CHAPTER V.
Mr. Squills and I performed our journey without adventure, and as we were
not alone on the coach, with little conversation. We put up at a small
inn in the City, and the next morning I sallied forth to see Trevanion;
for we agreed that he would be the best person to advise us. But on
arriving at St. James's Square I had the disappointment of hearing that
the whole family had gone to Paris three days before, and were not
expected to return till the meeting of Parliament.
This was a sad discouragement, for I had counted much on Trevanion's
clear head and that extraordinary range of accomplishment in all matters
of business--all that related to practical life--which my old patron pre-
eminently possessed. The next thing would be to find Trevanion's lawyer
(for Trevanion was one of those men whose solicitors are sure to be
able and active). But the fact was that he left so little to lawyers
that he had never had occasion to communicate with one since I had known
him, and I was therefore in ignorance of the very name of his solicitor;
nor could the porter, who was left in charge of the house, enlighten me.
Luckily, I bethought myself of Sir Sedley Beaudesert, who could scarcely
fail to give me the information required, and who, at all events, might
recommend to me some other lawyer. So to him I went.
I found Sir Sedley at breakfast with a young gentleman who seemed about
twenty. The good baronet was delighted to see me; but I thought it was
with a little confusion, rare to his cordial ease, that he presented me
to his cousin, Lord Castleton. It was a name familiar to me, though I
had never before met its patrician owner.
The Marquis of Castleton was indeed a subject of envy to young idlers,
and afforded a theme of interest to gray-bearded politicians. Often had
I heard of "that lucky fellow Castleton," who when of age would step into
one of those colossal fortunes which would realize the dreams of
Aladdin,--a fortune that had been out to nurse since his minority. Often
had I heard graver gossips wonder whether Castleton would take any active
part in public life,--whether he would keep up the family influence. His
mother (still alive) was a superior woman, and had devoted herself, from
his childhood, to supply a father's loss and fit him for his great
position. It was said that he was clever, had been educated by a tutor
of great academic distinction, and was reading for a double-first class
at Oxford. This young marquis was indeed the head of one of those few
houses still left in England that retain feudal importance. He was
important, not only from his rank and his vast fortune, but from an
immense circle of powerful connections; from the ability of his two
predecessors, who had been keen politicians and cabinet ministers; from
the prestige they had bequeathed to his name; from the peculiar nature of
his property, which gave him the returning interest in no less than six
parliamentary seats in Great Britain and Ireland; besides the indirect
ascendency which the head of the Castletons had always exercised over
many powerful and noble allies of that princely house. I was not aware
that he was related to Sir Sedley, whose world of action was so remote
from politics; and it was with some surprise that I now heard that
announcement, and certainly with some interest that I, perhaps from the
verge of poverty, gazed on this young heir of fabulous El Dorados.
It was easy to see that Lord Castleton had been brought up with a careful
knowledge of his future greatness, and its serious responsibilities. He
stood immeasurably aloof from all the affectations common to the youth of
minor patricians. He had not been taught to value himself on the cut of
a coat or the shape of a hat. His world was far above St. James's Street
and the clubs. He was dressed plainly, though in a style peculiar to
himself,--a white neck-cloth (which was not at that day quite so uncommon
for morning use as it is now), trousers without straps, thin shoes, and
gaiters. In his manner there was nothing of the supercilious apathy
which characterizes the dandy introduced to some one whom he doubts if he
can nod to from the bow-window at White's,--none of such vulgar
coxcombries had Lord Castleton; and yet a young gentleman more
emphatically coxcomb it was impossible to see. He had been told, no
doubt, that as the head of a house which was almost in itself a party in
the state, he should be bland and civil to all men; and this duty being
grafted upon a nature singularly cold and unsocial, gave to his
politeness something so stiff, yet so condescending that it brought the
blood to one's cheek,--though the momentary anger was counterbalanced by
a sense of the almost ludicrous contrast between this gracious majesty of
deportment and the insignificant figure, with the boyish beardless face,
by which it was assumed. Lord Castleton did not content himself with a
mere bow at our introduction. Much to my wonder how he came by the
information he displayed, he made me a little speech after the manner of
Louis XIV. to a provincial noble, studiously modelled upon that royal
maxim of urbane policy which instructs a king that he should know
something of the birth, parentage, and family of his meanest gentleman.
