Upon his couch the veiled Mokanna lay.--The Veiled Prophet.
The autumn sun broke through an apartment in a villa in the
neighbourhood of London, furnished with the most prodigal yet not
tasteless attention to luxury and show, within which, beside a table
strewed with newspapers, letters, and accounts, lay Richard Crauford,
extended carelessly upon a sofa which might almost have contented the
Sybarite who quarrelled with a rose-leaf. At his elbow was a bottle
half emptied and a wineglass just filled. An expression of triumph
and enjoyment was visible upon his handsome but usually inexpressive
countenance.
"Well," said he, taking up a newspaper, "let us read this paragraph
again. What a beautiful sensation it is to see one's name in print.
'We understand that Richard Crauford, Esq., M. P. for ----, is to be
raised to the dignity of the peerage. There does not perhaps exist in
the country a gentleman more universally beloved and esteemed' (mark
that, Dicky Crauford). 'The invariable generosity with which his
immense wealth has been employed, his high professional honour, the
undeviating and consistent integrity of his political career' (ay, to
be sure, it is only your honest fools who are inconsistent: no man can
deviate who has one firm principle, self-interest), 'his manly and
energetic attention to the welfare of religion' (he! he! he!),
'conjoined to a fortune almost incalculable, render this condescension
of our gracious Sovereign no less judicious than deserved! We hear
that the title proposed for the new peer is that of Viscount
Innisdale, which, we believe, was formerly in the noble family of
which Mr. Crauford is a distant branch.'
"He! he! he! Bravo! bravo! Viscount Innisdale, noble family, distant
branch,--the devil I am! What an ignoramus my father was not to know
that! Why, rest his soul, he never knew who his grandfather was; but
the world shall not be equally ignorant of that important point. Let
me see, who shall be Viscount Innisdale's great-grandfather? Well,
well, whoever he is, here's long life to his great-grandson!
'Incalculable fortune!' Ay, ay, I hope at all events it will never be
calculated. But now for my letters. Bah! this wine is a thought too
acid for the cellars of Viscount Innisdale! What, another from Mother
H----! Dark eyes, small mouth, sings like an angel, eighteen! Pish!
I am too old for such follies now: 't is not pretty for Viscount
Innisdale. Humph! Lisbon, seven hundred pounds five shillings and
seven-pence--half-penny, is it, or farthing? I must note that down.
Loan for King of Prussia. Well, must negotiate that to-morrow. Ah,
Hockit, the wine-merchant, pipe of claret in the docks, vintage of
17--. Bravo! all goes smooth for Viscount Innisdale! Pish! from my
damnable wife! What a pill for my lordship! What says she?"
DAWLISH, DEVONSHIRE.
You have not, my dearest Richard, answered my letters for months. I
do not, however, presume to complain of your silence; I know well that
you have a great deal to occupy your time, both in business and
pleasure. But one little line, dear Richard,--one little line, surely
that is not too much now and then. I am most truly sorry to trouble
you again about money; and you must know that I strive to be as saving
as possible; ("Pish--curse the woman; sent her twenty pounds three
months ago!") but I really am so distressed, and the people here are
so pressing; and, at all events, I cannot bear the thought of your
wife being disgraced. Pray, forgive me, Richard, and believe how
painful it is in me to say so much. I know you will answer this! and,
oh, do, do tell me how you are.
Ever your affectionate wife, CAROLINE CRAUFORD.
"Was there ever poor man so plagued? Where's my note book? Mem.--
Send Car. to-morrow 20 pounds to last her the rest of the year. Mem.
--Send Mother H----, 100 pounds. Mem.--Pay Hockit's bill, 830 pounds.
Bless me, what shall I do with Viscountess Innisdale? Now, if I were
not married, I would be son-in-law to a duke. Mem.--Go down to
Dawlish, and see if she won't die soon. Healthy situation, I fear,--
devilish unlucky,--must be changed. Mem.--Swamps in Essex. Who's
that?"
A knock at the door disturbed Mr. Crauford in his meditations. He
started up, hurried the bottle and glass under the sofa, where the
descending drapery completely hid them; and, taking up a newspaper,
said in a gentle tone, "Come in." A small thin man, bowing at every
step, entered.
"Ah! Bradley, is it you, my good fellow?" said Crauford: "glad to see
you,--a fine morning: but what brings you from town so early?"
"Why, sir," answered Mr. Bradley, very obsequiously, "something
unpleasant has--"
"Merciful Heaven!" cried Crauford, blanched into the whiteness of
death, and starting up from the sofa with a violence which frightened
the timid Mr. Bradley to the other end of the room, "the counting-
house, the books,--all safe?"
"Yes, sir, yes, at present, but--"
"But what, man?"
"Why, honoured sir," returned Mr. Bradley, bowing to the ground, "your
partner, Mr. Jessopp, has been very inquisitive about the accounts.
He says Mr. Da Costa, the Spanish merchant, has been insinuating very
unpleasant hints, and that he must have a conversation with you at
your earliest convenience; and when, sir, I ventured to remonstrate
about the unreasonableness of attending to what Mr. Da Costa said, Mr.
Jessopp was quite abusive, and declared that there seemed some very
mysterious communication between you (begging your pardon, sir) and
me, and that he did not know what business I, who had no share in the
firm, had to interfere."
"But," said Crauford, "you were civil to him; did not reply hotly, eh!
my good Bradley?"
"Lord forbid, sir; Lord forbid, that I should not know my place
better, or that I should give an unbecoming word to the partner of my
honoured benefactor. But, sir, if I dare venture to say so, I think
Mr. Jessopp is a little jealous or so of you; he seemed quite in a
passion at the paragraph in the paper about my honoured master's
becoming a lord."
"Right, honest Bradley, right; he is jealous: we must soothe him. Go,
my good fellow, go to him with my compliments, and say that I will be
with him by one. Never fear this business will be easily settled."
And, bowing himself out of the room, Bradley withdrew. Left alone, a
dark cloud gathered over the brow of Mr. Crauford.
"I am on a precipice," thought he; "but if my own brain does not turn
giddy with the prospect, all yet may be safe. Cruel necessity, that
obliged me to admit another into the business, that foiled me of
Mordaunt, and drove me upon this fawning rascal! So, so: I almost
think there is a Providence, now that Mordaunt has grown rich; but
then his wife died; ay, ay, God saved him, but the devil killed her.
[Dieu a puni ce fripon, le diable a noye les autres.--VOLTAIRE:
Candide.] He! he! he! But, seriously, seriously, there is danger in
the very air I breathe! I must away to that envious Jessopp
instantly; but first let me finish the bottle."