“To go, alas! we know not where.”Cooper.
“To go, alas! we know not where.”Cooper.
“To go, alas! we know not where.”
Cooper.
Lord Trimmerstone had not been a very frequent visitor at his relative’s house, and therefore Mr. Martindale apprehended that the present was more likely a call of business than compliment; especially did he think so when he observed how very grave and serious his lordship looked. Conducting the Earl into the library, Mr. Martindale began:
“What, in the name of wonder, can be the matter with you now? Has your lordship had the misfortune to lose more than is quite convenient to pay, and are you coming to ask me to pay it for you?”
“You may very well upbraid me, sir, with my sad propensity to gaming,” replied his lordship; “but I trust this is the last time I shall hear such reproof from you. I have seen my folly.”
“Have you, indeed?” interrupted the old gentleman; “what a wonderful discovery you have made! Every body else has seen it for a long while past. Now I suppose that you are going to let the world see your wisdom. But pray, what is the amount which you wish me to discharge for you in the present awkward juncture of affairs?”
“I have not any request of that kind to make, sir;” replied his lordship.
“Oh, oh!” said the old gentleman, “indeed! I am very happy to hear it. But I should be glad to know what it is that makes you look so serious.”
“I have been thinking,” said his lordship, with great formality of manner and expression…
“It is high time you should think,” responded the old gentleman; “and what has your lordship been thinking about?”
“I have been thinking,” continued the Earl, “that it will be prudent for me, at least for the present, to give up my establishment in town, and retire, with your permission, to Trimmerstone, where I may be out of the way of temptation. If you still continue in the same mind with respect to Trimmerstone Hall, I think it might be put into tenantable repair at a small expense.”
“Very good, very good, young man;—I beg pardon—I mean my lord.”
“Nay, sir, I beg that you will not use such taunting expressions. My title, you know, was not of my seeking.”
His lordship uttered this last sentence in a tone of such humility and submissiveness that the old gentleman was touched, and he saw that his relative felt a strong impression of humiliation,and therefore he felt more compassionately, and replied in tones rather more conciliating.
“Yes, yes, very true; it was my fault. I am sorry for it. I don’t know which was the greatest fool of the two; you for accepting the title, or I for obtaining it for you. Now if your poor father had not been smitten with the ambition of rank, and had you continued in your profession, you might at this time have been in the enjoyment of a handsome and honorable competency. But now you are a nobleman, you can do nothing to help yourself. I am sorry for you. But if you wish to reside at Trimmerstone, I will put the house in repair for you, and make any alterations or additions you please. Your wife, too, is to be consulted in this matter. Are you not apprehensive of some opposition to your schemes from that quarter?”
“Some objection was expressed when I made the proposal, but of course I must overrule every thing of that kind.”
“Ay, ay, there again you have been unfortunate. With your views you should neverhave married such a woman as that. You see it has not answered your purpose after all, even in a pecuniary point of view. You have made a bad business of it altogether. I am sorry for you; but I cannot see what is to be done for you.”
It might be very true that Mr. Martindale was sorry for his unfortunate relative, but it was not very decorous to speak thus of a lady before her husband’s face. This circumstance also contributed to increase his lordship’s mortifications, and to add to the weight of his grief.
After much more conversation to the same purpose, by which the old gentleman endeavoured to prove his lordship’s folly, and by which his lordship admitted it in all its extent, the interview terminated; and the result of the negotiation was, that orders were forthwith issued for the repair of Trimmerstone Hall for the reception of his lordship.
While the Earl of Trimmerstone was engaged with Mr. Martindale, the Countess wasoccupied by the condoling and sympathising attentions of Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson. For as soon as Mr. Tippetson was aware of the Earl’s absence from home, he took the opportunity of paying his respects to the Countess; and he found her ladyship in great affliction, and from her appearance he judged that she had been very recently dissolved in tears. This phrase, dissolved in tears, is one of those expressions which, for the sake of pathos, we must now and then use, but it is far too hyperbolical and exaggerated for our taste; and it is our firm and unalterable opinion, that the cause of sympathy is not effectually served by words that mean nothing, or that mean too much. The Countess, however, had very clearly been weeping, and was very obviously in ill-humor with her lord and master.
When Mr. Tippetson, therefore, made his appearance, and her ladyship, just recovered from her tears, expressed with more than usual cordiality how glad she was to see him, it was impossible for so tender-hearted a creature asMr. Tippetson not to make some kind and condoling remark on the appearance which she exhibited of illness or great affliction.
“I am infinitely concerned to see your ladyship in low spirits this morning.” Thus spoke the tender Henry Augustus.
