CHAPTER XLVII.
Brave Talbot, we will follow thee.--Henry the Sixth.
"My letter insultingly returned--myself refused admittance; not a
single inquiry made during my illness; indifference joined to positive
contempt. By Heaven, it is insupportable!"
"My dear Clarence," said Talbot to his young friend, who, fretful from
pain and writhing beneath his mortification, walked to and fro his
chamber with an impatient stride; "my dear Clarence, do sit down, and
not irritate your wound by such violent exercise. I am as much
enraged as yourself at the treatment you have received, and no less at
a loss to account for it. Your duel, however unfortunate the event,
must have done you credit, and obtained you a reputation both for
generosity and spirit; so that it cannot be to that occurrence that
you are to attribute the change. Let us rather suppose that Lady
Flora's attachment to you has become evident to her father and mother;
that they naturally think it would be very undesirable to marry their
daughter to a man whose family nobody knows, and whose respectability
he is forced into fighting in order to support. Suffer me then to
call upon Lady Westborough, whom I knew many years ago, and explain
your origin, as well as your relationship to me."
Linden paused irresolutely.
"Were I sure that Lady Flora was not utterly influenced by her
mother's worldly views, I would gladly consent to your proposal, but--
"
"Forgive me, Clarence," cried Talbot; "but you really argue much more
like a very young man than I ever heard you do before,--even four
years ago. To be sure Lady Flora is influenced by her mother's views.
Would you have her otherwise? Would you have her, in defiance of all
propriety, modesty, obedience to her parents, and right feeling for
herself, encourage an attachment to a person not only unknown, but who
does not even condescend to throw off the incognito to the woman he
addresses? Come, Clarence, give me your instructions, and let me act
as your ambassador to-morrow."
Clarence was silent.
"I may consider it settled then," replied Talbot: "meanwhile you shall
come home and stay with me; the pure air of the country, even so near
town, will do you more good than all the doctors in London; and,
besides, you will thus be enabled to escape from that persecuting
Frenchwoman."
"In what manner?" said Clarence.
"Why, when you are in my house, she cannot well take up her abode with
you; and you shall, while I am forwarding your suit with Lady Flora,
write a very flattering, very grateful letter of excuses to Madame la
Meronville. But leave me alone to draw it up for you: meanwhile, let
Harrison pack up your clothes and medicines; and we will effect our
escape while Madame la Meronville yet sleeps."
Clarence rang the bell; the orders were given, executed, and in less
than an hour he and his friends were on their road to Talbot's villa.
As they drove slowly through the grounds to the house, Clarence was
sensibly struck with the quiet and stillness which breathed around.
On either side of the road the honeysuckle and rose cast their sweet
scents to the summer wind, which, though it was scarcely noon, stirred
freshly among the trees, and waved as if it breathed a second youth
over the wan cheek of the convalescent. The old servant's ear had
caught the sound of wheels, and he came to the door, with an
expression of quiet delight on his dry countenance, to welcome in his
master. They had lived together for so many years that they were
grown like one another. Indeed, the veteran valet prided himself on
his happy adoption of his master's dress and manner. A proud man, we
ween, was that domestic, whenever he had time and listeners for the
indulgence of his honest loquacity; many an ancient tale of his
master's former glories was then poured from his unburdening
remembrance. With what a glow, with what a racy enjoyment, did he
expand upon the triumphs of the past; how eloquently did he
particularize the exact grace with which young Mr. Talbot was wont to
enter the room, in which he instantly became the cynosure of ladies'
eyes; how faithfully did he minute the courtly dress, the exquisite
choice of colour, the costly splendour of material, which were the
envy of gentles, and the despairing wonder of their valets; and then
the zest with which the good old man would cry, "I dressed the boy!"
Even still, this modern Scipio (Le Sage's Scipio, not Rome's) would
not believe that his master's sun was utterly set: he was only in a
temporary retirement, and would, one day or other, reappear and
reastonish the London world. "I would give my right arm," Jasper was
wont to say, "to see Master at court. How fond the King would be of
him! Ah! well, well; I wish he was not so melancholy-like with his
books, but would go out like other people!"
Poor Jasper! Time is, in general, a harsh wizard in his
transformations; but the change which thou didst lament so bitterly
was happier for thy master than all his former "palmy state" of
admiration and homage. "Nous avons recherche le plaisir," says
Rousseau, in one of his own inimitable antitheses, "et le bonheur a
fui loin de nous." ["We have pursued pleasure, and happiness has fled
far from our reach."] But in the pursuit of Pleasure we sometimes
chance on Wisdom, and Wisdom leads us to the right track, which, if it
take us not so far as Happiness, is sure at least of the shelter of
Content.
Talbot leaned kindly upon Jasper's arm as he descended from the
carriage, and inquired into his servant's rheumatism with the anxiety
of a friend. The old housekeeper, waiting in the hall, next received
his attention; and in entering the drawing-room, with that
consideration, even to animals, which his worldly benevolence had
taught him, he paused to notice and caress a large gray cat which
rubbed herself against his legs. Doubtless there is some pleasure in
making even a gray cat happy!
Clarence having patiently undergone all the shrugs, and sighs, and
exclamations of compassion at his reduced and wan appearance, which
are the especial prerogatives of ancient domestics, followed the old
man into the room. Papers and books, though carefully dusted, were
left scrupulously in the places in which Talbot had last deposited
them (incomparable good fortune! what would we not give for such
chamber handmaidens!); fresh flowers were in all the stands and vases;
the large library chair was jealously set in its accustomed place, and
all wore, to Talbot's eyes, that cheerful yet sober look of welcome
and familiarity which makes a friend of our house. The old man was in
high spirits.
"I know not how it is," said he, "but I feel younger than ever! You
have often expressed a wish to see my family seat at Scarsdale: it is
certainly a great distance hence; but as you will be my travelling
companion, I think I will try and crawl there before the summer is
over; or, what say you, Clarence, shall I lend it to you and Lady
Flora for the honeymoon? You blush! A diplomatist blush! Ah, how
the world has changed since my time! But come, Clarence, suppose you
write to La Meronville?"
"Not to-day, sir, if you please," said Linden: "I feel so very weak."
"As you please, Clarence; but some years hence you will learn the
value of the present. Youth is always a procrastinator, and,
consequently, always a penitent." And thus Talbot ran on into a
strain of conversation, half serious, half gay, which lasted till
Clarence went upstairs to lie down and muse on Lady Flora Ardenne.
