The Cavaliers have left the ancient Hall, and the old pictures frown
only upon empty tables. The Marquess immediately gained a seat by Mrs.
Million, and was soon engrossed in deep converse with that illustrious
lady. In one room, the most eminent and exclusive, headed by Mrs. Felix
Lorraine, were now winding through the soothing mazes of a slow waltz,
and now whirling, with all the rapidity of Eastern dervishes, to true
double Wien time. In another saloon, the tedious tactics of quadrilles
commanded the exertions of less civilised beings: here Liberal Snake,
the celebrated political economist, was lecturing to a knot of alarmed
country gentlemen; and there an Italian improvisatore poured forth to an
admiring audience all the dulness of his inspiration. Vivian Grey was
holding an earnest conversation in one of the recesses with Mr.
Stapylton Toad. He had already charmed that worthy by the deep interest
which he took in everything relating to elections and the House of
Commons, and now they were hard at work on the Corn Laws. Although they
agreed upon the main points, and Vivian’s ideas upon this important
subject had, of course, been adopted after studying Mr. Toad’s “most
luminous and convincing pamphlet,” still there were a few minor points
on which Vivian “was obliged to confess” that “he did not exactly see
his way.” Mr. Toad was astonished, but argumentative, and, of course, in
due time, had made a convert of his companion; “a young man,” as he
afterwards remarked to Lord Mounteney, “in whom he knew not which most
to admire, the soundness of his own views, or the candour with which he
treated those of others.” If you wish to win a man’s heart, allow him to
confute you.
“I think, Mr. Grey, you must admit that my definition of labour is the
correct one?” said Mr. Toad, looking earnestly in Vivian’s face, his
finger just presuming to feel a button.
“That exertion of mind or body which is not the involuntary effect of
the influence of natural sensations,” slowly repeated Vivian, as if his
whole soul was concentrated in each monosyllable. “Y-e-s, Mr. Toad, I do
admit it.”
“Then, my dear sir, the rest follows of course,” triumphantly exclaimed
the member; “don’t you see it?”
“Although I admit the correctness of your definition, Mr. Toad, I am not
free to confess that I am ex-act-ly convinced of the soundness of your
conclusion,” said Vivian, in a musing mood.
“But, my dear sir, I am surprised that you don’t see that--”
“Stop, Mr. Toad,” eagerly exclaimed Vivian; “I see my error. I
misconceived your meaning: you are right, sir; your definition
is correct.”
“I was confident that I should convince you, Mr. Grey.”
“This conversation, I assure you, Mr. Toad, has been to me a peculiarly
satisfactory one. Indeed, sir, I have long wished to have the honour of
making your acquaintance. When but a boy, I remember, at my father’s
table, the late Marquess of Almack’s--”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“One of the ablest men, Mr. Toad, after all, that this country ever
produced.”
“Oh, poor dear man!”
“I remember his observing to a friend of mine, who was at that time
desirous of getting into the House: ‘Hargrave,’ said his Lordship, ‘if
you want any information upon points of practical politics;’ that was
his phrase; you remember, Mr. Toad, that his Lordship was peculiar in
his phrases?”
“Oh! yes, poor dear man; but you were observing, Mr. Grey--”
“Ay, ay! ‘If you want any information,’ said his Lordship, ‘on such
points, there is only one man in the kingdom whom you should consult,
and he is one of the soundest heads I know, and that is Stapylton Toad,
the member for Mounteney;’ you know you were in for Mounteney then,
Mr. Toad.”
“I was, and accepted the Chilterns to make room for Augustus Clay,
Ernest Clay’s brother, who was so involved, that the only way to keep
him out of the House of Correction was to get him into the House of
Commons. But the Marquess said so, eh?”
“Ay, and much more, which I scarcely can remember;” and then followed a
long dissertation on the character of the noble statesman, and his views
as to the agricultural interest, and the importance of the agricultural
interest; and then a delicate hint was thrown out as to “how delightful
it would be to write a pamphlet together” on this mighty agricultural
interest; and then came a panegyric on the character of country
gentlemen, and English yeomen, and the importance of keeping up the old
English spirit in the peasantry, &c. &c. &c. &c.; and then, when Vivian
had led Mr. Toad to deliver a splendid and patriotic oration on this
point, he “just remembered (quite apropos to the sentiments which Mr.
