“I may speak foolishly, ay, knavishly,
Always carelessly, yet no one thinks it fashion
To poise my breath; for he that laughs and strikes
Is lightly felt, or seldom struck again.”
MARSTON.
Brigland-Abbey was one of those desirable mansions which auctioneers
love to describe, but which are beyond all power of advertising
flattery. It stood on a gradually descending and very extensive sweep
of land; at the back of which rose a dense and ancient forest, and
in front flowed a stream which had been artificially widened into
the semblance of a fair and placid lake. The building was in harmony
with the scenery; graceful, stately, extensive. The architect had
successfully imitated the florid Gothic style of building; and over
the principal entrance was a window of enormous magnitude, and most
brilliant colouring. Through this window the beams of the declining
sun cast on the marble pavement of the great hall a luxuriant mass of
variegated light, forming one of the most magnificent specimens of
internal beauty which any mansion in this kingdom has to boast. This
beautiful estate was the property of Mr. John Martindale, but the
residence of the Hon. Philip Martindale. The elder Martindale had, for
the place of his abode, a fancifully constructed cottage, immediately
opposite to the great gates that opened into the park; and so well
placed was this residence, that it had a most beautiful and imposing
view of the great building. For when Mr. Martindale had finished the
erection of the splendid abbey, it was remarked to him, as it has been
remarked to many others who have built splendid mansions, “Now you
should have another house opposite to this, that you may enjoy the
pleasure of looking at this magnificent pile.”
On this principle the proprietor acted; residing in a dwelling called
the cottage, and giving up the great house to his hopeful cousin. He
found a peculiar pleasure in this whim; for thereby he became master
of the master of the great house; and nothing pleased him more than to
be mistaken for a person of no consequence, and then to be discovered
as the opulent and remarkable Mr. Martindale. Some of his neighbours
used to report that he had a right to a title, but that he would not
prosecute his claim, because he despised titles as mere foolery. These
good people were wrong in their conjecture; but the supposition was not
displeasing to Mr. Martindale.
As we are on the subject, we may as well state here that he was an
old bachelor, of extensive wealth; and that he was third, fourth, or
fifth cousin to a Mr. Martindale, who had recently been created Lord
Martindale, but whose income was not quite equal to his title. Now,
though Mr. Martindale professed a great contempt for titles, the
fact is, that on his remote relative’s obtaining this distinction,
he took more notice of him than ever he had before, and gave very
strong indications that it was his intention to make the Hon. Philip
Martindale his heir. He had established the young gentleman at the
Abbey, tempting his vanity by the offer of a residence far too
magnificent for his means, and too extensive for his establishment.
The young man’s vanity was pleased with this arrangement, for he very
sensibly felt that he was the occupier of the great house; but he
was not so deeply sensible of the fact, that he was quite under the
command of his opulent and humorous relative. He looked forward to the
possession of ample means at the decease of Mr. Martindale; but he
was desirous of supplying his deficiencies, if possible, before that
time. It might, indeed, be imagined that the heir-apparent to a barony,
and the expectant of most ample wealth, might have made his selection
among the daughters of opulence. There were, however, difficulties and
objections. The young gentleman himself was, especially, particular
as to rank and connexion. None of his family had ever been engaged in
or connected with trade, so far as he could ascertain; and most of the
large fortunes which appeared at all accessible, had been the obvious
result of commercial engagement of some kind or other. He might have
had rank; he might have had wealth; but he could not have both.
The occupant of the cottage observed his relative’s vanity, and was
in the habit of mortifying it, even though he was not quite free from
some tincture of the same in his own temperament. He also was not
insensible to the fact, that his honourable cousin was not overstrict
in his morals; but his mode of reproving irregularities did not much
tend to their correction. The old gentleman was not a magistrate, but
was, as far as he thought fit, the dictator of his cousin’s proceedings
in the office of magistrate: not that the transaction alluded to in the
first chapter was with the approbation or even knowledge of the elder
Martindale. Such, however, was the oddity of this gentleman’s humour,
that had Horatio Markham declaimed with what some would have considered
merited severity against the magistrate for his violation of the laws,
he would have been the first to take fire at the insult offered to his
relative. He was unprepared for so much temperance, so much good sense,
and so little common-place. This circumstance, together with the fact
that Markham was of plebeian origin, led Mr. Martindale to invite the
barrister to Brigland, that he might amuse himself with his cousin’s
annoyance and embarrassment.
As Markham was entering the village on the side of the park, he
naturally paused to admire the beauty of the Abbey; and while he was
thus engaged, Mr. Martindale rode up to him, and without any preface of
common-place salutation, called out--
“That is a fine house, Mr. Barrister. I dare say you would rather pay
a visit to an honourable in the Abbey, than to a plain mister in a
cottage.”
Horatio apologised that he had not observed Mr. Martindale; but as he
began to discern his peculiar humour, he replied: “I was certainly
admiring the taste of the architect, and his judgment in selecting so
fine and commanding a situation: the very ground, by its disposition,
seemed to ask for a mansion of no ordinary magnificence.”
