The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances was quite dispelled when the Marquess entered.
“Lady Carabas,” said he, “you must prepare for many visitors to-day. There are the Amershams, and Lord Alhambra, and Ernest Clay, and twenty other young heroes, who, duly informed that the Miss Courtowns were honouring us with their presence, are pouring in from all quarters; is it not so, Juliana?” gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: “but who do you think is coming besides?”
“Who, who?” exclaimed all.
“Nay, you shall guess,” said the Peer.
“The Duke of Waterloo?” guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.
“Prince Hungary?” asked her sister Laura.
“Is it a gentleman?” asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
“No, no, you are all wrong, and all very stupid. It is Mrs. Million.”
“Oh, how delightful!” said Cynthia.
“Oh, how annoying!” said the Marchioness.
“You need not look so agitated, my love,” said the Marquess; “I have written to Mrs. Million to say that we shall be most happy to see her; but as the castle is very full, she must not come with five carriages-and-four, as she did last year.”
“And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the Hall, Marquess?” asked Cynthia Courtown.
“Mrs. Million will do what she likes; I only know that I shall dine in the Hall, whatever happens, and whoever comes; and so, I suppose, will Miss Cynthia Courtown?”
Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his melancholy by a gallop.
Returning home, he intended to look in at a pretty farm-house, where lived one John Conyers, a great friend of Vivian’s. This man had, about a fortnight ago, been of essential service to our hero, when a vicious horse, which he was endeavouring to cure of some ugly tricks, had nearly terminated his mortal career.
“Why are you crying so, my boy?” asked Vivian of a little Conyers, who was sobbing bitterly at the floor. He was answered only with desperate sobs.
“Oh, ‘tis your honour,” said a decent-looking woman, who came out of the house; “I thought they had come back again.”
“Come back again! why, what is the matter, dame?”
“Oh! your honour, we’re in sad distress; there’s been a seizure this morning, and I’m mortal fear’d the good man’s beside himself.”
“Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?”
“Oh! your honour, we a’nt his Lordship’s tenants no longer; there’s been a change for Purley Mill, and now we’re Lord Mounteney’s people. John Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick always gave time: Lord Mounteney’s gem’man says the system’s bad, and so he’ll put an end to it; and so all’s gone, your honour; all’s gone, and I’m mortal fear’d the good man’s beside himself.”
“And who is Lord Mounteney’s man of business?”
“Mr. Stapylton Toad,” sobbed the good dame.
“Here, boy, leave off crying, and hold my horse; keep your hold tight, but give him rein, he’ll be quiet enough then. I will see honest John, dame.”
“I’m sure your honour’s very kind, but I’m mortal fear’d the good man’s beside himself, and he’s apt to do very violent things when the fits on him. He hasn’t been so bad since young Barton behaved so wickedly to his sister.”
“Never mind! there is nothing like a friend’s face in the hour of sorrow.”
“I wouldn’t advise your honour,” said the good dame. “It’s an awful hour when the fit’s on him; he knows not friend or foe, and scarcely knows me, your honour.”
“Never mind, I’ll see him.”
Vivian entered the house; but who shall describe the scene of desolation! The room was entirely stripped; there was nothing left, save the bare whitewashed walls, and the red tiled flooring. The room was darkened; and seated on an old block of wood, which had been pulled out of the orchard, since the bailiff had left, was John Conyers. The fire was out, but his feet were still among the ashes. His head was buried in his hands, and bowed down nearly to his knees. The eldest girl, a fine sensible child of about thirteen, was sitting with two brothers on the floor in a corner of the room, motionless, their faces grave, and still as death, but tearless. Three young children, of an age too tender to know grief, were acting unmeaning gambols near the door.
“Oh! pray beware, your honour,” earnestly whispered the poor dame, as she entered the cottage with the visitor.
Vivian walked up with a silent step to the end of “the room, where Conyers was sitting. He remembered this little room, when he thought it the very model of the abode of an English husbandman. The neat row of plates, and the well-scoured utensils, and the fine old Dutch clock, and the ancient and amusing ballad, purchased at some neighbouring fair, or of some itinerant bibliopole, and pinned against the wall, all gone!
“Conyers!” exclaimed Vivian.
There was no answer, nor did the miserable man appear in the slightest degree to be sensible of Vivian’s presence.
“My good John!”
The man raised his head from his resting-place, and turned to the spot whence the voice proceeded. There was such an unnatural fire in his eyes, that Vivian’s spirit almost quailed. His alarm was not decreased, when he perceived that the master of the cottage did not recognize him. The fearful stare was, however, short, and again the sufferer’s face was hid.
The wife was advancing, but Vivian waved his hand to her to withdraw, and she accordingly fell into the background; but her fixed eye did not leave her husband for a second.
“John Conyers, it is your friend, Mr. Vivian Grey, who is here,” said Vivian.
“Grey!” moaned the husbandman; “Grey! who is he?”
“Your friend, John Conyers. Do you quite forget me?” said Vivian advancing, and with a tone which Vivian Grey could alone assume.
“I think I have seen you, and you were kind,” and the face was again hid.
“And always will be kind, John. I have come to comfort you. I thought that a friend’s voice would do you good. Come, cheer up, my man!” and Vivian dared to touch him. His hand was not repulsed. “Do you remember what good service you did me when I rode white-footed Moll? Why, I was much worse off then than you are now: and yet, you see, a friend came and saved me. You must not give way so, my good fellow. After all, a little management will set everything right,” and he took the husbandman’s sturdy hand.
“I do remember you,” he faintly cried. “You were always very kind.”
“And always will be, John; always to friends like you. Come, come, cheer up and look about you, and let the sunbeam enter your cottage:” and Vivian beckoned to the wife to open the closed shutter.
