Book: My Novel, Volume 10.

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




Yet Frank Hazeldean has stuff in him,--a good heart, and strict honour.
Fool though he seem, there is sound sterling sense in some odd corner of
his brains, if one could but get at it. All he wants to save him from
perdition is, to do what he has never yet done,--namely, pause and think.
But, to be sure, that same operation of thinking is not so easy for folks
unaccustomed to it, as people who think--think!

"I can't bear this," said Frank, suddenly, and springing to his feet.
"This woman, I cannot get her out of my head. I ought to go down to the
governor's; but then if he gets into a passion, and refuses his consent,
where am I? And he will, too, I fear. I wish I could make out what
Randal advises. He seems to recommend that I should marry Beatrice at
once, and trust to my mother's influence to make all right afterwards.
But when I ask, 'Is that your advice?' he backs out of it. Well, I
suppose he is right there. I can understand that he is unwilling, good
fellow, to recommend anything that my father would disapprove. But
still--"

Here Frank stopped in his soliloquy, and did make his first desperate
effort to--think!

Now, O dear reader, I assume, of course, that thou art one of the class
to which thought is familiar; and, perhaps, thou hast smiled in disdain
or incredulity at that remark on the difficulty of thinking which
preceded Frank Hazeldean's discourse to himself. But art thou quite sure
that when thou hast tried to think thou hast always succeeded? Hast thou
not often been duped by that pale visionary simulacrum of thought which
goes by the name of revery? Honest old Montaigne confessed that he did
not understand that process of sitting down to think, on which some folks
express themselves so glibly. He could not think unless he had a pen in
his hand and a sheet of paper before him; and so, by a manual operation,
seized and connected the links of ratiocination. Very often has it
happened to myself when I have said to Thought peremptorily, "Bestir
thyself: a serious matter is before thee, ponder it well, think of it,"
that that same thought has behaved in the most refractory, rebellious
manner conceivable; and instead of concentrating its rays into a single
stream of light, has broken into all the desultory tints of the rainbow,
colouring senseless clouds, and running off into the seventh heaven, so
that after sitting a good hour by the clock, with brows as knit as if I
was intent on squaring the circle, I have suddenly discovered that I
might as well have gone comfortably to sleep--I have been doing nothing
but dream,--and the most nonsensical dreams! So when Frank Hazeldean, as
he stopped at that meditative "But still "--and leaning his arm on the
chimney-piece, and resting his face on his hand, felt himself at the
grave crisis of life, and fancied he was going "to think on it," there
only rose before him a succession of shadowy pictures,--Randal Leslie,
with an unsatisfactory countenance, from which he could extract nothing;
the squire, looking as black as thunder in his study at Hazeldean; his
mother trying to plead for him, and getting herself properly scolded for
her pains; and then off went that Will-o'-the-wisp which pretended to
call itself Thought, and began playing round the pale, charming face of
Beatrice di Negra, in the drawing-room at Curzon Street, and repeating,
with small elfin voice, Randal Leslie's assurance of the preceding day,
"as to her affection for you, Frank, there is no doubt of that; she only
begins to think you are trifling with her." And then there was a
rapturous vision of a young gentleman on his knee, and the fair pale face
bathed in blushes, and a clergyman standing by the altar, and a carriage-
and-four with white favours at the church-door; and of a honeymoon, which
would have astonished as to honey all the bees of Hymettus. And in the
midst of these phantasmagoria, which composed what Frank fondly styled.
"making up his mind," there came a single man's elegant rat-tat-tat at
the street door.

"One never has a moment for thinking," cried Frank, and he called out to
his valet, "Not at home."

But it was too late. Lord Spendquick was in the hall, and presently
within the room. How d'ye do's were exchanged and hands shaken.

LORD SPENDQUICK.--"I have a note for you, Hazeldean."

FRANK (lazily).--"From whom?"

LORD SPENDQUICK.--"Levy. Just come from him,--never saw him in such a
fidget. He was going into the city,--I suppose to see X. Y. Dashed off
this note for you, and would have sent it by a servant, but I said I
would bring it."

FRANK (looking fearfully at the note).--"I hope he does not want his
money yet. 'Private and confidential,'--that looks bad."

SPENDQUICK.--"Devilish bad, indeed."

Frank opens the note, and reads, half aloud, "Dear Hazeldean--"

SPENDQUICK (interrupting.)--"Good sign! He always Spendquicks me when he
lends me money; and 't is 'My dear Lord' when he wants it back. Capital
sign!"

