friend, time and opportunity serving. It was of the highest consequence
to be assured of that. With her upon our side, I had no fear of
eventual peace and harmony, provided measures could be taken for
present difficulties; whilst, without her, every effort would have been
purposeless, and even worse. Nor was this our only gleam of sunshine.
When I returned to Rupert, the glad messenger of good tidings, I found
that another friend had been sent by Providence to the rescue. Amongst
the many high-born and eminent individuals whom the beauty and genius
of Elinor had attracted to the gay habitation of Rupert Sinclair, was
one who enjoyed, in an especial degree, the favour of his sovereign,
and who was intimately connected by ties of blood and friendship with
the commander-in-chief of his majesty's forces. The Earl of Minden had
little to recommend him beyond his influence with the court and the
powers that were. He belonged to an old family, of which he was the
last lineal representative; was master of unbounded wealth, but was
selfish, grasping, and mean to the last degree. He had a small body,
but still smaller mind. Generation after generation, the head of the
family to which he belonged, had held high office in the state, and had
helped to govern the country without genius for statesmanship, or the
ordinary ability of their humble business men. Office came to them as a
matter of right, and custom had induced a people, slow to interfere
with prescription, to regard the Earls of Minden as divinely appointed
rulers, whom it would be sacrilege to depose. By marriage, the Earl of
Minden was connected with the chief families of England: he had
represented his king and country at the principal courts of Europe,
where his magnificence and prodigality--for meanness itself may be
lavish--had gained for him, as a matter of course, inordinate
admiration and regard. Powerful with the ministry--the owner of four
boroughs--the acknowledged friend, and even associate of royalty--what
commoner did not feel honoured by his patronage?--what noble not
gratified by his esteem? Lord Minden had but few of the weaknesses
common to mankind. Proud and self-sufficient, he acknowledged no
supremacy but that of woman. The only graceful infirmity of which his
contemporaries could accuse his lordship, and to which posterity might
point, was the infirmity of the best and bravest--that of a facile
heart in the affairs of love.
Lord Minden, charmed by the bewitching grace of Elinor Sinclair, had,
as it were, gladly resigned himself to its sweet influence. He was
never happier, after what were deemed the fatigues of office, than in
the brilliant assembly which she could summon at her bidding; never so
gay as when listening at her side to the arch sallies which drew
smiles of approval from lips that seldom cared to relax. The
overbearing peer was content to play the humblest part in the scene of
which she was the heroine, and to which she imparted a life and spirit
that were sought in vain elsewhere. The intervention of Lady Railton
had been already superseded by the generosity of one far more
influential. The Earl of Minden himself had taken Rupert under his
all-powerful wing. Not only was the commission restored, but promises
of advancement were made, and the most flattering assurances of
friendship and regard liberally offered. Lady Railton's draft, at her
own request, was applied to the payment of a pressing debt. I
contrived to make her acquainted with the new and incalculable
acquisition that had been made. The information had all the effect I
could desire; her ladyship, dazzled by the brilliancy of the prospect,
and eager to make as much of it as she could, to my great astonishment
sent for me, and actually opened negotiations for an interview between
herself and her so recently discarded son. Oh world! world!
Before these negotiations, however, could lead to any satisfactory
result, a new colour was given to the state of things, by some
incidents of a most disagreeable and painful character. I was sitting
in my room one morning, conning in my mind the most advisable means to
adopt for the presentation of Sinclair at the parental abode, when a
modest knock at my door announced a visitor of humble rank. My request
to "walk in" was timidly responded to by a very old friend, in the
shape of John Humphrys, the valet of Sinclair, and the oldest servant
in his establishment. John had nursed his master on his knee, having
been himself nursed in the house of Lord Railton's father, whose
coachman had acknowledged John for his son. John had never been
married, but he loved his master as faithfully as though he had been
his own child, and had resigned as good a situation as any in the
kingdom to follow the fortunes of the exile, whatever they might be.
With this unbounded reverence for Rupert, Humphrys regarded Rupert's
former instructor in the light of a demigod.
"Ah, John, is it you?" said I. "Step in, old friend, and be seated."
John obeyed awkwardly, twirled his hat about, coughed and hemmed, but
said nothing.
"Well, Humphrys, what news?" I continued, to give him confidence.
Humphrys shook his head despondingly.
I grew alarmed. "Any thing amiss?" I exclaimed. "Mr Sinclair ill,
or"----
"All well--in health, sir," stammered John--"all well there. I--I am
going, sir."
"Going!"
"Yes, sir," said Humphrys in a whisper, and getting up to close the
door. "My heart's broke."
"Don't desert your master now, John," said I encouragingly. "You have
weathered the storm hitherto. Things are mending. Take my word for it,
we shall be in smooth water presently."