It was a little speech in which my father's learning and my uncle's
services and the amiable qualities of your humble servant were neatly
interwoven, delivered in a falsetto tone, as if learned by heart, though
it must have been necessarily impromptu; and then, reseating himself, he
made a gracious motion of the head and hand, as if to authorize me to do
the same.
Conversation succeeded, by galvanic jerks and spasmodic starts,--a
conversation that Lord Castleton contrived to tug so completely out of
poor Sir Sedleys ordinary course of small and polished small-talk that
that charming personage, accustomed, as he well deserved, to be Coryphxus
at his own table, was completely silenced. With his light reading, his
rich stores of anecdote, his good-humored knowledge of the drawing-room
world, he had scarce a word that would fit into the great, rough, serious
matters which Lord Castleton threw upon the table as he nibbled his
toast. Nothing but the most grave and practical subjects of human
interest seemed to attract this future leader of mankind. The fact is
that Lord Castleton had been taught everything that relates to property,
--a knowledge which embraces a very wide circumference. It had been said
to him, "You will be an immense proprietor: knowledge is essential to
your self-preservation. You will be puzzled, bubbled, ridiculed, duped
every day of your life if you do not make yourself acquainted with all by
which property is assailed or defended, impoverished or increased. You
have a vast stake in the country, you must learn all the interests of
Europe,--nay, of the civilized world; for those interests react on the
country, and the interests of the country are of the greatest possible
consequence to the interests of the Marquis of Castleton." Thus the
state of the Continent; the policy of Metternich; the condition of the
Papacy; the growth of Dissent; the proper mode of dealing with the
general spirit of Democracy, which was the epidemic of European
monarchies; the relative proportions of the agricultural and
manufacturing population; corn-laws, currency, and the laws that regulate
wages; a criticism on the leading speakers of the House of Commons, with
some discursive observations on the importance of fattening cattle; the
introduction of flax into Ireland; emigration; the condition of the poor;
the doctrines of Mr. Owen; the pathology of potatoes; the connection
between potatoes, pauperism, and patriotism,--these and suchlike
stupendous subjects for reflection, all branching more or less
intricately from the single idea of the Castleton property, the young
lord discussed and disposed of in half-a-dozen prim, poised sentences;
evincing, I must say in justice, no inconsiderable information, and a
mighty solemn turn of mind. The oddity was that the subjects so selected
and treated should not come rather from some young barrister, or mature
political economist, than from so gorgeous a lily of the field. Of a man
less elevated in rank one would certainly have said, "Cleverish, but a
prig;" but there really was something so respectable in a personage born
to such fortunes, and having nothing to do but to bask in the sunshine,
voluntarily taking such pains with himself and condescending to identify
his own interests--the interests of the Castleton property--with the
concerns of his lesser fellow-mortals that one felt the young marquis had
in him the stuff to become a very considerable man.
Poor Sir Sedley, to whom all these matters were as unfamiliar as the
theology of the Talmud, after some vain efforts to slide the conversation
into easier grooves, fairly gave in, and with a compassionate smile on
his handsome countenance, took refuge in his easy-chair and the
contemplation of his snuff-box.
At last, to our great relief, the servant announced Lord Castleton's
carriage; and with another speech of overpowering affability to me, and a
cold shake of the hand to Sir Sedley, Lord Castleton went his way.
