The actors are at hand, and by their show
You shall know all that you are like to know.
Midsummer-Night's Dream.
"You know, probably, sir, that my late lord was twice married; by his
first wife he had three children, only one of whom, the youngest,
though now the present earl, survived the first period of infancy.
When Master Francis, as we always called him, in spite of his
accession to the title of viscount, was about six years old, my lady
died, and a year afterwards my lord married again. His second wife
was uncommonly handsome: she was a Miss Talbot (a Catholic), daughter
of Colonel Talbot, and niece to the celebrated beau, Squire Talbot of
Scarsdale Park. Poor lady! they say that she married my lord through
a momentary pique against a former lover. However that may be, she
was a fine, high-spirited creature: very violent in temper, to be
sure, but generous and kind when her passion was over; and however
haughty to her equals charitable and compassionate to the poor."
"She had but one son, Master Clinton. Never, sir, shall I forget the
rejoicings that were made at his birth: for my lord doted on his
second wife, and had disliked his first, whom he had married for her
fortune; and it was therefore natural that he should prefer the child
of the present wife to Master Francis. Ah, it is sad to think how
love can change! Well, sir, my lord seemed literally to be wrapped up
in the infant: he nursed it and fondled it, and hung over it, as if he
had been its mother rather than its father. My lady desired that it
might be christened by one of her family names; and my lord
consenting, it was called Clinton. (The wine is with you, sir! Do
observe that it has not changed colour in the least, notwithstanding
its age.)"
"My lord was fond of a quiet, retired life; indeed, he was a great
scholar, and spent the chief part of his time among his books. Dr.
Latinas, the young gentleman's tutor, said his lordship made Greek
verses better than Dr. Latinas could make English ones, so you may
judge of his learning. But my lady went constantly to town, and was
among the gayest of the gay; nor did she often come down here without
bringing a whole troop of guests. Lord help us, what goings on there
used to be at the great house!--such dancing and music, and dining and
supping, and shooting-parties, fishing-parties, gypsy-parties: you
would have thought all England was merrymaking there."
"But my lord, though he indulged my lady in all her whims and
extravagance, seldom took much share in them himself. He was
constantly occupied with his library and children, nor did he ever
suffer either Master Francis or Master Clinton to mix with the guests.
He kept them very close at their studies, and when the latter was six
years old, I do assure you, sir, he could say his Propria quae maribus
better than I can. (You don't drink, sir.) When Master Francis was
sixteen, and Master Clinton eight, the former was sent abroad on his
travels with a German tutor, and did not return to England for many
years afterwards; meanwhile Master Clinton grew up to the age of
fourteen, increasing in comeliness and goodness. He was very fond of
his studies, much more so than Master Francis had been, and was
astonishingly forward for his years. So my lord loved him better and
better, and would scarcely ever suffer him to be out of his sight."
"When Master Clinton was about the age I mentioned, namely, fourteen,
a gentleman of the name of Sir Clinton Manners became a constant
visitor at the house. Report said that he was always about my lady in
London at Ranelagh, and the ball-rooms and routs, and all the fine
places; and certainly he was scarcely ever from her side in the
pleasure parties at the Park. But my lady said that he was a cousin
of hers, and an old playmate in childhood, and so he was; and
unhappily for her, something more too. My lord, however, shut up in
his library, did not pay any attention to my lady's intimacy with Sir
Clinton; on the contrary, as he was a cousin and friend of hers, his
lordship seemed always happy to see him, and was the only person in
the neighbourhood who had no suspicion of what was going on."
"Oh, sir, it is a melancholy story, and I can scarcely persuade myself
to tell it. (It is really delicious wine this-six-and-twenty years
old last birthday--to say nothing of its age before I bought it.) Ah!
well, sir, the blow came at last like a thunderclap: my lady, finding
disguise was in vain, went off with Sir Clinton. Letters were
discovered which showed that they had corresponded for years; that he
was her lover before marriage; that she, in a momentary passion with
him, had accepted my lord's offer; that she had always repented her
precipitation; and that she had called her son after his name: all
this, and much more, sir, did my lord learn, as it were, at a single
blow."
"He obtained a divorce, and Sir Clinton and my lady went abroad. But
from that time my lord was never the same man. Always proud and
gloomy, he now became intolerably violent and morose. He shut himself
up, saw no company of any description, rarely left the house, and
never the park; and, from being one of the gayest places in the
country, sir, the mansion became as dreary and deserted as if it had
been haunted. (It is for you to begin the second bottle, sir.)"
"But the most extraordinary change in my lord was in his conduct to
Master Clinton: from doting upon him, to a degree that would have
spoilt any temper less sweet than my poor young master's, he took the
most violent aversion to him. From the circumstance of his name, and
the long intimacy existing between my lady and her lover, his lordship
would not believe that Master Clinton was his own child; and indeed I
must confess there seemed good ground for his suspicions. Besides
this, Master Clinton took very much after his mother. He had her
eyes, hair, and beautiful features, so that my lord could never see
him without being reminded of his disgrace; therefore whenever the
poor young gentleman came into his presence, he would drive him out
with oaths and threats which rang through the whole house. He could
not even bear that he should have any attendance or respect from the
servants, for he considered him quite as an alien like, and worse than
a stranger; and his lordship's only delight seemed to consist in
putting upon him every possible indignity and affront. But Master
Clinton was a high-spirited young gentleman; and, after having in vain
endeavoured to soothe my lord by compliance and respect, he at last
utterly avoided his lordship's presence."
