"Nella strada della Licatia vi è una chiesetta mal fornita, ove suole
annidarsi uno dei romiti girovagi, ed anni sono vi abitava uno di
barba e pelo rosso, che si procacciava il vitto colle spontanee
limosine de' passaggieri, conforme a tutti i suoi antecessori. Teneva
egli un cane addestrato in maniera che ad un cenno quasi
indiscernibile investiva con gran furia i passaggieri, e ad un altro
cenno faceva mille ossequiosi atteggiamenti e giuocarelli."
So said our worthy old friend, the Canon Joseph Recupero, and therein
he afforded an excellent allegory, representing in faint colours the
passions of a violent and irritable man, which, at the lightest sign,
imperceptible in fact to any but his own eyes and to the feelings that
he acts upon, now rise into unprovoked aggression, now sink into
fondling and uncalled-for affection.
Ere Charles Tyrrell had been much more than a month at Oxford, he
received a letter from his father, commanding him imperatively to
return to Harbury Park, without assigning the slightest reason or
motive whatever for the conduct he thus pursued. On first reading
the letter, Charles was inclined--and what young mind is not so
inclined?--to give way to hope; to imagine that the purpose of his
father was, as Mr. Driesen had prognosticated, to propose to him that
union which he desired more than any other thing on earth, to offer to
him voluntarily all that he thought necessary to render him as happy
as he conceived it possible for a human being to be.
But when he came again to examine his father's letter, to weigh the
words and examine the expressions with accuracy, he found that there
was an acerbity, a bitterness, a mysteriousness about the whole
composition, which made him judge that the cloud would bear storm and
tempest rather than genial and refreshing showers.
Some difficulties, of course, arose in regard to his leaving Oxford so
soon after the commencement of the term; but these were speedily
obviated; and merely announcing his obedience beforehand, he set out
for Harbury Park.
We must notice, however, before we touch upon the events which took
place after his return, the circumstances which now surrounded the
society which he had left behind him. Lady Tyrrell had been more
unhappy than ever, and had had more cause for unhappiness; for Sir
Francis Tyrrell not having wished his son to go, and irritated at his
going, had vented a great part of that irritation, which he had not
thought fit to display towards Charles himself, upon those who were
nearest to him during his son's absence.
Lady Tyrrell was, of course, the first that suffered. She herself,
however, could retire to her own bedroom and let the storm blow by.
But the very absence of the person on whom Sir Francis thought that
his anger might be most justly expended, increased his irritation in a
high degree, and kept him in the state of an avalanche ready to
descend, but stayed by some trifling impediment, which only rendered
the accumulation greater.
It unfortunately so happened, also, that no one would give him any
cause for offence; that the servants ran like lightning to obey his
orders; that the horses themselves seemed to be more tractable and
easy under the consciousness of an impending catastrophe; and that Mr.
Driesen, with extraordinary skill and forethought, avoided the
slightest occasion of offence, though he did not fail to launch the
little biting sarcasms which, by showing him constantly prepared to
assail others, tended not a little to guard him from assault.
Through a long life, as we have said, Sir Francis and Mr. Driesen had
never quarrelled; and Sir Francis had generated in himself a sort of
affectionate regard towards Driesen, which, without respect or esteem,
or any of those qualities that seemed requisite to render regard
permanent, had outlived many trials, and rather increased than
diminished. It is true that Mr. Driesen was under some pecuniary
obligations to Sir Francis Tyrrell, and Sir Francis was too generous
in regard to such transactions not to feel that such a circumstance
ought to act as a check and control upon him. This was, indeed, the
only kind of restraint he knew, and it is but justice to point it out,
and to say that, on many occasions, it acted as a barrier, when, had
it not been for that, his wrath might have poured forth upon his
friend as well as upon his wife or son. As very rarely happens,
indeed, the existence of pecuniary obligations had given permanence to
the friendship of two men of very dissimilar characters and of no very
steadfast religious principles.
These causes still existed to prevent anything like a rupture between
Sir Francis Tyrrell and his friend; but in the course of that month a
change had come over Mr. Driesen which was sufficiently remarkable to
attract the attention of Sir Francis himself. He had become gloomy,
melancholy; had not taken pleasure in his books, but been thoughtful
in conversation; had not seemed to view all things in that quiet and
amusing light which he had been accustomed to do. Sir Francis saw that
such was the case; and as he had remarked a similar change in his
friend once before, and had discovered what was the cause, he divined
it easily at present, and said one morning, when they were alone,
"Driesen, you have been speculating, and have been unsuccessful. I see
it in the sharpness of your nose. You'll have to come to me soon, I am
sure, so you had better do so as soon as possible."