“Oh, Mr. Tippetson,” responded her ladyship, “I may well be in low spirits. This very morning, my brute of a husband, God forgive me for using such language,” here her ladyship’s tears flowed afresh, “has absolutely insisted on my leaving town; and he says that we must both go and end our days at that vile dull place, Trimmerstone.”
“Has your ladyship ever been at Trimmerstone?” inquired the attentive and sympathising youth.
“Never,” replied her ladyship; “but I am sure it must be a dull place; there is not a soul to speak to but a dull country squire or two, and the parson of the parish, and he is but the curate; for it is such a stupid place that even the rector cannot reside there. His lordship did not seem to want much of my company intown—I think he might do very well without it in the country.”
“Your ladyship is very ill-used,” said Mr. Tippetson; “I have been often astonished that you could patiently put up with such behaviour.”
“But I must put up with it, Mr. Tippetson, I have no remedy.”
So spake the Countess of Trimmerstone; but her ladyship knew that she had a remedy—only the remedy was worse than the disease. Mr. Tippetson also knew that there was a remedy; but Mr. Tippetson was not quite so great a novice as to name that remedy in so many words. He therefore made no reply, and her ladyship was also silent; yet her heart swelled, and the tears were in her eyes, and she seemed altogether given up to the hopelessness of sorrow. Now as Henry Augustus Tippetson was an adept in common-place, he knew that there was more prudence and policy in absolute silence under present circumstances, than in any language which he could utter. And as the Countess, in the hurry and agitation of hergrief, was now in one part of the room, now in another, now sitting, now walking, now before the glass, and now before the window, Mr. Tippetson was always at her side; and after many changes of place, they at length sat down together on a sofa; and Mr. Tippetson, scarcely thinking what he did, actually took hold of her ladyship’s hand, and pressed it between his two hands more tenderly than any single man ought to press the hand of any married woman. What was the young gentleman’s design in this, or whether he had any design in it at all or not, we cannot say. But be it as it may, he approached her ladyship in such a questionable shape, that whether his intents were wicked or charitable, she spoke to him, saying, “Oh, Tippetson!”
Now this was too bad. Whatever were the young gentleman’s intentions, her ladyship ought certainly to have left him to himself, and to have suffered him to evolve his own schemes: it was grievously indecorous, we think, to give the gentleman any assistance or prompting in such matter; but we will not be very positive,seeing that we do not understand the etiquette of elopement. And perhaps the Countess herself thought that Mr. Tippetson was also inexpert, and therefore assisted him in the development of his scheme for relieving her from the burden of a disagreeable husband.
When, therefore, the Countess had with so much tenderness said, “Oh, Tippetson!” it was impossible for Henry Augustus to avoid saying, “Oh, Celestina!”—for thus familiarly had he been accustomed to address the lady while she was a spinster. As by the use of this familiar mode of address her ladyship’s active fancy imagined that more was meant than met the ear, and as there was evidently little time for deliberation, and as she thought it absolutely indispensable to make some show of opposition to such a wicked proposal, as she construed “Oh, Celestina!” to mean, her ladyship immediately withdrew her hand from Mr. Tippetson, and exclaimed, “Oh, never! never! never! do not be so barbarous; I cannot—no, I cannot—I would undergo any thing rather than take so imprudent a step.”
Mr. Tippetson, whose ideas of morality were not very nice, and whose sense of propriety was not very acute, thought that it was a gentle designation of elopement to call it only “an imprudent step.” He was not best pleased, therefore, with this mode of resistance; but he was now under the absolute necessity of kneeling to her ladyship, and of seizing her hand again most passionately, and pressing it to his heart, and vowing eternal fidelity, and exclaiming—
“Oh, fly with me, my dearest Celestina; I will go with you to the end of the world.”
By the way, he had not the slightest intention of going farther than Paris, or to the south of France at the utmost. But, of course, when a single gentleman tells a married lady that he will go with her to the end of the world, it is absolutely impossible for her to avoid or to refuse leaving her husband, her friends, and her reputation. So felt, and so acted, the Countess of Trimmerstone; and considering the short notice which she had, it is somewhat astonishing that she was so soon ready to depart.She was gone before her husband returned from Mr. Martindale’s. Some of the servants said that she had prepared for the excursion before Mr. Tippetson proposed it.
