THE HALF-BROTHERS.
It was about five o’clock in the evening of the second day after the
incidents just related, that the Earl of Ellingham received a note,
the address of which was written in a feigned hand, and with the word
“private” marked in the corner.
The messenger, who left it at the mansion in Pall-mall, had departed
immediately his errand was discharged, and without waiting for any
reply.
Lord Ellingham happened to be alone in the library when the missive was
placed in his hands, and on opening it he recognised the writing of his
half-brother; for the address only was disguised--a precaution adopted
in case the letter should be observed by the ladies before it reached
the hands of the earl.
The contents convoyed a brief intimation that Mr. Hatfield had returned
to London with his son, and that they had put up temporarily at the
Trafalgar Hotel, Spring-gardens, where the presence of the nobleman was
anxiously expected.
Thither the earl accordingly repaired, and a waiter conducted him to
an apartment, in which he was received by his half-brother alone--the
father having deemed it prudent that the son should not be present
while the necessary explanations were being given.
The meeting between the nobleman and Mr. Hatfield was cordial, and even
affectionate: how different from that of the mother and daughter in
Paris, as described in the preceding chapter!
“You have recovered your son, Thomas,” said the earl; “and under any
circumstances I congratulate you. The fact that he has returned to
London with you convinces me that the paternal authority is once more
recognised.”
“Yes--he is here--in an adjacent room, Arthur,” replied Mr. Hatfield.
“I thought it prudent, for many reasons, to send for you privately,
and consult you before I ventured to take him back to his mother’s
presence. Indeed I know not, after all that has occurred, whether you
will permit him to cross your threshold again--whether you can ever
forgive him.”
“He is your son, Thomas, and that is sufficient,” interrupted the
generous, noble-hearted earl. “Whatever he may have done, I promise
to pardon him: however gravely he may have erred, I will yield him my
forgiveness. Nay, more--I will undertake to promise the same for my
wife, who you know is not a woman that harbours rancour.”
“The amiable, the excellent Esther! Oh! no, no--she would not refuse
pardon or sympathy to a living soul!” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield. “And you,
my generous brother--my never-failing friend--how can I sufficiently
thank you for these assurances which you give me, and which so
materially tend to lighten the sorrow that weighs upon my heart! I have
suffered and undergone much during the few days of my absence from
London.”
“But you have recovered your son,” hastily interrupted the
earl, pressing his half-brother’s hand with a fervour that was
indeed consolatory; “and I am sure that, although his errors may
have been great, he has not committed any thing dishonourable.
He may have been self-willed--rebellious against the paternal
authority--ungrateful--unmindful of those who wish him well; he may
have yielded himself up to the wiles of an infamous woman----”
“All that has he assuredly done, Arthur,” said Mr. Hatfield, in a
melancholy tone; “and more still! For, as you yourself suspected on
that day when we made so many distressing discoveries in the library,
he found out who I _was_--who I _am_,--he believed himself to be
my legitimate son--he even raised money by the name of _Viscount
Marston_--he dared to contemplate measures to force me to assume
_your_ title, and claim _your_ estates; and he would have sacrificed
you--me--his mother--the countess--aye, and the amiable, excellent
Frances--he would have sacrificed us all,” added Mr. Hatfield,
profoundly excited, “to his inordinate ambition! Now, my dear Arthur,”
he asked, in a milder and more measured tone--“_now_, can you forgive
my son all this?”
“Yes--and more--ten thousand times more!” ejaculated the earl,
emphatically. “Had he possessed the right to accomplish all he
devised--aye, had he carried out his designs to the very end--even
then, Thomas, would I have forgiven him for your sake.”
“It is a god--an angel who speaks thus; and not a mere human being!”
exclaimed Mr. Hatfield, embracing his half-brother with an enthusiasm
and a fervour amounting almost to a worship. “Oh! why are not all men
like you?--the world would then know not animosity, nor rancour, nor
strife; and earth would be heaven!”
“Thomas, Thomas,” cried the earl, reproachfully, “attach not too much
importance to a feeling on my part which you yourself would show under
similar circumstances! But let us speak of your son. He has erred,
and you have forgiven him--you, his father, who are the most deeply
wounded by his temporary ingratitude, have pardoned him and taken him
again to your heart. Shall not I, then, who look upon him in the light
of a nephew--shall not I, an uncle, forgive and forget what a father
can pardon and obliterate from his memory? Yes--and I will even find
extenuating circumstances in his favour: I will search out and conjure
up excuses for him! Endowed with an enthusiastic disposition--an ardent
longing to render himself conspicuous in the world--a fervid craving to
earn distinction and acquire a proud name,--he paused not to reflect
whether it were well to shine with an adventitious lustre, or to win
for himself and by himself the glory that should encircle his brow. The
splendid career of the Prince of Montoni dazzled--nay, almost blinded
him; and while he contemplated the eminence on which that illustrious
personage stands, he forgot that his Royal Highness obtained not rank
and power by hereditary right, but by his great deeds, his steady
perseverance in the course of rectitude, and his ennobling virtues.