The breakfast-parlor looked on the street, and I turned mechanically to
the window as Sir Sedley followed his guest out of the room. A
travelling carriage with four post-horses was at the door, and a servant,
who looked like a foreigner, was in waiting with his master's cloak. As
I saw Lord Castleton step into the street, and wrap himself in his costly
mantle lined with sables, I observed, more than I had while he was in the
room, the enervate slightness of his frail form, and the more than
paleness of his thin, joyless face; and then, instead of envy, I felt
compassion for the owner of all this pomp and grandeur,--felt that I
would not have exchanged my hardy health and easy humor and vivid
capacities of enjoyment in things the slightest and most within the reach
of all men, for the wealth and greatness which that poor youth perhaps
deserved the more for putting them so little to the service of pleasure.
"Well," said Sir Sedley, "and what do you think of him?"
"He is just the sort of man Trevanion would like," said I, evasively.
"That is true," answered Sir Sedley, in a serious tone of voice, and
looking at me somewhat earnestly. "Have you heard? But no, you cannot
have heard yet."
"Heard what?"
"My dear young friend," said the kindest and most delicate of all fine
gentlemen, sauntering away, that he might not observe the emotion he
caused, "Lord Castleton is going to Paris to join the Trevanions. The
object Lady Ellinor has had at heart for many a long year is won, and our
pretty Fanny will be Marchioness of Castleton when her betrothed is of
age,--that is, in six months. The two mothers have settled it all
between them."
I made no answer, but continued to look out of the window.
"This alliance," resumed Sir Sedley, "was all that was wanting to assure
Trevanion's position. When Parliament meets, he will have some great
office. Poor man, how I shall pity him! It is extraordinary to me,"
continued Sir Sedley, benevolently going on, that I might have full time
to recover myself, "how contagious that disease called 'business' is in
our foggy England! Not only Trevanion, you see, has the complaint in its
very worst and most complicated form, but that poor dear cousin of mine
who is so young [here Sir Sedley sighed], and might enjoy himself so
much, is worse than you were when Trevanion was fagging you to death.
But, to be sure, a great name and position, like Castleton's, must be a
very heavy affliction to a conscientious mind. You see how the sense of
its responsibilities has aged him already,--positively, two great
wrinkles under his eyes. Well, after all, I admire him and respect his
tutor: a soil naturally very thin, I suspect, has been most carefully
cultivated; and Castleton, with Trevanion's help, will be the first man
in the peerage,--prime minister some day, I dare say. And when I think
of it, how grateful I ought to feel to his father and mother, who
produced him quite in their old age; for if he had not been born, I
should have been the most miserable of men,--yes, positively, that
horrible marquisate would have come to me! I never think over Horace
Walpole's regrets, when he got the earldom of Orford, without the deepest
sympathy, and without a shudder at the thought of what my dear Lady
Castleton was kind enough to save me from,--all owing to the Ems waters,
after twenty years' marriage! Well, my young friend, and how are all at
home?"
As when, some notable performer not having yet arrived behind the scenes,
or having to change his dress, or not having yet quite recovered an
unlucky extra tumbler of exciting fluids, and the green curtain has
therefore unduly delayed its ascent, you perceive that the thorough-bass
in the orchestra charitably devotes himself to a prelude of astonishing
prolixity, calling in "Lodoiska" or "Der Freischutz" to beguile the time,
and allow the procrastinating histrio leisure sufficient to draw on his
flesh-colored pantaloons and give himself the proper complexion for a
Coriolanus or Macbeth,--even so had Sir Sedley made that long speech
requiring no rejoinder, till he saw the time had arrived when he could
artfully close, with the flourish of a final interrogative, in order to
give poor Pisistratus Caxton all preparation to compose himself and step
forward. There is certainly something of exquisite kindness and
thoughtful benevolence in that rarest of gifts,--fine breeding; and when
now, re-manned and resolute, I turned round and saw Sir Sedley's soft
blue eye shyly, but benignantly, turned to me, while, with a grace no
other snuff-taker ever had since the days of Pope, he gently proceeded to
refresh himself by a pinch of the celebrated Beaudesert mixture,--I felt
my heart as gratefully moved towards him as if he had conferred on me
some colossal obligation. And this crowning question, "And how are all
at home?" restored me entirely to my self-possession, and for the moment
distracted the bitter current of my thoughts.
