Book: My Novel, Volume 10.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 10.




Leonard listened with admiration and some surprise to the singularly
subtle and sagacious insight into character which Harley evinced in the
brief clear strokes by which he had thus depicted Peschiera and Beatrice,
and was struck by the boldness with which Harley rested a whole system of
action upon a few deductions drawn from his reasonings on human motive
and characteristic bias. Leonard had not expected to find so much
practical acuteness in a man who, however accomplished, usually seemed
indifferent, dreamy, and abstracted to the ordinary things of life. But
Harley L'Estrange was one of those whose powers lie dormant till
circumstance applies to them all they need for activity,--the stimulant
of a motive.

Harley resumed: "After a conversation I had with the lady last night, it
occurred to me that in this part of our diplomacy you could render us
essential service. Madame di Negra--such is the sister's name--has
conceived an admiration for your genius, and a strong desire to know you
personally. I have promised to present you to her; and I shall do so
after a preliminary caution. The lady is very handsome, and very
fascinating. It is possible that your heart and your senses may not be
proof against her attractions."

"Oh, do not fear that!" exclaimed Leonard, with a tone of conviction so
earnest that Harley smiled.

"Forewarned is not always forearmed against the might of beauty, my dear
Leonard; so I cannot at once accept your assurance. But listen to me!
Watch yourself narrowly, and if you find that you are likely to be
captivated, promise, on your honour, to retreat at once from the field.
I have no right, for the sake of another, to expose you to danger; and
Madame di Negra, whatever may be her good qualities, is the last person I
should wish to see you in love with."

"In love with her! Impossible!"

"Impossible is a strong word," returned Harley; "still I own fairly (and
this belief alone warrants me in trusting you to her fascinations), that
I do think, as far as one man can judge of another, that she is not the
woman to attract you; and if filled by one pure and generous object in
your intercourse with her, you will see her with purged eyes. Still I
claim your promise as one of honour."

"I give it," said Leonard, positively. "But how can I serve Riccabocca?
How aid in--"

"Thus," interrupted Harley: "the spell of your writings is, that,
unconsciously to ourselves, they make us better and nobler. And your
writings are but the impressions struck off from your mind. Your
conversation, when you are roused, has the same effect. And as you grow
more familiar with Madame di Negra, I wish you to speak of your boyhood,
your youth. Describe the exile as you have seen him,--so touching amidst
his foibles, so grand amidst the petty privations of his fallen fortunes,
so benevolent while poring over his hateful Machiavelli, so stingless in
his wisdom of the serpent, so playfully astute in his innocence of the
dove--I leave the picture to your knowledge of humour and pathos.
Describe Violante brooding over her Italian Poets, and filled with dreams
of her fatherland; describe her with all the flashes of her princely
nature, shining forth through humble circumstance and obscure position;
waken in your listener compassion, respect, admiration for her kindred
exiles,--and I think our work is done. She will recognize evidently
those whom her brother seeks. She will question you closely where you
met with them, where they now are. Protect that secret; say at once that
it is not your own. Against your descriptions and the feelings they
excite, she will not be guarded as against mine. And there are other
reasons why your influence over this woman of mixed nature may be more
direct and effectual than my own."

"Nay, I cannot conceive that."

"Believe it, without asking me to explain," answered Harley.

For he did not judge it necessary to say to Leonard: "I am high-born and
wealthy, you a peasant's son, and living by your exertions. This woman
is ambitious and distressed. She might have projects on me that would
counteract mine on her. You she would but listen to, and receive,
through the sentiments of good or of poetical that are in her; you she
would have no interest to subjugate, no motive to ensnare."

"And now," said Harley, turning the subject, "I have another object in
view. This foolish sage friend of ours, in his bewilderment and fears,
has sought to save Violante from one rogue by promising her hand to a man
who, unless my instincts deceive me, I suspect much disposed to be
another. Sacrifice such exuberance of life and spirit to that bloodless
heart, to that cold and earthward intellect! By Heaven, it shall not
be!"

"But whom can the exile possibly have seen of birth and fortunes to
render him a fitting spouse for his daughter? Whom, my Lord, except
yourself?"

