'Most eagerly. That was my reason for wishing to see you, so immediately after my arrival in town; imagining that an application from Lord Idford, and the bishop, would be more readily attended to than if it came from a private and unknown individual.'
'To be sure it would, Mr. Trevor!' said Enoch. 'An application from an earl and a bishop, is not likely to be overlooked. They are privileged persons. They are the higher powers. Every thing that concerns them must be treated with tenderness, and reverence, and humbleness, and every thing of that kind.'
The spirit moved me to begin an enquiry into privileges; and the tenderness and humility due to earls and bishops: particularly to such as the noble and reverend lords in question: but Glibly guessed my thoughts, and took care to prevent me!
'As to those subjects, my dear Ellis,' said he, 'Trevor thinks and acts on a different system from you and me and the rest of the world. We must not dispute these points, now; but away, as fast as we can, and put the business for which we met in a train. The publication must be stopped. It would injure all parties; and, as you, my dear friend [Turning to me] justly think at present, would be disgraceful to its author.'
After what had been urged by Turl and Wilmot, and the reasoning that had followed in my own mind, I knew not how to deny this assertion: though it was painfully grating. But the reader will easily perceive that this and other strong affirmations, such as I have related, were designedly made by Glibly. He artfully gabbled on, that he might lead my mind from attending to them too strictly; and that he might afterward, if occasion should require, state them, with the colouring that he should give, as things uttered or allowed by me.
It ought not to be thought strange that I was deceived by Glibly, barefaced as his cunning would have appeared to a man more versed in the arts which over-reaching selfishness daily puts in practice. He confessedly came in behalf of a party concerned; and, as such, a liberal mind would be prepared to expect a bias from him rather in favour of his client. His face was smiling; his tones were soft and smooth; the words candor, honesty, and integrity, were continually on his tongue. He affected to be a disinterested arbitrator; and allowed that his friend Idford, as he called him, might or rather must be tainted with the vices of his station, and class. Could a youth, unhacknied in the world, feeling that treachery was not native to the heart of man, not suspecting on ordinary occasions that it could exist, could such a tyro in hypocrisy be a fit antagonist for such an adept?
Deceit will frequently escape immediate detection: but it seldom leaves the person, upon whom it is practised, with that clearness of thought which communicates calm to the mind; producing unruffled satisfaction, and cheerful good temper.
A lawyer and his poetical wife and daughters, or the family of the Quisques: Praise may give pain: A babbler may bite: More of the colouring of cunning: A trader's ideas of honesty, and the small sum for which it may be sold
We quitted the coffee-house; Glibly in high spirits, and Enoch concluding things had been done as they should be: but, for my own part, I experienced a confusion of intellect that did not suffer me to be so much at my ease. I had an indistinct sense of being as passive as a blind man with his dog. Instead of taking the lead, as I was entitled to have done, I was led: hurried away, like a man down a mountain with a high wind at his back: or traversing dark alleys, holding by the coat-flap of a guide of whose good intentions I was very far from having any certainty.
We proceeded however to the house of a solicitor in chancery; who transacted business for the Earl.
Here Glibly, attentive to the plan he had pursued, began by informing Mr. Quisque, the lawyer, that he had comeat the requestof his dear friend, Trevor, to entreat his aid in an affair of some moment. 'Mr. Trevor is a young gentleman, my dear Quisque, that you will be proud to be acquainted with; a man of talents; a poet; an orator; an author; a great genius; an excellent scholar; a fine writer; turns a sentence or a rhyme with exquisite neatness; very prettily I assure you. I mention these circumstances, my dear Quisque, because I know you have a taste for such things: and so has Mrs. Quisque, and the two Miss Quisques, and all the family. I now and then see very pretty things of their writing in the Lady's Magazine. An elegy on a robin red-breast. The drooping violet, a sonnet. And others equally ecstatic. Quite charming! rapturous! elegant! flowery! sentimental! Some of them very smart, and epigrammatic. It is a family, my dear Trevor, that you must become intimate with. Your merit entitles you to the distinction. You will communicate your mutual productions. You will polish and suggest charming little delicate emendations, to each other, before you favour the world with a sight of them.'
The broadest and coarsest satire was never half so insulting, to the feelings, as the common-place praise of Glibly.
The barren-pated Ellis caught one of the favourite diminutives of Glibly; and finished my panegyric by adding that, 'he must say, his friend, Mr. Trevor, was a prodigious pretty genius.'
Who but must have been proud of such an introduction to the family of the Quisques; by such orators, such eulogists, and such friends?
Acquainted with Glibly, and accustomed to hear him prate, Mr. Quisque seemed to listen to him without surprise, pleasure, or pain. It was what he expected. It was the man. A machine that had no more meaning than a Dutch clock; repeating cuckoo, as it strikes.
Among Glibly's acquaintance, or, as he called them, his dear friends, this was a common but a very false conclusion. He had not adopted his customary cant without a motive. The man, who can persuade others that he gabbles in a pleasant but ridiculous and undesigning manner, will lead them to suppose that his actions are equally incongruous, and void of intention. He will pass upon the world for an agreeable harmless fellow, till his malignities are too numerous to escape notice; and then, where he was before welcomed with the hope of a laugh, he will continue to be admitted from the dread of a bite.
A lawyer however feels less of this panic than the rest of mankind: because he can bite again. The cat o' mountain will not attack the tiger.
Glibly returned to the business in hand; and again repeated that he was comeat the requestof his dear friend, Trevor, to procure an injunction: that should prevent the publication of a pamphlet, which had been written against his friend, Idford.
'And my lord the Bishop of ****,' added Enoch.
'Who is the author of it?' demanded Quisque.
'I am, sir;' answered I.
'For which my friend Trevor is very sorry;' added Glibly.
I instantly retorted a denial. 'I never said any thing of the kind,Mr. Glibly. But I should be very sorry indeed if it were published.'
'Nay, my dear fellow, according to your own principles, if I do not mistake them, that which ought not to be published ought not to be written.'
The remark was acute: it puzzled me, and I was silent. He proceeded.
'It is a business that admits of no delay. I should be extremely chagrined, extremely, upon my honor, that my dear friend Trevor should commit himself to the public, in this affair. He that wantonly attacks the characters of others does but strike at his own.'