Humphrys shook his head again.
"Never, sir!" said he with emphasis, "as sure as my name's John."
"Explain yourself, Humphrys. What is it you have learned?"
"Too much, sir. I can bear it no longer. It is the common talk of the
servants! I would have stayed with him for a crust till death, but I
cannot hear him so spoken of."
"You frighten me. Go on."
"I ask your forgiveness, Mr Wilson," proceeded Humphrys, mumbling on,
"but there are strange things said, and I didn't believe them at
first,--and I was ready to knock the man down that hinted them to
me--and I would have done it,--but I have seen, sir--with my own
eyes--I wish I had been blind!" suddenly and passionately exclaimed
the good fellow, his eyes overflowing with honest tears.
"Man, man!" said I hastily and vexed. "You talk in riddles. What is it
you drive at?"
"Can't you guess, sir?" he answered meaningly.
"Guess?"
"Yes, sir,--Mrs Sinclair!"
"Mrs Sinclair?"
"And Lord Minden."
"Lord Minden! For God sake"--
"Hush, sir!" said John, putting his finger to his lips. "I wouldn't
have any body overhear us for the world. But it's true, it's true, as
I am a living man."
"It is a lie!" I cried--"an infamous and slanderous lie! Some tale of
a discharged and disappointed servant--a base conspiracy to destroy a
good man's character. For shame, John Humphrys--for shame!"
"I don't wonder at you, sir," continued Humphrys. "They were my own
words; and, until I was satisfied with my own eyes of the truth of
what I had heard, I wouldn't have believed an angel from heaven. God
knows, Mr Wilson, it is too true. We have lived to see terrible
things, sir."
I entreated Humphrys to be still more explicit, and he was so. His
communication went to show that the interference of Lord Minden in the
affairs of his master was far from being disinterested, and that the
price to be exacted for the preferment was much too great to make
preferment or even life desirable to Rupert Sinclair. If I was
horrorstruck at this announcement, how shall I describe my feelings
when he further stated, with a serious and touching earnestness, that,
as he hoped for salvation hereafter, he firmly believed that Rupert
Sinclair was a party to his own dishonour. I was about to strike the
fellow to the earth for his audacity; but I reflected for a moment,
and was relieved of a load of oppression. I could have laughed
outright, so overjoyed did I at once become, with the sudden upsetting
of this tremendous fabrication. Sinclair a party to his own dishonour!
Any thing short of that might have found me credulous. That accusation
would have destroyed the unimpeached evidence of saints. I recovered
myself and spoke.
"You are an honest man, John Humphrys," said I, "a good servant, and
faithful, I believe. But go your ways, and let not the wicked impose
upon you more. Your tale is too good by half. Tell your informants,
that, if they look for success, they must be less ambitious: if they
desire to bring conviction to their listeners, they must not prove so
much. And beware"--I proceeded in a more serious tone--"how you give
currency to the slander you have brought to me. You love your master.
Show your fidelity by treating this calumny with the scorn it merits."
"Sir," answered Humphrys, "if I were to be called from this world
to-night, I could not retract the words I have spoken. I have not
hinted to another what, alas! I know to be true. You may be sure I
have no desire to circulate Mr Sinclair's infamy. I shall leave his
service, for with him I can no longer live,--and you will soon learn
whether or not I have uttered the truth. Oh dear! oh dear!" he added,
with a sigh of despair,--"what will the world say?"
I dismissed John Humphrys, and turned to my own affairs. It was
neither prudent nor becoming to listen further to the revelations of
such a person; I would not even permit him to explain to me how he had
arrived at the convictions which no doubt he honestly entertained. It
was sufficient to hear the charges he brought against poor Rupert, to
be convinced that the man was grossly deceived; that he had been
cruelly imposed upon by vicious and vindictive men. But, could I be
otherwise than deeply aggrieved by the rumour which had arisen, and
which was not likely to lose on the lips of those who would be too
eager to give it currency? It was a new and unexpected element in the
complicated misfortunes of Lord Railton's house. _Unexpected?_ What,
Walter Wilson, and had not suspicions crossed your mind before, of the
probability of such slander? Had you not many times angrily repulsed
intruding thoughts that savoured of uncharitableness towards the
volatile and beauteous wife? Had not prejudice before her marriage
rendered you cruel; and experience since--did it not tend, if not to
foster cruelty, to sustain alarm? _But Rupert a party to his own
dishonour!_ Monstrous! Ridiculous! Absurd!
Either the perseverance of Lady Railton, or the magic power of Lord
Minden's name, had achieved a miracle. The stony and stubborn heart of
Lord Railton was mollified. True, he hesitated to forgive his son;
true, he would not see him; but he graciously submitted to be spoken
to on his son's affairs, and even went so far as to admit me to an
audience, in order that I might explain, as well as I knew them, the
difficulties under which Mr Rupert Sinclair at present laboured. The
doors of Lord Railton's house opened wide on the auspicious morning.
