,
or an impracticable enthusiast all his life. Let him alone.--So Cuthbert
is gone into the Guards?”
“But he went first to Oxford.”
“Humph! What a fine young man he is!”
“Not so tall as Ernest, but--”
“A handsome face,” said Cleveland. “He is a son to be proud of in one
way, as I hope Ernest will be in another. Will you show me your new
hunter?”
* * * * *
It was to the house of this gentleman, so judiciously made his guardian,
that the student of Gottingen now took his melancholy way.