Conyers stared around him, but his eye rested only on bare walls, and the big tear coursed down his hardy cheek.
“Nay, never mind, man,” said Vivian, “we will soon have chairs and tables again. And as for the rent, think no more about that at present.”
The husbandman looked up, and then burst into weeping. Vivian could scarcely hold down his convulsed frame on the rugged seat; but the wife advanced from the back of the room, and her husband’s head rested against her bosom. Vivian held his honest hand, and the eldest girl rose unbidden from her silent sorrow, and clung to her father’s knee.
“The fit is over,” whispered the wife. “There, there, there’s a man, all is now well;” and Vivian left him resting on his wife’s bosom.
“Here, you curly-headed rascal, scamper down to the village immediately, and bring up a basket of something to eat; and tell Morgan Price that Mr. Grey says he is to send up a couple of beds, and some chairs here immediately, and some plates and dishes, and everything else, and don’t forget some ale;” so saying, Vivian flung the urchin a sovereign.
“And now, dame, for Heaven’s sake, light the fire. As for the rent, John, do not waste this trifle on that,” whispered Vivian, slipping his purse into his hand, “for I will see Stapylton Toad, and get time. Why, woman, you’ll never strike a light, if your tears drop so fast into the tinder-box. Here, give it me. You are not fit to work to-day. And how is the trout in Ravely Mead, John, this hot weather? You know you never kept your promise with me. Oh! you are a sad fellow! There! there’s a spark! I wonder why old Toad did not take the tinder-box. It is a very valuable piece of property, at least to us. Run and get me some wood, that’s a good boy. And so white-footed Moll is past all recovery? Well, she was a pretty creature! There, that will do famously,” said Vivian, fanning the flame with his hat. “See, it mounts well! And now, God bless you all! for I am an hour too late, and must scamper for my very life.”
Mrs. Million arrived, and kept her promise; only three carriages-and-four! Out of the first descended the mighty lady herself, with some noble friends, who formed the most distinguished part of her suite: out of the second came her physician, Dr. Sly; her toad-eater, Miss Gusset; her secretary, and her page. The third carriage bore her groom of the chambers, and three female attendants. There were only two men servants to each equipage; nothing could be more moderate, or, as Miss Gusser said, “in better taste.”
Mrs. Million, after having granted the Marquess a private interview in her private apartments, signified her imperial intention of dining in public, which, as she had arrived late, she trusted she might do in her travelling dress. The Marquess kotooed like a first-rate mandarin, and vowed “that her will was his conduct.”
The whole suite of apartments were thrown open, and were crowded with guests. Mrs. Million entered; she was leaning on the Marquess’ arm, and in a travelling dress, namely, a crimson silk pelisse, hat and feathers, with diamond ear-rings, and a rope of gold round her neck. A train of about twelve persons, consisting of her noble fellow-travellers, toad-eaters, physicians, secretaries, &c. &c. &c. followed. The entree of Her Majesty could not have created a greater sensation than did that of Mrs. Million. All fell back. Gartered peers, and starred ambassadors, and baronets with blood older than the creation, and squires, to the antiquity of whose veins chaos was a novelty; all retreated, with eyes that scarcely dared to leave the ground; even Sir Plantagenet Pure, whose family had refused a peerage regularly every century, now, for the first time in his life, seemed cowed, and in an awkward retreat to make way for the approaching presence, got entangled with the Mameluke boots of my Lord Alhambra.
At last a sofa was gained, and the great lady was seated, and the sensation having somewhat subsided, conversation was resumed; and the mighty Mrs. Million was not slightly abused, particularly by those who had bowed lowest at her entree; and now the Marquess of Carabas, as was wittily observed by Mr. Septimus Sessions, a pert young barrister, “went the circuit,” that is to say, made the grand tour of the suite of apartments, making remarks to every one of his guests, and keeping up his influence in the county.
“Ah, my Lord Alhambra! this is too kind; and how is your excellent father, and my good friend? Sir Plantagenet, yours most sincerely! we shall have no difficulty about that right of common. Mr. Leverton, I hope you find the new plough work well; your son, sir, will do the county honour. Sir Godfrey, I saw Barton upon that point, as I promised. Lady Julia, I am rejoiced to see ye at Château Desir, more blooming than ever! Good Mr. Stapylton Toad, so that little change was effected: My Lord Devildrain, this is a pleasure indeed!”
“Why, Ernest Clay,” said Mr. Buckhurst Stanhope, “I thought Alhambra wore a turban; I am quite disappointed.”
“Not in the country. Stanhope; here he only sits cross-legged on an ottoman, and carves his venison with an ataghan.”
“Well, I am glad he does not wear a turban; that would be bad taste, I think,” said Fool Stanhope. “Have you read his poem?”
“A little. He sent me a copy, and as I am in the habit of lighting my pipe or so occasionally with a leaf, why I cannot help occasionally seeing a line: it seems quite first-rate.”
“Indeed!” said Fool Stanhope; “I must get it.”
“My dear Puff! I am quite glad to find you here,” said Mr. Cayenne, a celebrated reviewer, to Mr. Partenopex Puff, a small author and smaller wit. “Have you seen Middle Ages lately?”
“Not very lately,” drawled Mr. Partenopex, “I breakfasted with him before I left town, and met a Professor Bopp there, a very interesting man, and Principal of the celebrated University of Heligoland, the model of the London.”
“Ah, indeed! talking of the London, is Foaming Fudge to come in for Cloudland?”