I again eagerly replied 'The attack from me, sir, was not wanton. It was provoked by acts of the most flagrant injustice.'
Glibly as eagerly interrupted me.
'My dear fellow, why are you so warm? I was only delivering a general maxim. I made no application of it; and I am surprised that you should.'
The traps of Glibly were numberless; and not to be escaped. Words are too equivocal and phrases too indefinite, for men like him not to profit by their ambiguity. To them a quirk in the sense is as profitable as a pun or a quibble in the sound. They snap at them, as dogs do at flies. It is no less worthy of observation that, though some of his actions seemed to laugh severity of moral principle out of countenance, he continually repeated others which, had his conduct been regulated by them, would have ranked him among the most worthy of mankind.
After farther explanation from Quisque, it was admitted that the interest of all parties made it necessary for him to act with great diligence, speed, and caution.
Through the whole of this scene, Glibly was consistent with himself; in giving it such a turn and complexion as to make it requisite, for the preservation of my character above the rest, to prevent the pamphlet from being published. If, whenever I detected his drift, I urged the true motives by which I was actuated, he always immediately admitted them, praised them, and allowed them to be superlatively excellent: but never failed to give them such an air as should suit the project he had conceived; and allow of such an interpretation, in future, as would exculpate my opponents and criminate myself. But he effected this with such fluency, and so glossed over and coloured his intention that, like profound darkness, it was every where present, but neither could be felt nor seen.
My own activity in this affair, which if I meant to render my interference effectual was inevitable, contributed to the same end. I accompanied the whole party, Quisque being one, to the shop of the publisher.
Here I detailed the consequences, as well to myself as to the Earl and the Bishop; and vehemently denounced threats, if the villany that was begun should be carried into execution. Not all the quieting hints of my assistants could keep my anger under. I lost all patience, at every word. My utmost indignation was excited by so black a business.
The situation was not a new one to the dealer in the alphabet. He was an old depredator; and had before encountered angry authors, and artful lawyers. He was cool, collected, and unabashed. Not indeed entirely: but sufficiently so to excite astonishment.
He affirmed the copy-right to be his own: would prove he had obtained it legally; and would face any prosecution that we could bring. He knew what he was about; and was not to be frightened. He had printed one edition; and had no doubt that several would be sold. He was an honest tradesman; and must not be robbed of his profits. What would the country be if it were not for trade? It ought to be protected: ay and would be too. The law was as open to an industrious fair trader as to any lord in the land. Let him too be no loser and then it would be a different thing: but, as for big words, they broke no bones; and he knew his ground.
The hints of the honest trader were too broad to be misunderstood; and Quisque replied—'I think you mean, sir, that you wish to be repaid the expence you have sustained?'
The fellow answered, with the utmost effrontery, 'I have a right, sir, to be indemnified for the loss of my profits on the sale of the work.'
Anger and argument were equally vain. There were two ways of proceeding. Silence and safety might be purchased: or the law might be let loose on a knave, who set it at defiance. The one was secure: the other problematical; and replete with the danger which we wished to avert.
Quisque asked him what was the sum that he demanded? His reply was more moderate than from appearances we had reason to expect: it was one hundred pounds.
Glibly desired he would permit us to consult five minutes among ourselves. He withdrew; and the fluent agent remarked the sum was a trifle: but, trifling as it was, he had no doubt but feelings of delicacy and honor would dictate that it ought to be jointly paid, by the three parties principally concerned.
He had urged a motive which I knew not how to resist, and I gave my assent. By this manoeuvre he gained the point which he intended. He implicated me, as paying to suppress a pamphlet which, according to his interpretation, I at present allowed to be defamatory, and unjust. The money however was paid, and the copies of the pamphlet were delivered: and, being determined if possible to avoid such another accident, those that I had caused to be printed were dislodged from their garret; both editions, a single copy of each excepted, were taken into the fields by night, and burned; and thus expired a production which had aided to drain my pocket, waste my time, and inflame my passions.
A new and bold project conceived and executed by Wakefield: The difficulty of making principles agree with practice discussed: Fair promises on the part of an old offender, the hopes they excite and the fears that accompany them
The affair of the pamphlet being removed from my mind, I had leisure to attend to the other difficulty that had lately crossed me; by the possession which Wakefield had illegally taken of effects which he asserted to be his, in the double right of being heir to his uncle and the husband of my mother, but which, if my information were true, appertained to me.
It may well be supposed I communicated all my thoughts to friends likeEvelyn, Wilmot, and Turl; and endeavoured to profit by their advice.
Law had lately undergone a serious examination from us all; and it was then the general opinion among us that, though it was impossible to avoid appealing to it on some occasions, yet nothing but the most urgent cases could justify such appeals. Enquiries that were to be regulated, not by a spirit of justice but by the disputatious temper of men whose trade it was to deceive, and by statutes and precedents which they might or might not remember, and which, though they might equivocally and partially apply in some points, in others had no resemblance, such enquiries ought not lightly to be instituted. Neither ought the habitual vices which they engender, both in lawyer and client, nor the miseries they inflict, upon the latter in particular, and by their consequences upon all society, to be promoted.
In the course of the conversation at the tavern, when I dined and spent the afternoon with the false Belmont, this subject among others had occurred. Having told him that I had quitted all thoughts of the law, he enquired into my motives; and, being full of the subject and zealous to detail its whole iniquity, I not only urged the reasons that most militate against it both in principle and practice, but, in the warmth of argument, declared that I doubted whether any man could bring an action against another without being guilty of injustice. I considered crime and error as the same. The structure of law I argued was erroneous, therefore criminal; and I protested against the attempting to redress a wrong, already committed, by the commission of more wrong.
The death of Thornby happened immediately after this conversation took place; and it is not to be supposed that a man like my young but inventive father-in-law could forget, or fail in endeavouring to profit by, such an incident.
One morning while at breakfast, I received a note from him, signed Belmont; in which he requested me again to dine and spend the afternoon with him: alleging that an event had taken place in which he was deeply interested: adding that he had been lately led to reflect on many of the remarks I had made; and that he hoped the period was come when he should be able to change the system to which I was so inimical, for one that better agreed with my own sentiments: but that my advice was particularly necessary, on the present occasion.