Mr. Driesen turned upon his heel, whistling a few bars of a loose
French song, and, without reply, walked out of the room.
"There goes a proud man, who scoff's at pride," muttered Sir Francis
Tyrrell to himself; and feeling himself superior to Mr. Driesen for
the moment, which was pleasant to him, as he did not do so in general,
he too whistled the same air, and proceeded to other matters.
During that month, it is but fair to say--especially when we are
speaking of a person of whom we are not very fond--that Mr. Driesen
laboured assiduously in all the intricate paths which his spirit was
fond of following, to induce Sir Francis Tyrrell to hurry forward
whatever measures he proposed for the purpose of uniting his son
Charles to Lucy Effingham. But whether it was that something had
occurred to open the eyes of Sir Francis himself to the real feelings
of Charles and Lucy towards each other, or whether it was that Mr.
Driesen, with all his skill, suffered his object to be too
perceptible, Sir Francis resisted in a manner which had not been
expected, and, at the end of the month, the matter was no farther
advanced than at the beginning.
Mr. Driesen was somewhat puzzled; and as he had sometimes found it an
excellent plan with Sir Francis Tyrrell to let things alone, and, as
he expressed it, to suffer his caprices to rack themselves clear, he
gave up all allusions to the subject in the end, and, even when Sir
Francis himself approached it, avoided it as much as possible. At the
same time, he went down to the old manor-house as often as he had a
decent excuse for so doing: and one day laughingly said to Sir Francis
Tyrrell, "'Pon my word, I think, if Lucy reaches the liberal age of
one-and-twenty without being married, I shall propose to her myself.
Her fortune would stop many a gap for the time being, and she'd make a
beautiful widow some eight or ten years hence."
"Do you intend to live eight or ten years, Driesen?" said Sir Francis
Tyrrell.
"I'll bet you any money I live longer than you," replied Mr. Driesen.
"What makes you think so?" said Sir Francis, sharply.
"Why," replied Mr. Driesen, "we are like two horses running a race. We
are much about the same age, Tyrrell; six off, eh? much about it in
bone and substance; but you carry weight, Tyrrell, and I don't. You've
a wife, and a son, and an estate, and a bad temper; and I'm wifeless,
childless, penniless, and pleasant; so I'll bet you what you like, as
I said, that I live longer than you. Come, Tyrrell, will you have it
for five thousand cool money, and say done; 'pon my soul, it would be
a great comfort to me, and you might die whenever you liked, for that
matter."
"I won't run you so hard as that, Driesen," replied Sir Francis, with
a grim smile; and almost immediately after a heavy frown gathered upon
his brow, while he added, "I'll tell you what, Driesen, you are likely
to come in for something better than you know of; for, on my soul, as
a gentleman and a man of honour, if what I've heard yesterday and
to-day be true, I'll leave you every farthing that I can leave away,
and cut that undeserving boy as close down as the law will let me."
Mr. Driesen stared, as well he might; for Sir Francis had been, as
usual when his son was absent, particularly affectionate in his
mention of him since Charles had gone to Oxford; and not one single
word had been said up to that moment which could afford, even to his
penetrating sagacity, just cause to imagine that Sir Francis Tyrrell
had discovered any new cause for offence in his son. Rapid was Mr.
Driesen in all his calculations, and one of his modes of proceeding
was instantly to suffer a vivid imagination to produce every possible
and probable cause for any mysterious circumstance which presented
itself, and then to apply to his judgment, seldom found wanting in
accuracy, to select the most probable from all the causes thus
produced.
Thus, in the present instance, he thought, "Charles has been kicking
this young Hargrave at Oxford; he has refused to fight him, according
to my advice; he has written to Lucy Effingham to tell her he is in
love with her, or he has written to his father to tell him the same
thing; or else he has got himself into some devilish scrape by his
fiery temper, which his father, of course, will never forgive, being
so lamblike himself. Well, if the old gentleman do but keep his word
and adhere to his resolution, which he is very likely to do, it will
deliver me from many a difficulty, out of which I don't see my way.
However, I must do my best at present to endeavour to persuade him not
to do the very thing that would be the most beneficial to me; in the
first place, because I really do not want to injure the boy; and in
the next place, because that's the very way to make Sir Francis adhere
to his resolution, if the youth is really in the wrong."
Acting accordingly upon this determination, Mr. Driesen applied
himself, in the first place, to learn from Sir Francis Tyrrell what
was the cause of this sudden fit of indignation with his son. For a
time the baronet was uncommunicative; but, by one means or another,
Driesen wormed out of him the fact that Charles Tyrrell had been
engaged in a duel with young Hargrave, and that the whole business
between him and their fair neighbour at the manor-house was known. Mr.
