At the hour of ten, on the following morning, Morley Ernstein sat at
breakfast with his friend Lieberg. He had come thither in haste, but
as his friend's servant was in the room, he had suffered the cup, the
saucer, the plate, the knife and fork, and every usual implement of
breakfast-eating, to be placed, before he touched upon the subject
which had brought him thither at that hour of the morning. As soon as
all was arranged, and Morley had scanned the whole of the beautiful
china upon the table, each piece of which was worth a Jew's eye--as
soon as the young gentleman himself had reached the middle term of his
first cup of coffee--as soon as some very thin broiled ham, and some
excellent caviare, looking like all the black eyes of a harem put
together, had been handed round--as soon, in short, as the servant,
having no pretext for staying longer, had retired from the room,
Morley Ernstein threw an open note across to Colonel Lieberg,
saying--"There, my dear Count, I have taken the liberty of referring
my gallant correspondent to yourself, though I fear it may make you
get up to-morrow an hour or two earlier than usual."
Lieberg read it, and smiled. "That will be exactly as you please,
Ernstein," he replied. "Of course, you are aware that it is not the
least necessary for you to fight that man, unless you like it."
"Oh, I will fight him, certainly!" replied Morley, "as a matter of
course. Having told him I would horsewhip him, or something
equivalent, I will not refuse to fight him, especially as he seems to
have got a friend to stand by him."
"You mean this Captain Stallfed," said Lieberg; "who writes you the
note? The greatest rascal in Europe, my dear Morley, except Neville
himself! the one a common swindler, the other a blackleg, of the very
lowest character. Nevertheless, I think you are very right, for
several reasons. In the first place, every man should do a thing once
or twice in his life, just to get over the novelty of it, and to see
what it is like--a duel, as well as every thing else. In the next
place, having made up your mind to fight somebody, you could not
choose anybody better to fire at than Neville. Whether you hit him or
miss him, your conduct may well be regarded as philanthropical. If you
kill him, the benefit to society at large will be immense; if you miss
him, you restore to him a rag of that reputation which was never
otherwise than in a very tattered condition, and of which there is not
now a scrap left. Then, again, my dear Morley, as you are known to be
a gentleman and a man of honour, and I am known to be a man of the
world, with a tolerable portion of respectability also, your fighting
Neville, with Stallfed for his second, will be considered as the
surest proof that you are resolved to fight anybody and everybody that
asks you, as nothing could justify such a proceeding except that
resolution. This will have the effect of sparing you the chance of
twenty duels in times to come; for, depend upon it, in this brave
world of ours, the reputation of a readiness to fight keeps a man
clear of a thousand petty insults and annoyances. There is one thing,
however, which I very much doubt--namely, that these men will ever
give us the meeting at all."
"That is their affair," answered Morley; "the honour of fighting this
man, I can assure you, Lieberg, is not what I can desire; but, of
course, one must either make up one's mind to meet a man, or set a
great guard upon one's tongue towards him."
"I do not know that there is any 'or' in the question, Ernstein,"
replied Lieberg; "with such a man as this, indeed, there are twenty
alternatives--kicking, horsewhipping, throwing out of the window,
sending him to Marlborough-street. But with any other sort of person,
there is nothing to be done but fighting when he asks you, for a man
of courage and a gentleman."
"I differ with you, Lieberg," said Morley. "I can easily conceive, that
the man who upon principle refuses to fight a person to whom he gave
no reasonable cause for offence, may be both a man of courage and a
gentleman; but the man who chooses to give rein to his tongue against
another man, and then refuses to fight him, can be nothing but a
coward; and, therefore, though this Mr. Neville be a scamp, I will not
baulk him of his humour."
"You will sadly disappoint him," answered Lieberg; "or, depend upon
it, he calculates upon your dislike to meet such a man as he is, and
hopes to make something of it, either as a salve for a sore
reputation, or a plaster for a broken purse. But come, Ernstein, pray
explain to me, if there be no secret in it, how you were brought in
contact with this very reputable personage. You really must have been
making your way in the world."
Morley Ernstein found more difficulty in replying to Lieberg's
question than he anticipated. Between one-and-twenty, and seven or
eight-and-twenty, there is an extraordinary gap, a vaster space, at
least in general, than is to be found betwixt any other two periods of
life, with a similar interval of years. That gap is filled by the
curious thing called experience--a sort of vapour, through which we
see every object under a totally different aspect on the one side of
the space and the other--a smoke, raised from the burning of a great
bonfire, formed partly of certain weeds called hopes, enthusiasms,
confidences, expectations, and partly of certain withered sticks,
round which these weeds were accustomed to cling not ungracefully
--called illusions. To the eyes on the one side of this gap--I mean the
youthful one--a person standing on the other side seems so far off,
that it is scarcely possible for them to reach the hand unto them; and
such was the case with Morley Ernstein and Lieberg. That gap, and
perhaps more, was between them, and Morley was afraid that Lieberg
could not or would not understand him: or, to resume the figure
which I have twisted this way and that--somewhat too often,
perhaps--already, he was afraid of giving up to him any of those
flowering weeds whereof I have spoken--those enthusiasms, hopes, and
confidences--lest he should cast them down and burn them in the
bonfire of experience.