The sun shone brilliantly in Grosvenor Square. The porter was a living
smile from head to foot. The under butler all blandness and honied
words. He rubbed his hands when he received me, bowed patronisingly
and preceded me to his lordship's study with the air of one who knew
which way the wind was, and that it was blowing pleasantly. There was
a frozen air about the house when I had visited his lordship
before--now it was summer-like and warm. Then every thing seemed bound
with iron clasps,--men's mouths, and hearts, and minds; and even doors
and windows. Now, every thing looked free and open, pleasant,
hospitable, inviting. Could it be that I had changed,--or was it only
that Lord Railton's note was different, and that the universal heart
of that great house had pitched itself to the prevailing key?
No word of apology was offered for former rudeness. His lordship, as
before, presented me with his finger, and then proceeded to our
business. He had heard, he said, of Lord Minden's kind interference on
behalf of his son, who was indeed most unworthy of his lordship's
favourable notice; nay, he had been spoken to by Lord Minden himself,
and desirous as he was at all times to comply with the wishes of any
member of His Majesty's government, he could not but feel, that when
their wishes pointed to the advancement of his own flesh and blood,
there was additional reason for listening, to all they had to urge.
For his part, if Lord Minden should feel justified in extending his
patronage to Mr Sinclair, he, Lord Railton, on his side, should deem
it a matter of grave consideration, whether it would not be advisable
to extricate the object of Lord Minden's favor from the liabilities
which he had thoughtlessly incurred. Not that Mr Sinclair must look
for pardon--or reconciliation--yet; that is to say, until Lord Minden
should be satisfied that his protégé had deserved the gracious favour
of His Majesty, and had shown himself worthy of the condescension, &c.
&c. &c.
The upshot of the long harangue was, that as soon as Lord Minden
should aid in promoting Sinclair, Lord Railton would be ready to pay
his debts--and to receive terms for peace, provided the patronage of
the commander-in-chief continued to rest upon the fortunate
scapegrace, and His Majesty thought him still a fit object for the
exercise of his royal favour. Translated into honest English, Lord
Railton's proposition was neither more nor less than this,--"I will
forgive my son, as soon as circumstances render my forgiveness not
worth a button to him. I will withhold it so long as it is necessary
to save him from ruin, and to restore him to tranquillity." A right
worldly proposition too!
Lord Railton requested, as a preliminary step, to be informed of the
exact state of his son's affairs; and I, as mediator, undertook to lay
it before his lordship. I quitted the mansion in Grosvenor Square to
procure at once the necessary documents from Sinclair. Approaching the
house of the latter, I perceived standing before the door two horses
and a groom. I advanced, knocked, and was informed that groom and
horses were the property of the Earl of Minden, who was then with Mrs
Sinclair, and that Mr Sinclair himself was from home. I had no right
to feel uncomfortable at this announcement, yet uncomfortable I was,
in spite of myself. "When does Mr Sinclair return?" I asked.
The two lackeys who listened to my question exchanged an almost
imperceptible smile, and replied, that "they could not tell." That
smile passed like a dagger to my heart.
I hesitated for a moment--left my card--and then withdrew.
I had not proceeded to the corner of the street before I turned round
instinctively, and without a thought. To my joy I perceived Rupert
making his way from the other extremity of the street to his own door.
I moved to meet him. He came nearer and nearer--approached within
sight of the horses and groom--and then turned back. What did it mean?
Why did he not go home? I grew giddy with coming apprehensions. Whilst
I stood motionless on the path, I felt a touch upon my shoulder. I
perceived John Humphrys.
"Here, sir," said the man, "you have seen with your own eyes what I
have seen every day for the last month. As soon as Lord Minden
arrives, Mr Sinclair goes out, and never returns until he takes his
departure. If he should by chance return whilst his lordship's horse
is standing there, he walks away, and does not think of coming back
until"----
"It is a lie! a dream!" I exclaimed, almost bewildered. "It cannot
be!"
"I wish to say nothing, sir," proceeded Humphrys. "You have seen, you
have seen!"
"I have! I have!" I cried, coming to myself. "I wash my hands of him
and his. Father of Heaven! can such wickedness exist--and in _him_, in
_him_? But I have done with him for ever!"
And so saying, I fled maniac-like from the accursed spot, and vowed in
my excitement and indignation to return no more. I kept my word.
MORE ROGUES IN OUTLINE.
THE SICK ANTIQUARY.
"Aspettar e non venire,
Star in letto e non dormire.
Son' due cose da morire."