Driesen, however, could arrive at nothing more; for Sir Francis did
not and would not specify from whom he had received his information.
Nor did he himself feel quite sure of the facts, or to know the
particulars.
His friend, then, in pursuance of his resolution, set hard to work to
convince him that, even taking it for granted that the whole was true
which he had heard, he ought to overlook his son's fault, promote his
marriage, and applaud the duel. In the first place, however, he found
Sir Francis Tyrrell's whole opinions in regard to duelling suddenly,
but not the less completely, changed. He had on former occasions
declared a thousand times that fighting duels was one of the greatest
modern improvements; that it was very true the bravest men of
antiquity knew nothing of such a practice; but he added, it was simply
because such a thing as a gentleman was then uninvented; that the
discovery of that biped required duelling as a natural consequence;
and that it was absolutely necessary, as society was constituted at
present, to have the means of holding more than the mere law over the
heads of personages who might be inclined to forget civility.
Now, however, he was as eager on the contrary side of the question,
and advocated boldly all the adverse arguments. Duelling was the most
stupid and absurd practice that it was possible to conceive. The man
who called another out, as well as the man who received such a call,
was nine times out of ten an arrant coward. The very principle of the
matter was cowardly, as well as absurd; and he had hoped, he said,
that his son would not have shown himself to be so great and
lamentable a fool.
As Sir Francis had never been famous for his consistency, Mr. Driesen
did not attempt to throw in his teeth, otherwise than by a slight
sneer, his former opinions upon the same subject; but in regard to
Lucy Effingham, he pointed out to Sir Francis that he had really no
right to complain of his son falling in love with so beautiful a
person, when he himself had brought them together for the very
purpose.
In answer to this, Sir Francis Tyrrell said, grinning at him all the
time with a degree of spiteful scorn,
"Now you think that a very excellent argument, Driesen, don't you; and
you call yourself a philosopher and a logician. What right have you to
suppose that I am angry with him for falling in love with Lucy
Effingham? I am not angry with him for that, in the least. I think it
quite natural, and what I expected and wished; but what I expected and
wished also was, that my son should make me, in the first instance,
acquainted with his intentions and purpose, and not clandestinely seek
the hand of a person whom he might have obtained openly and
straightforwardly; but openness and straightforwardness are not a part
of his character, sir, to his father at least; and his father will
teach him that he is not to be contemned and made a fool of with
impunity. He shall learn better, whether he likes it or not; and
though the lesson may be a painful one to inflict or to receive, I
shall not hesitate to give it. And now, Driesen, I will tell you
something more," he continued. "Do not let me hear any more of these
arguments, for I know you are reasoning against your own conviction,
by doing which you will nor serve my son at all, and may make an
unpleasant difference towards yourself."
"I wasn't reasoning against my conviction, Tyrrell," said Mr. Driesen,
grinning at him in return; "But I was certainly reasoning against my
own interest, which is what a man seldom does in the world, let me
tell you. However, henceforth I shall hold my tongue upon the subject.
If you choose to leave your money away from your son, I don't see why
I shouldn't have it as well as another; and, to tell you the truth, if
you thought fit to do so, and could manage to die within a rational
time, thirty or forty thousand pounds would be very convenient, as
indeed a less sum would, for that rascal, Swearum, has called in his
mortgage, and threatens to foreclose. He tells me, too, he could
arrest me for interest if he liked, and I rather suspect that he tells
me true."
"He sha'n't do that, Driesen. He sha'n't do that!" replied Sir
Francis, who was, as we have said, a really generous man in regard to
pecuniary matters. "But I will go down directly to the manor," he
continued "and ascertain what truth there is in the news I have heard.
I have sent for the young scoundrel home already, though I dare say he
is by this time expelled from the University for this glorious
beginning of life which he chooses to make."
Mr. Driesen did not reply; for it was evident that, in Sir Francis
Tyrrell's state of mind at the moment, no argument would be effectual.
He saw him, then, take his hat and gloves, and set out for the manor
with the appearance of cool indifference which he usually put on,
taking up a book and stretching his leg over the back of one of the
chairs, as if not one word of any importance had been said during the
morning.
When Sir Francis was fairly out of the house, however, Mr. Driesen
laid down the book, raised himself, and took two or three slow turns
up and down the room, with his head bent forward and his eyes fixed
upon the carpet. Into the exact nature of his thoughts we shall not
inquire. It may be sufficient for us to give some of the broken
sentences in which, as was very common with him, he commented aloud
upon what was passing in his mind.