Frank reads on, but to himself, and with a changing countenance,

DEAR HAZELDEAN,--I am very sorry to tell you that, in consequence of
the sudden failure of a house at Paris with which I Had large
dealings, I am pressed on a sudden for all the ready money I can
get. I don't want to inconvenience you, but do try to see if you
can take up those bills of yours which I hold, and which, as you
know, have been due some little time. I had hit on a way of
arranging your affairs; but when I hinted at it, you seemed to
dislike the idea; and Leslie has since told me that you have strong
objections to giving any security on your prospective property. So
no more of that, my dear fellow. I am called out in haste to try
what I can do for a very charming client of mine, who is in great
pecuniary distress, though she has for her brother a foreign count,
as rich as a Croesus. There is an execution in her house. I am
going down to the tradesman who put it in, but have no hope of
softening him; and I fear there will be others before the day is
out. Another reason for wanting money, if you can help me, mon
cher! An execution in the house of one of the most brilliant women
in London,--an execution in Curzon Street, May Fair! It will be all
over the town if I can't stop it.

Yours in haste,
LEVY.

P.S.---Don't let what I have said vex you too much. I should not
trouble you if Spendquick and Borrowell would pay me something.
Perhaps you can get them to do so.


Struck by Frank's silence and paleness, Lord Spendquick here, in the
kindest way possible, laid his hand on the young Guardsman's shoulder.
and looked over the note with that freedom which gentlemen in
difficulties take with each other's private and confidential
correspondence. His eye fell on the postscript. "Oh, damn it," cried
Spendquick, "but that's too bad,--employing you to get me to pay him!
Such horrid treachery. Make yourself easy, my dear Frank; I could never
suspect you of anything so unhandsome. I could as soon suspect myself
of--paying him--"

"Curzon Street! Count!" muttered Frank, as if waking from a dream.
"It must be so." To thrust on his boots, change his dressing-robe for a
frock-coat, snatch at his hat, gloves, and cane, break from Spendquick,
descend the stairs, a flight at a leap, gain the street, throw himself
into a cabriolet,--all this was done before his astounded visitor could
even recover breath enough to ask "What's the matter?"

Left thus alone, Lord Spendquick shook his head,--shook it twice,
as if fully to convince himself that there was nothing in it; and then
re-arranging his hat before the looking-glass, and drawing on his gloves
deliberately, he walked downstairs, and strolled into White's, but with a
bewildered and absent air. Standing at the celebrated bow-window for
some moments in musing silence, Lord Spendquick at last thus addressed an
exceedingly cynical, sceptical old roue,

"Pray, do you think there is any truth in the stories about people in
former times selling themselves to the devil?"

"Ugh," answered the rout, much too wise ever to be surprised. "Have you
any personal interest in the question?"

"I!--no; but a friend of mine has just received a letter from Levy, and
he flew out of the room in the most ex-tra-ordi-na-ry manner,--just as
people did in those days when their time was up! And Levy, you know,
is--"

"Not quite as great a fool as the other dark gentleman to whom you would
compare him; for Levy never made such bad bargains for himself. Time up!
No doubt it is. I should not like to be in your friend's shoes."

"Shoes!" said Spendquick, with a sort of shudder; "you never saw a neater
fellow, nor one, to do him justice, who takes more time in dressing than
he does in general. And talking of shoes, he rushed out with the right
boot on the left foot, and the left boot on the right. Very mysterious!"
And a third time Lord Spendquick shook his head,--and a third time that
head seemed to him wondrous empty.




CHAPTER XXV.

Buy Frank had arrived in Curzon Street, leaped from the cabriolet,
knocked at the door, which was opened by a strange-looking man in a buff
waistcoat and corduroy smalls. Frank gave a glance at this personage,
pushed him aside, and rushed upstairs. He burst into the drawing-room,--
no Beatrice was there. A thin elderly man, with a manuscript book in his
hands, appeared engaged in examining the furniture, and making an
inventory, with the aid of Madame di Negra's upper servant. The thin man
stared at Frank, and touched the hat which was on his head. The servant,
who was a foreigner, approached Frank, and said, in broken English, that
his lady did not receive,--that she was unwell, and kept her room. Frank
thrust a sovereign into the servant's hand, and begged him to tell Madame
di Negra. that Mr. Hazeldean entreated the honour of an interview. As
soon as the servant vanished on this errand, Frank seized the thin man by
the arm. "What is this?---an execution?"

"Yes, sir."