“Doubtless! Oh! he is a prodigious fellow! What do you think Booby says? He says that Foaming Fudge can do more than any man in Great Britain; that he had one day to plead in the King’s Bench, spout at a tavern, speak in the House, and fight a duel; and that he found time for everything but the last.”
“Excellent!” laughed Mr. Cayenne.
Mr. Partenopex Puff was reputed, in a certain set, a sayer of good things, but he was a modest wit, and generally fathered his bon mots on his valet Booby, his monkey, or his parrot.
“I saw you in the last number,” said Cayenne. “From the quotations from your own works, I imagine the review of your own book was by yourself?”
“What do you think Booby said?”
“Mr. Puff, allow me to introduce you to Lord Alhambra,” said Ernest Clay, by which means Mr. Puff’s servant’s last good thing was lost.
“Mr. Clay, are you an archer?” asked Cynthia Courtown.
“No, fair Dian; but I can act Endymion.”
“I don’t know what you mean. Go away.”
“Aubrey Vere, welcome to ——shire. Have you seen Prima Donna?”
“No; is he here? How did you like his last song in the Age?”
“His last song! Pooh! pooh! he only supplies the scandal.”
“Groves,” said Sir Hanway Etherington, “have you seen the newspaper this morning? Baron Crupper has tried fifteen men for horse-stealing at York, and acquitted every one.”
“Well then, Sir Hanway, I think his Lordship’s remarkable wrong; for when a man gets a horse to suit him, if he loses it, ‘tisn’t so easy to suit himself again. That’s the ground I stand upon.”
All this time the Marquess of Carabas had wanted Vivian Grey twenty times, but that gentleman had not appeared. The important moment arrived, and his Lordship offered his arm to Mrs. Million, who, as the Gotha Almanack says, “takes precedence of all Archduchesses, Grand Duchesses, Duchesses, Princesses, Landgravines, Margravines, Palsgravines, &c. &c. &c.”
In their passage to the Hall, the Marquess and Mrs. Million met Vivian Grey, booted and spurred, and covered with mud.
“Oh! Mrs. Million—Mr. Vivian Grey. How is this, my dear fellow? you will be too late.”
“Immense honour!” said Vivian, bowing to the ground to the lady. “Oh! my Lord I was late, and made a short cut over Fearnley Bog. It has proved a very Moscow expedition. However, I am keeping you. I shall be in time for the guava and liqueurs, and you know that is the only refreshment I ever take.”
“Who is that, Marquess?” asked Mrs. Million.
“That is Mr. Vivian Grey, the most monstrous clever young man, and nicest fellow I know.”
“He does, indeed, seem, a very nice young man,” said Mrs. Million.
Some steam process should be invented for arranging guests when they are above five hundred. In the present instance all went wrong when they entered the Hall; but, at last, the arrangements, which, of course, were of the simplest nature, were comprehended, and the guests were seated. There were three tables, each stretching down the Hall; the dais was occupied by a military band. The number of guests, the contrast between the antique chamber and their modern costumes, the music, the various liveried menials, all combined to produce a whole, which at the same time was very striking, and “in remarkable good taste.”
In process of time, Mr. Vivian Grey made his entrance. There were a few vacant seats at the bottom of the table, “luckily for him,” as kindly remarked Mr. Grumbleton. To the astonishment and indignation, however, of this worthy squire, the late comer passed by the unoccupied position, and proceeded onward with undaunted coolness, until he came to about the middle of the middle table, and which was nearly the best situation in the Hall.
“Beautiful Cynthia,” said Vivian Grey, softly and sweetly whispering in Miss Courtown’s ear, “I am sure you will give up your place to me; you have nerve enough, you know, for anything, and would no more care for standing out than I for sitting in.” There is nothing like giving a romp credit for a little boldness. To keep up her character she will out-herod Herod.
“Oh! Grey, is it you? certainly, you shall have my place immediately; but I am not sure that we cannot make room for you. Dormer Stanhope, room must be made for Grey, or I shall leave the table immediately. You men!” said the hoyden, turning round to a set of surrounding servants, “push this form down and put a chair between.”
The men obeyed. All who sat lower in the table on Miss Cynthia Courtown’s side than that lady, were suddenly propelled downwards about the distance of two feet. Dr. Sly, who was flourishing a carving-knife and fork, preparatory to dissecting a gorgeous haunch, had these fearful instruments suddenly precipitated into a trifle, from whose sugared trellis-work he found great difficulty in extricating them; while Miss Gusset, who was on the point of cooling herself with some exquisite iced jelly, found her frigid portion as suddenly transformed into a plate of peculiarly ardent curry, the property, but a moment before, of old Colonel Rangoon. Everything, however, receives a civil reception from a toad-eater, so Miss Gusset burnt herself to death by devouring a composition, which would have reduced anyone to ashes who had not fought against Bundoolah.
“Now that is what I call a sensible arrangement; what could go off better?” said Vivian.
“You may think so, sir,” said Mr. Boreall, a sharp-nosed and conceited-looking man, who, having got among a set whom he did not the least understand, was determined to take up Dr. Sly’s quarrel, merely for the sake of conversation. “You, I say, sir, may think it so, but I rather imagine that the ladies and gentlemen lower down can hardly think it a sensible arrangement;” and here Boreall looked as if he had done his duty, in giving a young man a proper reproof.
Vivian glanced a look of annihilation. “I had reckoned upon two deaths, sir, when I entered the Hall, and finding, as I do, that the whole business has apparently gone off without any fatal accident, why, I think the circumstances bear me out in my expression.”
Mr. Boreall was one of those unfortunate men who always take things to the letter: he consequently looked amazed, and exclaimed, “Two deaths, sir?”
