THE ROUE HAS BECOME A VALETUDINARIAN.--NEWS.--A FORTUNETELLER.
Meanwhile the graced Godolphin floated down the sunny tide of his
prosperity. He lived chiefly with a knot of epicurean dalliers with
the time, whom he had selected from the wittiest and the easiest of
the London world. Dictator of theatres--patron of operas--oracle in
music--mirror of entertainments and equipage--to these conditions had
his natural genius and his once dreaming dispositions been bowed at
last! A round of dissipation, however, left him no time for reflection;
and he believed (perhaps he was not altogether wrong) that the best
way to preserve the happy equilibrium of the heart is to blunt its
susceptibilities. As the most uneven shapes, when whirled into rapid and
ceaseless motion, will appear a perfect circle, so, once impelled in
a career that admits no pause, our life loses its uneven angles, and
glides on in smooth and rounded celerity, with false aspects more
symmetrical than the truth.
One day Godolphin visited Saville; who now, old, worn, and fast waning
to the grave, cropped the few flowers on the margin, and jested, but
with sourness, on his own decay. He found the actress (who had also come
to visit the Man of Pleasure) sitting by the window, and rattling
away with her usual vivacity, while she divided her attention with the
labours of knitting a purse.
“Heaven only knows,” said Saville, “what all these times will produce.
I lose my head in the dizzy quickness of events. Fanny, hand me my
snuff-box. Well, I fancy my last hour is not far distant; but I hope, at
least, I shall die a gentleman. I have a great dislike to the thought of
being revolutionised into a roturier. That’s the only kind of revolution
I have any notion about. What do you say to all this, Godolphin? Every
one else is turning politician; young Sunderland whirls his cab down to
the House at four o’clock every day--dines at Bellamy’s on cold beef;
and talks of nothing but that d----d good speech of Sir Robert’s’.
Revolution! faith, the revolution is come already. Revolutions only
change the aspect of society, is it not changed enough within the last
six months? Bah! I suppose you are bit by the mania?”
“Not I! while I live I will abjure the vulgar toil of ambition. Let
others rule or ruin the state;--like the Duc de Lauzun, while the
guillotine is preparing, I will think only of my oysters and my
champagne.”
“A noble creed!” said Fanny, smiling: “let the world go to wreck, and
bring me my biscuit! That’s Godolphin’s motto.”
“It is life’s motto.”
“Yes--a gentleman’s life.”
“Pish! Fanny; no satire from you: you, who are not properly speaking
even a tragic actress! But there is something about your profession
sublimely picturesque in the midst of these noisy brawls. The storms
of nations shake not the stage; you are wrapt in another life; the
atmosphere of poetry girds you. You are like the fairies who lived among
men, visible only at night, and playing their fantastic tricks amidst
the surrounding passions--the sorrow, the crime, the avarice, the love,
the wrath, the luxury, the famine, that belong to the grosser dwellers
of the earth. You are to be envied, Fanny.”
“Not so; I am growing old.”
“Old!” cried Saville: “Ah, talk not of it! Ugh!--Ugh! Curse this cough!
But hang politics; it always brings disagreeable reflections. Glad, my
old pupil,--glad am I to see that you still retain your august contempt
for these foolish strugglers--insects splashing and panting in the vast
stream of events, which they scarcely stir, and in which they scarcely
drop before they are drowned--”
“Or the fishes, their passions, devour them,” said Godolphin.
“News!” cried Saville; “let us have real news; cut all the politics out
of the Times, Fanny, with your scissors, and then read me the rest.”
Fanny obeyed.
“‘Fire in Marylebone!’”
“That’s not news!--skip that.”
“‘Letter from Padieal.’”
“Stuff! What else?”
“Emigration:--‘No fewer than sixty-eight----’”
“Hold! for mercy’s sake! What do I, just going out of the world, care
for people only going out of the country? Here, child, give the paper to
Godolphin; he knows exactly what interests a man of sense.”
“‘Sale of Lord Lysart’s wines----’”
“Capital!” cried Saville: “that’s news--that’s interesting!”
Fanny’s pretty hands returned to their knitting. When the wines had been
discussed, the following paragraph was chanced upon:--
“There is a foolish story going the round of the papers about Lord Grey
and his vision;--the vision is only in the silly heads of the inventors
of the story, and the ghost is, we suppose, the apparition of Old Sarum.
By the way, there is a celebrated fortune-teller, or prophetess, now in
London, making much noise. We conclude the discomfited Tories will next
publish her oracular discourses. She is just arrived in time to predict
the passing of the Reform Bill, without any fear of being proved an
impostor.”
“Ah, by the by,” said Saville, “I hear wonders of this sorceress. She
dreams and divines with the most singular accuracy; and all the old
women of both sexes flock to her in hackney-coaches, making fools of
themselves to-day in order to be wise to-morrow. Have you seen her,
Fanny?”
“Yes,” replied the actress, very gravely; “and, in sober earnest, she
has startled me. Her countenance is so striking, her eyes so wild, and
in her conversation there is so much enthusiasm, that she carries you
away in spite of yourself. Do you believe in astrology, Percy?”
“I almost did once,” said Godolphin, with a half sigh; “but does this
female seer profess to choose astrology in preference to cards? The last
is the more convenient way of tricking the public.”
“Oh, but this is no vulgar fortune-teller, I assure you,” cried Fanny,
quite eagerly: “she dwells much on magnetism; insists on the effect of
your own imagination; discards all outward quackeries; and, in short,
has either discovered a new way of learning the future, or revived
some forgotten trick of deluding the public. Come and see her some day,
Godolphin.”
“No, I don’t like that kind of imposture,” said Godolphin, quickly, and
turning away, he sank into a silent and gloomy reverie.