Book: My Novel, Volume 12.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 12.



This eBook was produced by David Widger, widger@cecomet.net





BOOK TWELFTH.


INITIAL CHAPTER.

WHEREIN THE CAXTON FAMILY REAPPEAR.

"Again," quoth my father,--"again behold us! We who greeted the
commencement of your narrative, who absented ourselves in the midcourse
when we could but obstruct the current of events, and jostle personages
more important,--we now gather round the close. Still, as the chorus to
the drama, we circle round the altar with the solemn but dubious chant
which prepares the audience for the completion of the appointed
destinies; though still, ourselves, unaware how the skein is to be
unravelled, and where the shears are to descend."

So there they stood, the Family of Caxton,--all grouping round me, all
eager officiously to question, some over-anxious prematurely to
criticise.

"Violante can't have voluntarily gone off with that horrid count," said
my mother; "but perhaps she was deceived, like Eugenia by Mr. Bellamy, in
the novel of 'CAMILLA'."

"Ha!" said my father, "and in that case it is time yet to steal a hint
from Clarissa Harlowe, and make Violante die less of a broken heart than
a sullied honour. She is one of those girls who ought to be killed! All
things about her forebode an early tomb!"

"Dear, dear!" cried Mrs. Caxton, "I hope not!"

"Pooh, brother," said the captain, "we have had enough of the tomb in the
history of poor Nora. The whole story grows out of a grave, and if to a
grave it must return--if, Pisistratus, you must kill somebody--
kill Levy."

"Or the count," said my mother, with unusual truculence. "Or Randal
Leslie," said Squills. "I should like to have a post-mortem cast of his
head,--it would be an instructive study."

Here there was a general confusion of tongues, all present conspiring to
bewilder the unfortunate author with their various and discordant
counsels how to wind up his story and dispose of his characters.

"Silence!" cried Pisistratus, clapping his hands to both ears. "I can no
more alter the fate allotted to each of the personages whom you honour
with your interest than I can change your own; like you, they must go
where events lead there, urged on by their own characters and the
agencies of others. Providence so pervadingly governs the universe,
that you cannot strike it even out of a book. The author may beget a
character, but the moment the character comes into action, it escapes
from his hands,--plays its own part, and fulfils its own inevitable
doom."

"Besides," said Squills, "it is easy to see, from the phrenological
development of the organs in those several heads which Pisistratus has
allowed us to examine, that we have seen no creations of mere fiction,
but living persons, whose true history has set in movement their various
bumps of Amativeness, Constructiveness, Acquisitiveness, Idealty, Wonder,
Comparison, etc. They must act, and they must end, according to the
influences of their crania. Thus we find in Randal Leslie the
predominant organs of Constructiveness, Secretiveness, Comparison, and
Eventuality, while Benevolence, Conscientiousness, Adhesiveness, are
utterly nil. Now, to divine how such a man must end, we must first see
what is the general composition of the society in which he moves, in
short, what other gases are brought into contact with his phlogiston.
As to Leonard, and Harley, and Audley Egerton, surveying them
phrenologically, I should say that--"

"Hush!" said my father, "Pisistratus has dipped his pen in the ink, and
it seems to me easier for the wisest man that ever lived to account for
what others have done than to predict what they should do. Phrenologists
discovered that Mr. Thurtell had a very fine organ of Conscientiousness;
yet, somehow or other, that erring personage contrived to knock the
brains out of his friend's organ of Individuality. Therefore I rise to
propose a Resolution,--that this meeting be adjourned till Pisistratus
has completed his narrative; and we shall then have the satisfaction of
knowing that it ought, according to every principle of nature, science,
and art, to have been completed differently. Why should we deprive
ourselves of that pleasure?"

"I second the motion," said the captain; "but if Levy be not hanged, I
shall say that there is an end of all poetical justice."

"Take care of poor Helen," said Blanche, tenderly: "nor, that I would
have you forget Violante."

"Pish! and sit down, or they shall both die old maids." Frightened at
that threat, Blanche, with a deprecating look, drew her stool quietly
near me, as if to place her two /proteges/ in an atmosphere mesmerized to
matrimonial attractions; and my mother set hard to work--at a new frock
for the baby. Unsoftened by these undue female influences, Pisistratus
wrote on at the dictation of the relentless Fates. His pen was of iron,
and his heart was of granite. He was as insensible to the existence of
wife and baby as if he had never paid a house bill, nor rushed from a
nursery at the sound of an infant squall. O blessed privilege of
Authorship!

"O testudinis aureae
Dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas!
O mutis quoque piscibus
Donatura cyeni, si libeat, sonum!"

["O Muse, who dost temper the sweet sound of the golden shell of the
tortoise, and couldst also give, were it needed, to silent fishes
the song of the swan."]




CHAPTER II.

It is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this narrative, and
account to the reader for the disappearance of Violante.

It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden approach of
Lord L'Estrange, had little time for further words to the young Italian,
than those which expressed his intention to renew the conference, and
press for her decision. But the next day, when he re-entered the garden,
secretly and stealthily, as before, Violante did not appear. And after
watching round the precincts till dusk, the count retreated, with an
indignant conviction that his arts had failed to enlist on his side
either the heart or the imagination of his intended victim. He began
now to revolve and to discuss with Levy the possibilities of one of those
bold and violent measures, which were favoured by his reckless daring and
desperate condition. But Levy treated with such just ridicule any
suggestion to abstract Violante by force from Lord Lansmere's house, so
scouted the notions of nocturnal assault, with the devices of scaling
windows and rope-ladders, that the count reluctantly abandoned that
romance of villany so unsuited to our sober capital, and which would no
doubt have terminated in his capture by the police, with the prospect of
committal to the House of Correction.