I replied by a brief statement of my father's involvement, disguising our
apprehensions as to its extent, speaking of it rather as an annoyance
than a possible cause of ruin, and ended by asking Sir Sedley to give me
the address of Trevanion's lawyer.
The good baronet listened with great attention; and that quick
penetration which belongs to a man of the world enabled him to detect
that I had smoothed over matters more than became a faithful narrator.
He shook his head, and, seating himself on the sofa, motioned me to come
to his side; then, leaning his arm over my shoulder, he said, in his
seductive, wincing way,--
"We two young fellows should understand each other when we talk of money
matters. I can say to you what I could not say to my respectable
senior,--by three years,--your excellent father. Frankly, then, I
suspect this is a bad business. I know little about newspapers, except
that I have to subscribe to one in my county, which costs me a small
income; but I know that a London daily paper might ruin a man in a few
weeks. And as for shareholders, my dear Caxton, I was once teased into
being a shareholder in a canal that ran through my property, and
ultimately ran off with L30,000 of it! The other shareholders were all
drowned in the canal, like Pharaoh and his host in the Red Sea. But your
father is a great scholar, and must not be plagued with such matters. I
owe him a great deal. He was very kind to me at Cambridge, and gave me
the taste for reading to which I owe the pleasantest hours of my life.
So, when you and the lawyers have found out what the extent of the
mischief is, you and I must see how we can best settle it. What the
deuce! My young friend, I have no 'incumbrances,' as the servants, with
great want of politeness, call wives and children. And I am not a
miserable great landed millionnaire, like that poor dear Castleton, who
owes so many duties to society that he can't spend a shilling except in a
grand way and purely to benefit the public. So go, my boy, to
Trevanion's lawyer,--he is mine, too. Clever fellow, sharp as a needle,
Mr. Pike, in Great Ormond Street,--name on a brass plate; and when he has
settled the amount, we young scapegraces will help each other, without
a word to the old folks."
What good it does to a man, throughout life, to meet kindness and
generosity like this in his youth!
I need not say that I was too faithful a representative of my father's
scholarly pride and susceptible independence of spirit to accept this
proposal; and probably Sir Sedley, rich and liberal as he was, did not
dream of the extent to which his proposal might involve him. But I
expressed my gratitude so as to please and move this last relic of the De
Coverleys, and went from his house straight to Mr. Pike's office, with a
little note of introduction from Sir Sedley. I found Mr. Pike exactly
the man I had anticipated from Trevanion's character,--short, quick,
intelligent, in question and answer; imposing and somewhat domineering in
manner; not overcrowded with business, but with enough for experience and
respectability; neither young nor old; neither a pedantic machine of
parchment, nor a jaunty off-hand coxcomb of West End manners.
"It is an ugly affair," said he, "but one that requires management.
Leave it all in my hands for three days. Don't go near Mr. Tibbets nor
Mr. Peck; and on Saturday next, at two o'clock, if you will call here,
you shall know my opinion of the whole matter." With that Mr. Pike
glanced at the clock, and I took up my hat and went.
There is no place more delightful than a great capital if you are
comfortably settled in it, have arranged the methodical disposal of your
time, and know how to take business and pleasure in due proportions. But
a flying visit to a great capital in an unsettled, unsatisfactory way; at
an inn--an inn in the City too--with a great, worrying load of business
on your mind, of which you are to hear no more for three days, and an
aching, jealous, miserable sorrow at the heart such as I had, leaving you
no labor to pursue and no pleasure that you have the heart to share in,--
oh, a great capital then is indeed forlorn, wearisome, and oppressive!