"For what sum?"

"Fifteen hundred and forty-seven pounds. We are the first in
possession."

"There are others, then?"

"Or else, sir, we should never have taken this step. Most painful to our
feelings, sir; but these foreigners are here to day, and gone to-morrow.
And--"

The servant re-entered. Madame di Negra would see Mr. Hazeldean. Would
he walk upstairs? Frank hastened to obey this summons.

Madame di Negra was in a small room which was fitted up as a boudoir.
Her eyes showed the traces of recent tears, but her face was composed,
and even rigid, in its haughty though mournful expression. Frank,
however, did not pause to notice her countenance, to hear her dignified
salutation. All his timidity was gone. He saw but the woman whom he
loved in distress and humiliation. As the door closed on him, he flung
himself at her feet. He caught at her hand, the skirt of her robe.

"Oh, Madame di Negra!--Beatrice!" he exclaimed, tears in his eyes, and
his voice half-broken by generous emotion; "forgive me, forgive me!
don't see in me a mere acquaintance. By accident I learned, or, rather,
guessed--this--this strange insult to which you are so unworthily
exposed. I am here. Think of me--but as a friend,--the truest friend.
Oh, Beatrice,"--and he bent his head over the hand he held,--" I never
dared say so before, it seems presuming to say it now, but I cannot help
it. I love you,--I love you with my whole heart and soul; to serve you--
if only but to serve you!--I ask nothing else." And a sob went from his
warm, young, foolish heart.

The Italian was deeply moved. Nor was her nature that of the mere sordid
adventuress. So much love and so much confidence! She was not prepared
to betray the one, and entrap the other.

"Rise, rise," she said softly; "I thank you gratefully. But do not
suppose that I--"

"Hush! hush!--you must not refuse me. Hush! don't let your pride
speak."

"No, it is not my pride. You exaggerate what is occurring here. You
forget that I have a brother. I have sent for him. He is the only one I
can apply to. Ah, that is his knock! But I shall never, never forget
that I have found one generous noble heart in this hollow world."

Frank would have replied, but he heard the count's voice on the stairs,
and had only time to rise and withdraw to the window, trying hard to
repress his agitation and compose his countenance. Count di Peschiera
entered,--entered as a very personation of the beauty and magnificence of
careless, luxurious, pampered, egotistical wealth,--his surtout, trimmed
with the costliest sables, flung back from his splendid chest. Amidst
the folds of the glossy satin that enveloped his throat gleamed a
turquoise, of such value as a jeweller might have kept for fifty years
before he could find a customer rich and frivolous enough to buy it. The
very head of his cane was a masterpiece of art, and the man himself, so
elegant despite his strength, and so fresh despite his years!--it is
astonishing how well men wear when they think of no one but themselves!

"Pr-rr!" said the count, not observing Frank behind the draperies of the
window; "Pr-rr--It seems to me that you must have passed a very
unpleasant quarter of an hour. And now--/Dieu me damne, quoi faire/!"

Beatrice pointed to the window, and felt as if she could have sunk into
the earth for shame. But as the count spoke in French, and Frank did not
very readily comprehend that language, the words escaped him, though his
ear was shocked by a certain satirical levity of tone.

Frank came forward. The count held out his hand, and with a rapid change
of voice and manner, said, "One whom my sister admits at such a moment
must be a friend to me."

"Mr. Hazeldean," said Beatrice, with meaning, "would indeed have nobly
pressed on me the offer of an aid which I need no more, since you, my
brother, are here."

"Certainly," said the count, with his superb air of grand seigneur; "I
will go down and clear your house of this impertinent canaille. But I
thought your affairs were with Baron Levy. He should be here."

"I expect him every moment. Adieu! Mr. Hazeldean." Beatrice extended
her hand to her young lover with a frankness which was not without a
certain pathetic and cordial dignity. Restrained from further words by
the count's presence, Frank bowed over the fair hand in silence, and
retired. He was on the stairs when he was joined by Peschiera.

"Mr. Hazeldean," said the latter, in a low tone, "will you come into the
drawing-room?"

Frank obeyed. The man employed in his examination of the furniture was
still at his task: but at a short whisper from the count he withdrew.

"My dear sir," said Peschiera, "I am so unacquainted with your English
laws, and your mode of settling embarrassments of this degrading nature,
and you have evidently showed so kind a sympathy in my sister's distress,
that I venture to ask you to stay here, and aid me in consulting with
Baron Levy."