"Why should I care?" he said; "why should I care? better that I should
have it than any one else; it would put me at ease for the rest of my
life, and deliver me from the vile bondage of debts and embarrassment.
I can use it while I live, and give it back to the boy at my death;
all the better for him, too, not to have so much at first; and I know
the devilish determination of this maddest of a mad family; if he does
not leave it to me, he'll leave it to somebody else. 'Pon my soul,
it's a lucky thing that he can't communicate the disease like a mad
dog by the bite, for he's very well inclined to bite everybody he
meets with. What a rabid race we should have. I shall get myself
bitten some day; but, if ever we come to that, I think he'll meet with
his match. Now he'll tease poor Mrs. Effingham's soul out before he
comes up. I often think it would be a good thing if some of those on
whom he vents his ill-nature were to imitate the worthy man that was
hanged for knocking his great ancestor's brains out with an axe."
Thus reasoned Mr. Driesen with himself; and having at length settled
the whole matter in his own mind, he resumed his book, threw his legs
again over the selfsame chair which had supported them before, and was
still deep in his studies when Sir Francis returned. Mr. Driesen very
evidently heard by his step, and by the manner in which he threw down
the hat he had worn, with an echoing emptiness, among half a dozen
others strewed on a table placed in the hall to receive them, that his
violent mood was anything but diminished. Mr. Driesen, however, took
no notice, but went on with his book; and Sir Francis, after taking a
turn in the room, paused by the table and said, "It's all true,
Driesen, and more."
"Is it?" said Mr. Driesen, and went on reading.
"Come, Driesen, listen to me," exclaimed Sir Francis, "or it may be
worse for you. I have determined that I will do what I said, and put
the will in his hands the first thing I do on his arrival."
"Wait till to-morrow," said Mr. Driesen, looking up. "Wait till
to-morrow, and I'm sure you'll change your mind."
Sir Francis Tyrrell stamped his foot, saying and adding with a
blasphemous oath, "Never, Driesen, never! The boy has not only put no
confidence in his father in regard to a matter where he knew that
father would have promoted his wishes, but has gone and prevailed upon
Mrs. Effingham to be silent about the whole transaction; representing
to her, I am sure, though she does not say so, that Sir Francis
Tyrrell is a weak, unreasonable, foolish, passionate man. Now,
Driesen, you have studied the law; will you draw the will, or will you
not?"
"Oh! I will draw the will," replied Mr. Driesen, "and take my fee too;
and I'll tell you what, Tyrrell, if you intend to make me benefit by
it, you must write it all over in your own hand after I've drawn it,
for, of course, it would be unpleasant to have--"
"Oh, you draw it up, and I will write it over," replied Sir Francis;
"then take that sheet of paper, and now listen."
And he proceeded to dictate a sort of codicil to his former will, by
which he revoked the bequest of everything that he had left to his
son, leaving the entailed estates as bare as possible. He then went
on, and specified in detail what he left to Mr. Driesen. That
gentleman put the whole into legal form as briefly as possible; and
Sir Francis, sitting down, copied the document on a sheet of paper,
tore the other copy into small pieces, and then ringing the bell,
called up a sufficient number of servants as witnesses, with whose
attestation he signed and sealed the paper. As soon as they were gone,
he threw the paper over to Mr. Driesen, saying, "There."
But Mr. Driesen pushed it back again, replying in the same laconic
style, "Keep it yourself; I'll have nothing to do with it."
Sir Francis Tyrrell made no rejoinder, but took it up, opened a drawer
in the library table, put it therein, shut the drawer, locked it, and
left the room, apparently well satisfied with what he had done.
"There's a nice father," said Mr. Driesen when Sir Francis departed;
"a very nice father indeed; I may well thank my stars that I can never
have such a one at my time of life."
But, after grinning for a moment at his own jest, deeper thoughts took
possession of him; and when he remembered all that Sir Francis had
left him by that will, strange and conflicting sensations took
possession of his heart. He had never possessed more than a very
moderate income, and that income he had contrived gradually to
diminish very greatly; but now there was before him the prospect of
possessing not thirty or forty thousand pounds as he had anticipated,
but between six and seven thousand a year.
We shall follow, in regard to his thoughts on this occasion, the same
course that we followed on his meditations when Sir Francis had left
him before, though in the present instance he uttered but one
sentence. That sentence, however, was quite sufficient to show to an
inquiring mind some portion of all that was passing in his thoughts.
He remained standing for many minutes with his hands clasped one over
the other, and at length he said, turning upon his heel to go to his
own room, "'Pon my honour, I do think there is such a thing as a
devil!"