“Yes, sir, two deaths; I reckoned, of course, on some corpulent parent being crushed to death in the scuffle, and then I should have had to shoot his son through the head for his filial satisfaction. Dormer Stanhope, I never thanked you for exerting yourself: send me that fricandeau you have just helped yourself to.”
Dormer, who was, as Vivian well knew, something of an epicure, looked rather annoyed, but by this time he was accustomed to Vivian Grey, and sent him the portion he had intended for himself. Could epicure do more?
“Whom are we among, bright Cynthia?” asked Vivian.
“Oh! an odd set,” said the lady, looking dignified; “but you know we can be exclusive.”
“Exclusive! pooh! trash! Talk to everybody; it looks as if you were going to stand for the county. Have we any of the millionaires near us?”
“The Doctor and Toady are lower down.”
“Where is Mrs. Felix Lorraine?”
“At the opposite table, with Ernest Clay.”
“Oh! there is Alhambra, next to Dormer Stanhope. Lord Alhambra, I am quite rejoiced to see you.”
“Ah! Mr. Grey, I am quite rejoiced to see you. How is your father?”
“Extremely well; he is at Paris; I heard from him yesterday. Do you ever see the Weimar Literary Gazette, my Lord?”
“No; why?”
“There is an admirable review of your poem in the last number I have received.”
The young nobleman looked agitated. “I think, by the style,” continued Vivian, “that it is by Goëthe. It is really delightful to see the oldest poet in Europe dilating on the brilliancy of a new star on the poetical horizon.”
This was uttered with a perfectly grave voice, and now the young nobleman blushed. “Who isGewter?” asked Mr. Boreall, who possessed such a thirst for knowledge that he never allowed an opportunity to escape him of displaying his ignorance.
“A celebrated German writer,” lisped the modest Miss Macdonald.
“I never heard his name,” persevered the indefatigable Boreall; “how do you spell it?”
“GOETHE,” re-lisped modesty.
“Oh!Goty!” exclaimed the querist. “I know him well: he wrote the Sorrows of Werter.”
“Did he indeed, sir?” asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring face.
“Oh! don’t you know that?” said Boreall, “and poor stuff it is!”
“Lord Alhambra! I will take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the Marquess’ wines are in the state they should be:
The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced,For Christian men the various wines wereiced.
I always think that those are two of the best lines in your Lordship’s poem,” said Vivian.
His Lordship did not exactly remember them: it would have been a wonder if he had: but he thought Vivian Grey the most delightful fellow he ever met, and determined to ask him to Helicon Castle for the Christmas holidays.
“Flat! flat!” said Vivian, as he dwelt upon the flavour of the Rhine’s glory. “Not exactly from the favourite bin of Prince Metternich, I think. By-the-bye, Dormer Stanhope, you have a taste that way; I will tell you two secrets, which never forget: decant your Johannisberg, and ice your Maraschino. Ay, do not stare, my dear Gastronome, but do it.”
“O, Vivian! why did not you come and speak to me?” exclaimed a lady who was sitting at the side opposite Vivian, but higher in the table.
“Ah! adorable Lady Julia! and so you were done on the grey filly.”
“Done!” said the sporting beauty with pouting lips; “but it is a long story, and I will tell it you another time.”
“Ah! do. How is Sir Peter?”
“Oh! he has had a fit or two, since you saw him last.”
“Poor old gentleman! let us drink his health. Do you know Lady Julia Knighton?” asked Vivian of his neighbour. “This Hall is bearable to dine in; but I once breakfasted here, and I never shall forget the ludicrous effect produced by the sun through the oriel window. Such complexions! Every one looked like a prize-fighter ten days after a battle. After all, painted glass is a bore; I wish the Marquess would have it knocked out, and have it plated.”
“Knock out the painted glass!” said Mr. Boreall; “well, I must confess, I cannot agree with you.”
“I should have been extremely surprised if you could. If you do not insult that man, Miss Courtown, in ten minutes I shall be no more. I have already a nervous fever.”
“May I have the honour of taking a glass of champagne with you, Mr. Grey?” said Boreall.
“Mr. Grey, indeed!” muttered Vivian: “Sir, I never drink anything but brandy.”
“Allow me to giveyousome champagne, Miss,” resumed Boreall, as he attacked the modest Miss Macdonald: “champagne, you know,” continued he, with a smile of agonising courtesy, “is quite the lady’s wine.”
“Cynthia Courtown,” whispered Vivian with a sepulchral voice, “‘tis all over with me: I have been thinking what would come next. This is too much: I am already dead. Have Boreall arrested; the chain of circumstantial evidence is very strong.”
“Baker!” said Vivian, turning to a servant, “go and inquire if Mr. Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day.”
A flourish of trumpets announced the rise of the Marchioness of Carabas, and in a few minutes the most ornamental portion of the guests had disappeared. The gentlemen made a general “move up,” and Vivian found himself opposite his friend, Mr. Hargrave.
“Ah! Mr. Hargrave, how d’ye do? What do you think of the Secretary’s state paper?”
“A magnificent composition, and quite unanswerable. I was just speaking of it to my friend here, Mr. Metternich Scribe. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Metternich Scribe.”
“Mr. Metternich Scribe, Mr. Vivian Grey!” and here Mr. Hargrave introduced Vivian to an effeminate-looking, perfumed young man, with a handsome, unmeaning face and very white hands; in short, as dapper a little diplomatist as ever tattled about the Congress of Verona, smirked at Lady Almack’s supper after the Opera, or vowed “that Richmond Terrace was a most convenient situation for official men.”
“We have had it with us some time before the public received it,” said the future under-secretary, with a look at once condescending and conceited.
“Have you?” said Vivian: “well, it does your office credit. It is a singular thing that Canning and Croker are the only official men who can write grammar.”