While filled with lofty aspirations, your son suddenly made the
discovery of certain family secrets which appeared to place a title
within his reach. Ah! pardon him if he stretched out his hand to grasp
the visionary coronet,--pardon him, I say--and wonder not if in the
eagerness of his desire to clutch the dreamy bauble, he thrust parents,
relatives, and friends rudely aside.”
“The generosity which prompts you to extenuate his grievous faults
shall not be cooled nor marred by any opposite opinion on my part,”
said Mr. Hatfield. “And, my God! is he not my son?--and have I not
already--yes, already--while we were still in Paris--promised to
forgive him every thing. But when I think of all the misery his insane
ambition would have brought upon you and yours----”
“Oh! the loss of title and wealth would not interfere with my
happiness, Thomas,” interrupted the earl, smiling.
“And that loss you cannot now sustain--no--never, never!” exclaimed Mr.
Hatfield, impetuously; “and I thank God that I am enabled to give you
this assurance! For the papers--the fatal papers--the family documents,
are all burnt--burnt with my own hand, and in the presence of that
young man who dared to take them from the secret recess where you had
deposited them.”
“Ere now you called me generous, Thomas,” said the earl,--“and for the
performance of a common Christian duty--I mean, the forgiveness of
one who has offended and who is penitent. But you, my brother--what
generosity have you not shown towards me,--yes--and for years--long
years;--and now, to crown it all, you have destroyed those evidences
which would make you great at any moment. Oh! as the world’s ambition
goes, and as human hearts are constituted, _your_ generosity outvalues
_mine_ as immeasurably as the boundless Pacific exceeds the stagnant
puddle in the street!”
And, as the earl spoke these words with an enthusiasm and a sincerity
that came from the inmost recesses of his heart, he dashed away a tear.
Then, as if suddenly animated by the same sentiment--a sentiment of
mutual regard, devotion, and admiration,--the half-brothers grasped
each other’s hands; and the pressure was long and fervid--a profound
silence reigning between them the while,--for, men of years and worldly
experience though they were, their souls’ emotions were deeply stirred
and their finest feelings were aroused.
“I have not yet told you all--perhaps scarcely even the worst, relative
to my unfortunate son,” said Mr. Hatfield, after a long pause.
“That vile woman of whom Villiers spoke--that Perdita Slingsby--or
Torrens--or Fitzhardinge--whichever her name may be----”
“Ah! I understand you already,” interrupted the earl, in a tone of deep
commiseration: “the artful creature has inveigled your son into a hasty
marriage. Is it not so?”
“Alas! it is too true, Arthur,” said Mr. Hatfield; and he then
proceeded to narrate to his brother all that had occurred during his
absence from London,--the accident near Greenwich--the adventure
with the officers at Dover--the interview with his son in Paris--the
negotiations with Perdita--and the terms which he had finally settled
with that designing woman.
“Oh! that you had been one day earlier,” exclaimed Lord Ellingham; “and
this odious marriage would not have occurred. It is lamentable indeed,
Thomas--and the more so, in consequence of the hopes that I had founded
on the attachment which until lately existed between Charles and my
daughter.”
“Ah! it is that--it is _that_ which cuts me to the very soul!” cried
Mr. Hatfield, with exceeding bitterness of tone and manner.
“And yet there is hope--there is hope for us yet!” exclaimed the earl,
who, after pacing the room in deep thought for a few minutes, turned
suddenly towards his half-brother.
“Hope do you say?” demanded the latter, his countenance brightening
up--though he could not as yet conjecture, much less perceive the
source whence the gleam of hope could possibly emanate.
“Yes--hope,” repeated the earl emphatically, but sinking his voice
almost to a whisper, as if he were afraid that the very walls should
hear the words he was uttering. “Did not that woman tell you she should
contract _another marriage_----”
“She assuredly intimated as much,” answered Mr. Hatfield; “and by her
words and manner I have no doubt that the intention was uppermost in
her mind.”
“And from the knowledge which we now possess of her character,” added
the earl, “we may rest satisfied that she will not refuse the first
good offer that presents itself. Well, then--on the day that she
contracts another marriage, Charles may consider himself absolved from
the alliance which he so unhappily formed.”
“Ah! I comprehend you, my dear Arthur!” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield, his
heart already feeling lighter. “But the legal tie will still exist,”
he added an instant afterwards, his voice again becoming solemn and
mournful.