“Oh, ho--you understand how to pay compliments. I suppose you did not
know that your humble servant, plain John Martindale, was the designer
and builder of this mansion. Did you never hear the proverb, that fools
build houses, and wise men live in them?”
“Is the occupier of that mansion a wise man, sir?” replied Horatio.
“I cannot say that he is. And so from that you would infer that it was
not a fool who built the house. Well, well, you shall see him soon,
and judge for yourself. I told my honourable relative that I should
insist upon bringing you to the Abbey.”
Horatio Markham bowed, and they entered the cottage. This building was,
in its construction and appearance, almost indescribable. There was no
semblance of arrangement or regularity about it. It was very large,
and at the same time thoroughly inconvenient. Its furniture was in
some points very elegant, and in others mean. While it was in course
of building, Mr. Martindale had changed his mind about the plan of it
fifty times, or more; and in the furnishing, there had been evidently
as much caprice. There was a room called the library; but which that
room was, a stranger would have been puzzled to guess; for not a single
apartment through the whole house was free from books, and in no one
room were the books arranged in any order. There were books upon the
tables, and books upon the chairs, and books on the floors. The very
staircases were not free from them; and whenever a visitor came to
the cottage to spend a day or two, it was an essential part of the
preparation to remove the books from the bed on which they were lying.
Now Mr. Martindale was very particular about his books, and would not
suffer any of his domestics to meddle with them. In his younger days
he had been a reader of books; and when he came to his property, he
began to purchase, and cease to read. It was indeed conjectured by some
that his large property, which came to him from a distant relative, and
in some measure unexpectedly, had, in a degree, disordered his mind.
There might, perhaps, be some foundation for this suspicion; but it is
a fact, that even before his acquisition of great wealth, he had been
remarked for many singularities.
“Now, Mr. Barrister,” said the occupier of the cottage, “what time
would you like to dine? You have villainous late hours in London, I
know. Some of the great folks there don’t dine till to-morrow morning.
If I should ever sport a house in town, and give dinners, I think I
shall send out my cards inviting my company to dinner on Tuesday next,
at one o’clock on Wednesday morning. Will five o’clock be too soon for
you, Mr.?”
“Not at all, sir.” So the business was settled; and then Mr. Martindale
proposed a walk into the town to call upon the clergyman, whom he
designated by the not much admired name of parson.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Denver; will you condescend to dine at the
cottage at five o’clock to-day? In the mean time, let me introduce to
you my friend Mr. Markham, a barrister; who has distinguished himself
by obtaining a very proper verdict against my hopeful young cousin, the
Hon. Philip Martindale.”
Mr. Denver accepted the invitation, politely bowed to Mr. Markham,
and expressed great sorrow at the event which was alluded to by Mr.
Martindale.
“He is a wild youth, Mr. Parson; why don’t you preach to him, and make
him better?” replied Mr. Martindale.--“If I were a parson, I would
take much better care of my parishioners than nine out of ten of you
black-coated gentry. You are afraid of offending great folks. Now,
you would not dare to go up to the Abbey this morning, and tell my
honourable cousin that he ought to be ashamed of himself.--Eh! what say
you, Mr.? Will you take my arm, and walk up to the great house, and set
about rebuking the wicked one?”
Mr. Denver gently smiled, and said: “I fear, sir, that we should not
find Mr. Philip at home this morning.”
“Not find him at home!” exclaimed Mr. Martindale; “why not? Where is he
gone?”
“He left Brigland early this morning in a post-chaise; and the lad who
drove him the first stage saw him take another chaise, and proceed
towards London.”
“What! go to London at this time of year!--Let me know nothing about
it!--What is he gone for?”
“I cannot conjecture,” replied the reverend divine, “what can be Mr.
Philip’s motive for visiting the metropolis at this unusual season.”
“Conjecture!” said Mr. Martindale; “no, I suppose not. But it is so
very odd that he should go in such a violent hurry, and not say a word
to me on the subject.”
In this, the old gentleman was wrong; for it was by no means unusual
for the Hon. Philip Martindale to make an excursion for a day or two
without saying any thing about the matter to his worthy relative. These
excursions were sometimes to Moulsey, and sometimes to Epsom, and
sometimes to Newmarket, and sometimes to St. Mary Axe; and as these
excursions were on a species of business with which the old gentleman
had no sympathy, the young gentleman thought it superfluous to announce
his departure and arrival. A present advantage arising from this
arrangement was, that he enjoyed a greater reputation for steadiness
than he really deserved, though without a knowledge of these matters
his indulgent and opulent relative thought the young man rather too
wild. A future disadvantage, however, was likely to compensate for the
present advantage; for it was next to impossible to carry on this game
without detection, and also very difficult to escape from the vortex.