That part of the affair which related to Helen Barham he did not like
to mention to one whose views were formed in a different school from
his own. He knew not what might be Lieberg's comments, what his
inferences, what he might say, what he might suspect; and there is
nothing that a young and high mind shrinks so timidly from as
suspicion; it is the cowardice of a generous heart. As the matter was
to be told, however, for he could not very well avoid it, he spoke
with his wonted candour of the whole affair, related the manner in
which the situation of Helen Barham and her brother had first been
brought to his knowledge, his interview with her, and the subsequent
conversation which he had had with good Mr. Higgins. But the demeanour
of Lieberg was very different from that which he had expected. Not a
smile appeared upon his lip which could have alarmed a heart the most
sensible to ridicule; not a word passed from his tongue which could
shock one feeling in Morley's breast. He listened in perfect silence,
with his eyes bent gravely on the ground, and remained without
answering for some moments after the other had done speaking.
"This is a curious and interesting history," he said, at length; "and
has some of the strangest points in it that I know of. Many men in
London, who practically know as much of its ways as I do, but who
perhaps have not speculated upon them quite so philosophically as I
have, at least, tried to do, would conclude that a story thus told to
a young and inexperienced man of fortune, by a mere 'fence,' as they
call such fellows as Higgins, must be a trumped-up tale for the
purpose of cheating; the woman a loose woman, the boy a swindler, and
the man Neville merely brought in to give greater effect to the scene.
But I know better than this, Morley, and can very well conceive the
whole story to be true. Those who see a great deal of London will
find, if they do but take the trouble to investigate the matter
impartially, that even in the innermost recesses of vice and iniquity,
mingling with all that is wicked and bad in the very hearts of men
given up to various sorts of crime, there are peculiar virtues, good
qualities, bursts of feeling, touches of generosity, and even of
truth, which lie, like the jewels of Golconda, diamonds amongst mud,
or grow, like some of our most beautiful plants, from a soil formed of
filth and corruption. Do not misunderstand me: I do not mean to make
heroes of pickpockets and swindlers, forgers and housebreakers; but I
mean to say, that in the very blackest of them there is some good
point, some virtues carried to a high pitch--some which, perhaps I
might say, are almost peculiar to the hearts of vice. Many a man who
risks his life daily to take the money of another will give his own as
freely as water to one of his fellows in distress. The tenderness, I
have heard, with which some of the most abandoned women in Europe will
nurse a sick friend, is quite extraordinary; and a strong and active
feeling for sorrow and distress of every kind, is, I know, very much
more common amongst ruffians than amongst the pampered men of
pleasure. I can thus very well conceive that this good man, Higgins,
might be touched by compassion for the situation of this poor girl,
and lay out the plan that he says he has done, thinking it the very
best thing for her and for you too, in which, perhaps, he is right."
Lieberg's last words were spoken calmly, deliberately, and
thoughtfully; and not the most learned argumentations in favour of
licentiousness would have been calculated to produce such a
demoralizing effect as the deliberate matter-of-course manner in which
he gave them utterance. It at once, in the very fewest possible words,
and with the least possible shock, placed before the mind of Morley
Ernstein the idea of seducing Helen Barham, and keeping her as a
mistress, in the light of something not at all evil, and perhaps
right; a thing to be considered, simply in regard to its convenience
and expediency, without the slightest reference in the world to the
morality or immorality of the transaction. Morley did not reply, but
remained with his eyes thoughtfully fixed upon the floor, meditating
over what he had just heard, and asking himself, it must be confessed,
whether there is really an absolute right and wrong in such matters,
or not. It is the most dangerous question that youth can ask itself,
not because it is difficult to answer--not because there should be any
doubt or hesitation on the subject. It is because passion not only
raises the voice against reason, but is sure to reiterate the same
demand a thousand times in every life, and often--too often, waits for
no reply.
"You must see your way in the business clearly, Ernstein," continued
his friend, "and make very sure that you are not deceived in the
girl's character; but I am inclined to think with you, that she is
what she appears. However, one or two interviews will easily enable
you to ascertain the fact. Art never yet looked so like nature to
deceive an eye sharpened by doubt and in a reasonable head."
"I shall most likely never see her again," replied Morley, "and
therefore shall have small opportunity of judging."