The note gave me pleasure. That a man with such powers of mind, and charms of conversation, should have only a chance of changing, from what he was to what I hoped, was delightful. And that he should call upon me for advice, at such a juncture, was flattering.
I answered that an engagement already formed prevented me from meeting him, on that day: but I appointed the next morning for an interview. Dining I declined; as a hint that I disapproved the attempt he had made to entrap me.
The engagement I had was to accompany Lady Bray, to one of the families acquainted with the Mowbrays; and where it was expected we should meet Olivia, and her aunt. This expectation, which kept my spirits in a flutter the whole day and increased to alarm and dread in the evening, was disappointed. Whether from any real or a pretended accident on the part of the aunt, who sent an apology, was more than I had an opportunity to know.
I kept my appointment, on the following morning; and was rather surprised, when we met, at perceiving that the still pretended Belmont, like myself, was in deep mourning. I began to make enquiries, to which he gave short answers; and, turning the interrogatories upon me, asked which of my relations was dead?
'My mother.'
'Oh: I remember. Mrs. Wakefield. Are you still as angry with her husband as ever?'
'I really cannot tell. Though I have what most people would think much greater cause.'
'Indeed! What has he done more?'
'Taken possession of property which is mine.'
'By what right is it yours?'
'It was bequeathed me by my grandfather; and since that by his executor.'
'The uncle of this Wakefield, I think you told me?'
'Yes. A lawyer. One Thornby; who was induced by death-bed terrors to restore what he had robbed me of while living.'
'That is, he lived a knave, and died a fool and a fanatic.'
'I suspect that he died as he had lived. Knavery and fanaticism are frequently coupled.'
'And how do you intend to proceed?'
'I do not know. I have not yet consulted a lawyer.'
'Consulted a lawyer? You surprise me! When last I saw you, I was half convinced by you that a man cannot justly seek redress at law. Its sources you proved to be corrupt, its powers inadequate, and its decisions never accurate; therefore never just. This was your language. You reprobated those accommodating rules by which I endeavoured to obtain happiness; and urged arguments that made a deep impression upon me. Now that self-interest gives you an impulse, are your principles become as pliant as mine; which you so seriously reproved?'
I paused, and then replied—'I imagine you take some delight in having found an opportunity of retorting upon me; and of laughing at what you still consider as folly.'
'Indeed you mistake. I hope by reminding you of your own doctrine to induce you to put it in practice. The virtue that consists only in words is but a vapour.'
'Surely you will allow this is an extreme if not a doubtful case. I do not mean to commence an action, till I have considered it very seriously: but I presume you do not require infallibility of me? Or, if you do, it is what I cannot expect from myself. I have frequently been led to doubt whether principles the most indubitable must not bend to the mistakes and institutions of society. 'This doubt is to me the most painful that can cross the mind: but it is one from which I cannot wholly escape.'
'Your tone I find is greatly altered. How strenuous, how firm, how founded, were all your maxims; when last we met.'
'And so, I am persuaded, the maxims of truth will always remain.'
'Then why depart from them? Another of them, which I likewise recollect to have heard from you, is that the laws which pretend to regulate property, whether by will, entail, or any other descent, are all unjust: for that effects of all kinds should be so appropriated as to produce the greatest good.'
'I do not see how that can be denied. But this is strongly to the point in my favour, as I suppose: for the institutes of society render the application of the principle impracticable; and therefore I think the property may have a greater chance of being applied to a good purpose, if allotted to me, than if retained by this Wakefield; whose vices are extraordinary.'
'You believe him to be a man of some talent?'
'All that know him affirm his understanding would be of the first order, were it worthily employed.'
'Then would it not be a good application of the property in contest, if it should both enable and induce him so to employ his understanding?'
'Oh, of that there is no hope.'
'How do you know? I believe you have thought the same of me: but you may chance to be mistaken. And now I will tell you a secret. I am in the very predicament of this Wakefield. A relation is dead, who has left his property away from me: by what right is more than I can discover; at least in the spirit of those laws which pretend to regulate such matters: for their spirit is force. Lands wrested from the helpless they consign to the robber. I am in possession; and doubt whether, even according to your code, I ought to resign. I certainly ought not according to my own. I will acknowledge to you that I think well of the man who claims the property I withhold. But I cannot think so well of him as of myself: for I cannot be so well acquainted with his thoughts as with my own. I know my own wants, my own powers, and my own plans. I should be glad to do him good, but I should be sorry to do myself ill. You accuse me of having fallen into erroneous habits, of making false calculations, and of tasting pleasures that are dangerous and of short duration. I have ridiculed your arguments: but I have not forgotten them. Neither has the enquiring spirit that is abroad been unknown to or unnoticed by me. Early powers of mind gave me the early means of indulgence. I revelled in pleasure, squandered all I could procure, and was led by one successful artifice to another, till I became what I can certainly no otherwise justify than by the selfish spirit of the world. In this I find the rule is for each to seize on all that he can, with safety; and to swallow, hoard, or waste it at will. I have attempted to profit by vice which I knew not how to avoid. But, if there be a safer road to happiness, I am no idiot: I am as desirous of pursuing it as you can be. The respect of the world, the security from pains and penalties, and the approbation of my own heart, are all of them as dear to me as to you. I have thought much, have had much experience, and have the power of comparing facts and sensations as largely perhaps as another.
'I will not deny that to trick selfishness by its own arts, to laugh at its stupidity, and to outwit its contemptible cunning, are practices that have tickled my vanity; and have perhaps formed one of my chief sources of pleasure. But habit and pleasure led me to extend such projects; and to prey upon the well-meaning, and the kind, with almost as much avidity as on those of an opposite character.
'However, though I did not want plausible arguments in my own justification, I cannot affirm that my heart was wholly at ease. New thoughts have occurred, other prospects have been contemplated, and my dissatisfaction has increased. You cannot but have remarked that, in the course of human life, most men undergo more than one remarkable change. The sober man becomes a drunkard, the drunkard sober, and the spendthrift sometimes a rational economist: though perhaps more frequently a miser.
