"L'adresse et l'artifice out passe dans mon coeur;
Qu'ou a sous cet habit et d'esprit et de ruse."*--REGNARD.
* Subtility and craft have taken possession of my heart; but under this
habit one exhibits both shrewdness and wit.
IT was a fine morning in July, when a gentleman who had arrived in town
the night before--after an absence from England of several years--walked
slowly and musingly up the superb thoroughfare which connects the
Regent's park with St. James's.
He was a man, who, with great powers of mind, had wasted his youth in a
wandering vagabond kind of life, but who had worn away the love of
pleasure, and began to awaken to a sense of ambition.
"It is astonishing how this city is improved," said he to himself.
"Everything gets on in this world with a little energy and bustle--and
everybody as well as everything. My old cronies, fellows not half so
clever as I am, are all doing well. There's Tom Stevens, my very fag at
Eton--snivelling little dog he was too!--just made under-secretary of
state. Pearson, whose longs and shorts I always wrote, is now
head-master to the human longs and shorts of a public school--editing
Greek plays, and booked for a bishopric. Collier, I see by the papers,
is leading his circuit--and Ernest Maltravers (but /he/ had some talent)
has made a name in the world. Here am I, worth them all put together,
who have done nothing but spend half my little fortune in spite of all
my economy. Egad, this must have an end. I must look to the main
chance; and yet, just when I want his help the most, my worthy uncle
thinks fit to marry again. Humph--I'm too good for this world."
While thus musing, the soliloquist came in direct personal contact with
a tall gentleman, who carried his head very high in the air, and did not
appear to see that he had nearly thrown our abstracted philosopher off
his legs.
"Zounds, sir, what do you mean?" cried the latter.
"I beg your par--" began the other, meekly, when his arm was seized, and
the injured man exclaimed, "Bless me, sir, is it indeed /you/ whom I
see?"
"Ha!--Lumley?"
"The same; and how fares it, any dear uncle? I did not know you were in
London. I only arrived last night. How well you are looking!"
"Why, yes, Heaven be praised, I am pretty well."
"And happy in your new ties? You must present me to Mrs. Templeton."
"Ehem," said Mr. Templeton, clearing his throat, and with a slight but
embarrassed smile, "I never thought I should marry again."
"/L'homme propose et Dieu dispose/," observed Lumley Ferrers; for it was
he.
"Gently, my dear nephew," replied Mr. Templeton, gravely; "those phrases
are somewhat sacrilegious; I am an old-fashioned person, you know."
"Ten thousand apologies."
"/One/ apology will suffice; these hyperboles of phrase are almost
sinful."
"Confounded old prig!" thought Ferrers; but he bowed sanctimoniously.
"My dear uncle, I have been a wild fellow in my day; but with years
comes reflection; and under your guidance, if I may hope for it, I trust
to grow a wiser and a better man."
"It is well, Lumley," returned the uncle, "and I am very glad to see you
returned to your own country. Will you dine with me to-morrow? I am
living near Fulham. You had better bring your carpet-bag, and stay with
me some days; you will be heartily welcome, especially if you can shift
without a foreign servant. I have a great compassion for papists,
but--"
"Oh, my dear uncle, do not fear; I am not rich enough to have a foreign
servant, and have not travelled over three-quarters of the globe without
learning that it is possible to dispense with a valet."
"As to being rich enough," observed Mr. Templeton, with a calculating
air, "seven hundred and ninety-five pounds ten shillings a year will
allow a man to keep two servants, if he pleases; but I am glad to find
you economical at all events. We meet to-morrow, then, at six o'clock."
"/Au revoir/--I mean, God bless you.
"Tiresome old gentleman that," muttered Ferrers, "and not so cordial as
formerly; perhaps his wife is /enceinte/, and he is going to do me the
injustice of having another heir. I must look to this; for without
riches, I had better go back and live /au cinquieme/ at Paris."
With this conclusion, Lumley quickened his pace, and soon arrived at
Seamore Place. In a few moments more he was in the library well stored
with books, and decorated with marble busts and images from the studios
of Canova and Thorwaldsen.
"My master, sir, will be down immediately," said the servant who
admitted him; and Ferrers threw himself on a sofa, and contemplated the
apartment with an air half envious and half cynical.
Presently the door opened, and "My dear Ferrers!" "Well, /mon cher/,
how are you?" were the salutations hastily exchanged.
After the first sentences of inquiry, gratulation, and welcome, had
cleared the way for more general conversation,--"Well, Maltravers," said
Ferrers, "so here we are together again, and after a lapse of so many
years! both older, certainly; and you, I suppose, wiser. At all events,
people think you so; and that's all that's important in the question.
Why, man, you are looking as young as ever, only a little paler and
thinner; but look at me--I am not very /much/ past thirty, and I am
almost an old man; bald at the temples, crows' feet, too, eh! Idleness
ages one damnably."
"Pooh, Lumley, I never saw you look better. And are you really come to
settle in England?"
"Yes, if I can afford it. But at my age, and after having seen so much,
the life of an idle, obscure /garcon/ does not content me. I feel that
the world's opinion, which I used to despise, is growing necessary to
me. I want to be something. What can I be? Don't look alarmed, I
won't rival you. I dare say literary reputation is a fine thing, but I
desire some distinction more substantial and worldly. You know your own
country; give me a map of the roads to Power."
"To Power! Oh, nothing but law, politics, and riches."
"For law I am too old; politics, perhaps, might suit me; but riches, my
dear Ernest--ah, how I long for a good account with my banker!"
"Well, patience and hope. Are you are not a rich uncle's heir?"
"I don't know," said Ferrers, very dolorously; "the old gentleman has
married again, and may have a family."
"Married!--to whom?"
"A widow, I hear; I know nothing more, except that she has a child
already. So you see she has got into a cursed way of having children.
And perhaps, by the time I'm forty, I shall see a whole covey of cherubs
flying away with the great Templeton property!"
"Ha, ha; your despair sharpens your wit, Lumley; but why not take a leaf
out of your uncle's book, and marry yourself?"
"So I will when I can find an heiress. If that is what you meant to
say--it is a more sensible suggestion than any I could have supposed to
come from a man who writes books, especially poetry: and your advice is
not to be despised. For rich I will be; and as the fathers (I don't
mean of the Church, but in Horace) told the rising generation, the first
thing is to resolve to be rich, it is only the second thing to consider
how."
"Meanwhile, Ferrers, you will be my guest."
"I'll dine with you to-day; but to-morrow I am off to Fulham, to be
introduced to my aunt. Can't you fancy her?--grey /gros-de-Naples/
gown: gold chain with an eyeglass; rather fat; two pugs, and a parrot!
'Start not, this is fancy's sketch!' I have not yet seen the
respectable relative with my physical optics. What shall we have for
dinner? Let me choose, you were always a bad caterer." As Ferrers thus
rattled on, Maltravers felt himself growing younger: old times and old
adventures crowded fast upon him; and the two friends spent a most
agreeable day together. It was only the next morning that Maltravers,
in thinking over the various conversations that had passed between them,
was forced reluctantly to acknowledge that the inert selfishness of
Lumley Ferrers seemed now to have hardened into a resolute and
systematic want of principle, which might, perhaps, make him a dangerous
and designing man, if urged by circumstances into action.