Toad had just delivered, and which, he did not hesitate to say, ‘did
equal honour to his head and heart’) that there was a little point,
which, if it was not trespassing too much on Mr. Toad’s attention, he
would just submit to him;” and then he mentioned poor John Conyers’
case, although “he felt convinced, from Mr. Toad’s well-known benevolent
character, that it was quite unnecessary for him to do so, as he felt
assured that it would be remedied immediately it fell under his
cognisance; but then Mr. Toad had really so much business to transact,
that perhaps these slight matters might occasionally not be submitted to
him,” &c. &c. &c.
What could Stapylton Toad do but, after a little amiable grumbling about
“bad system and bad precedent,” promise everything that Vivian
Grey required?
“Mr. Vivian Grey,” said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, “I cannot understand why
you have been talking to Mr. Toad so long. Will you waltz?”
Before Vivian could answer, a tittering, so audible that it might almost
be termed a shout, burst forth from the whole room. Cynthia Courtown had
stolen behind Lord Alhambra, as he was sitting on an ottoman a la
Turque, and had folded a cashmere shawl round his head with a most
Oriental tie. His Lordship, who, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was
really a very amiable man, bore his blushing honours with a gracious
dignity worthy of a descendant of the Abencerrages. The sensation which
this incident occasioned favoured Vivian’s escape from Mrs. Felix, for
he had not left Mr. Stapylton Toad with any intention of waltzing.
But he had hardly escaped from the waltzers ere he found himself in
danger of being involved in a much more laborious duty; for now he
stumbled on the Political Economist, and he was earnestly requested by
the contending theorists to assume the office of moderator. Emboldened
by his success. Liberal Snake had had the hardihood to attack a
personage of whose character he was not utterly ignorant, but on whom
he was extremely desirous of “making an impression.” This important
person was Sir Christopher Mowbray, who, upon the lecturer presuming to
inform him “what rent was,” damned himself several times from sheer
astonishment at the impudence of the fellow. I don’t wish to be coarse,
but Sir Christopher is a great man, and the sayings of great men,
particularly when they are representative of the sentiment of a species,
should not pass unrecorded.
Sir Christopher Mowbray is member for the county of ----; and member for
the county he intends to be next election, although he is in his
seventy-ninth year, for he can still follow a fox with as plucky a heart
and with as stout a voice as any squire in Christendom. Sir Christopher,
it must be confessed, is rather peculiar in his ideas. His grandson,
Peregrine Mowbray, who is as pert a genius as the applause of a
common-room ever yet spoiled, and as sublime an orator as the cheerings
of the Union ever yet inspired, says “the Baronet is not up to the
nineteenth century;” and perhaps this phrase will give the reader a more
significant idea of Sir Christopher Mowbray than a character as long and
as laboured as the most perfect of my Lord Clarendon’s. The truth is,
the good Baronet had no idea of “liberal principles,” or anything else
of that school. His most peculiar characteristic is a singular habit
which he has got of styling political economists French Smugglers.
Nobody has ever yet succeeded in extracting a reason from him for this
singular appellation, and even if you angle with the most exquisite
skill for the desired definition, Sir Christopher immediately salutes
you with a volley of oaths, and damns French wines, Bible Societies, and
Mr. Huskisson. Sir Christopher for half a century has supported in the
senate, with equal sedulousness and silence, the constitution and the
corn laws; he is perfectly aware of “the present perilous state of the
country,” and watches with great interest all “the plans and plots” of
this enlightened age. The only thing which he does not exactly
comprehend is the London University. This affair really puzzles the
worthy gentleman, who could as easily fancy a county member not being a
freeholder as an university not being at Oxford or Cambridge. Indeed to
this hour the old gentleman believes that the whole business is “a
hoax;” and if you tell him that, far from the plan partaking of the
visionary nature he conceives, there are actually four acres of very
valuable land purchased near White Conduit House for the erection, and
that there is little apprehension that, in the course of a century, the
wooden poles which are now stuck about the ground will not be as fair
and flourishing as the most leafy bowers of New College Gardens, the old
gentleman looks up to heaven, as if determined not to be taken in, and
leaning back in his chair, sends forth a sceptical and smiling “No! no!
no! that won’t do.”