"Me!" exclaimed Harley, angrily, and changing colour. "I worthy of such
a creature?---I, with my habits! I, silken egotist that I am! And you,
a poet, to form such an estimate of one who might be the queen of a
poet's dreasn!"

"My Lord, when we sat the other night round Riccabocca's hearth, when I
heard her speak, and observed you listen, I said to myself, from such
knowledge of human nature as comes, we know not how, to us poets,--I
said, 'Harley L'Estrange has looked long and wistfully on the heavens,
and he now hears the murmur of the wings that can waft him towards them.'
And then I sighed, for I thought how the world rules us all in spite of
ourselves, and I said, 'What pity for both, that the exile's daughter is
not the worldly equal of the peer's son!' And you too sighed, as I thus
thought; and I fancied that, while you listened to the music of the wing,
you felt the iron of the chain. But the exile's daughter is your equal
in birth, and you are her equal in heart and in soul."

"My poor Leonard, you rave," answered Harley, calmly. "And if Violante
is not to be some young prince's bride, she should be some young poet's."

"Poet's! Oh, no!" said Leonard, with a gentle laugh. "Poets need repose
where they love!"

Harley was struck by the answer, and mused over it in silence. "I
comprehend," thought he; "it is a new light that dawns on me. What is
needed by the man whose whole life is one strain after glory--whose soul
sinks, in fatigue, to the companionship of earth--is not the love of a
nature like his own. He is right,--it is repose! While I!--it is true;
boy that he is, his intuitions are wiser than all my experience! It is
excitement, energy, elevation, that Love should bestow on me. But I have
chosen; and, at least, with Helen my life will be calm, and my hearth
sacred. Let the rest sleep in the same grave as my youth."

"But," said Leonard, wishing kindly to arouse his noble friend from a
revery which he felt was mournful, though he did not divine its true
cause,--"but you have not yet told me the name of the signorina's suitor.
May I know?"

"Probably one you never heard of. Randal Leslie,--a placeman. You
refused a place; you were right."

"Randal Leslie? Heaven forbid!" cried Leonard, revealing his surprise at
the name.

"Amen! But what do you know of him?

"Leonard related the story of Burley's pamphlet."

Harley seemed delighted to hear his suspicions of Randal confirmed. "The
paltry pretender;--and yet I fancied that he might be formidable!
However, we must dismiss him for the present,--we are approaching Madame
di Negra's house. Prepare yourself, and remember your promise."




CHAPTER XIII.

Some days have passed by. Leonard and Beatrice di Negra have already
made friends. Harley is satisfied with his young friend's report. He
himself has been actively occupied. He has sought, but hitherto in vain,
all trace of Mrs. Bertram; he has put that investigation into the hands
of his lawyer, and his lawyer has not been more fortunate than himself.
Moreover, Harley has blazed forth again in the London world, and promises
again /de faire fureur/; but he has always found time to spend some hours
in the twenty-four at his father's house. He has continued much the same
tone with Violante, and she begins to accustom herself to it, and reply
saucily. His calm courtship to Helen flows on in silence. Leonard, too,
has been a frequent guest at the Lansmeres: all welcome and like him
there. Peschiera has not evinced any sign of the deadly machinations
ascribed to him. He goes less into the drawing-room world; for in that
world he meets Lord L'Estrange; and brilliant and handsome though
Peschiera be, Lord L'Estrange, like Rob Roy Macgregor, is "on his native
heath," and has the decided advantage over the foreigner. Peschiera,
however, shines in the clubs, and plays high. Still, scarcely an evening
passes in which he and Baron Levy do not meet.

Audley Egerton has been intensely occupied with affairs, only seen once
by Harley. Harley then was about to deliver himself of his sentiments
respecting Randal Leslie, and to communicate the story of Burley and the
pamphlet. Egerton stopped him short.

"My dear Harley, don't try to set me against this young man. I wish to
hear nothing in his disfavour. In the first place, it would not alter
the line of conduct I mean to adopt with regard to him. He is my wife's
kinsman; I charged myself with his career, as a wish of hers, and
therefore as a duty to myself. In attaching him so young to my own fate,
I drew him necessarily away from the professions in which his industry
and talents (for he has both in no common degree) would have secured his
fortunes; therefore, be he bad, be he good, I shall try to provide for
him as I best can; and, moreover, cold as I am to him, and worldly though
perhaps he be, I have somehow or other conceived an interest in him, a
liking to him. He has been under my roof, he is dependent on me; he has
been docile and prudent, and I am a lone childless man; therefore, spare
him, since in so doing you spare me; and ah, Harley, I have so many cares
on me now that--"

"Oh, say no more, my dear, dear Audley," cried the generous friend; "how
little people know you!"