'Yet, though I am disposed to alter my conduct, supposing me to possess the means of bidding defiance to mankind, I have no inclination to subject myself to their neglect, their pity, or their scorn. Be it want of courage or want of wisdom, I have not an intention to shut myself out from society. If I may be admitted on fair and liberal terms, I am content: but, I honestly tell you, admitted I will be. I have shut the door of dependency upon myself, were I so inclined. Offices of trust would not be committed to me. And to live rejected, in poverty and wretchedness, pointed at and pretended to be despised by the knaves and fools with whom the world is filled, is a condition to which I will never submit.
'Consequently, the property of which I have possessed myself I am in either case determined to use every effort to keep. If I am suffered to keep it quietly, my present inclinations are what I have been describing. If contention must come, we must then have a trial of skill upon the opposite system.'
I listened to this discourse, attentive to every sentence, anxious for the next, and agitated by various contradictory emotions. I saw the difficulties of the supposed case; and knew not what to answer, or what to advise. That a man like this should become what he seemed half to promise was a thought that consoled and expanded the heart. But that it should depend upon so improbable an event as that of another renouncing a claim, which the law gave him, to property in dispute, was a most painful alternative. My sensations were of hope suddenly kindled, and as suddenly killed.
After waiting some time without any reply from me, he added 'Let us suppose, Mr. Trevor, a whimsical, or if you please a strange, coincidence between the man with whom you have been so angry and myself. I mean Wakefield. What if he felt some of the sober propensities toward which I find a kind of a call in myself?'
'He is not to be trusted. In him it would be artifice: or at least nobody would believe it could be any thing else.'
'Mark now what chance there is, in a world like this, for a man whom it has once deemed criminal to reform. Oppressed, insulted, and pursued by the good, what resource has he but to associate with the wicked?'
'He that, with the fairest seeming and the most specious pretences, affirming time after time that, though he had deceived before, he now was honest, he that shall yet again and again repeat his acts of infamy cannot complain, if no man should be willing to trust his happiness to such keeping.'
'I find what I am to expect from you. The very same will be said of me.'
'No: you have not been equally unprincipled, and vile.'
'These are coarse or at least harsh terms. However, I take them to myself; and affirm that I have.'
'How can you make such an affirmation? How do you know?'
'A man may calculate on probabilities; and this is a moment in which I do not wish to conceal the full estimate which I make of my own conduct from you. Being therefore, seriously and speaking to the best of my judgment, as culpable as Wakefield, let my course of life hereafter be what it will, I find I am to expect no credit for sincerity from you?'
'You do not know Wakefield.'
'Neither it seems do you.'
'There is something in your countenance, in your conversation, and in the free and undisguised honesty even of your vices, that a man like Wakefield cannot possess.'
'Have you forgotten that, though I can be open and honest, I can be artful? Do you not remember billiards, hazard, and Bath?'
'Yes: but Wakefield would be incapable of the qualities of mind which you are now displaying. With you I feel myself in the company of a man of a perverted but a magnanimous spirit. With all your faults, I could hug you to my heart. But Wakefield! who made women and men alike his prey; to whose devilish arts the virtue and happiness of an amiable, I may say a charming, woman were sacrificed; and the life of one of the first of mankind was endangered; that he should resemble you, and especially that he should resemble you with your present inclinations, oh! would that were possible!'
'There is generosity in the wish. It denotes a power in you of allaying one of the most active fiends that torment mankind: the spirit of revenge.'
'It is a spirit I own to which I have been too subject; and which I could wish to exorcise for ever.'
'Put it to the test. Let us suppose you should discover as much of promise in Wakefield as you imagine you do in me.'
'I should then puthimto the test. I should demand of him to repair the wrongs he has done Miss Wilmot!'
'What if you should find him already so disposed?'
'Impossible. Or if he were, it would be with some design!'
'Ay: perhaps a proposition that you should leave him quietly possessed of the disputed property.'
'And, having obtained that, he would desert his second wife as he had done his first.'
'There is some difference between a young woman and an old one. Beside, if your account be true, Mrs. Wakefield, though she was your mother, was very inferior to Miss Wilmot.'
'You forget that he seduced this lady, and deserted her.'
'I have heard or read of a man who, after being divorced even from a wife, became more passionately in love with her than ever.'
'Wakefield is incapable of love.'
'You frame to yourself a most black and deformed being of thisWakefield.'
'And you suppose a degree of sympathy, between yourself and him, which cannot exist.'
'Why not? His wit, person, and manners, I have heard you describe as winning.'
'I only gave the picture which I had from an affectionate though a most injured woman.'
'I recollect the story perfectly. When you repeated it, notwithstanding my raillery, I was more moved than you had reason to imagine. I am persuaded that Wakefield himself, had he listened to it, would have felt a few uneasy sensations.'
'I fear not.'
'Why so? Is he made of materials totally different from other men?Dissect him, and I imagine you will find he has a heart.'
'But of what quality?'
'Better than you at present seem to give him credit for.'
'What grounds have you for thinking so favourably of him?'
'Very excellent. Don't be surprised. I know the man.'
'Is it possible?'
'Where is the wonder? Knaves of other classes associate, and why should not gamblers?'
'It may be, then, you are deputed to speak in his behalf?'
'I wrote to you, and introduced this conversation, for that very purpose. I know him as intimately as I can know any man. I would speak of him as of myself, of his defects as of my own, and I declare it as my opinion that, if he might be permitted to enjoy his uncle's property in peace, he would change his system. To this property he supposes he has the best claim. He is Thornby's heir at law; and, as to the manner in which the wealth he left was acquired, if a general inquisition were made into the original right to every species of property, he is persuaded that ninety-nine rich men in a hundred would be turned into the streets to beg.'
'What you have related has greatly surprised me. You have pleaded and continue to plead his cause very powerfully: but have you no consideration for me? Granting all you have supposed in his favour possible, am I so situated as to justify a romantic renunciation of claims which, if asserted, may aid me to accomplish my dearest hopes?'
'To a man like you perhaps I could be contented to resign these claims. I need not say "perhaps": I am certain I could, were I thoroughly persuaded you would forsake a life of artifice and plunder, and were I myself only concerned.
'But that is not the case. I have an object to accomplish so dear to my heart that it swallows up lesser considerations, and will not allow me to neglect any honest means by which it may be promoted. Wealth to me is indispensible; wealth that shall place me on a level with a rich and proud family with which I have to contend. I have an impulse such perhaps as you have never felt. There is a woman in the world, endowed with such qualities that to say I passionately love her is a most impotent expression of what I feel: for to tenderness and ardour of affection must be added all that simplicity, purity, and grandeur of soul can inspire. To think of life without her is to think of a world sterile, desolate, and joyless: of a night to which day shall never succeed: and of existence arrested and chained in motionless despondency.'
