PENELOPE:
OR,
LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.
A NOVEL.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR HUNT AND CLARKE,
YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1828.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY C. H. REYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE.
PENELOPE:
OR,
LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.
CHAPTER I.
Lord Spoonbill was not less disappointed than the Countess of
Smatterton, to hear that Penelope was in daily expectation of seeing
her father. Hereditary legislators are sometimes perplexed, and in
the present case the son of the Earl of Smatterton was in a state of
grievous doubt and agitation.
His object in the first instance had been to take Penelope under his
protection, and he supposed that if the correspondence between her
and Robert Darnley could be broken off, there would be very little
difficulty in inducing her to comply with his proposals. For it was
his intention to make a most liberal settlement and to place her in
a very handsome establishment. Living as he had always in splendour,
and enjoying the luxuries and ostentation of wealth, though accustomed
to them from his birth, he thought, that to one educated in such
humble obscurity as Penelope had been, these fascinations would be
irresistible. During the short time that he had been under the same
roof with her, he had seen and observed more of the character of her
mind, and he felt that it was not personal beauty alone that she
possessed, but that her disposition was kind and her temper beautiful;
and therefore he loved her with a much purer regard than ever he had
before entertained for any one of the sex. He loved her so much, in
fact, that he absolutely regretted that her rank in life was not nearer
to his own.
It now also occurred to him, from what he had heard in the autumn,
that it was very probable that Robert Darnley might be in England, and
that through the intervention of Mr Primrose some explanation might
bring the parties together again, and thus his lordship's hopes would
be disappointed and his schemes frustrated. Then there came into his
lordship's mind the thought of the intercepted letters, and with that
thought the fear that a discovery might be made as to the manner in
which, and the person by whom, they had been intercepted. But that fear
was transient, for his lordship confidently said to himself, "It is
absolutely impossible that Nick Muggins should betray me." What could
his lordship be thinking about when he uttered this soliloquy? Did the
Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill think that the principle of honor was
stronger in the mind of Nick Muggins, the Smatterton post-boy, than it
was in his own Right Honorable self? Wherein, did his lordship imagine,
consisted the essential superiority of the high born above the sons of
the peasantry? Did his lordship imagine that the only difference was in
titles and soft white hands? It is not for us to know what lords may
think, it is enough for us to gaze with wonderment on what they do.
Present circumstances and present feelings compelled Lord Spoonbill to
enter into serious deliberation with himself as to what step he should
pursue. He could not for a moment admit the possibility of making an
honorable offer of his hand to the young lady; such a proposal would
have been the death of the Earl of Smatterton. That offer, which his
lordship gravely called the other proposal, required a little more
circumlocution and management; for his lordship was not quite so simple
as not to be aware that, if making the first proposal was condescension
on his part, accepting the latter would be condescension on the part
of the lady. There was required for this purpose a tolerably strong
attachment to his lordship, which might not yet exist in the lady's
mind. And though Lord Spoonbill was not by any means a man of great
understanding or extraordinary penetration, yet in those matters in
which he was most conversant he was not altogether unskilful. In
pursuits of a similar nature to the present, his lordship was by no
means inexpert; but, in the present instance, he knew that the person
in question was gifted with mental powers superior to those which
had belonged to his previous victims, and his own regard for her was
somewhat more tender and respectful.
These considerations on the one hand told his lordship that success
would be endangered by precipitancy, while the fact that Mr Primrose,
in the course of a day or two, would make his appearance, rendered it
necessary that some immediate steps should be taken. It is a great pity
that hereditary legislators, who are born to govern a nation, should
in any case be incapable of legislating for themselves. Such a case
now occurred. Lord Spoonbill thought of calling to his aid the counsel
of a friend. For this purpose he forthwith ordered his horse for a
morning ride; and, after an unmercifully rapid gallop of ten miles, he
dismounted at the door of one of the prettiest little cottages within
twenty miles of London.
This cottage was almost secluded from the sight of the world, but was
yet within reach of life's gaieties and luxuries. Its secludedness was
owing partly to the immensely thick plantations by which it was hidden
from the road, and partly to the narrow and almost imperceptible lane
which led to it. The external appearance of the plantation was rugged
and uncultivated and neglected; and this appearance was, on the part of
the owner and occupier of the place, cunningly intentional. He was a
man who loved seclusion, but who loved the world; but the world which
he loved was not the miscellaneous world of promiscuous humanity; it
was only the world of select and superfastidious fashion, of graceful
gaiety and refined voluptuousness. He loved society not as society, but
as the means of more intense and effective sensual gratification. Our
readers, we trust, will excuse and accompany us if we describe with
very particular minuteness this very singular character. He belonged
not to any class, or tribe, or general description of men; for if he
had, a few words of outline would suffice to state the class to which
he belonged, and imagination or observation might supply the rest. But
he was a perfect unique.
His personal appearance was striking, though not marked by any
decided or obvious singularity. He was tall and well formed, finely
proportioned and of graceful carriage. The top of his head was entirely
and shiningly bald; his complexion was fair, and there was for the most
part a look of good humour and easy gaiety in his countenance; but an
attentive observer might occasionally perceive a transient cloudiness
that looked like disappointment, and there were also visible traces
of slight asperity and symptoms of sneer and contemptuousness. In
his dress he was fastidiously accurate and expensively splendid. He
regarded fashion no farther than as it gave him an opportunity of
exhibiting himself to the greatest possible advantage.