Audley's hand trembled. Certainly his nerves began to show wear and
tear.

Meanwhile, the object of this dialogue--the type of perverted intellect,
of mind without heart, of knowledge which had no aim but power--was in a
state of anxious, perturbed gloom. He did not know whether wholly to
believe Levy's assurance of his patron's ruin. He could not believe it
when he saw that great house in Grosvenor Square, its hall crowded with
lacqueys, its sideboard blazing with plate; when no dun was ever seen in
the antechamber; when not a tradesman was ever known to call twice for a
bill. He hinted to Levy the doubts all these phenomena suggested to him;
but the baron only smiled ominously, and said,

"True, the tradesmen are always paid; but the how is the question!
Randal, /mon cher/, you are too innocent. I have but two pieces of
advice to suggest, in the shape of two proverbs,--'Wise rats run from a
falling house,' and, 'Make hay while the sun shines.' /A propos/, Mr.
Avenel likes you greatly, and has been talking of the borough of Lansmere
for you. He has contrived to get together a great interest there. Make
much of him."

Randal had indeed been to Mrs. Avenel's /soiree dansante/, and called
twice and found her at home, and been very bland and civil, and admired
the children. She had two, a boy and a girl, very like their father,
with open faces as bold as brass. And as all this had won Mrs. Avenel's
good graces, so it had propitiated her husband's. Avenel was shrewd
enough to see how clever Randal was. He called him "smart," and said "he
would have got on in America," which was the highest praise Dick Avenel
ever accorded to any man. But Dick himself looked a little careworn; and
this was the first year in which he had murmured at the bills of his
wife's dressmaker, and said with an oath, that "there was such a thing as
going too much ahead."

Randal had visited Dr. Riccabocca, and found Violante flown. True to his
promise to Harley, the Italian refused to say where, and suggested, as
was agreed, that for the present it would be more prudent if Randal
suspended his visits to himself. Leslie, not liking this proposition,
attempted to make himself still necessary by working on Riccabocca's
fears as to that espionage on his retreat, which had been among the
reasons that had hurried the sage into offering Randal Violante's hand.
But Riccabocca had already learned that the fancied spy was but his
neighbour Leonard; and, without so saying, he cleverly contrived to make
the supposition of such espionage an additional reason for the cessation
of Leslie's visits. Randal then, in his own artful, quiet, roundabout
way, had sought to find out if any communication had passed between
L'Estrange and Riccabocca. Brooding over Harley's words to him, he
suspected there had been such communication, with his usual penetrating
astuteness. Riceabocca, here, was less on his guard, and rather parried
the sidelong questions than denied their inferences.

Randal began already to surmise the truth. Where was it likely Violante
should go but to the Lansmeres? This confirmed his idea of Harley's
pretensions to her hand. With such a rival what chance had he? Randal
never doubted for a moment that the pupil of Machiavelli would "throw him
over," if such an alliance to his daughter really presented itself. The
schemer at once discarded from his objects all further aim on Violante;
either she would be poor, and he would not have her; or she would be
rich, and her father would give her to another. As his heart had never
been touched by the fair Italian, so the moment her inheritance became
more doubtful, it gave him no pang to lose her; but he did feel very sore
and resentful at the thought of being supplanted by Lord L'Estrange,--the
man who had insulted him.