Frank was just expressing his unfeigned pleasure to be of the slightest
use, when Levy's knock resounded at the streetdoor, and in another moment
the baron entered.

"Ouf!" said Levy, wiping his brows, and sinking into a chair as if he had
been engaged in toils the most exhausting,--"ouf! this is a very sad
business,--very; and nothing, my dear count, nothing but ready money can
save us here."

"You know my affairs, Levy," replied Peschiera, mournfully shaking his
head, "and that though in a few months, or it may be weeks, I could
discharge with ease my sister's debts, whatever their amount, yet at this
moment, and in a strange land, I have not the power to do so. The money
I brought with me is nearly exhausted. Can you not advance the requisite
sum?"

"Impossible!--Mr. Hazeldean is aware of the distress under which I labour
myself."

"In that case," said the count, "all we can do to-day is to remove my
sister, and let the execution proceed. Meanwhile I will go among my
friends, and see what I can borrow from them."

"Alas!" said Levy, rising and looking out of the window--"alas!--we
cannot remove the marchesa,--the worst is to come. Look!--you see those
three men; they have a writ against her person: the moment she sets her
foot out of these doors she will be arrested."

[At that date the law of /mesne process/ existed still.]

"Arrested!" exclaimed Peschiera and Frank in a breath. "I have done my
best to prevent this disgrace, but in vain," said the baron, looking very
wretched. "You see these English tradespeople fancy they have no hold
upon foreigners. But we can get bail; she must not go to prison--"

"Prison!" echoed Frank. He hastened to Levy and drew him aside. The
count seemed paralyzed by shame and grief. Throwing himself back on the
sofa, he covered his face with his hands.

"My sister!" groaned the count--"daughter to a Peschiera, widow to a Di
Negra!" There was something affecting in the proud woe of this grand
patrician.

"What is the sum?" whispered Frank, anxious that the poor count should
not overhear him; and indeed the count seemed too stunned and overwhelmed
to hear anything less loud than a clap of thunder!

"We may settle all liabilities for L5,000. Nothing to Peschiera, who is
enormously rich. /Entre nous/, I doubt his assurance that he is without
ready money. It may be so, but--"

"Five thousand pounds! How can I raise such a sum?"

"You, my dear Hazeldean? What are you talking about? To be sure you
could raise twice as much with a stroke of your pen, and throw your own
debts into the bargain. But--to be so generous to an acquaintance!"

"Acquaintance!--Madame di Negra! the height of my ambition is to claim
her as my wife!"

"And these debts don't startle you?"

"If a man loves," answered Frank, simply, "he feels it most when the
woman he loves is in affliction. And," he added, after a pause, "though
these debts are faults, kindness at this moment may give me the power to
cure forever both her faults and my own. I can raise this money by a
stroke of the pen! How?"

"On the Casino property."

Frank drew back.

"No other way?"

"Of course not. But I know your scruples; let us see if they can be
conciliated. You would marry Madame di Negra; she will have L20,000 on
her wedding-day. Why not arrange that, out of this sum, your
anticipative charge on the Casino property be paid at once? Thus, in
truth, it will be but for a few weeks that the charge will exist. The
bond will remain locked in my desk; it can never come to your father's
know ledge, nor wound his feelings. And when you marry (if you will but
be prudent in the mean while), you will not owe a debt in the world."

Here the count suddenly started up.

"Mr. Hazeldean, I asked you to stay and aid us by your counsel; I see now
that counsel is unavailing. This blow on our House must fall! I thank
you, Sir,--I thank you. Farewell. Levy, come with me to my poor sister,
and prepare her for the worst."

"Count," said Frank, "hear me. My acquaintance with you is but slight,
but I have long known and--and esteemed your sister. Baron Levy has
suggested a mode in which I can have the honour and the happiness of
removing this temporary but painful embarrassment. I can advance the
money."

"No, no!" exclaimed Peschiera. "How can you suppose that I will hear of
such a proposition? Your youth and benevolence mislead and blind you.
Impossible, sir,--impossible! Why, even if I had no pride, no delicacy
of my own, my sister's fair fame--"

"Would suffer indeed," interrupted Levy, "if she were under such
obligation to any one but her affianced husband. Nor, whatever my regard
for you, Count, could I suffer my client, Mr. Hazeldean, to make this
advance upon any less valid security than that of the fortune to which
Madame di Negra is entitled."

"Ha!--is this indeed so? You are a suitor for my sister's hand, Mr.
Hazeldean?"