Vivian extricated himself with as much grace as possible from the toils
of the Economist, and indeed, like a skilful general, turned this little
rencontre to account in accomplishing the very end for the attainment of
which he had declined waltzing with Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
“My dear Lord,” said Vivian, addressing the Marquess, who was still by
the side of Mrs. Million, “I am going to commit a most ungallant act;
but you great men must pay a tax for your dignity. I am going to disturb
you. You are wanted by half the county! What could possibly induce you
ever to allow a Political Economist to enter Château Desir? There are.
at least, three baronets and four squires in despair, writhing under the
tortures of Liberal Snake. They have deputed me to request your
assistance, to save them from being defeated in the presence of half
their tenantry; and I think, my Lord,” said Vivian, with a serious
voice, “if you could possibly contrive to interfere, it would be
desirable. That lecturing knave never knows when to stop, and he is
actually insulting men before whom, after all, he ought not to dare open
his lips. I see that your Lordship is naturally not very much inclined
to quit your present occupation, in order to act moderator to a set of
brawlers; but come, you shall not be quite sacrificed to the county. I
will give up the waltz in which I was engaged, and keep your seat until
your return.”
The Marquess, who was always “keeping up county influence,” was very
shocked at the obstreperous conduct of Liberal Snake. Indeed he had
viewed the arrival of this worthy with no smiling countenance, but what
could he say, as he came in the suit of Lord Pert, who was writing, with
the lecturer’s assistance, a little pamphlet on the Currency?
Apologising to Mrs. Million, and promising to return as soon as possible
and lead her to the music-room, the Marquess retired, with the
determination of annihilating one of the stoutest members of the
Political Economy Club.
Vivian began by apologising to Mrs. Million for disturbing her progress
to the Hall by his sudden arrival before dinner; and then for a quarter
of an hour poured forth the usual quantity of piquant anecdotes and
insidious compliments. Mrs. Million found Vivian’s conversation no
disagreeable relief to the pompous prosiness of his predecessor.
And now, having succeeded in commanding Mrs. Million’s attention by that
general art of pleasing which was for all the world, and which was, of
course, formed upon his general experience of human nature, Vivian began
to make his advances to Mrs. Million’s feelings by a particular art of
pleasing; that is, an art which was for the particular person alone whom
he was at any time addressing, and which was founded on his particular
knowledge of that person’s character.
“How beautiful the old Hall looked to-day! It is a scene which can only
be met with in ancient families.”
“Ah! there is nothing like old families!” remarked Mrs. Million, with
all the awkward feelings of a parvenue.
“Do you think so?” said Vivian; “I once thought so myself, but I confess
that my opinion is greatly changed. After all, what is noble blood? My
eye is now resting on a crowd of nobles; and yet, being among them, do
we treat them in a manner differing in any way from that which we should
employ to individuals of a lower caste who were equally uninteresting?”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Million.
“The height of the ambition of the less exalted ranks is to be noble,
because they conceive to be noble implies to be superior; associating in
their minds, as they always do, a pre-eminence over their equals. But to
be noble among nobles, where is the pre-eminence?”
“Where indeed?” said Mrs. Million; and she thought of herself, sitting
the most considered personage in this grand castle, and yet with
sufficiently base blood flowing in her veins.
“And thus, in the highest circles,” continued Vivian, “a man is of
course not valued because he is a Marquess or a Duke; but because he is
a great warrior, or a great statesman, or very fashionable, or very
witty. In all classes but the highest, a peer, however unbefriended by
nature or by fortune, becomes a man of a certain rate of consequence;
but to be a person of consequence in the highest class requires
something else besides high blood.”
“I quite agree with you in your sentiments, Mr. Grey. Now what
character or what situation in life would you choose, if you had the
power of making your choice?”
“That is really a most metaphysical question. As is the custom of all
young men, I have sometimes, in my reveries, imagined what I conceived
to be a lot of pure happiness: and yet Mrs. Million will perhaps be
astonished that I was neither to be nobly born nor to acquire nobility,
that I was not to be a statesman, or a poet, or a warrior, or a
merchant, nor indeed any profession, not even a professional dandy.”
“Oh! love in a cottage, I suppose,” interrupted Mrs. Million.