The dismayed young gentleman of the Foreign Office was about to mince a repartee, when Vivian left his seat, for he had a great deal of business to transact. “Mr. Leverton,” said he, accosting a flourishing grazier, “I have received a letter from my friend, M. De Noé. He is desirous of purchasing some Leicestershires for his estate in Burgundy. Pray, may I take the liberty of introducing his agent to you?”
Mr. Leverton was delighted.
“I also wanted to see you about some other little business. Let me see, what was it? Never mind, I will take my wine here, if you can make room for me; I shall remember it, I dare say, soon. Oh! by-the-bye: ah! that was it. Stapylton Toad; Mr. Stapylton Toad; I want to know all about Mr. Stapylton Toad. I dare say you can tell me. A friend of mine intends to consult him on some parliamentary business, and he wishes to know something about him before he calls.”
We will condense, for the benefit of the reader, the information of Mr. Leverton.
Stapylton Toad had not the honour of being acquainted with his father’s name; but as the son found himself, at an early age, apprenticed to a solicitor of eminence, he was of opinion that his parent must have been respectable. Respectable! mysterious word! Stapylton was a diligent and faithful clerk, but was not so fortunate in his apprenticeship as the celebrated Whittington, for his master had no daughter and many sons; in consequence of which, Stapylton, not being able to become his master’s partner, became his master’s rival.
On the door of one of the shabbiest houses in Jermyn Street the name of Mr. Stapylton Toad for a long time figured, magnificently engraved on a broad brass plate. There was nothing however, otherwise, in the appearance of the establishment, which indicated that Mr. Toad’s progress was very rapid, or his professional career extraordinarily prosperous. In an outward office one solitary clerk was seen, oftener stirring his office fire than wasting his master’s ink; and Mr. Toad was known by his brother attorneys as a gentleman who was not recorded in the courts as ever having conducted a single cause. In a few years, however, a story was added to the Jermyn Street abode, which, new pointed and new painted, began to assume a mansion-like appearance. The house-door was also thrown open, for the solitary clerk no longer found time to answer the often agitated bell; and the eyes of the entering client were now saluted by a gorgeous green baize office door; the imposing appearance of which was only equalled by Mr. Toad’s new private portal, splendid with a brass knocker and patent varnish. And now his brother attorneys began to wonder “how Toad got on! and who Toad’s clients were!”
A few more years rolled over, and Mr. Toad was seen riding in the Park at a classical hour, attended by a groom in a classical livery. And now “the profession” wondered still more, and significant looks were interchanged by “the respectable houses:” and flourishing practitioners in the City shrugged up their shoulders, and talked mysteriously of “money business,” and “some odd work in annuities.” In spite, however, of the charitable surmises of his brother lawyers, it must be confessed that nothing of even an equivocal nature ever transpired against the character of the flourishing Mr. Toad, who, to complete the mortification of his less successful rivals, married, and at the same time moved from Jermyn Street to Cavendish Square. The new residence of—Mr. Toad had previously been the mansion of a noble client, and one whom, as the world said, Mr. Toad “had got out of difficulties.” This significant phrase will probably throw some light upon the nature of the mysterious business of our prosperous practitioner. Noble Lords who have been in difficulties will not much wonder at the prosperity of those who get them out.
About this time Mr. Toad became acquainted with Lord Mounteney, a nobleman in great distress, with fifty thousand per annum. His Lordship “really did not know how he had got involved: he never gamed, he was not married, and his consequent expenses had never been unreasonable: he was not extraordinarily negligent; quite the reverse: was something of a man of business, remembered once looking over his accounts; and yet in spite of his regular and correct career, found himself quite involved, and must leave England.”
The arrangement of the Mounteney property was the crowning stroke of Mr. Stapylton Toad’s professional celebrity. His Lordship was not under the necessity of quitting England, and found himself in the course of five years in the receipt of a clear rental of five-and-twenty thousand per annum. His Lordship was in raptures; and Stapylton Toad purchased an elegant villa in Surrey, and became a Member of Parliament. Goodburn Park, for such was the name of Mr. Toad’s country residence, in spite of its double lodges and patent park paling, was not, to Mr. Toad, a very expensive purchase; for he “took it off the hands” of a distressed client who wanted an immediate supply, “merely to convenience him,” and, consequently, became the purchaser at about half its real value. “Attorneys,” as Bustle the auctioneer says, “havesuchopportunities!”
Mr. Toad’s career in the House was as correct as his conduct out of it. After ten years’ regular attendance, the boldest conjecturer would not have dared to define his political principles. It was a rule with Stapylton Toad never to commit himself. Once, indeed, he wrote an able pamphlet on the Corn Laws, which excited the dire indignation of the Political Economy Club. But Stapylton cared little for their subtle confutations and their loudly expressed contempt. He had obliged the country gentlemen of England, and ensured the return, at the next election, of Lord Mounteney’s brother for the county. At this general election, also, Stapylton Toad’s purpose in entering the House became rather more manifest; for it was found, to the surprise of the whole country, that there was scarcely a place in England; county, town, or borough; in which Mr. Stapylton Toad did not possess some influence. In short, it was discovered, that Mr. Stapylton Toad had “a first-rate parliamentary business;” that nothing could be done without his co-operation, and everything with it. In spite of his prosperity, Stapylton had the good sense never to retire from business, and even to refuse a baronetcy; on condition, however, that it should be offered to his son.