It is a question which requires a nicer casuistry than we are master of, to decide which of these two precious ones was most to blame. When a husband neglects his wife, it is the opinion of some considerate and candid creatures, that the lady’s conduct in leaving him, if not justified, is palliated. But perhaps some husbands would not neglect their wives so much as they do, if these aforesaid wives could not find some one else to pay attention to them. The lady, however, in the present case, did not leave her husband during his neglect of her, but just at the very moment that he was beginning to be more attentive than ever, and to claim her sweet company all to himself. But then she did not like to live in the country all alone, as it were, and out of society and gaiety. Oh, no! certainly not. Therefore she thought it much more lively to go to Paris to reside with a perfumedpuppy in an obscure lodging, surrounded with people of whom she knew, and could know, and wished to know nothing.
Our readers would think us very methodistical if we were to express ourself in very strong terms against the abomination of elopements; and those very same readers would think us very irreligious, should we question any of those dogmas which are supposed to form part and parcel of the religion of the state. We are not however about to do either the one or the other; but we cannot help recommending all married ladies to be very cautious how they talk to theirfriendsconcerning the cruelty of their husbands. We would also recommend married ladies, and single ones too, not to place unlimited confidence in romantic protestations; and above all, would we tell married ladies that the worst husbands are better than the best seducers.
As it is not our intention to suffer Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson to intrude again on our pages after his present disappearance, and as the Countess of Trimmerstone disappearswith him, we will now so far violate chronological order as to narrate all that remains to be said concerning that hopeful couple.
Mr. Tippetson, who had desired to immortalise himself by an elopement with a lady of rank, now that the Countess of Trimmerstone was in his power, did not feel quite so proud of his conquest as he had anticipated and fancied. There is nothing in rank where there is no distance and reserve. The Countess, even before they had reached Dover, began to appear to him as a weak, silly woman. Now, if in stealing a countess, he had stolen the title of earl for himself, he might have been more proud of his exploit; but as it was, he still kept the name of Mr. Tippetson, and his poor simpleton of a companion had no name at all. Then again he could not enjoy the pleasure of hearing himself talked about in the fashionable circles. He saw very soon in the newspapers that he gained celebrity by the elopement, but he could not hear any remarks upon the subject. He very soon found that his companion was no companion; and therefore, with mighty energyand resignation, he determined to make the best of a bad bargain. It is a great pity that the Countess had not come to that resolution before she left her husband. Here again we have a lesson for married ladies; and beg most respectfully and kindly to inform them, that it is much more inconvenient to be neglected by a seducer, than to be neglected by a husband.
Mr. Tippetson was a man of the world; but he did not know much of the world, especially of the world of Paris. It is very good that English people in the one shilling gallery should believe that one Englishman can beat three Frenchmen, and that they generally do believe till they try; but one simple Englishman, like Mr. Tippetson, may generally be beaten by one Frenchman at games of skill or chance in the Palais-Royal. The perfumed seducer found out this to his cost; and thereupon the Countess of Trimmerstone became more inconveniently expensive to him. There arose also another inconvenience to the young gentleman, viz. her ladyship’s prodigious vulgarity.He could never be seen with her in public. The Parisian ladies used to stare at her, though she thought herself prodigiously fine. Mr. Tippetson accommodated himself to the people among whom he dwelt. The Countess began soon to grow sulky, because she had no society. Tippetson thought his own society quite enough for her ladyship. By degrees that society was more and more curtailed: sometimes he left her for a whole day; and sometimes he was absent day and night; and sometimes he would stay from her ladyship two or three days successively. This was very sad, but she had no remedy. To utter angry reproaches she dared not; she could only plead pathetically, and call him unkind, and use the gentlest tones of expostulation. Her ladyship was far more afraid of Mr. Tippetson than ever she had been of her husband, and was much more careful of offending him by look, word, or deed. On the other hand, the gentleman was sooner weary of the Countess than he would have been of a wife; and whensoever the gentleman, in the expression of his weariness,took it into his head to use the language of reproach, her ladyship, from the peculiarity of her situation, felt unable to return or repel it.
Whether it be possible or not for a married woman who has lost the affection of her husband, ever to regain and recover that affection, we presume not to say; but notwithstanding the diffidence we feel in our own judgment, and notwithstanding our own inexperience of such matters, we will venture to give it as our firm opinion, that when the affections of a seducer are gone away from the silly one whom he has beguiled, or who has beguiled him, it is the most hopeless of all efforts to endeavour to recall them. But however hopeless the effort may be, it still must be made. So felt the unfortunate and unhappy woman, who, under the notion of liberty, had sold herself into an irretrievable slavery. If however she possessed not sufficient discernment and strength of mind to keep herself from this miserable condition, it was not very likely that she should be possessed of wit and wisdom enough to perform one of the most difficult of all difficult tasks, to recalla wandering affection. And the efforts which are used for this purpose are in their nature, or from the nature of the human mind, so exceedingly perverse, that in the same ratio as they fail of doing good, they are productive of evil.