'Which might be very pitiful; or very sublime: just as you please: but which would be very absurd.'
'Granted: but this is the fever of my mind; the disease to which, should my hopes be disappointed, I feel myself dangerously impelled.'
'The interpretation of all which is, that, though you have discovered principles, which if pursued would secure to yourself and mankind in general certain happiness, and that though you can deal forth their dogmas and point out the path which others indubitably ought to take, yet, when your own passions are concerned, you act like the rest of the world. And you do this, not blindly, as they do, but, with your eyes open; at the moment that you are reminded of your maxims, and acknowledge their truth.'
'Your accusation is premature. I have hitherto done nothing more than express my feelings and my doubts.'
'But these doubts, spurred on by these feelings, assure me that you will proceed against Wakefield.'
'You may think yourself assured: I conceive myself to be uncertain. I would willingly condemn myself to great punishment, were it to promote any plan of the goodness of which there should be a conviction. I can even suppose cases in which I would not only devote my life, for that in comparison appears to be a trifle, but would resign the woman whom my soul adores. Sacrifices like these however cannot be expected on light occasions. The good to be obtained ought to be evidently greater than the evil to be endured.'
He paused a moment to collect his ideas, and then replied.
'If, Mr. Trevor, you are the man of that eminent virtue which I have sometimes thought you, and to which by your discourse to me you have certainly made very lofty pretensions, I would advise you to reflect on what I shall once more state. I know that this Wakefield, of whom you think so ill, and who has been quite as guilty as you have supposed, is now inclined to be a different man. I would have you consider, first, to whom does the property in justice belong? I think you will find that to be doubtful. Next, supposing it to be legally yours, may you not nevertheless be defrauded of it by law? And, lastly, appeal to your own principles, and ask yourself whether it be not better that you should have a chance of doing the good which you conceive would be done, by recovering such a man as Wakefield to that respect in society by which his talents might be well employed; or whether it can be consistent with your own sense of right to take methods which you acknowledge to be precarious, and unjust, in order to dispossess him and to appropriate that to yourself to which, if you are impartial, you will perhaps find it difficult to prove, even to your own satisfaction, that you have a clear and undoubted claim?'
Through this whole scene, instead of diverting my attention from the argument by gay raillery, witty allusions, or a recurrence to the depravity of man, and the practice of the world, he kept closely to the question, preserved the tone of earnest discussion, and, having uttered what I have last repeated, took his leave with that serious air which he had thus unexpectedly assumed, and maintained.
The plan of Wakefield pursued, and the hopes and fears of an affectionate woman: News of Philip: An artless exculpatory tale
Quitting the place, meditating on the scene that had passed, surprised at every part of it, at the interested manner of the man, at the intimate knowledge which he professed to have of Wakefield, at the promises and the threats which he appeared to make in his name, at the coincidence not only of their characters, if his account were true, but at their similar incidents of fortune and corresponding inclinations to reform, astonished while I recollected these various particulars, instead of returning immediately to my lodgings I called on Miss Wilmot.
When I came to the door, I had scarcely decided with myself whether it were advisable to relate what had passed to her, which as she was personally in question I thought myself bound to do whenever it could be done with safety; or whether, if related at present, it might not excite hopes that would be disappointed, and anxieties prejudicial to her peace.
She no sooner saw me than she exclaimed—'I am very glad you are come, Mr. Trevor! I have two unexpected affairs, on which I wish to consult you. One of them relates to myself; and I will begin with that because you are not only concerned in it but are appealed to in a very remarkable manner. I have received two extraordinary letters; by both of which I have been not a little affected. Pray read this first. It is from Mr. Wakefield. The promises it contains, the style it assumes, and the appeal it makes, are so strange as to appear either like miracle or romance.'
She then gave me a letter, and I read as follows.
'Should you imagine, Lydia, that because I have long forborn all intercourse with you I have forgotten you, be assured you are mistaken. I have treated you so shamefully, and deceived you so often, that I have little right to expect you should believe my professions, be moved by my intreaties, or remember me with any other feelings than those of hatred. Yet, to deal sincerely with you, this is what I do not expect. I have had such proofs of the kindness of your heart, and the strength of your affection, that my confidence is still entire.
'It is the more unshaken because my own intentions are direct: of which the plainness with which I shall deliver my thoughts will I imagine be some proof.
'I once more repeat, I have behaved to you like a —— Spare me the word. It is enough to recollect that I have been the thing. I could plead the extreme vivacity of my youth, my ungovernable passions, and the dangerous temptation of critical moments; but that I will not exhibit any feature of pitiful apology, or endeavour to extenuate what I cannot defend.
'You are intimate with Mr. Trevor. You know that his mother, my late wife, is dead; and you have heard of a will, said to have been left by my uncle. I feel but little scruple in affirming that I imbibed many of the vices of my early youth from being placed under this uncle's care. That such a man should die like a coward, and endeavour to disinherit a relation to save his soul, supposing this disinheritance to be true, would be no miracle. It would only be an act of contemptible stupidity.
'I will not here enter into any enquiries of a legal kind: for I will be open enough to own that, being in possession both in right of my wife and as the heir of my uncle of the property he left, and determined as I am to assert my claims, which I think paramount to those of any other person, I will not commit myself even to you. On the contrary, I write this letter purposely that you may shew it to Mr. Trevor.
'You will ask my motive for this, and perhaps will be surprised at my answer.
'By certain whimsical accidents, I have become acquainted with Mr. Trevor's principles. I believe, or I rather know, him to be possessed of a heart and understanding equally excellent. I wish to appeal to them both. When he shall read this, he will have had a conversation relating to me; which may have led him to expect the language I am about to use. In an argument concerning property he cannot forget that he lately delivered himself thus:
"If I strictly adhere to the principle of justice, I must not singly consider my own wishes; which may create innumerable false wants, and crave to have them gratified. I must ask is there no being, within my knowledge, who may be more benefited by the enjoyment of that which I am desirous to appropriate to myself than I can? If so, what right have I to prefer self gratification to superior utility?"
