The morning after, Endymion was emerging from the court-yard of the
Albany, in order to call on Mr. Rodney, who, as he learnt from a casual
remark in a letter from Waldershare, would be in town. The ladies were
left behind for the last week of hunting, but business called Mr. Rodney
home. Waldershare wrote to Endymion in the highest spirits, and more
than once declared that he was the happiest of men. Just as Endymion had
entered Piccadilly, he was stopped by a once familiar face; it was St.
Barbe, who accosted him with great warmth, and as usual began to talk
about himself. “You are surprised to see me,” he said. “It is two years
since we met. Well, I have done wonders; carried all before me. By Jove,
sir, I can walk into a minister’s private room with as much ease as I
were entering the old den. The ambassadors are hand and glove with me.
There are very few things I do not know. I have made the fortune of the
‘Chuck-Farthing,’ trebled its circulation, and invented a new style,
which has put me at the head of all ‘our own correspondents.’ I wish you
were at Paris; I would give you a dinner at the Rocher, which would make
up for all our dinners at that ferocious ruffian, Joe’s. I gave a dinner
the other day to forty of them, all ‘our own correspondents,’ or such
like. Do you know, my dear fellow, when I looked round the room, there
was not a man who had not done his best to crush me; running down my
works or not noticing them, or continually dilating on Gushy as if
the English public would never read anything else. Now, that was
Christian-like of me, was not it? God, sir, if they only had but one
neck, and I had been the Emperor Nero--but, I will not dwell on it; I
hate them. However, it suits me to take the other line at present. I am
all for fraternity and that sort of thing, and give them dinners. There
is a reason why, but there is no time to talk about that now. I shall
want their sweet voices--the hounds! But, my dear fellow, I am truly
glad to see you. Do you know, I always liked you; and how come you to be
in this quarter this fine morning?”
“I live in the Albany,” said Endymion.
“You live in the Albany!” repeated St. Barbe, with an amazed and
perturbed expression. “I knew I could not be a knight of the garter, or
a member of White’s--the only two things an Englishman cannot command;
but I did think I might some day live in the Albany. It was my dream.
And you live there! Gracious! what an unfortunate fellow I am! I do not
see how you can live in the Albany with your salary; I suppose they have
raised you.”
“I have left Somerset House,” said Endymion, “and am now at the Board of
Trade, and am private secretary to Mr. Sidney Wilton.”
“Oh!” said St. Barbe; “then we have friends at court. You may do
something for me, if I only knew what I wanted. They have no decorations
here. Curse this aristocratic country, they want all the honours to
themselves. I should like to be in the Board of Trade, and would make
some sacrifice for it. The proprietors of the ‘Chuck-Farthing’ pay well;
they pay like gentlemen; though, why I say so I do not exactly know, for
no gentleman ever paid me anything. But, if I could be Secretary of the
Board of Trade, or get 1500 pounds a year secure, I would take it; and
I dare say I could get employed on some treaties, as I speak French, and
then I might get knighted.”
“Well, I think you are very well off,” said Endymion; “carrying, as you
say, everything before you. What more can you want?”
“I hate the craft,” said St. Barbe, with an expression of genuine
detestation; “I should like to show them all up before I died. I suppose
it was your sister marrying a lord that got you on in this way. I could
have married a countess myself, but then, to be sure, she was only a
Polish one, and hard up. I never had a sister; I never had any luck in
life at all. I wish I had been a woman. Women are the only people who
get on. A man works all his life, and thinks he has done a wonderful
thing if, with one leg in the grave and no hair on his head, he manages
to get a coronet; and a woman dances at a ball with some young fellow or
other, or sits next to some old fellow at dinner and pretends she
thinks him charming, and he makes her a peeress on the spot. Oh! it is
a disgusting world; it must end in revolution. Now you tell your master,
Mr. Sidney Wilton, that if he wants to strengthen the institutions of
this country, the government should establish an order of merit, and the
press ought to be represented in it. I do not speak only for myself; I
speak for my brethren. Yes, sir, I am not ashamed of my order.”
And so they bade each other farewell.
“Unchanged,” thought Endymion, as he crossed Piccadilly; “the vainest,
the most envious, and the most amusing of men! I wonder what he will do
in life.”
Mr. Rodney was at home, had just finished his breakfast, read his
newspaper, and was about to “go into the City.” His costume was
perfect. Mr. Rodney’s hat seemed always a new one. Endymion was a little
embarrassed by this interview, for he had naturally a kind heart, and
being young, it was still soft. The Rodneys had been truly good to him,
and he was attached to them. Imogene had prepared Mr. Rodney for the
change in Endymion’s life, and Endymion himself had every reason
to believe that in a worldly point of view the matter was entirely
insignificant to his old landlord. Still his visit this morning ratified
a permanent separation from those with whom he had lived for a long
time, and under circumstances of sympathy and family connection
which were touching. He retained Mr. Rodney’s hand for a moment as he
expressed, and almost in faltering tones, his sorrow at their separation
and his hope that their friendly connection might be always cherished.
“That feeling is reciprocal,” said Mr. Rodney. “If only because you were
the son of my revered and right honourable friend, you would always be
esteemed here. But you are esteemed, or, I may say beloved, for your
own sake. We shall be proud to be considered with kindness by you, and I
echo your wish that, though no longer living under the same roof, we
may yet, and even often, meet. But do not say another word about the
inconvenience you are occasioning us. The truth is, that although
wherever we went the son of my revered and right honourable friend would
have always commanded hospitality from us, there are many changes about
to take place in our family which have made us for some time contemplate
leaving Warwick Street. Affairs, especially of late, have gone pretty
well with me in the world,--at least not badly; I have had friends, and
I hope have proved not undeserving of them. I wish Sylvia, too, to
live in an airier situation, near the park, so that she may ride every
morning. Besides, I have a piece of news to communicate to you, which
would materially affect our arrangements. We are going to lose Imogene.”
“Ah! she is going to be married,” said Endymion, blushing.
“She is going to be married,” said Mr. Rodney gravely.
“To Mr. Waldershare?” said Endymion. “He almost said as much to me in a
letter this morning. But I always thought so.”
“No; not to Mr. Waldershare,” said Mr. Rodney.
“Who is the happy man then?” said Endymion, agitated. “I truly call him
so; for I think myself that Imogene is perfection.”
“Imogene is about to be married to the Earl of Beaumaris.”