"He gave up his studies in a great measure, and wandered about the
park and woods all day and sometimes even half the night; his mother's
conduct and his father's unkindness seemed to prey upon his health and
mind, and at last he grew almost as much altered as my lord. From
being one of the merriest boys possible, full of life and spirits, he
became thoughtful and downcast, his step lost its lightness, and his
eye all the fire which used once quite to warm one's heart when one
looked at it; in short, sir, the sins of the mother were visited as
much upon the child as the husband. (Not the least tawny, sir, you
see, though it is so old!)"
"My lord at first seemed to be glad that he now never saw his son,
but, by degrees, I think he missed the pleasure of venting his spleen
upon him; and so he ordered my young master not to stir out without
his leave, and confined him closer than ever to his studies. (Well,
sir, if it were not for this port I could not get out another
sentence.) There used then to be sad scenes between them: my lord was
a terribly passionate man, and said things sharper than a two-edged
sword, as the psalms express it; and though Master Clinton was one of
the mildest and best-tempered boys imaginable, yet he could not at all
times curb his spirit; and, to my mind, when a man is perpetually
declaring he is not your father, one may now and then be forgiven in
forgetting that you are to behave as his son."
"Things went on in this way sadly enough for about three years and a
half, when Master Clinton was nearly eighteen. One evening, after my
lord had been unusually stormy, Master Clinton's spirit warmed, I
suppose, and, from word to word, the dispute increased, till my lord,
in a furious rage, ordered in the servants, and told them to horsewhip
his son. Imagine, sir, what a disgrace to that noble house! But
there was not one of them who would not rather have cut off his right
hand than laid a finger upon Master Clinton, so greatly was he
beloved; and, at last, my lord summoned his own gentleman, a German,
six feet high, entirely devoted to his lordship, and commanded him,
upon pain of instant dismissal, to make use in his presence of a
horsewhip which he put into his hand."
"The German did not dare refuse, so he approached Master Clinton. The
servants were still in the room, and perhaps they would have been bold
enough to rescue Master Clinton, had there been any need of their
assistance; but he was a tall youth, as bold as a hero, and, when the
German approached, he caught him by the throat, threw him down, and
very nearly strangled him; he then, while my lord was speechless with
rage, left the room, and did not return all night. (What a body it
has, sir--ah!)"
"The next morning I was in a little room adjoining my lord's study,
looking over some papers and maps. His lordship did not know of my
presence, but was sitting alone at breakfast, when Master Clinton
suddenly entered the study; the door leading to my room was ajar, and
I heard all the conversation that ensued."
"My lord asked him very angrily how he had dared absent himself all
night; but Master Clinton, making no reply to this question, said, in
a very calm, loud voice, which I think I hear now, 'My lord, after the
insult you have offered to me, it is perhaps unnecessary to observe
that nothing could induce me to remain under your roof. I come,
therefore, to take my last leave of you.'"
"He paused, and my lord (probably like me, being taken by surprise)
making no reply, he continued, 'You have often told me, my lord, that
I am not your son; if this be possible, so much the more must you
rejoice at the idea of ridding your presence of an intruder.' 'And
how, sir, do you expect to live, except upon my bounty?' exclaimed my
lord. 'You remember,' answered my young master, 'that a humble
dependant of my mother's family, who had been our governess in
childhood, left me at her death the earnings of her life. I believe
they amount to nearly a thousand pounds; I look to your lordship's
honour either for the principal or the yearly interest, as may please
you best: further I ask not from you.' 'And do you think, sir,' cried
my lord, almost screaming with passion, 'that upon that beggarly
pittance you shall go forth to dishonour more than it is yet
dishonoured the name of my ancient house? Do you think, sir, that
that name to which you have no pretension, though the law iniquitously
grants it you, shall be sullied either with trade or robbery? for to
one or the other you must necessarily be driven.' 'I foresaw your
speech, my lord, and am prepared with an answer. Far be it from me to
thrust myself into any family, the head of which thinks proper to
reject me; far be it from me to honour my humble fortunes with a name
which I am as willing as yourself to disown: I purpose, therefore, to
adopt a new one; and, whatever may be my future fate, that name will
screen me both from your remembrance and the world's knowledge. Are
you satisfied now, my lord?'"