Thus it came to pass that the affections of Mr. Tippetson for the poor witless Countess of Trimmerstone grew weaker and fainter; and in proportion to her endeavours to retain him, she found that she was nearer to losing him. Not many years passed away before he absolutely left her; and from this state of humiliation she wrote to her broken-hearted father, praying that he would not let her perish for want in a strange land. That supplication was not unheeded; she was saved from absolute want; but she lived the remainder of her days in solitude, obscurity, and self-reproach. We now return to the period from whence we have digressed.
“Ha!—my fearsAnticipate thy words!”Smollett.
“Ha!—my fearsAnticipate thy words!”Smollett.
“Ha!—my fears
Anticipate thy words!”
Smollett.
When Lord Trimmerstone returned from his visit to Mr. Martindale, it was with the full intention of firmly though gently insisting on preparations being forthwith made for a departure from town and a settlement in the country. When he inquired for the Countess, the domestics answered by looking at each other with manifest symptoms of confusion, as if to ask which should be the herald of evil tidings.His lordship was naturally impatient; and such a mode of meeting his inquiries was not likely to make him less so. With great impetuosity, therefore, he exclaimed,
“What is the matter? Why don’t you speak? Tell me this instant where is the Countess!”
Thus speaking, he laid hold of his own valet, who trembling in every limb replied,
“My lady is gone…”
“Gone!” exclaimed his lordship; “where, and with whom?”
“With Mr. Tippetson, my lord.”
This answer solved all difficulties; and his lordship immediately understood the cause of the embarrassment manifested by his domestics. At the information he was more enraged than surprised, and he flew into a violent passion; from which the rest of the servants present were glad to escape, leaving the valet with his lordship to answer any farther questions which the Earl might be curious enough to ask.
From this man sufficient particulars were gathered to make the whole story clear, and to fit the matter for the natural result of an appearancebefore the public in the form of an action at law; in which action Mr. Markham held a brief for the plaintiff, and a gentleman, whose name we could not learn, held a brief for the defendant. As trials of this nature are in the newspapers given at full length, and as they are usually read with great attention by all whom they concern, and by many whom they do not concern, we should only be guilty of a needless repetition were we to lay this trial before our readers. We have noticed and alluded to the trial simply for the sake of two remarkable points in it: one of them is an instance of great simplicity on the part of Markham; and the other is a specimen of great acuteness and penetration on the part of the defendant’s counsel. We have here mentioned but two counsellors; there were however six engaged: not that they were absolutely wanted any more than six horses are wanted for a hearse; but it is the fashion.
The simplicity of Markham was manifested in the circumstance, that notwithstanding the fine opportunity afforded him for pouring outa torrent of metaphors and indignation, whereby he might have gained a six-month’s immortality among the unfledged spoutlings of debating-societies and wisdom-clubs, he merely endeavoured to put the jury into full and clear possession of the facts of the case, and to meet the plausibilities which might be started by the counsel on the other side. He did not say a word about honey and turtles on the one hand, or scowling fiends and demons on the other. He did not talk about paradise, for he did not suppose that there was any such place in Piccadilly. He did not talk as if he thought that heaven and earth must come together, because Mr. Tippetson had run away with the Countess of Trimmerstone. He did not seem to think it at all a miracle that their post-chaise arrived safely at Dover, and the steam-boat took them safely to Calais. He did not run over all the elopements from Helen downwards, and demonstrate that Mr. Tippetson was worse than Paris, or that the Countess of Trimmerstone was more beautiful than Helen. He did not tell the jury that all morality and domestic virtue would bebanished from the earth, or even from the west end of the town, if they should sentence Mr. Tippetson to pay Lord Trimmerstone a farthing less than twenty thousand pounds. He did not quote poetry or spout froth. So much for Markham’s simplicity.