Stapylton, like the rest of mankind, had his weak points. The late Marquess of Almack’s was wont to manage him very happily, and Toad was always introducing that minister’s opinion of his importance. “‘My time is quite at your service, General,’ although the poor dear Marquess used to say, ‘Mr. Stapylton Toad, your time is mine.’ He knew the business I had to get through!” The family portraits also, in ostentatious frames, now adorned the dining-room of his London mansion; and it was amusing to hear the worthy M.P. dilate upon his likeness to his respected father.
“You see, my Lord,” Stapylton would say, pointing to a dark, dingy picture of a gentleman in a rich court dress, “you see, my Lord, it is not in a very good light, and it certainly is a very dark picture, by Hudson; all Hudson’s pictures were dark. But if I were six inches taller, and could hold the light just there, I think your Lordship would be astonished at the resemblance; but it’s a dark picture, certainly it is dark; all Hudson’s pictures were.”
The Cavaliers have left the ancient Hall, and the old pictures frown only upon empty tables. The Marquess immediately gained a seat by Mrs. Million, and was soon engrossed in deep converse with that illustrious lady. In one room, the most eminent and exclusive, headed by Mrs. Felix Lorraine, were now winding through the soothing mazes of a slow waltz, and now whirling, with all the rapidity of Eastern dervishes, to true double Wien time. In another saloon, the tedious tactics of quadrilles commanded the exertions of less civilised beings: here Liberal Snake, the celebrated political economist, was lecturing to a knot of alarmed country gentlemen; and there an Italian improvisatore poured forth to an admiring audience all the dulness of his inspiration. Vivian Grey was holding an earnest conversation in one of the recesses with Mr. Stapylton Toad. He had already charmed that worthy by the deep interest which he took in everything relating to elections and the House of Commons, and now they were hard at work on the Corn Laws. Although they agreed upon the main points, and Vivian’s ideas upon this important subject had, of course, been adopted after studying Mr. Toad’s “most luminous and convincing pamphlet,” still there were a few minor points on which Vivian “was obliged to confess” that “he did not exactly see his way.” Mr. Toad was astonished, but argumentative, and, of course, in due time, had made a convert of his companion; “a young man,” as he afterwards remarked to Lord Mounteney, “in whom he knew not which most to admire, the soundness of his own views, or the candour with which he treated those of others.” If you wish to win a man’s heart, allow him to confute you.
“I think, Mr. Grey, you must admit that my definition of labour is the correct one?” said Mr. Toad, looking earnestly in Vivian’s face, his finger just presuming to feel a button.
“That exertion of mind or body which is not the involuntary effect of the influence of natural sensations,” slowly repeated Vivian, as if his whole soul was concentrated in each monosyllable. “Y-e-s, Mr. Toad, I do admit it.”
“Then, my dear sir, the rest follows of course,” triumphantly exclaimed the member; “don’t you see it?”
“Although I admit the correctness of your definition, Mr. Toad, I am not free to confess that I am ex-act-ly convinced of the soundness of your conclusion,” said Vivian, in a musing mood.
“But, my dear sir, I am surprised that you don’t see that—”
“Stop, Mr. Toad,” eagerly exclaimed Vivian; “I see my error. I misconceived your meaning: you are right, sir; your definition is correct.”
“I was confident that I should convince you, Mr. Grey.”
“This conversation, I assure you, Mr. Toad, has been to me a peculiarly satisfactory one. Indeed, sir, I have long wished to have the honour of making your acquaintance. When but a boy, I remember, at my father’s table, the late Marquess of Almack’s—”
“Yes, Mr. Grey.”
“One of the ablest men, Mr. Toad, after all, that this country ever produced.”
“Oh, poor dear man!”
“I remember his observing to a friend of mine, who was at that time desirous of getting into the House: ‘Hargrave,’ said his Lordship, ‘if you want any information upon points of practical politics;’ that was his phrase; you remember, Mr. Toad, that his Lordship was peculiar in his phrases?”
“Oh! yes, poor dear man; but you were observing, Mr. Grey—”
“Ay, ay! ‘If you want any information,’ said his Lordship, ‘on such points, there is only one man in the kingdom whom you should consult, and he is one of the soundest heads I know, and that is Stapylton Toad, the member for Mounteney;’ you know you were in for Mounteney then, Mr. Toad.”
“I was, and accepted the Chilterns to make room for Augustus Clay, Ernest Clay’s brother, who was so involved, that the only way to keep him out of the House of Correction was to get him into the House of Commons. But the Marquess said so, eh?”
“Ay, and much more, which I scarcely can remember;” and then followed a long dissertation on the character of the noble statesman, and his views as to the agricultural interest, and the importance of the agricultural interest; and then a delicate hint was thrown out as to “how delightful it would be to write a pamphlet together” on this mighty agricultural interest; and then came a panegyric on the character of country gentlemen, and English yeomen, and the importance of keeping up the old English spirit in the peasantry, &c. &c. &c. &c.; and then, when Vivian had led Mr. Toad to deliver a splendid and patriotic oration on this point, he “just remembered (quite apropos to the sentiments which Mr. Toad had just delivered, and which, he did not hesitate to say, ‘did equal honour to his head and heart’) that there was a little point, which, if it was not trespassing too much on Mr. Toad’s attention, he would just submit to him;” and then he mentioned poor John Conyers’ case, although “he felt convinced, from Mr. Toad’s well-known benevolent character, that it was quite unnecessary for him to do so, as he felt assured that it would be remedied immediately it fell under his cognisance; but then Mr. Toad had really so much business to transact, that perhaps these slight matters might occasionally not be submitted to him,” &c. &c. &c.
What could Stapylton Toad do but, after a little amiable grumbling about “bad system and bad precedent,” promise everything that Vivian Grey required?
“Mr. Vivian Grey,” said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, “I cannot understand why you have been talking to Mr. Toad so long. Will you waltz?”