“The law is an unnatural--a vile--and a miserable one, which would
for ever exclude either that woman or your son from the portals of
the matrimonial temple!” said the earl, speaking with impassioned
emphasis, though still in a subdued tone, “Charles has discarded
her--and she has consented never more to molest him. Already, then,
are they severed in a moral point of view. But should that woman
contract another marriage--take unto herself another husband--and
thereby prove that her severance from the young man whom she ensnared
and inveigled, is complete,--should she adopt the initiative in that
respect, it would be a despicable fastidiousness and a contemptible
affectation on the part of any one to say to Charles Hatfield, ‘_You
must never know matrimonial happiness: but you must remain in your
present false position, a husband without a wife, for the remainder of
your days!_’ It were inhuman--base--and unnatural thus to address your
son, when once the woman herself shall have ratified by her actions
that compact which her words and her signature have already sanctioned.
Were a father to consult me under such circumstances, and ask my advice
whether he should bestow his daughter on a young man situated as your
son will then be,--my counsel would be entirely in the affirmative.
Can you therefore suppose for a moment that I shall shrink from acting
in accordance with the advice I should assuredly give to another man
who is likewise a father? No--no! If then, in the course of time, this
Perdita shall contract a new marriage,--and if your son manifest, as I
hope and believe he will do, contrition for the past--if his conduct be
such as to afford sure guarantees for the future--and if his attachment
for Frances should revive, as I am certain that hers, poor girl! will
continue unimpaired,--under all these circumstances, Thomas, I should
not consider myself justified in stamping the unhappiness of that pair
by refusing my consent to their union.”
“Most solemnly do I assure you, Arthur,” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield, “that,
as an impartial person, and supposing I were disinterested in the
matter, I should view it precisely in the same light: but I should not
have dared to express those sentiments before you, had you not been the
first to give utterance to them.”
“It is, after all, the mere common-sense aspect of the question,” said
the earl. “A young man is inveigled into a marriage with a woman whom
he looks upon as an angel of purity; and in a few hours he discovers
her to be a demon of pollution. They separate upon positive and written
conditions. The tribunals would take cognizance of the affair, and
grant a legal divorce were they appealed to: but a private arrangement
is deemed preferable to a public scandal. Well, the woman marries
again--and every remaining shadow of claim which she might still have
had upon the individual whom she had entrapped and deluded, ceases at
once. The complete snapping of the bond--the total severance of the
tie, is her own doing. It is true that the law may proclaim the first
marriage to be the only legal one: but morality revolts against such
an unnatural averment. These are my solemn convictions;--and, were I to
ponder upon them for a hundred years, I should not waver one tittle in
my belief.”
“There is more injustice committed by a false morality--more
unhappiness inflicted by a ridiculous fastidiousness, than the world
generally would believe,” observed Mr. Hatfield.
“Yes--and there is another consideration which weighs with me,
Thomas!” exclaimed the earl, turning once more, and now with a smiling
countenance, towards his half-brother. “You have shewn so much
generosity towards me--you have annihilated documents which ninety-nine
men out of a hundred would have prized and availed themselves of--and
you have exhibited so much noble feeling in all your actions respecting
myself and our family honour, that I consider myself bound to effect
the union of my daughter and your son, if it be practicable. This,
then, I propose--that the unfortunate marriage of Charles shall be kept
a profound secret, and that he shall leave England for a short time,
so that active employment may completely and radically wean his mind
from any lingering attachment that he may entertain for the polluted
Perdita. With regard to this latter suggestion I have a project which
I will presently explain to you. Respecting the maintenance of the
secret of his unhappy marriage, I should recommend its propriety even
were there no ulterior considerations of the nature already stated.
For of what avail can it be to distress my wife or yours--much less my
daughter--by a revelation of the sad circumstance? In any case, Frances
would not be permitted to learn that secret; and I should be loth
indeed to afflict Lady Ellingham by the narration of such a history.”
“And you may be wall assured, Arthur,” observed Mr. Hatfield, “that it
would prove no pleasant task for me to inform Lady Georgiana that her
son, by his mad ambition and his fatal misconceptions, had compelled
me to make known to him the fact of his illegitimacy. Neither should
I wish to distress her by unfolding to her the secret of this most
miserable marriage.”