Now, on the other hand, let us record for the honor of that gentleman whose name we do not know, a specimen of his dexterity in making the most and the best of a bad cause. It had been proved in the course of the trial, according to the usual practice in such cases, that the Earl and Countess of Trimmerstone had lived very happily together. There was perhaps some difficulty in finding persons who had seen them much together; but there was evidence enough to prove the point, and there was none to disprove it. The opposing counsel then had nothing left but to persuade the jury that Mr. Tippetson was so much superior to the Earl of Trimmerstone, that the Countess was almost pardonable for making the exchange; or that his lordship was so indifferent to her ladyship, that the loss was a matter of little concern tohim. On the latter topic he dwelt with the greatest force; and in illustrating that point, he made use of a most powerful and convincing argument, drawn from the fact that his lordship did not immediately with all his household and establishment pursue her ladyship and bring her back again. This was a most ingenious argument, and for the eloquence and dexterity with which it was used, we are tempted to make a brief extract from the learned gentleman’s address to the jury. After having stated that the plaintiff did not immediately pursue the defendant and the fugitive fair one, he continued:
“Now, gentlemen of the jury, can you for a moment imagine that the plaintiff had any regard whatever for his wife, when he did not even take the trouble to pursue her and bring her home again. Here was a virtual manifestation of his indifference to her. If a robber carries off that which is valuable and valued, and the person robbed has time and power to pursue the plunderer, does he not immediately use his efforts to compel the thief to restore hisill-gotten booty? Gentlemen of the jury, if one of you should have your pockets picked, would you not immediately cry out, ‘Stop thief!’ Yet the plaintiff, in the present action, suffered a robber to carry off his greatest treasure without any endeavour on his part to recover it. Here, gentlemen, is proof positive, that the plaintiff cared less for his wife than any one of you would for a snuff-box or pocket-handkerchief.”
At this impressive and conclusive sentence, the learned gentleman paused, astonished at his own wit, and waiting for the murmur of approbation, which he thought must necessarily follow such a combination of eloquence and sagacity; but, unfortunately, some of the jury did not see the point of the argument, and they smiled at the learned gentleman’s simplicity; but they saw that he was a young man, and knew no better.
It has often been with us a matter of consideration, how far it is advisable to defend a bad cause; and what discretion should be allowed in such cases to those learned gentlemen,who have not received from nature any very great share of discernment. We have heard that it has been said by them of Ireland, that bad luck is better than no luck at all; and by parity of reasoning, peradventure it may appear to some, both of Ireland and England, that a bad defence is better than no defence at all. Of this we have our doubts; for we can suppose it very possible that a defendant, whose cause was a bad one, should say to his counsel, “My cause is bad enough of itself, I beseech you not to make it worse by your wit or eloquence.” The use of a clumsynon sequiturargument has sometimes prevailed with some juries. But juries are now growing more enlightened; and the system of composing juries is improved. There still, however, remains room for farther improvement: for since the science of crani…—we beg pardon, we mean phrenology—has been brought to such perfection as to prove, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that a man who has been hanged for murder has the organ of destructiveness strongly developed, it is quite a reproach to the legislaturethat no steps have been taken to render that most exact of all the sciences subservient to the purposes of society. The size of the head is the measure of the judgment: the upper classes, as it has lately been shown, having larger heads, generally speaking, than the lower and labouring classes. In order then to form an intelligent jury, nothing farther is necessary than that a law should be forthwith made, enacting that no person should be eligible on a jury who has not a head of a certain thickness. The discovery that wisdom and thick heads go together is certainly not modern; it is quite as old as our big wigs for judges, bishops, and others who, if not absolutely wise, ought to be always thought so. Moreover, we are humbly of opinion, that the vulgar notion that thick-headed people are stupid, has arisen from the ironical application of the term thick-head. Exactly in the same manner do we now give the name of Solomon to a simpleton; not that we consider Solomon to have been a fool, but quite the reverse. This theory of ours also solves what has hitherto been a matter ofdifficulty and perplexity to the ingenious; viz. the apparent paradox that thick-headed and shallow-pated should mean the same. Thick-headed, we see, is used ironically, and shallow-pated seriously, to express a fool. It may be still farther observed, that our young gentlemen do now take marvellous pains to make their heads appear thick, by wearing a large quantity of hair, bushed and bristled out with great pains and study; and when entering a house, or any place of public resort, they do ordinarily poke their fingers through their hair to make it stick out as widely as possible. This is a nasty trick; but for the sake of looking very wise, it is worth while to be a little nasty. We make no apology for this digression, seeing that it is very wise and valuable and entertaining; and an apology would be dull, flat, and unprofitable.
To proceed then with our narrative. The plaintiff received an award of five thousand pounds; and the defendant, not finding it convenient or agreeable to pay that sum, remained a voluntary exile from his native land.