'Mine is a case in point.
'Again: property is left for which he may be induced to contend; and which, should he do so, will probably be dissipated in law. If not, it may with no less probability be decided by law to be mine. He affirms that to contend at law is immoral.
'Do you and he listen to what I have now to say.
'I am desirous of totally changing my conduct. I have a heart more capable of affection than you, Lydia, have reason to suppose; and I love you. My ambition at present is to do you much more good than I have ever done you harm. I am once more at my own disposal; and, unless that ardent love which you formerly bore me be entirely changed, which I do not believe it is, I am now sincerely desirous to make you my wife.
'But I will not deceive you. I can only be such a husband as you desire on condition of being left in quiet possession of that which I believe to be my own. I have ruined my character. Offices of emolument are not easily obtained; but, if they were, I am not a man to be trusted. I will not live a beggar; deprived of all the blessings in which the fools around me wallow, till they turn them into curses. I wish to live happily: unmolesting, and unmolested: but, if I must either prey or be preyed upon, I am still resolved rather to act the fox than the goose.
'I know you will condemn this determination; but I am speaking openly; and telling you what my intentions are, without entering into their defence.
'Supposing Mr. Trevor to be convinced that the law will decide the property contested in his favour, the sacrifice demanded of him is perhaps too great to be expected from any man. Yet, from what I have heard and what I know, this is the sacrifice that I do expect. I expect it from his abhorrence of pretending to seek justice by the aid of law. I expect it from that principle which decides in favour of the greatest good. And I expect it from the earnest desire I have heard him express that you might be restored to that happiness which, for a time, you have lost.
'Should he or you conclude that the motives I now urge originate in that artifice of which I have been very justly accused, I ought perhaps to feel no surprise, and shall certainly make no complaint. But, believe me or believe me not, I have spoken with a sincerity of heart for which I am likely to gain but little credit. Such I feel, at this moment, are the misfortunes to which cunning subjects itself. I am a man but little subject to fear: yet, I own, the fear of being thought still to possess nothing better than this cunning assaults me, obliges me to omit the tender epithets that are in my thoughts, and without addition to sign myself
While I read, the eyes of Miss Wilmot were fixed upon my countenance. Whenever I looked toward her, I could perceive the strong emotions, of hope and fear, by which she was agitated.
When I had ended, I said—'Mr. Wakefield is indeed an extraordinary man! Be his intentions honest or base, the strength and clearness of his mind and his knowledge of the human heart, when we recollect how these faculties have been employed, are truly astonishing. If this be a plan of artifice, it is little less than miraculous. Yet who can believe it to be any thing else?'
Miss Wilmot heaved a deep sigh, and attempted to speak: but she only stammered. Her utterance failed; and her eyes were cast on the floor. Hope and despair were combating; and the latter was the strongest. She wished to confide, she wished to plead for the possibility of his being sincere: but the mischief he had inflicted, the deceit he had practised, and a remembrance of the picture she had formerly given me of him, rushed upon her mind; and her spirits sunk.
'Look up, lovely Lydia,' said I, taking her hand, 'and revive. There is, there must be hope. The man who could write this letter cannot be all villain.'
The struggle of the passions was violent. A momentary wildness, such as I had formerly witnessed, flashed in her eyes; she started from her seat, griped my hand, then bursting into tears exclaimed—'Oh Mr. Trevor!' and dropped down again upon the chair.
Eager to relieve a heart so overcharged, I again addressed her. 'If,' said I, 'the property left by Mr. Wakefield's uncle can really be employed to so noble a purpose as that of reclaiming him and making you happy, let me perish rather than endeavour to counteract such blessings. Let me be the thing he so much dreads, a beggar: but let me obey the purest passions of the heart, when they are sanctioned by the best principles of the understanding.'
Till this instant she had forgotten that, if I consented to enrich him, I must rob myself. But the thought no sooner occurred than she cried, 'No! It must not be! It cannot be! To require it of you is infamous. It debases him, and would make me hate myself; were I to participate in such an action.'
'You judge too severely,' I replied. 'I am not so unfortunately circumstanced as he is. My character is not lost. I am not shut out of society. I have friends, plans, and prospects; and, granting him to be sincere, his arguments, as far as they relate to him and me, are I suspect unanswerable. Of that sincerity I would fain not doubt: but it is our mutual duty to be wary. Here therefore at present the matter shall rest. I am determined to bring no action, till time and future events shall teach me the course I ought to pursue.'
Overwhelmed by a sense of obligation, and by the thronging emotions of every kind that assailed her, she was again half suffocated with passion. As she recovered her eyes sufficiently spoke her feelings.
When she grew calm, she was led to ask what conversation I had had, and with whom, relative to Mr. Wakefield? I gave her the history of my acquaintance with the supposed Belmont, and of the scene that had passed that very day: which she thought altogether surprising, and seemed to shrink with the fear that it was an artful plan, contrived by artful men. She was in some sort appeased, however, when I once more reminded her of my determination to wait and hope for the best.
I then enquired concerning the second letter she had mentioned? To which she answered—'It is addressed to me, as a mediator: but relates entirely to you, and the person who wrote it; your poor penitent servant, Philip.'
She gave it me; and these were its contents.
'Honoured madam,
'I make bold to lay my case before you; which as it is very grievous I hope it may move you to pity me. I am the young man that lived with my honoured master Mr. Trevor; in the same house, madam, that you are pleased to live. My name is Philip. I have been guilty of a very great fault; for which my conscience worries me night and day. So that I am sure I shall never forgive myself: though I take my holy saviour to witness it was more a mistake than a thought of committing so wicked a crime. I was in a flurry, so that I did not know what I was about; for to think of having robbed a master that was so kind to me is such a sin and a shame as never was. But I had no notion but that my poor dear master had drowned himself in the river; and so, as he had told me the day before to make up my account and he would pay me the next morning, I thought it was hard that I should lose my wages and the money beside which I had laid out for washing, and newspapers, and tea, and sugar, and other materials of that kind: which, though my wageswasonly eight pounds eight shillings, made up the whole to twelve pounds five and threepence three farthings. Which was the reason to make me do so base a thing as it would else have been as to break open the box, and take out a ten pound note, and four pair of stockings, and two waistcoats: because I knew very well my master's kindness so that it is ten to one if he had lived to make his will he would have given me them and more. After which I hurried away: being as I was told of a place, with an old master that I was sure would take me again. But I had no more thought that Mr. Trevor was living than the child unborn: which since I discovered I have never been at rest; being out of place, and having nobody now to ask for a character, which is the greatest misfor_tin_ that can behappen a poor servant that never was guilty of such an action as breaking open his master's box, and running away with his money and things, in all my life before, or since. So that I was tempted to list for a soldier; but that I happened, honoured madam, to meet your maid Mary, and she persuaded me to write to Mr. Trevor: which I durst not do, though I know his goodness. So she said your honoured ladyship would be so kind and tender hearted as to lay my case before Mr. Trevor, and my dear and honoured mistress, Miss Mowbray, both ofwhichI would run to the world's end to serve. On which she said she was sure they would take my case into merciful consideration, and grant me their gracious forgiveness.