It is the Castle of Indolence, not as Thomson built it, but as Beckford
drew in his Hall of Eblis,--a wandering up and down, to and fro; a great,
awful space, with your hand pressed to your heart; and--oh for a rush on
some half-tamed horse through the measureless green wastes of Australia!
That is the place for a man who has no home in the Babel, and whose hand
is ever pressing to his heart, with its dull, burning pain.
Mr. Squills decoyed me the second evening into one of the small theatres;
and very heartily did Mr. Squills enjoy all he saw and all he heard. And
while, with a convulsive effort of the jaws, I was trying to laugh too,
suddenly in one of the actors, who was performing the worshipful part of
a parish beadle, I recognized a face that I had seen before. Five
minutes afterwards I had disappeared from the side of Squills, and was
amidst that strange world,--Behind The Scenes.
My beadle was much too busy and important to allow me a good opportunity
to accost him till the piece was over. I then seized hold of him as he
was amicably sharing a pot of porter with a gentleman in black shorts and
a laced waistcoat, who was to play the part of a broken-hearted father in
the Domestic Draina in Three Acts that would conclude the amusements of
the evening.
"Excuse me," said I, apologetically; "but as the Swan pertinently
observes, 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?'"
"The Swan, sir!" cried the beadle, aghast,--"the Swan never demeaned
himself by such d--d broad Scotch as that!"
"The Tweed has its swans as well as the Avon, Mr. Peacock."
"St--st--hush--hush- h--u--sh!" whispered the beadle in great alarm, and
eying me, with savage observation, under his corked eyebrows. Then,
taking me by the arm, he jerked me away. When he had got as far as the
narrow limits of that little stage would allow, Mr. Peacock said,--
"Sir, you have the advantage of me; I don't remember you. Ah! you need
not look--by gad, sir, I am not to be bullied--it was all fair play. If
you will play with gentlemen, sir, you must run the consequences."
I hastened to appease the worthy man.
"Indeed, Mr. Peacock, if you remember, I refused to play with you; and so
far from wishing to offend you, I now come on purpose to compliment you
on your excellent acting, and to inquire if you have heard anything
lately of your young friend Mr. Vivian."
"Vivian? Never heard the name, sir. Vivian! Pooh, you are trying to
hoax me; very good!"
"I assure you, Mr. Peac--"
"St--st--How the deuce did you know that I was once called Peac--, that
is, people called me Peac--. A friendly nickname, no more. Drop it,
sir, or you 'touch me with noble anger'!"
"Well, well; 'the rose by any name will smell as sweet,' as the Swan,
this time at least, judiciously observes. But Mr. Vivian, too, seems to
have other names at his disposal. I mean a young, dark, handsome man--or
rather boy--with whom I met you in company by the roadside, one morning."
"O--h!" said Mr. Peacock, looking much relieved, "I know whom you mean,
though I don't remember to have had the pleasure of seeing you before.
No; I have not heard any thing of the young man lately. I wish I did
know something of him. He was a 'gentleman in my own way.' Sweet Will
has hit him off to a hair!--
'The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's eye, tongue, sword.'
"Such a hand with a cue! You should have seen him seek the
'bubble reputation at the cannon's mouth.' I may say," continued Mr.
Peacock, emphatically, "that he was a regular trump. Trump!" he
reiterated with a start, as if the word had stung him--" trump! he was a
Brick!"
Then fixing his eyes on mine, dropping his arms, interlacing his fingers
in the manner recorded of Talma in the celebrated "Qu'en dis-tu!" he
resumed in a hollow voice, slow and distinct--
"When--saw--you--him,--young m--m--a--n--nnn?"
Finding the tables thus turned on myself, and not willing to give Mr.
Peac-- any clew to poor Vivian (who thus appeared, to my great
satisfaction, to have finally dropped an acquaintance more versatile than
reputable), I contrived, by a few evasive sentences, to keep Mr. Peac--'s
curiosity at a distance till he was summoned in haste to change his
attire for the domestic drama. And so we parted.