The Earl of Trimmerstone had begun to think seriously, and almost painfully. He looked back on the past, and was astonished to see what opportunities of rendering himself respectable he had suffered to pass away unimproved. He now saw that in almost every step he had been wrong, and he was bitterly mortified. He knew not how to escape from his miserable feelings, or to what object or pursuit to direct his attention. Mr. Martindale pitied him very sincerely; but Mr. Martindale ought to have blamed himself that he had not taken pains to prevent this unpleasant catastrophe. For under pretence and colour of supplying the young man with the means of keeping up an appearance in the world, he had only furnished him with an opportunity of making a fool of himself. Mr. Martindale had never given his young relative any of his confidence; he had treated him with a distant and capricious patronage. The old gentleman knew well enough the character of Celestina Sampson; and he also knew enough of his kinsman to be well aware that there could not be on hispart much sincerity of attachment to her; but he must have known that mere necessity compelled the match. That necessity it was in his power to remove; and it was indeed his duty, inasmuch as his own fanciful liberality had in the first instance created it. It was also the duty of the old gentleman to watch a little more attentively over the conduct of his relative, even after his marriage, and after his accession of title. But the truth is, that old Mr. Martindale, like many other rich, queer, liberal, or money-giving men, consulted rather his own humor in his liberality than any advantage or benefit likely to accrue from it to the object of his bounty. It had so happened, that at the time that his large property came into his possession, he had no other probable or plausible recipient of his superfluous wealth than the Martindale family. For then he had not discovered, nor did he think it probable that he ever should discover, his lost and long-neglected daughter. Now, however, that this discovery was made, all his thoughts were centred in her and her child; and though heprofessed not to have forgotten his cousin, the attention which he paid him was very capricious.
Finding then at last that the Earl of Trimmerstone was really melancholy, and deeply dejected at his disappointments, Mr. Martindale began at length to feel for him, and talk to him with friendly condolence. He quite approved of his design of leaving London, and spending a little time in retirement and solitude. He offered Trimmerstone Hall, and proposed, if it were necessary or even desirable, that it should be totally rebuilt. He would insist on making over to his lordship that dwelling, and the estate connected with it, as properly belonging to the title. He also requested that Lord Trimmerstone would favor him with as much of his company as possible before he left town.
This was not only substantially kind, but it was also done in such a manner as to render it pleasing as well as profitable. It somewhat melted and moved the heart of the young nobleman; but it did not by any means effectually and entirely dissipate that melancholywhich was preying upon his spirits. He accepted the invitation to spend much of his time with Mr. Martindale; and when his thoughts were removed from schemes of gaming, and from the vulgar amusements of the turf and the ring, his understanding being naturally good, he much enjoyed the conversation of Signora Rivolta and her daughter, in both of whom he observed an agreeable and rational manner of thinking and speaking. Their society was to him also the more pleasant, as it was so completely the reverse of that to which he had been long accustomed, and with which he connected no pleasant ideas. He was weary of slang, artificialness, and common-place; and he was glad to exchange them for common sense, good taste, and sound judgment. There might be some regrets that he had sacrificed himself to a creature so frivolous as Celestina; but there was no distinct wish in his mind that he had preferred and chosen the gentle, intelligent, and unobtrusive Clara Rivolta. This was fortunate for him, because it rendered his intimacy with the family somuch more agreeable than it would otherwise have been had he looked back with vain regret to the past, so far as any of them were concerned.
Signora Rivolta, who was a woman of good discernment, and somewhat proud of that discernment, fancied that Lord Trimmerstone was quite an altered man, and that the character in which he had hitherto appeared was not his real character, but was merely a piece of that apery, by which clumsy ones make fools of themselves in endeavouring to become fashionable or distinguished. Under this impression, the Signora paid very especial attention to his lordship; and with a view of confirming and establishing him in good resolutions and good principles, very frequently directed her conversation to the subject of religion, using however very general language, lest the old gentleman her father should entertain a suspicion that there was any design of making a convert to the faith of Rome: for Mr. Martindale had dreadful notions of the Roman Catholic faith, though he did not exactly know what it was.He needed not, however, have given himself much uneasiness about the matter; for when people of rank become religious, it is almost, if not quite always, according to the religion of the state.
What effect conversation of this nature produced on his lordship’s mind must be narrated hereafter. We must now pay our attention elsewhere.
“There are that love the shades of life,And shun the splendid walks of fame.”Langhorne.
“There are that love the shades of life,And shun the splendid walks of fame.”Langhorne.
“There are that love the shades of life,
And shun the splendid walks of fame.”
Langhorne.