'Which is the humble petition of your distressed servant to command, honoured madam.
Poor fellow! Forgive thee? What is thy crime? An inaccuracy. A mistake of judgment. A desire to do thyself right, without intentional wrong to me or any one. Yet for this mistake, differently circumstanced, thou mightest have lost thy life, and have been hanged like a dog!
I too accused thee of robbery, of taking more than thy due, when thou tookest less. Hadst thou offered thy old waistcoats and stockings to a street hawker, he would not have given thee half the surplus that was thy due.
Such were the reflections that broke from me, after perusing his simple but affecting defence.
Mary was called up, and questioned. She knew where he lived: for the poor, little inclined to suspicion, confide in each other. It is the rich only that tempt them to be treacherous.
After consulting with Miss Wilmot, it was determined that she should write to Olivia; enclosing Philip's letter, and requesting her to give him a character. I knew she would take care to see him paid the wages that were his due; and, as I had been the cause of his want of employment since the fright he took at Cranford-bridge, I left money to reimburse him for the loss of his time from that period.
The people I mixed with, and the prejudices of the world, required that I should keep a servant: but, though the man that was with me was by no means so great a favourite as Philip had been, I did not think I had sufficient cause to discharge him for another. There was an additional motive for not wishing Philip to be my servant again; at least not under my present circumstances. Olivia's aunt had imagined we were in league, at Cranford-bridge; and, should she see him once more in my service, that suspicion might either be revived or strengthened.
The period of contention approaches, and the unabated patriotism of the Baronet: Hector and the Earl become enemies, and I am made the subject of newspaper calumny: Threatening appearances: A journey projected: A tragical event, giving occasion to the practice of some small portion of humanity
The dissolution of parliament was hourly expected. Flying reports fixed it to happen on different days; but none of them very distant. The zeal of Sir Barnard, in behalf of his country and its constitution, was unabated. The measures of ministry were wicked beyond example; and the servility of parliament was unequalled, since the time of the Tudors. Such was the Baronet's continual theme.
From him, and the political circles I frequented, I heard news in which I might be said to be personally concerned. In consequence of the firm refusal of Olivia, a rupture had taken place between Lord Idford and the family: much at first to the regret of the Mowbrays; till the turn that the quarrel took enflamed the latter.
Hector Mowbray had great property, and influence, in the county of which he and I were both natives. Of this county the Earl was the Lord Lieutenant; and here he likewise had his dependents, and partisans. The Mowbrays were wealthy; and Hector was ambitious of being elected knight of the shire. When it was first proposed, the aunt forwarded the project: for there was no probability that any other candidate so powerful should start. The joint interest of the Earl and the Mowbrays would defy opposition.
The Earl however understood traffic; and, finding himself so positively refused by Olivia, he thought proper to inform the family that she must either be induced to consent, or, instead of aiding to bring Hector into parliament, he should himself propose and support another candidate with the whole weight of his interest. The threat was galling. It was insinuated first to the aunt; and, when Hector was informed of it, he affected to vapour and treat it with defiance; but, on better consideration, he and the aunt thought proper to importune Olivia, hoping they should oblige her to comply. Threats and intreaties alike were vain. Her resolution was not to be shaken; and the Earl more openly declared that, if she should think proper to persist, he would beggar himself rather than Hector should carry his election.
Hector had been canvassing the county, had subscribed to races, been present at the assizes, given public dinners, and taken various means to increase his popularity; of which he had become inordinately vain. Inflated therefore with a certainty of victory, he threw down the gauntlet, and dared the Earl to the field.
In the mean time, paragraphs appeared in a morning and an evening paper, both of them sold to Government, and the echoes of each other, that were evidently aimed at me, and my connections. At first I could not have conceived how I should have attracted the attention of those worthy gentlemen, who earn their bread by the daily manufactory of lampoons: but I was soon informed that this is become a regular branch of business; and that the motives to carry it on are many. These motives originate in paymasters, of various descriptions: of whom the treasury is supposed to be the chief.
The libels, of which I was the subject, aimed to be satirical; but were too dull of wing to hit their mark: they were only malignant. They could neither tickle the fancy nor gall the heart; but they proved that I had lurking enemies, who wished to wound, did they but know when and where to strike.
It was well known that my professedly dear friend, Glibly, was principally concerned in the morning paper where these libels generally appeared. When I first became acquainted with him, he affected indifference to parties; and was ready to praise or laugh at either, as circumstances should happen to direct him: but, when the temper of the times became intolerant and acrimonious, he thought it prudent to take a decided part. That such a man should declare in favour of the weakest was not to be expected; and he now associated with the known hirelings of ministry, of whom I was a still more open and undisguised opponent.
By these attacks on me, Glibly therefore, for they were undoubtedly a part of his handy-work, Glibly, I say, had a three-fold motive. He indulged a propensity, which strange to say he had acquired, of wounding in the dark, that he might smile and shake hands with the insulted person in broad day; he answered the end for which ministry retained him, that of decrying all its antagonists; and he particularly forwarded the views of another of his dear friends, the Earl.