Before Vivian could answer, a tittering, so audible that it might almost be termed a shout, burst forth from the whole room. Cynthia Courtown had stolen behind Lord Alhambra, as he was sitting on an ottoman a la Turque, and had folded a cashmere shawl round his head with a most Oriental tie. His Lordship, who, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was really a very amiable man, bore his blushing honours with a gracious dignity worthy of a descendant of the Abencerrages. The sensation which this incident occasioned favoured Vivian’s escape from Mrs. Felix, for he had not left Mr. Stapylton Toad with any intention of waltzing.
But he had hardly escaped from the waltzers ere he found himself in danger of being involved in a much more laborious duty; for now he stumbled on the Political Economist, and he was earnestly requested by the contending theorists to assume the office of moderator. Emboldened by his success. Liberal Snake had had the hardihood to attack a personage of whose character he was not utterly ignorant, but on whom he was extremely desirous of “making an impression.” This important person was Sir Christopher Mowbray, who, upon the lecturer presuming to inform him “what rent was,” damned himself several times from sheer astonishment at the impudence of the fellow. I don’t wish to be coarse, but Sir Christopher is a great man, and the sayings of great men, particularly when they are representative of the sentiment of a species, should not pass unrecorded.
Sir Christopher Mowbray is member for the county of ——; and member for the county he intends to be next election, although he is in his seventy-ninth year, for he can still follow a fox with as pluck a heart and with as stout a voice as any squire in Christendom. Sir Christopher, it must be confessed, is rather peculiar in his ideas. His grandson, Peregrine Mowbray, who is as pert a genius as the applause of a common-room ever yet spoiled, and as sublime an orator as the cheerings of the Union ever yet inspired, says “the Baronet is not up to the nineteenth century;” and perhaps this phrase will give the reader a more significant idea of Sir Christopher Mowbray than a character as long and as laboured as the most perfect of my Lord Clarendon’s. The truth is, the good Baronet had no idea of “liberal principles,” or anything else of that school. His most peculiar characteristic is a singular habit which he has got of styling political economists French Smugglers. Nobody has ever yet succeeded in extracting a reason from him for this singular appellation, and even if you angle with the most exquisite skill for the desired definition, Sir Christopher immediately salutes you with a volley of oaths, and damns French wines, Bible Societies, and Mr. Huskisson. Sir Christopher for half a century has supported in the senate, with equal sedulousness and silence, the constitution and the corn laws; he is perfectly aware of “the present perilous state of the country,” and watches with great interest all “the plans and plots” of this enlightened age. The only thing which he does not exactly comprehend is the London University. This affair really puzzles the worthy gentleman, who could as easily fancy a county member not being a freeholder as an university not being at Oxford or Cambridge. Indeed to this hour the old gentleman believes that the whole business is “a hoax;” and if you tell him that, far from the plan partaking of the visionary nature he conceives, there are actually four acres of very valuable land purchased near White Conduit House for the erection, and that there is little apprehension that, in the course of a century, the wooden poles which are now stuck about the ground will not be as fair and flourishing as the most leafy bowers of New College Gardens, the old gentleman looks up to heaven, as if determined not to be taken in, and leaning back in his chair, sends forth a sceptical and smiling “No! no! no! that won’t do.”
Vivian extricated himself with as much grace as possible from the toils of the Economist, and indeed, like a skilful general, turned this little rencontre to account in accomplishing the very end for the attainment of which he had declined waltzing with Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
“My dear Lord,” said Vivian, addressing the Marquess, who was still by the side of Mrs. Million, “I am going to commit a most ungallant act; but you great men must pay a tax for your dignity. I am going to disturb you. You are wanted by half the county! What could possibly induce you ever to allow a Political Economist to enter Château Desir? There are. at least, three baronets and four squires in despair, writhing under the tortures of Liberal Snake. They have deputed me to request your assistance, to save them from being defeated in the presence of half their tenantry; and I think, my Lord,” said Vivian, with a serious voice, “if you could possibly contrive to interfere, it would be desirable. That lecturing knave never knows when to stop, and he is actually insulting men before whom, after all, he ought not to dare open his lips. I see that your Lordship is naturally not very much inclined to quit your present occupation, in order to act moderator to a set of brawlers; but come, you shall not be quite sacrificed to the county. I will give up the waltz in which I was engaged, and keep your seat until your return.”
The Marquess, who was always “keeping up county influence,” was very shocked at the obstreperous conduct of Liberal Snake. Indeed he had viewed the arrival of this worthy with no smiling countenance, but what could he say, as he came in the suit of Lord Pert, who was writing, with the lecturer’s assistance, a little pamphlet on the Currency? Apologising to Mrs. Million, and promising to return as soon as possible and lead her to the music-room, the Marquess retired, with the determination of annihilating one of the stoutest members of the Political Economy Club.
Vivian began by apologising to Mrs. Million for disturbing her progress to the Hall by his sudden arrival before dinner; and then for a quarter of an hour poured forth the usual quantity of piquant anecdotes and insidious compliments. Mrs. Million found Vivian’s conversation no disagreeable relief to the pompous prosiness of his predecessor.
And now, having succeeded in commanding Mrs. Million’s attention by that general art of pleasing which was for all the world, and which was, of course, formed upon his general experience of human nature, Vivian began to make his advances to Mrs. Million’s feelings by a particular art of pleasing; that is, an art which was for the particular person alone whom he was at any time addressing, and which was founded on his particular knowledge of that person’s character.
“How beautiful the old Hall looked to-day! It is a scene which can only be met with in ancient families.”
“Ah! there is nothing like old families!” remarked Mrs. Million, with all the awkward feelings of a parvenue.