Neither, as yet, had Randal made any way in his designs on Frank. For
several days Madame di Negra had not been at home either to himself or
young Hazeldean; and Frank, though very unhappy, was piqued and angry;
and Randal suspected, and suspected, and suspected, he knew not exactly
what, but that the devil was not so kind to him there as that father of
lies ought to have been to a son so dutiful. Yet, with all these
discouragements, there was in Randal Leslie so dogged and determined a
conviction of his own success, there was so great a tenacity of purpose
under obstacles, and so vigilant an eye upon all chances that could be
turned to his favour, that he never once abandoned hope, nor did more
than change the details in his main schemes. Out of calculations
apparently the most far-fetched and improbable, he had constructed a
patient policy, to which he obstinately clung. How far his reasonings
and patience served to his ends remains yet to be seen. But could our
contempt for the baseness of Randal himself be separated from the
faculties which he elaborately degraded to the service of that baseness,
one might allow that there was something one could scarcely despise in
this still self-reliance, this inflexible resolve. Had such qualities,
aided as they were by abilities of no ordinary acuteness, been applied to
objects commonly honest, one would have backed Randal Leslie against any
fifty picked prize-men from the colleges. But there are judges of weight
and metal who do that now, especially Baron Levy, who says to himself as
he eyes that pale face all intellect, and that spare form all nerve,
"This is a man who must make way in life; he is worth helping."

By the words "worth helping" Baron Levy meant "worth getting into my
power, that he may help me."




CHAPTER XIV.

But parliament had met. Events that belong to history had contributed
yet more to weaken the administration. Randal Leslie's interest became
absorbed in politics, for the stake to him was his whole political
career. Should Audley lose office, and for good, Audley could aid him no
more; but to abandon his patron, as Levy recommended, and pin himself, in
the hope of a seat in parliament, to a stranger,--an obscure stranger,
like Dick Avenel,--that was a policy not to be adopted at a breath.
Meanwhile, almost every night, when the House met, that pale face and
spare form, which Levy so identified with shrewdness and energy, might be
seen amongst the benches appropriated to those more select strangers who
obtain the Speaker's order of admission. There, Randal heard the great
men of that day, and with the half-contemptuous surprise at their fame,
which is common enough amongst clever, well-educated young men, who know
not what it is to speak in the House of Commons. He heard much slovenly
English, much trite reasoning, some eloquent thoughts, and close
argument, often delivered in a jerking tone of voice (popularly called
the parliamentary twang), and often accompanied by gesticulations that
would have shocked the manager of a provincial theatre. He thought how
much better than these great dons (with but one or two exceptions), he
himself could speak,--with what more refined logic, with what more
polished periods, how much more like Cicero and Burke! Very probably he
might have so spoken, and for that very reason have made that deadest of
all dead failures,--a pretentious imitation of Burke and Cicero. One
thing, however, he was obliged to own,--namely, that in a popular
representative assembly, it is not precisely knowledge which is power,
or if knowledge, it is but the knowledge of that particular assembly,
and what will best take with it; passion, invective, sarcasm, bold
declamation, shrewd common-sense, the readiness so rarely found in a very
profound mind,--he owned that all these were the qualities that told;
when a man who exhibited nothing but "knowledge," in the ordinary sense
of the word, stood an imminent chance of being coughed down.

There at his left--last but one in the row of the ministerial chiefs--
Randal watched Audley Egerton, his arms folded on his breast, his hat
drawn over his brows, his eyes fixed with steady courage on whatever
speaker in the Opposition held possession of the floor. And twice Randal
heard Egerton speak, and marvelled much at the effect that minister
produced. For of those qualities enumerated above, and which Randal had
observed to be most sure of success, Audley Egerton only exhibited to a
marked degree the common-sense and the readiness. And yet, though but
little applauded by noisy cheers, no speaker seemed more to satisfy
friends, and command respect from foes. The true secret was this, which
Randal might well not divine, since that young person, despite his
ancient birth, his Eton rearing, and his refined air, was not one of
Nature's gentlemen,--the true secret was, that Audley Egerton moved,
looked, and spoke like a thorough gentleman of England,--a gentleman of
more than average talents and of long experience, speaking his sincere
opinions, not a rhetorician aiming at effect. Moreover, Egerton was a
consummate man of the world. He said, with nervous simplicity, what his
party desired to be said, and put what his opponents felt to be the
strong points of the case. Calm and decorous, yet spirited and
energetic, with little variety of tone, and action subdued and rare, but
yet signalized by earnest vigour, Audley Egerton impressed the
understanding of the dullest, and pleased the taste of the most
fastidious.