The general complexion of paragraphs like these is falsehood; which is sometimes direct, though it is more commonly a perversion of existing facts. The pamphlet I had written, which had been partially made known to the public by the advertisement that had appeared, the patronage of Sir Barnard, my ambitious views on the Mowbray family, with such other particulars as the indefatigable Glibly could collect, sometimes delivered in obscure allusions and at others more openly, were the topics of calumny. How many of these ingenious devices to irritate and injure were framed I never knew: for I seldom read them myself, though I heard of them sufficiently often to be assured that they were numerous.
There were various means by which they might have been stopped; and of which, in ordinary cases bribing is chiefly practised: but in this instance fighting, or the law, would have been more effectual. Of these however I totally disapproved. Defamation is an evil: but death is generally and perhaps always a greater; and to prevent enquiry is among the worst of evils. I was not yet sufficiently acquainted, however, with the mistakes to which men are subject, or rather impelled by the institutions they admire, not to feel great surprise and some indignation at the obstacles which I found were continually to impede my career. He who has never travelled into the country of Mosquitoes is not aware how slight a net-work covering will preserve him from their sting.
These were trifles, and would have been unworthy of notice had they not resembled the small cloudy speck, which, though scarcely visible in the distant horizon, approaches, and swells, and bursts over the head in a storm. The beginning contest between the Earl and the Mowbray family, the interest which the worthy Mr. Glibly had thought proper to take in me and my affairs, the patriotism of Sir Barnard, nay the friendship of Mr. Evelyn himself, that best of men, were but so many links in the chain of that fate which was impending.
At present, however, with respect to the Baronet, I daily increased in favour. He frequently requested me to accompany him when he went down to the house; and paraded with me, arm in arm, through the avenues: catching every man he knew by the button, and introducing me; then descanting on the news of the day, the victories of the minister among his creatures and in the house, and the defeats of his projects every where else.
At length it was generally affirmed and believed that parliament would be dissolved in a fortnight; and, as Sir Barnard wished to keep well with his borough, he proposed that we should go down and visit the worthy and independent electors: among whom he observed we might spend a few days in a pleasant manner, and advantageously to his interest, till the writ of election should be issued. This was on the Wednesday: but, as there was to be a debate and probably a division of the house on Friday, his sense of public duty would not permit him to be absent on such an occasion, and we agreed to defer our journey till Saturday morning.
During this short interval an incident occurred, which it is necessary I should relate. It happened on the Thursday that, after spending the day near Richmond, where I had been invited to dine, I was returning home on horseback, followed by my servant: for I thought myself obliged to practise some part of that aristocracy which I nevertheless very sincerely condemned.
The night was starlight; and, as we were cantering down a lane at the entrance of Barnes common, we heard distant cries and the report of a pistol, in the direction as we believed in which we were proceeding. I immediately stopped, and listened very attentively: but all was soon silent. Being convinced as well by the cries as the firing of the pistol that a robbery, if not something worse, had been committed, and not certainly knowing from what point the sound came, I rode gently forward and continued to listen with the utmost attention: desiring my servant to do the same.
We rode on, still walking our horses and looking cautiously round for some time, without any sight or sound of man approaching us, till we came to a gate at the edge of the common. Here I saw a horse standing patiently, without his rider; and stopping once more to look and listen, I presently perceived an indistinct object: which I discovered to be a man; wounded and weltering in his blood.
I spoke to him: but no answer was returned, nor any sound. I then raised the body in my arms, and it appeared to be lifeless.
What was to be done? A human being, who might be dead or might not, in either case, must not be left in such a situation.
The neighbourhood is populous, and I could distinguish lights at no very great distance. Fearing lest, if I sent my servant he should blunder, or that the persons he might address himself to would be less likely to pay attention to him than to me, I bade him remain by the dead or wounded man; and, mounting my horse, I rode away immediately to procure aid.
My direction was across the common; and fortunately I met with a carriage, which proved to be a hackney coach returning to town with two passengers. I ordered the coachman to stop, and he immediately supposed I was a highwayman: but, being undeceived, he refused to go out of his way for the purpose I required.
The persons within, hearing a kind of squabble, and understanding when they listened the nature of it, spoke to me; and enquired into the particulars. By good luck, they happened to feel properly, and joined me against the coachman; who, though unwillingly, was obliged to submit; and, when he came to the point where the roads join, to turn back and receive the wounded man into the carriage. The passengers alighted, I ordered my man to take the horse of the stranger in charge, and we proceeded slowly to the first inn.
Here I immediately enquired for surgical and medical assistance; and, as the people of these villages are many of them opulent, good practitioners were presently procured.
While the messengers were dispatched, I had leisure to examine the stranger; whose appearance, figure, and countenance, were altogether extremely interesting. His hair was abundant, but milk white, his features were serene, and his form in despite of age was still manly. The benevolence of his countenance was heightened by the blood with which his locks were in part clotted, and that had streamed over his face upon his clothes and linen.
The medical gentlemen arrived nearly at the same time, the stranger was examined, the pulsation of the heart was perceptible, and, though the contusions on the head and the temple were violent, and he had been shot in the shoulder, so that the ball had passed through behind, they were of opinion, as there was no fracture of the skull, that the wounds were not mortal. The appearance of the stranger, and the condition in which I found him, had made a lively impression upon me. I was fearful of leaving him, in an unknown place, amidst the casualties and hurry of an inn, to the care of waiters, and the neglect of persons who had scarcely leisure to be humane. I therefore determined to send my servant to town, and stay with him that night. I had an appointment and other business in the morning; but I could be at London in less than an hour: that was therefore no obstacle.
Hoping to have discovered his place of abode, I desired his pockets to be searched before the people present: but they were entirely emptied; and contained no paper, or memorandum, that could afford information.
After some time, by the aid which was procured, his pulse began to quicken, and his lungs to do their office; and, that nothing might be omitted, I prevailed on the physician to remain with me at his bed-side, and attend to every symptom, above half the night. With this he the more willingly complied because he was apprehensive of fever, when the circulation should recover all its elasticity.
In the morning, though very unwillingly, I was obliged to forsake my charge: but not till I had left money with the physician, who made himself accountable to the innkeeper for all expences. Being a humane person, I believe he would have done this without my interference. But in addition to that every mark about the stranger, his look, his dress and the horse on which he was mounted, denoted him to be a gentleman; and when I left him, though the physician thought it was probable he might not recover the use of his understanding and the power of speech for a day or two, he yet was persuaded that he would not die.