Of the qualities of his mind it is difficult to speak intelligibly.
He was intellectual, though sensual; his reading was remarkably
limited, and his knowledge as remarkably extensive. He had received
the rudiments of his education at Westminster, and had finished his
studies at Cambridge, at which place he had become acquainted with Lord
Spoonbill. But, notwithstanding all the opportunities which had been
afforded him, he had not made what is called progress in literature. He
was perfect in no species of knowledge or science which is derivable
from books. He had learned Greek, Latin, French, Italian and German,
but he was familiar with none of them. He had slightly attended to the
exact sciences, but he had forgotten of them everything but their
existence. He had read ancient and modern history; his recollection
of them was little, but clear, and when he had any occasion to speak
of any of their facts or their philosophies, he generally spoke with
accuracy, and thereby acquired a reputation, which he had no wish or
ambition to acquire, of being a well read man. Few people speak Greek
or Latin, and therefore our gentleman, not being examined, passed
for a scholar. Everybody who pretends to any degree of refinement or
fashion, interslops his own native language with an ungrammatical nasal
blattering, called quoting French; and our gentleman had picked up
enough of that affected trumpery to pass well in the society which he
occasionally frequented. With how small a portion of real literature
and actual knowledge a man may pass muster in society, is only known to
those who love the reputation of scholarship better than its toils.
The gentleman of whom we are speaking was too politic to trouble
himself about politics. His politics, if the theory of such an
indolent one may be called by that name, were Ascendancy politics.
Those are the best subjects who never trouble their heads about
politics: if we were king we should always encourage and patronize such
people. The tame negroes in the West India islands do not trouble their
heads about politics, nor do the subjects of the Emperor of Morocco, or
the King of Persia, for if they did, their heads would soon cease to
trouble them. The people of the United States do trouble their heads,
but the time may come when there may be in that part of the world a
great multitude who will not trouble their heads about politics; it
will then be a much pleasanter thing to be king of America than it
would now. But while we say that our gentleman was indifferent to
politics, and therefore a good subject, we by no means wish it to be
understood that he was a Tory, for Tories do trouble their heads about
politics, and trouble other people's heads too.
This person eschewed partisanship, because it would give him trouble
to belong to a party. His principle was to possess and enjoy animally
every luxury within his reach; but at the same time to avoid those
excesses which are palpably and obviously ruinous to the constitution.
He had made the experiment for very few years, but he began to find
thus early that the experiment was not likely to succeed. For want of
exertion and activity the keenness of his relish had already begun to
abate; and by carefully extracting the bitter ingredients from life's
cup and casting them away, he found that its sweets were sickening and
saturating. Whatever was annoying to mind or body, he endeavoured,
and in most cases successfully, to avoid. But there was gradually and
surely coming upon him the bitterest of all annoyances; that kind of
mental suffering which is only describable in the language of paradox,
and which we will set down for the purpose of giving the purblind
puppies of criticism something to yelp at. He was then beginning to
feel the bitterness of sweetness, the darkness of light, the discord
of harmony, the solitude of society, the weariness of rest, the
deformity of beauty; but he knew not how and from whence this annoyance
was coming upon him. He had felt that sensibility was painful, and he
had suppressed or neutralized it; he avoided the sight or thought of
suffering, for he felt that sympathy with pain was painful. He had not
exercised the powers of his mind, lest that exercise should interfere
with that system of luxurious enjoyment which he had adopted. He had
despised and derided the moral feeling, and had studiously guarded
himself against all reproofs which conscience might administer to him.
But with all this care he experienced feelings far more oppressive than
those against which he guarded.
Now the Right Honorable Lord Spoonbill was also a man of no mental
exertion, but he was a man of no mental power; he also was sensual,
but his was not a deliberate and studied sensuality, it was purely
animal and instinctive. He was an Epicurean, but not an Epicurean
philosopher. At Cambridge he had been acquainted with this Mr
Erpingham, and he had admired the dextrous sophistry by which this
gentleman had proved the worse to be the better cause. Mr Erpingham
had also been proud of the acquaintance with nobility, though Lord
Spoonbill was a younger man than he. And they had become the confidents
and companions of each others profligacies.
In a difficulty therefore of that kind to which we have above alluded,
it is not to be wondered at that his lordship should enter into
consultation, or at least into conversation, concerning the subject
with his good friend Erpingham.
We would not, however, have our readers imagine that Lord Spoonbill was
quite such a ninny as to make it the subject of deliberate consultation
and express enquiry, to learn what he ought to do on the present
occasion; he merely meant to make a call upon his friend, and he was
prompted to make that call by the circumstances in which he was then
placed with regard to Penelope Primrose. His object was to talk the
matter over, and he certainly could not have selected a properer person
to take part in such conversation.
The two friends had not met for some time; the interview was agreeable
therefore to both parties; for they had a great mutual respect for each
other: Lord Spoonbill admired Mr Erpingham's talents, and Mr Erpingham
had a high respect for Lord Spoonbill's title and high connexions.