Horatio Markham has been but seldom before our readers during the progress of our narrative; but when he has been introduced, it has been very apparent that he has been somewhat of a favorite with us. When a young barrister attends closely and seriously to business; and when, in addition to his rising reputation,which promises at once profit and honor, he enjoys the patronage of a nobleman of exalted rank and commanding influence; when the young man has a motive to industry in seeing and partly enjoying the fruits of professional diligence, his adventures must of necessity be very few, and the tenor of his life must be very monotonous. He may indeed, as Markham very probably did, visit many respectable families; may slip quietly into many an evening party, and as quietly slip out again. He may sit still, or walk about, and say little to any body present at these parties; for his mind may be otherwise engaged; his eyes may be dazzled with many a beauty, and may twinkle for an hour or two, annoyed by excess of artificial light; and he may go home and dream about the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and the Statutes at Large, and be very glad of a quiet cup of coffee the next morning. He may perhaps think now and then that it would be very desirable that he should have a house at the west end of the town with three drawing-rooms; and that he should have an income,allowing him to spend four or five hundred pounds in an evening to entertain four or five hundred people who would never thank him for his trouble; and that he should have for his wife a woman possessed of every virtue under the sun, beautiful as Venus, but infinitely more decent; majestic as Juno, but not quite such a termagant; and wise as Minerva, but not quite so prosy as Mentor. He may think, again, that perhaps rather less may content his ambition. He may occasionally, by way of recreation, attend a theatre or an opera, and he may forget next morning whether he had been witnessing tragedy or comedy; and perhaps he might not know at the time if he had not a play-bill. He may sometimes have a friend to breakfast with him at his chambers, and he may talk very sensibly on an infinite variety of subjects, and may give his opinions on many a decision, and on various points of law. He may sometimes in an evening visit a quiet domestic family, and make himself very agreeable to all branches of the family, talking politics with the gentleman, economy with thelady, poetry with the daughters, and science with the sons: he may even carry his complaisance so far as to discover tokens of genius in infants six months old; and if the mania of craniology has bitten any of the family, he may discover the organ of numbers in a great booby who, at ten years of age, has just got into long division. He may hold a share in a literary and scientific institution; and he may look wise over a lecture on chemistry without learning how to make soap, or acquiring the art of detecting the admixture of cape with sherry.
Thus quietly may he hold on the even tenor of his way; and gradually, though surely, may he rise to celebrity in his profession, and to reputation in the world. All this while, however, he has no adventures; he is as monotonous and remarkless as the sun when it rises without a cloud. But if the said young man neglect his business and run riot, and yield himself up to any species of intemperance and folly, then does he bring himself into ten thousand pretty scrapes, which though not very pleasant to himself, may by a skilful narrator be renderedhighly diverting to a reader; or, if the narrator have not confidence in his power of amusing, he may at least assume the air of a monitor, and give through the narrative of transgression an admonition to transgressors.
Now, if the gentleman whose vanity we have represented as being gratified by the title of Earl of Trimmerstone had been content to form his fortunes for himself, instead of leaning luxuriously idle on a capricious relative, he would have avoided many of those perplexities into which he was thrown; and though he might not have been honored so much by an association with men of high rank, he would have been honored much more by an intimacy with men of good understanding and decorous conduct. His history would have been more brief, and his mortifications fewer.
The above remarks are designed not as an apology for, but as an explanation of, the circumstance that so little has been said of Markham in this our narrative. Our readers, however, will bear in mind, that such is the young man’s character, that he must have been all thiswhile employing his time and talents as he ought. Some little exception may be made, and that we have mentioned: our allusion is to the weakness by which he suffered himself to be made almost the prey of Miss Henderson. We have alluded, and but slightly, to the perplexity and embarrassment wherewith he was annoyed and distressed on this account. It would be almost wearisome to describe at length the torment which that silly affair inflicted on him. He was not indeed quite such a hero as to resolve in spite of himself to marry the young lady merely because he saw that she thought that he was in love with her. He had not quite so much of the heroism of prudishness, or the prudishness of heroism in his composition, as to make so great a sacrifice. When, however, that ingenious, eloquent, and learned physician, Dr. Crack, made his appearance as a visitor and dangler at Mr. Henderson’s; and when Miss Henderson showed a manifest partiality to Dr. Crack, and when Dr. Crack showed a manifest partiality for Miss Henderson, then a weight was removed from the mindof Markham, and he recovered his spirits most surprisingly.
But such is the lot of humanity, that the removal of one calamity or sorrow is but the making way for another. For now that Markham’s mind was emancipated from Miss Henderson, he began to feel more uneasiness at Tippetson’s intimacy with Clara. It had been, hitherto, a matter of comparative indifference to him while he was annoyed by the persecutions of Miss Henderson; but when trouble was removed, the other appeared greater. He continued, however, his intercourse with Mr. Martindale’s family, out of respect to and at the request of that queer old gentleman.
Now, Markham was modest almost to sheepishness. He had a confidence in his judgment as to matters of an abstract nature, but he had not the slightest share of personal conceit or vanity. He did not think, as some young gentlemen seem to do, that he might have any hand he pleased to ask for. He did not for a moment think of setting himself up as a rival to supplant Mr. Tippetson in the affections ofClara; nor did it altogether comport with his notions of propriety and dignity to sigh and mope like a lackadaisical disappointed lover. He conducted himself, therefore, with cheerful good-humor; and the only symptom he showed of uneasiness was, that he seldom stayed when Tippetson was there.