"His lordship did not answer for some minutes: at last, he said
sneeringly, 'Go, boy, go! I am delighted to hear you have decided so
well. Leave word with my steward where you wish your clothes to be
sent to you: Heaven forbid I should rob you either of your wardrobe or
your princely fortune. Wardour will transmit to you the latter, even
to the last penny, by the same conveyance as that which is honoured by
the former. And now good-morning, sir; yet stay, and mark my words:
never dare to re-enter my house, or to expect an iota more of fortune
or favour from me. And, hark you, sir: if you dare violate your word;
if you dare, during my life, at least, assume a name which you were
born to sully,--my curse, my deepest, heartiest, eternal curse, be
upon your head in this world and the next!' 'Fear not, my lord: my
word is pledged,' said the young gentleman; and the next moment I
heard his parting step in the hall."
"Sir, my heart was full (your glass is empty!) and my head spun round
as if I were on a precipice: but I was determined my young master
should not go till I had caught another glimpse of his dear face; so I
gently left the room I was in, and, hastening out of the house by a
private entrance, met Master Clinton in the park, not very far from
the spot where I saw you, sir, just now. To my surprise there was no
sign of grief or agitation upon his countenance. I had never seen him
look so proud, or for years so happy."
"'Wardour,' said he, in a gay tone, when he saw me, 'I was going to
your house: my father has at last resolved that I should, like my
brother, commence my travels; and I wish to leave with you the address
of the place to which my clothes, etc., will be sent.'
"I could not contain any longer when I heard this, sir: I burst into
tears, confessed that I had accidentally heard his conversation with
my lord, and besought him not to depart so hastily, and with so small
a fortune; but he shook his head and would not hear me. 'Believe me,
my good Wardour,' said he, 'that since my unhappy mother's flight, I
have never felt so elated or so happy as I do now: one should go
through what I have done, to learn the rapture of independence.' He
then told me to have his luggage sent to him, under his initials of C.
L., at the Golden Fleece, the principal inn in the town of W----,
which, you know, sir, is at the other end of the county, on the road
to London; and then, kindly shaking me by the hand, he broke away from
me: but he turned back before he had got three paces, and said (and
then, for the first time, the pride of his countenance fell, and the
tears stood in his eyes), 'Wardour, do not divulge what you have
heard: put as good a face upon my departure as you can, and let the
blame, if any, fall upon me, not upon your lord; after all he is to be
pitied, not blamed, and I can never forget that he once loved me.' He
did not wait for my answer,--perhaps he did not like to show me how
much he was affected,--but hurried down the park, and I soon lost
sight of him. My lord that very morning sent for me, demanded what
address his son had left, and gave me a letter, enclosing, I suppose,
a bill for my poor young master's fortune, ordering it to be sent with
the clothes immediately."
"Sir, I have never seen or heard aught of the dear gentleman since;
you must forgive me, I cannot help tears, sir--(the wine is with
you)."
"But the mother, the mother!" said Clarence, earnestly; "what became
of her? she died abroad, two years since, did she not?"
"She did, sir," answered the honest steward, refilling his glass.
"They say that she lived very unhappily with Sir Clinton, who did not
marry her; till all of a sudden she disappeared, none knew whither."
Clarence redoubled his attention.
"At last," resumed the steward, "two years ago, a letter came from her
to my lord; she was a nun in some convent (in Italy I think) to which
she had, at the time of her disappearance, secretly retired. The
letter was written on her death-bed, and so affectingly, I suppose,
that even my stern lord was in tears for several days after he
received it. But the principal passage in it was relative to her son:
it assured my lord (for so with his own lips he told me just before he
died, some months ago) that Master Clinton was in truth his son, and
that it was not till she had been tempted many years after her
marriage that she had fallen; she implored my lord to believe this 'on
the word of one for whom earth and earth's objects were no more;'
those were her words."
"Six months ago, when my lord lay on the bed from which he never rose,
he called me to him and said, "Wardour, you have always been the
faithful servant of our house, and warmly attached to my second son;
tell my poor boy, if ever you see him, that I did at last open my eyes
to my error and acknowledge him as my child; tell him that I have
desired his brother (who was then, sir, kneeling by my lord's side),
as he values my blessing, to seek him out and repair the wrong I have
done him; and add that my best comfort in death was the hope of his
forgiveness."
"Did he, did he say that?" exclaimed Clarence, who had been violently
agitated during the latter part of this recital, and now sprang from
his seat. "My father, my father! would that I had borne with thee
more! mine, mine was the fault; from thee should have come the
forgiveness!"
The old steward sat silent and aghast. At that instant his wife
entered, with a message of chiding at the lateness of the hour upon
her lip, but she started back when she saw Clarence's profile, as he
stood leaning against the wall.
"Good heavens!" cried she, "is it, is it,--yes, it is my young master,
my own foster-son!"
Rightly had Clarence conjectured, when he had shunned her presence.
Years had indeed wrought a change in his figure and face;
acquaintance, servant, friend, relation,--the remembrance of his
features had passed from all: but she who had nursed him as an infant
on her lap and fed him from her breast, she who had joined the
devotion of clanship to the fondness of a mother, knew him at a
glance. "Yes," cried he, as he threw himself into her withered and
aged arms, "it is I, the child you reared, come, after many years, to
find too late, when a father is no more, that he had a right to a
father's home."