“Neither love in a cottage, nor science in a cell.”
“Oh! pray tell me what it is.”
“What it is? Oh! Lord Mayor of London, I suppose; that is the only
situation which answers to my oracular description.”
“Then you have been joking all this time!”
“Not at all. Come then, let us imagine this perfect lot. In the first
place, I would be born in the middle classes of society, or even lower,
because I would wish my character to be impartially developed. I would
be born to no hereditary prejudices, no hereditary passions. My course
in life should not be carved out by the example of a grandfather, nor my
ideas modelled to a preconceived system of family perfection. Do you
like my first principle, Mrs. Million?”
“I must hear everything before I give an opinion.”
“When, therefore, my mind was formed, I would wish to become the
proprietor of a princely fortune.”
“Yes!” eagerly exclaimed Mrs. Million.
“And now would come the moral singularity of my fate. If I had gained
this fortune by commerce, or in any other similar mode, my disposition,
before the creation of this fortune, would naturally have been formed,
and been permanently developed; and my mind would have been similarly
affected, had I succeeded to some ducal father; for I should then, in
all probability, have inherited some family line of conduct, both moral
and political. But under the circumstances I have imagined, the result
would be far different. I should then be in the singular situation of
possessing, at the same time, unbounded wealth, and the whole powers and
natural feelings of my mind unoppressed and unshackled. Oh! how splendid
would be my career! I would not allow the change in my condition to
exercise any influence on my natural disposition. I would experience
the same passions and be subject to the same feelings, only they should
be exercised and influential in a wider sphere. Then would be seen the
influence of great wealth, directed by a disposition similar to that of
the generality of men, inasmuch as it had been formed like that of the
generality of men; and consequently, one much better acquainted with
their feelings, their habits, and their wishes. Such a lot would indeed
be princely! Such a lot would infallibly ensure the affection and
respect of the great majority of mankind; and, supported by them, what
should I care if I were misunderstood by a few fools and abused by a
few knaves?”
Here came the Marquess to lead the lady to the concert. As she quitted
her seat, a smile, beaming with graciousness, rewarded her youthful
companion. “Ah!” thought Mrs. Million, “I go to the concert, but leave
sweeter music than can possibly meet me there. What is the magic of
these words? It is not flattery; such is not the language of Miss
Gusset! It is not a rifacimento of compliments; such is not the style
with which I am saluted by the Duke of Doze and the Earl of Leatherdale!
Apparently I have heard a young philosopher delivering his sentiments
upon an abstract point in human life; and yet have I not listened to a
brilliant apology for my own character, and a triumphant defence of my
own conduct. Of course it was unintentional; and yet how agreeable to be
unintentionally defended!” So mused Mrs. Million, and she made a
thousand vows not to let a day pass over without obtaining a pledge from
Vivian Grey to visit her on their return to the metropolis.
Vivian remained in his seat for some time after the departure of his
companion. “On my honour, I have half a mind to desert my embryo faction
and number myself in her gorgeous retinue. Let me see. What part should
I act? her secretary, or her toad-eater, or her physician, or her cook?
or shall I be her page? Methinks I should make a pretty page, and hand
a chased goblet as gracefully as any monkey that ever bent his knee in a
lady’s chamber. Well! at any rate, there is this chance to be kept back,
as the gambler does his last trump, or the cunning fencer his
last ruse.”
He rose to offer his arm to some stray fair one; for crowds were now
hurrying to pineapples and lobster salads: that is to say, supper was
ready in the Long Gallery.
In a moment Vivian’s arm was locked in that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
“Oh, Mr. Grey, I have got a much better ghost story than even that of
the Leyden Professor for you; but I am so wearied with waltzing that I
must tell it you to-morrow. How came you to be so late this morning?
Have you been paying many calls to-day? I quite missed you at dinner. Do
you think Ernest Clay handsome? I dare not repeat what Lady Scrope said
of you! You are an admirer of Lady Julia Knighton, I believe? I do not
much like this plan of supping in the Long Gallery; it is a favourite
locale of mine, and I have no idea of my private promenade being invaded
by the uninteresting presence of trifles and Italian creams. Have you
been telling Mrs. Million that she was very witty?” asked Vivian’s
companion, with a significant look.