“Do you think so?” said Vivian; “I once thought so myself, but I confess that my opinion is greatly changed. After all, what is noble blood? My eye is now resting on a crowd of nobles; and yet, being among them, do we treat them in a manner differing in any way from that which we should employ to individuals of a lower caste who were equally uninteresting?”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Million.
“The height of the ambition of the less exalted ranks is to be noble, because they conceive to be noble implies to be superior; associating in their minds, as they always do, a pre-eminence over their equals. But to be noble among nobles, where is the pre-eminence?”
“Where indeed?” said Mrs. Million; and she thought of herself, sitting the most considered personage in this grand castle, and yet with sufficiently base blood flowing in her veins.
“And thus, in the highest circles,” continued Vivian, “a man is of course not valued because he is a Marquess or a Duke; but because he is a great warrior, or a great statesman, or very fashionable, or very witty. In all classes but the highest, a peer, however unbefriended by nature or by fortune, becomes a man of a certain rate of consequence; but to be a person of consequence in the highest class requires something else besides high blood.”
“I quite agree with you in your sentiments, Mr. Grey. Now what character or what situation in life would you choose, if you had the power of making your choice?”
“That is really a most metaphysical question. As is the custom of all young men, I have sometimes, in my reveries, imagined what I conceived to be a lot of pure happiness: and yet Mrs. Million will perhaps be astonished that I was neither to be nobly born nor to acquire nobility, that I was not to be a statesman, or a poet, or a warrior, or a merchant, nor indeed any profession, not even a professional dandy.”
“Oh! love in a cottage, I suppose,” interrupted Mrs. Million.
“Neither love in a cottage, nor science in a cell.”
“Oh! pray tell me what it is.”
“What it is? Oh! Lord Mayor of London, I suppose; that is the only situation which answers to my oracular description.”
“Then you have been joking all this time!”
“Not at all. Come then, let us imagine this perfect lot. In the first place, I would be born in the middle classes of society, or even lower, because I would wish my character to be impartially developed. I would be born to no hereditary prejudices, no hereditary passions. My course in life should not be carved out by the example of a grandfather, nor my ideas modelled to a preconceived system of family perfection. Do you like my first principle, Mrs. Million?”
“I must hear everything before I give an opinion.”
“When, therefore, my mind was formed, I would wish to become the proprietor of a princely fortune.”
“Yes!” eagerly exclaimed Mrs. Million.
“And now would come the moral singularity of my fate. If I had gained this fortune by commerce, or in any other similar mode, my disposition, before the creation of this fortune, would naturally have been formed, and been permanently developed; and my mind would have been similarly affected, had I succeeded to some ducal father; for I should then, in all probability, have inherited some family line of conduct, both moral and political. But under the circumstances I have imagined, the result would be far different. I should then be in the singular situation of possessing, at the same time, unbounded wealth, and the whole powers and natural feelings of my mind unoppressed and unshackled. Oh! how splendid would be my career! I would not allow the change in my condition to exercise any influence on my natural disposition. I would experience the same passions and be subject to the same feelings, only they should be exercised and influential in a wider sphere. Then would be seen the influence of great wealth, directed by a disposition similar to that of the generality of men, inasmuch as it had been formed like that of the generality of men; and consequently, one much better acquainted with their feelings, their habits, and their wishes. Such a lot would indeed be princely! Such a lot would infallibly ensure the affection and respect of the great majority of mankind; and, supported by them, what should I care if I were misunderstood by a few fools and abused by a few knaves?”
Here came the Marquess to lead the lady to the concert. As she quitted her seat, a smile, beaming with graciousness, rewarded her youthful companion. “Ah!” thought Mrs. Million, “I go to the concert, but leave sweeter music than can possibly meet me there. What is the magic of these words? It is not flattery; such is not the language of Miss Gusset! It is not a rifacimento of compliments; such is not the style with which I am saluted by the Duke of Doze and the Earl of Leatherdale! Apparently I have heard a young philosopher delivering his sentiments upon an abstract point in human life; and yet have I not listened to a brilliant apology for my own character, and a triumphant defence of my own conduct. Of course it was unintentional; and yet how agreeable to be unintentionally defended!” So mused Mrs. Million, and she made a thousand vows not to let a day pass over without obtaining a pledge from Vivian Grey to visit her on their return to the metropolis.
Vivian remained in his seat for some time after the departure of his companion. “On my honour, I have half a mind to desert my embryo faction and number myself in her gorgeous retinue. Let me see. What part should I act? her secretary, or her toad-eater, or her physician, or her cook? or shall I be her page? Methinks I should make a pretty page, and hand a chased goblet as gracefully as any monkey that ever bent his knee in a lady’s chamber. Well! at any rate, there is this chance to be kept back, as the gambler does his last trump, or the cunning fencer his last ruse.”
He rose to offer his arm to some stray fair one; for crowds were now hurrying to pineapples and lobster salads: that is to say, supper was ready in the Long Gallery.
In a moment Vivian’s arm was locked in that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
“Oh, Mr. Grey, I have got a much better ghost story than even that of the Leyden Professor for you; but I am so wearied with waltzing that I must tell it you to-morrow. How came you to be so late this morning? Have you been paying many calls to-day? I quite missed you at dinner. Do you think Ernest Clay handsome? I dare not repeat what Lady Scrope said of you! You are an admirer of Lady Julia Knighton, I believe? I do not much like this plan of supping in the Long Gallery; it is a favourite locale of mine, and I have no idea of my private promenade being invaded by the uninteresting presence of trifles and Italian creams. Have you been telling Mrs. Million that she was very witty?” asked Vivian’s companion, with a significant look.