“It is fortunate that we were so guarded with our wives on that morning
when we made such alarming discoveries in the library,” observed Lord
Ellingham: “it is a subject for self-congratulation that we merely
intimated the fact of Charles’s departure that day with an abandoned
woman----”
“Yes--and it was to your prudent representations that I yielded, when I
was about to commit the folly of imparting every thing to my wife,--the
loss of the papers--the certainty that Charles had not only taken
them, but had likewise discovered every thing relating to my own past
life----”
“It was scarcely my advice, Thomas, which prevented you from making all
those revelations to Georgiana,” said the earl: “but it was when----”
“Yes--I remember: it was when we resolved to depart in search of the
fugitive, that I found my wife was so overcome by the first word I
uttered--the word which told her he was gone--that I could not feel it
in my heart to afflict her by farther revelations.”
“You scarcely require to be informed that Villiers and myself each
pursued the road that we respectively took, until we acquired the
certainty that no travellers of the description given had passed that
way; but it was late at night when I returned to London, and Villiers
was an hour or two later still. While we are, however, conversing in
this desultory manner,” said the earl, “we forget that Charles is
waiting for us in another room.”
“And you forget, my dear Arthur,” observed Mr. Hatfield, “that you have
a project respecting him, but which you have not as yet revealed to me.”
“True!” ejaculated Lord Ellingham; “and the explanation can be speedily
given. Yesterday afternoon I received a hastily written note from
the Prince of Montoni, stating the melancholy intelligence that his
illustrious father-in-law, Alberto I., expired after a short illness
twelve days ago. The Prince received the news yesterday morning by
special courier----”
“And he is now Grand Duke of Castelcicala?” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield.
“Yes--he is a sovereign prince,” returned the nobleman,--“and one who
will not only make his people happy, but who, I venture to predict,
will be the means of regenerating Italy. His Sovereign Highness departs
to-morrow for Castelcicala; and, although it be scarcely consistent
with propriety to accost him with a request under such circumstances,
yet I will do so--trusting that the explanations which I shall give,
may excuse the apparent importunity at the present moment.”
“And that request?” said Mr. Hatfield, interrogatively.
“Is that the Grand Duke--for by this proud title must we now denominate
him--will permit Charles to accompany him in the capacity of one of his
_aides-de-camp_. Your son can speak the Italian language as fluently
as his own; and his long residence in Castelcicala will have fitted
him for the situation I propose to procure for him. Moreover, that
aspiring nature--that ardent ambition which has already manifested
itself, will be gratified and will find congenial associations and
emulative stimulants In the career thus opened to him. If his ambition,
in its first strugglings, have unfortunately led him into error, it
was on account of the misconceptions to which he yielded, and the
baleful influence which a designing woman exercised over him: but, with
such a glorious example before him as the illustrious personage into
whose service I propose that he shall enter, and keeping in view such
legitimate aims as that service naturally suggests, I am much deceived
indeed if your son do not prove himself a good, an estimable, and,
perhaps, a great man.”
“Your advice is as excellent as your purpose is generous and kind,”
exclaimed Mr. Hatfield, overjoyed at the prospects thus held out.
“We may now release Charles,” said the earl, “from the suspense which
he is doubtless enduring.”
Mr. Hatfield left the room, and shortly afterwards returned,
accompanied by the young man, whose face was pale and whose looks were
downcast, as he advanced towards the earl.
“My dear Charles,” said the good nobleman, embracing him,--“not a word
relative to the past! All is forgiven--all forgotten, as far as the
memory _can_ forget.”
Charles shed tears, while his heart was agitated with many conflicting
emotions,--gratitude for the assurance thus given to him--joy that
he was so completely pardoned--bitter regret that he should have
ever contemplated aught prejudicial to the interests of the generous
earl--vexation on account of the facility with which he had been led
astray--and shame at the deplorable errors he had committed.
But when he heard the kind, affectionate, and re-assuring language
addressed to him alike by his father and Lord Ellingham,--when he
learnt that the main particulars of his late proceedings were to be
kept a solemn secret in respect to his mother, the countess, and Lady
Frances,--and when he was made acquainted with the project which the
earl had suggested relative to placing him about the person of the idol
of his heroic worship--the new Grand Duke of Castelcicala,--a genial
tide of consolation was poured into his soul; and he felt that the
future might yet teem with bright hopes for him!
But not a word was breathed either by Mr. Hatfield or Lord Ellingham
respecting _that other prospect_ which had evoked so much enlightened
reasoning and such liberal sentiments from the lips of the earl: we
mean the probability of a marriage eventually taking place between the
young man and the beautiful Lady Frances Ellingham.
With the proposal that he should enter the service of the Grand Duke,
Charles was delighted; and the earl promised to visit his Sovereign
Highness early in the morning, at Markham Place, to proffer the request
which he had to make as the necessary preliminary.
The nobleman, Mr. Hatfield, and Charles now repaired to the mansion
in Pall Mall, where the presence of the two latter, especially of the
last-mentioned, caused feelings of joy which we must leave the reader
to imagine.