The knowledge of Philip’s absence without leave discomposed the old
gentleman, and rendered him not very well disposed for the enjoyment of
company; he had, however, the consolation of anticipating the exercise
of a little extra tyranny over his dependent relative, in consequence
of this transgression. It is a truth, and a sad one too, that many
persons, situated as Mr. John Martindale, are not always really sorry
for an opportunity of showing their authority by means of the eloquence
or annoyance of rebuke. Had Philip, by any exertion of his own, or
by any spirit of pride, removed himself from a state of dependence,
it would have been a serious loss to his cousin; and even the very
appearance of an act of independence disturbed the old gentleman, and
rendered him for a considerable time silent and sulky.
Soon after dinner, however, Mr. Martindale recovered his spirits. He
became quite cheerful with the thought that he should make the young
man do penance for his transgression. He was, however, not altogether
at ease, because his curiosity was excited as to the object of the
young gentleman’s excursion. Mr. Denver was unable or unwilling to
satisfy his curiosity; and therefore, without making any apology to
his guests, the old gentleman withdrew from table, and walked up to
the Abbey, with a view of ascertaining, if possible, from some of the
servants, the cause of their master’s sudden absence from home.
When three persons have dined together, and have been talking about
nothing, or next to nothing, and when one of the three withdraws, it
is not very unusual or unnatural that he should form a topic for the
remaining two to discourse upon. This was the case when Mr. Martindale
left the clergyman and the barrister together.
“It is very singular,” said Markham to his companion, “that a man
of such large fortune as Mr. Martindale, should, after building so
splendid a mansion, content himself with residing in such a cottage as
this.”
“So it appears to us, who have no such choice,” replied Mr. Denver;
“but to Mr. Martindale, who is rolling in riches, some other stimulus
is necessary than the mere outward manifestation of wealth; and I dare
say that he enjoys more pleasure from the whim of having a dependent
relative in the great house, than you or I should from dwelling there
ourselves. This I can venture to say, that Philip Martindale has not
received any great addition to his happiness from being placed at the
Abbey. The old gentleman scarcely allows him a maintenance, and is
constantly dictating to him in the merest trifles imaginable.”
“What a miserable existence it must be to live dependent on another’s
caprice!” exclaimed Horatio.
“Not very pleasant, to be sure,” replied the clergyman; “but it is in
expectation of hereafter enjoying an independency; and what else can
the young man do? Lord Martindale, his father, has but very contracted
means, and a large family to provide for. Indeed, I believe that his
lordship himself is, in a great degree, dependent on Mr. Martindale to
keep up the dignity of his rank.”
“And does the old gentleman exercise such authority over Lord
Martindale and the rest of his family, as he does over the young
gentleman who resides at the Abbey?”
“Not quite so much, I believe: he was desirous that his lordship and
family should reside at the Abbey; but Lady Martindale so strongly
objected to the measure, that it was given up; and Mr. Philip, after a
little hesitation, assented to his relative’s proposal to take up his
abode here, though Lady Martindale strongly urged him not to relinquish
his profession.”
“Profession!--what profession? I think I remember that name in the
Temple.”
“Yes, he was at the bar; and I have heard that he was rather
successful, considering the short time that he had practised; but as
soon as his father became a peer, and his wealthy relative offered him
this magnificent seat, he gave up practising, and cut his old friends.”
“Then he has made a very foolish exchange; for the old gentleman, as
you call him, does not seem likely to gratify his heirs by a speedy
departure from this life, and in all probability his domineering habits
will rather increase than diminish as he grows older. But from the
brief which I held yesterday, it seems that Mr. Philip Martindale is a
man of very profligate habits. How does that suit his cousin?”
“Why, yes, the young man is rather gay; and so indeed was the old
gentleman formerly, or his old acquaintance very much belie him. Now,
however, he is occasionally very grave in his way, and frequently gives
his cousin very serious lectures, which are not of much avail; for Mr.
Martindale’s style of reproof is more jesting than rebuking: he says
whatever he thinks; and has the oddest mode of thinking of any man that
I know. He says any thing to any body, and where he is known nobody
heeds him.”
“It struck me yesterday, that there was something very peculiar in the
manner in which Mr. Martindale spoke of his cousin; for the charge
against the young man was of a very disgraceful nature, and I thought
it not very becoming to treat it with any degree of levity.”
“You must make some allowance for the exaggerations of briefs; though
I must acknowledge that Philip Martindale was very much to be blamed.
Old Richard Smith is a very respectable man for his station in life;
and the young woman whom he calls his niece, has always conducted
herself in a very proper and becoming manner. But they will not be
able to remain at Brigland after this event, unless the old gentleman
takes their part very decidedly. I understand that Mr. Philip is very
much mortified at the result of the trial; and you, I hear, sir, are in
very high favour at Brigland, on account of the success of the trial.
The old man says that he is very desirous of thanking you for your
exertions. Even Philip Martindale spoke handsomely of you, though you
were employed against him; and he was disgusted at his own counsel,
whose impertinence, he believes, provoked the jury to their verdict.”
To a much longer speech than this had Horatio Markham given his
attention, when he and the reverend divine were interrupted by the
return of Mr. Martindale in a downright passion. The cause of that
passion we shall narrate in the following chapter.