_Italian Proverb._
Three years are passed since we last visited Herr Ascherson, and we
once more find ourselves, with considerably improved tact and
knowledge, both as to virtuosi and virtu, ringing at the well-known
bell! On the door being unbarred to us, we are sorry to hear that he
is now a great invalid, and confined to bed. "I hope we don't disturb
you, Mr Ascherson," said we, as a half-witted slattern of fifty opened
the door of the sick man's room, and discovered to us something
alarmingly like Cheops redivivus, reclining on a Codrus-looking couch,
which was too short to receive his whole body save diagonally, in
which position he accordingly lay. Upon hearing these words, the
much-swathed object suddenly draws itself up in bed; and after looking
keenly to make us out in the dusk, (as if he suspected a visit of
cajoling rather than condolence.) his eye lost its anxious look, and
his features gradually expanded, when he saw at a glance that we were
come, not to cheat, but to cheer him. The first words he uttered
were--"_Ja, ja_; dat is mein nobil freund the Doctor;" and then,
falling back, he resigned himself to his pains, like a man who has
been long trained to suffer. We ask after his health. The poor invalid
shakes his head, and tells us, groaning, that he was "sehr krank, very
ill indeed; had much dolors but no slipp;" apologising also for having
sent for some 10 pi. which we owed him, and which "it was need," so he
told us, "to pay his medicine mit." Really concerned to see one whom
we had so recently known under worldly circumstances so unlike the
present, so suffering, so poor, and so solitary, we told him that we
had been intending to call on him that very day for that very
purpose--observing, by way of consoling his feelings, that it was not
to be expected "that a man who had laid out so much money of the
_present_ currency to procure fine specimens of one that was out of
date, could be quite so well off in ready cash as those whose money
was all in hard coin at their bankers. "_Ja, ja_," it was even so; and
then, his pains remitting for a moment, he proceeded to explain, for
our satisfaction, how he had become so short of the needful supplies.
"Tis three monate seyne mein freund Vinhler went to Paris--(an honest
and heart-good man, Mr Vinhler)--to whom this commission I
consign:--'See you give a careful _eye-blink_ to this 9000 ducats,
which you must take mit you to Paris. There in the house of Furet you
shall _become_ some moneys, which you shall send to me directly; and
mit these ducats you shall also pay their consignment.' Well, it was a
simple _direct_, als any childer might do. So Vinhler takes my money,
gets to Paris, calls and _pays_ Mr Furet, and writes that he will be
back in _Neapoli_ in a week. So I stay! Drei monate I stay, and no Mr
Vinhler come! Then lastly, when I hav begin to _scold myself_, two
days seyne, comes _eine briefe_, and says, 'I hav been stopt here for
three weeks by what I then foresaw not when I did write you lastly. I
am promised to marry Herr Furet's daughter, and we mak the marriage in
eine monate. I am sorry for the delay about your monete, but shall
bring them mit Mrs Vinhler and myself to Neapoli, when we arrive!" So,
while he is happy mit his Julia in Paris, I cannot _become_ my Julias
that I hav bought; and I hav lost much by this man's delay. Ah!
(continued he,) _whenever_ he had felt mein dolors," (the poor man had
now wrought himself up into a painful excitement,) "my no slipp, this
_unendlich_ irritation, this torment to pay the Doctor, for no
gute--my loss of practice, my loss of friends, my physique so bad,
_mein eine samkeit_ so dull--he should surely have sent me that
_cassetta_ of coins to make me a little more gay." Being obliged to
quit Naples suddenly, we left him in the midst of his pains, which had
been wholly unrelieved by our medication; fretting more and more daily
at the non-arrival of his friend; with nobody to _visit_ him but the
needy Leech, who, having asked himself--
"And will my patient _pay_?
And _can_ he swallow draughts until his dying day?"
thinks no further _self_-interrogatory needful; with none to _inquire_
after him, save only the peasants, whose findings he is too ill to
look at, and too poor to purchase; and Death's grim _auctioneer, who
undertakes_ for the district; and who, when he has made the daily
inquiry at his door, not to lose further time, begins to ply his small
hammer, and is tap-tap-tapping away for somebody else, till _wanted_.
Oh! who would change places with a sick antiquary, whose _conscience_,
though he sleeps, is awake to torment him, and whose dreams, if he
dream, are of rifled tombs, profaned temples, Charon and his boat!
"Nocte, brevem si forte indulsit cura soporem,
Et toto versato toro, jam membra quiescunt,
Continuo _templum et violati numinis aras_,
Et quod præcipuis mentem sudoribus urget,
Se _vidit_ in somnis!"
OLD IGNAZIO.
"Oh dear! what can the matter be?
Oh dear! what shall I do?
Nobody coming to Jockey, and
Nobody coming to _Jew_!"