But once, when allusions were made to a certain popular question, on
which the premier had announced his resolution to refuse all concession,
and on the expediency of which it was announced that the Cabinet was
nevertheless divided, and when such allusions were coupled with direct
appeals to Mr. Egerton, as "the enlightened member of a great commercial
constituency," and with a flattering doubt that "that Right Honourable
gentleman, member for that great city, identified with the cause of the
Burgher class, could be so far behind the spirit of the age as his
official chief,"--Randal observed that Egerton drew his hat still more
closely over his brows, and turned to whisper with one of his colleagues.
He could not be got up to speak.

That evening Randal walked home with Egerton, and intimated his surprise
that the minister had declined what seemed to him a good occasion for one
of those brief, weighty replies by which Audley was chiefly
distinguished,--an occasion to which he had been loudly invited
by the "hears" of the House.

"Leslie," answered the statesman, briefly, "I owe all my success in
parliament to this rule,--I have never spoken against my convictions.
I intend to abide by it to the last."

"But if the question at issue comes before the House, you will vote
against it?"

"Certainly, I vote as a member of the Cabinet. But since I am not leader
and mouthpiece of the party, I retain as an individual the privilege to
speak or keep silence."

"Ah, my dear Mr. Egerton," exclaimed Randal, "forgive me. But this
question, right or wrong, has got such hold of the public mind. So
little, if conceded in time, would give content; and it is so clear (if I
may judge by the talk I hear everywhere I go) that by refusing all
concession, the Government must fall, that I wish--"

"So do I wish," interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, impatient sigh,--"so
do I wish! But what avails it? If my advice had been taken but three
weeks ago--now it is too late--we could have doubled the rock; we
refused, we must split upon it."

This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, that Randal
gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had occurred to his own
sagacity. And before I state it, I must add that Egerton had of late
shown much more personal kindness to his protege; whether his spirits
were broken, or that at last, close and compact as his nature of bronze
was, he felt the imperious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, the
stern Audley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal went on,

"May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you and your
position--in the streets, in the clubs?"

"Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen should go to
school. Say on."

"Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why you, and one or
two others I will not name, do not at once retire from the ministry, and
on the avowed ground that you side with the public feeling on this
irresistible question."

"Eh!"

"It is clear that in so doing you would become the most popular man in
the country,--clear that you would be summoned back to power on the
shoulders of the people. No new Cabinet could be formed without you, and
your station in it would perhaps be higher, for life, than that which you
may now retain but for a few weeks longer. Has not this ever occurred to
you?"

"Never," said Audley, with dry composure.

Amazed at such obtuseness, Randal exclaimed, "Is it possible! And yet,
forgive me if I say I think you are ambitious, and love power."

"No man more ambitious; and if by power you mean office, it has grown the
habit of my life, and I shall not know what to do without it."

"And how, then, has what seems to me so obvious never occurred to you?"

"Because you are young, and therefore I forgive you; but not the gossips
who could wonder why Audley Egerton refused to betray the friends of his
whole career, and to profit by the treason."

"But one should love one's country before a party."

"No doubt of that; and the first interest of a country is the honour of
its public men."

"But men may leave their party without dishonour!"

"Who doubts that? Do you suppose that if I were an ordinary independent
member of parliament, loaded with no obligations, charged with no trust,
I could hesitate for a moment what course to pursue? Oh, that I were but
the member for ----------! Oh, that I had the full right to be a free
agent! But if a member of a Cabinet, a chief in whom thousands confide,
because he is outvoted in a council of his colleagues, suddenly retires,
and by so doing breaks up the whole party whose confidence he has
enjoyed, whose rewards he has reaped, to whom he owes the very position
which he employs to their ruin,--own that though his choice may be
honest, it is one which requires all the consolations of conscience."

"But you will have those consolations. And," added Randal,
energetically, "the gain to your career will be so immense!"

"That is precisely what it cannot be," answered Egerton, gloomily.
"I grant that I may, if I choose, resign office with the present
Government, and so at once destroy that Government; for my resignation
on such ground would suffice to do it. I grant this; but for that very
reason I could not the next day take office with another administration.
I could not accept wages for desertion. No gentleman could! and
therefore--" Audley stopped short, and buttoned his coat over his broad
breast. The action was significant; it said that the man's mind was made
up.

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