"Indeed!--and why not?" demanded Lieberg.
"Simply because I think it dangerous," replied Morley. "She is very
beautiful, very graceful, very charming. With such a brother it would
be quite beyond my most romantic ideas to make her my wife; and as to
the other sort of connexion which you speak of, I can conceive a man
being betrayed into it by accident, or rather by a combination of
unfortunate circumstances, but could never dream, for my own part at
least, of sitting down deliberately to plan such a thing. It does not
enter into my scheme of life, Lieberg."
Lieberg laughed.
"I know that I am not without strong passions," continued Morley, "as
well as you do. When I love, it will be vehemently, ardently; and
whatever may be her fortune or station, I will make that woman my wife
if she will become so. It is for this very reason that I do not choose
to run the risk of falling in love with any one that I would not
choose to marry. I shall therefore take care not to visit such
dangerous precincts again."
"Well, if you don't, Ernstein," said Lieberg, "I think I shall."
Morley was mortified. "Perhaps, Lieberg," he replied, "if you do go,
you may not find the opportunity that you expect."
"Nay, nay," answered Lieberg, laughing again; "you have no right to
excite one's compassion for this fair orphan, and then, with a
resolution to abandon her yourself, prevent any other generous man
from showing her his sympathy."
"You mistake me," replied Morley, gravely. "I do not intend to abandon
her myself."
"Why, you said you never intended to see her again!" exclaimed
Lieberg, with surprise.
"I did," replied Morley; "but I intend also, Lieberg, the moment I
quit your house to go to that of my worthy friend, Mr. Hamilton, to
tell him this young lady's story; to beg him, with that prompt
benevolence for which he is famous, to investigate the whole
circumstances, and on my part to do whatever may be necessary to
enable Miss Barham to extricate herself from the situation in which
she is placed. I feel myself lucky in knowing such a man; his years
and character enable him to do what I could not do, and I can trust at
once to his wisdom and to his zealous benevolence."
"You are quite right, Morley," answered Lieberg. "You are acting
generously and well--not perhaps so well for the girl's happiness as
if you had followed the other plan--but at all events, using
self-denial that will do you good, and neither doing yourself nor
making her do anything that is irretrievable. Heaven forbid that I
should interfere for a moment to spoil such a scheme! Every man in
life must calculate which he thinks will procure him the greatest sum
of happiness, keen joys or calm pleasures. One man will argue that the
joys--which undoubtedly are the brighter of the two commodities--are
only followed by those counterbalancing griefs which moralists tell us
of, in consequence of man's subserviency to various foolish prejudices
and unjust regulations in his artificial state of being. Others again
may contend that calm pleasures, though not so brilliant, are more
durable; that they are extended over a greater space; that if a man
obtains many joys and shakes off many griefs by throwing from him the
prejudices of society, on the other hand, the very struggle with those
prejudices is in itself an annoyance equal to the endurance of them
all. I have never calculated the matter very nicely myself, but I
recollect once going to see a fair cousin of mine who, when I went in,
was in the act of giving two of her sons some jelly, or jam, or
something of that kind. The one boy spread it thinly over a large
piece of bread and butter; the other ate it plain all at once; my
cousin, who was a very wise girl as well as a pretty one, let each do
as he liked; and I, who stood by and watched, thought that it was a
good picture and a good lesson of life."
"You mean," said Morley, "that the one boy was the image of the man
who chooses the calmer pleasures spread over the greater space; the
other, the representation of him who gives himself up to the brighter,
but the briefer joys of life?"
"And my cousins's conduct," replied Lieberg, "gave me the lesson of
letting every man do as he likes, and eat his bread and butter as he
pleases. Thus, my dear Morley, I say to you; make up your mind upon
the matter, and do as you think fit, though from all I have seen of
you, I should suspect that there never was a man in this world more
inclined by nature to eat his jam plain."
Morley laughed, and Lieberg added, "At all events, I will not meddle
with your plans. I would not for the world, now I hear that you are
really going to do something to assist the poor girl; my own views
were very indefinite when I spoke of seeing her myself. My general
purpose was merely to free her from her present situation, in whatever
way seemed to me best suited to her own inclinations. However, I leave
the matter in your hands; and now to return to this business of
Neville and Stallfed. When the lesser of the two scoundrels comes to
me, I suppose I am to say that you refuse all apology."
"Except such as can be conveyed by a horsewhip," replied Morley.
"Nay, nay," said Lieberg, "we will not deal in such figures of speech.
I am to name a place and a time of course?"
"The earliest possible," answered Morley. "I do not like such things
hanging over me."
"To-morrow morning then," said Lieberg. "Primrose-hill, half past
five, a pair of my friend Joe's best, with all the improvements, and
we will soon settle Mr. Neville."