Any one but himself might observe that Markham was decidedly the favorite; but as for a long while Clara thought that he was engaged to Miss Henderson, she was herself scarcely aware of the existence, still less of the manifestation of any partiality for him. But Tippetson could always see it, inasmuch as he was a crafty man and full of design. And it is not improbable that seeing this he resolved on that scheme which he at last carried into execution.
Although in some respect Markham may be called our hero, as Lord Trimmerstone is our anti-hero, yet as Lord Trimmerstone is not all that is bad, so neither is Markham a paragon of all possible and impossible excellence. What a stupid world it would be if we were all heroes!it would be like a great school of good boys. Now if Markham had been a true hero, he would have married Miss Henderson without any attempt at shuffling or delaying; and if he had been a true hero, he would also have been sadly grieved for Lord Trimmerstone’s loss, and he would have lamented Mr. Tippetson’s wickedness. But in spite of himself, he could not but feel pleased at Tippetson’s departure under circumstances which rendered his return as a suitor absolutely impossible. Unobservant and inattentive as he was, this movement of Mr. Tippetson came upon him with the suddenness and unpreparedness of a thunderbolt. And when soon after hearing the news of the elopement he received a brief from the plaintiff’s attorney, he looked over that brief with most prodigious attention; he saw hope in every line of it. Never before had he perused the long, dry, prosy details of a stupidly-drawn brief with one half the interest with which he perused this brief, in which the Earl of Trimmerstone was plaintiff, and Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson defendant. While he was readingit, he could not but recollect the very complimentary epistle which he had once received from Miss Henderson in consequence of his dexterity and sagacity in a suit of a delicate nature. He had no wish to receive another epistle from the same quarter, nor would he have been much pleased had Clara in like manner complimented him on the present occasion. But he knew, or thought he knew, Clara better than to suppose that he should be thus complimented by her. Supposing that Tippetson was an accepted, or presumedly accepted lover of Clara, he thought it very natural that the present occurrence would be to her a painful event. He wished to console her, but he feared lest his offers of condolence might be repulsed or ungraciously accepted.
Very anxiously did he await the day of trial, and very carefully did he weigh in his own mind the various modes of treating the subject. Finding that the chief speaker on the other side was a man of prodigious eloquence, he determined that he would not have recourse to balderdash, but that he would manage thebusiness in such a plain matter-of-fact style as that the frothy, sloppy, feathery, flowery sputtering of the antagonist counsel should not have an inch of foundation to rest upon. This arrangement, as we have mentioned, answered his purpose. And when the defendant’s counsel had made a long, vehement spoutification, all about nothing at all at all, the judge in summing up observed, that though a verybeautifulspeech had been delivered by the defendant’s counsel, there did not seem to be any real defence set up against the action.
Now, in making this remark, the judge laid such a peculiar emphasis on the wordbeautiful, and at the same time gave such a schoolmaster-look to the gentleman who had spouted that schoolboy speech, that the orator himself looked absolutely sheepish, and he almost determined never to be eloquent again; but, as second thoughts are best, he retracted that determination, for he considered that if he were not eloquent he was nothing.
Wishing to be instructive as well as amusing, we cannot overlook the present opportunity ofa digression in favor of eloquence. It is a great pity that our barristers cannot plead in Greek, for then Demosthenes might be very useful to them; and it would be, in all probability, quite as intelligible to the jury as much of that eloquence which is now spouted in English. To use Greek is quite out of the question, and therefore all they can do is to make their English as much like Greek to the jury as they possibly can. This they often do with wonderful success. Eloquence is in our days most grievously neglected, being almost solely confined to provincial newspapers, in which we may still enjoy the fine metaphorical language of theoldentime. It is in those choice repositories that we can even yet revel in that fine figure of speech called “circumbendibus;” and were it not for these and a few eloquent barristers, and divers aggrieved parishioners in divers little city parishes which become immortalized by vestry squabbles, we should have scarcely any eloquence at all. This is such a favorite topic with us that we dare not trust ourselves to give way to our feelings; wewill therefore content ourselves with giving a valuable hint to eloquent barristers. We advise them, if they wish to keep their eloquence and their countenance too, never to look at the judge, or at the opposing counsel, or at any attorney, or at any one of the jury who has the least look of understanding, but to direct their eyes, if they must keep them open, to any one who looks prodigiously serious and has his mouth wide open.