"But not at this moment,--not to owe her hand to the compulsion of
gratitude," answered gentleman Frank. "Gratitude! And you do not know
her heart, then? Do not know--" the count interrupted himself, and went
on after a pause. "Mr. Hazeldean, I need not say that we rank among the
first Houses in Europe. My pride led me formerly into the error of
disposing of my sister's hand to one whom she did not love, merely
because in rank he was her equal. I will not again commit such an error,
nor would Beatrice again obey me if I sought to constrain her. Where she
marries, there she will love. If, indeed, she accepts you, as I believe
she will, it will be from affection solely. If she does, I cannot
scruple to accept this loan,--a loan from a brother-inlaw--loan to me,
and not charged against her fortune! That, sir," turning to Levy, with
his grand air, "you will take care to arrange. If she do not accept you,
Mr. Hazeldean, the loan, I repeat, is not to be thought of. Pardon me,
if I leave you. This, one way or other, must be decided at once." The
count inclined his head with much stateliness, and then quitted the room.
His step was heard ascending the stairs.

"If," said Levy, in the tone of a mere man of business--"if the count pay
the debts, and the lady's fortune be only charged with your own, after
all, it will not be a bad marriage in the world's eye, nor ought it to be
in a father's. Trust me, we shall get Mr. Hazeldean's consent, and
cheerfully too."

Frank did not listen; he could only listen to his love, to his heart
beating loud with hope and with fear.

Levy sat down before the table, and drew up a long list of figures in a
very neat hand,--a list of figures on two accounts, which the post-obit
on the Casino was destined to efface.

After a lapse of time, which to Frank seemed interminable, the count
re-appeared. He took Frank aside, with a gesture to Levy, who rose, and
retired into the drawing-room.

"My dear young friend," said Peschiera, "as I suspected, my sister's
heart is wholly yours. Stop; hear me out. But, unluckily, I informed
her of your generous proposal; it was most unguarded, most ill-judged in
me, and that has well-nigh spoiled all; she has so much pride and spirit;
so great a fear that you may think yourself betrayed into an imprudence
which you may hereafter regret, that I am sure she will tell you that she
does not love you, she cannot accept you, and so forth. Lovers like you
are not easily deceived. Don't go by her words; but you shall see her
yourself and judge. Come."

Followed mechanically by Frank, the count ascended the stairs, and threw
open the door of Beatrice's room. The marchesa's back was turned; but
Frank could see that she was weeping.

"I have brought my friend to plead for himself," said the count, in
French; "and take my advice, sister, and do not throw away all prospect
of real and solid happiness for a vain scruple. Heed me!" He retired,
and left Frank alone with Beatrice.

Then the marchesa, as if by a violent effort, so sudden was her movement,
and so wild her look, turned her face to her wooer, and came up to him,
where he stood.

"Oh," she said, clasping her hands, "is this true? You would save me
from disgrace, from a prison--and what can I give you in return? My
love! No, no. I will not deceive you. Young, fair, noble as you are,
I do not love you as you should be loved. Go; leave this house; you do
not know my brother. Go, go--while I have still strength, still virtue
enough to reject whatever may protect me from him! whatever--may---Oh,
go, go."

"You do not love me?" said Frank. "Well, I don't wonder at it; you are
so brilliant, so superior to me. I will abandon hope,--I will leave you,
as you command me. But at least I will not part with my privilege to
serve you. As for the rest, shame on me if I could be mean enough to
boast of love, and enforce a suit, at such a moment."

Frank turned his face and stole away softly. He did not arrest his steps
at the drawing-room; he went into the parlour, wrote a brief line to Levy
charging him quietly to dismiss the execution, and to come to Frank's
rooms with the necessary deeds; and, above all, to say nothing to the
count. Then he went out of the house and walked back to his lodgings.

That evening Levy came to him, and accounts were gone into, and papers
signed; and the next morning Madame di Negra was free from debt; and
there was a great claim on the reversion of the Casino estates; and at
the noon of that next day, Randal was closeted with Beatrice; and before
the night came a note from Madame di Negra, hurried, blurred with tears,
summoning Frank to Curzon Street. And when he entered the marchesa's
drawing-room, Peschiera was seated beside his sister; and rising at
Frank's entrance, said, "My dear brother-in-law!" and placed Frank's hand
in Beatrice's.

"You accept--you accept me--and of your own free will and choice?"

And Beatrice answered, "Bear with me a little, and I will try to repay
you with all my--all my--" She stopped short, and sobbed aloud.

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