Levy himself found his invention at fault, and Randal Leslie was called
into consultation. The usurer had contrived that Randal's schemes of
fortune and advancement were so based upon Levy's aid and connivance,
that the young man, with all his desire rather to make instruments of
other men, than to be himself their instrument, found his superior
intellect as completely a slave to Levy's more experienced craft, as ever
subtle Genius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer of earth.

His acquisition of the ancestral acres, his anticipated seat in
parliament, his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage of Hazeldean,
were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, like a puppet in the
sleek, filbert-nailed fingers of the smiling showman, who could exhibit
him to the admiration of a crowd, or cast him away into dust and lumber.

Randal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who bides his hour of
future emancipation, and lent his brain to the hire of the present
servitude, in mechanical acquiescence. The inherent superiority of the
profound young schemer became instantly apparent over the courage of
Peschiera and the practised wit of the baron.

"Your sister," said Randal, to the former, "must be the active agent in
the first and most difficult part of your enterprise. Violante cannot be
taken by force from Lord Lansmere's,--she must be induced to leave it
with her own consent. A female is needed here. Woman can best decoy
woman."

"Admirably said," quoth the count; "but Beatrice has grown restive, and
though her dowry, and therefore her very marriage with that excellent
young Hazeldean, depend on my own alliance with my fair kinswoman, she
has grown so indifferent to my success that I dare not reckon on her aid.
Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be married, she now
seems to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold over her."

"Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers to poor Frank?"

"I suspect that she has; but I know not whom, unless it be that detested
L'Estrange."

"Ah, well, well. Interfere with her no further yourself, but have all in
readiness to quit England, as you had before proposed, as soon as
Violante be in your power."

"All is in readiness," said the count. "Levy has agreed to purchase a
famous sailing-vessel of one of his clients. I have engaged a score or
so of determined outcasts, accustomed to the sea,--Genoese, Corsicans,
Sardinians, ex-Carbonari of the best sort,--no silly patriots, but
liberal cosmopolitans, who have iron at the disposal of any man's gold.
I have a priest to perform the nuptial service, and deaf to any fair
lady's 'No.' Once at sea, and wherever I land, Violante will lean on my
arm as Countess of Peschiera."

"But Violante," said Randal, doggedly, determined not to yield to the
disgust with which the count's audacious cynicism filled even him--"but
Violante cannot be removed in broad daylight at once to such a vessel,
nor from a quarter so populous as that in which your sister resides."

"I have thought of that too," said the count; "my emissaries have found
me a house close by the river, and safe for our purpose as the dungeons
of Venice."

"I wish not to know all this," answered Randal, quickly; "you will
instruct Madame di Negra where to take Violante.--my task limits itself
to the fair inventions that belong to intellect; what belongs to force is
not in my province. I will go at once to your sister, whom I think I can
influence more effectually than you can; though later I may give you a
hint to guard against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as, the
moment Violante disappears, suspicion would fall upon you, show yourself
constantly in public surrounded by your friends. Be able to account for
every hour of your time--"

"An alibi?" interrupted the ci-devant solicitor.

"Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, and let the
count man it as he proposes. I will communicate with you both as soon as
I can put you into action. To-day I shall have much to do; it will be
done."

As Randal left the room, Levy followed him.

"What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt," quoth the usurer,
linking his arm in Randal's; "but take care that you don't get yourself
into a scrape, so as to damage your character. I have great hopes of you
in public life; and in public life character is necessary,--that is, so
far as honour is concerned."

"I damage my character!--and for a Count Peschiera!" said Randal, opening
his eyes. "I! What do you take me for?"

The baron let go his hold.

"This boy ought to rise very high," said he to himself, as he turned back
to the count.




CHAPTER III.

Randal's acute faculty of comprehension had long since surmised the truth
that Beatrice's views and temper of mind had been strangely and suddenly
altered by some such revolution as passion only can effect; that pique or
disappointment had mingled with the motive which had induced her to
accept the hand of his rash young kinsman; and that, instead of the
resigned indifference with which she might at one time have contemplated
any marriage that could free her from a position that perpetually galled
her pride, it was now with a repugnance, visible to Randal's keen eye,
that she shrank from the performance of that pledge which Frank had so
dearly bought. The temptations which the count could hold out to her to
become his accomplice in designs of which the fraud and perfidy would
revolt her better nature had ceased to be of avail. A dowry had grown
valueless, since it would but hasten the nuptials from which she
recoiled. Randal felt that he could not secure her aid, except by
working on a passion so turbulent as to confound her judgment. Such a
passion he recognized in jealousy. He had once doubted if Harley were
the object of her love; yet, after all, was it not probable? He knew,
at least, of no one else to suspect. If so, he had but to whisper,
"Violante is your rival. Violante removed, your beauty may find its
natural effect; if not, you are an Italian, and you will be at least
avenged." He saw still more reason to suppose that Lord L'Estrange was
indeed the one by whom he could rule Beatrice, since, the last time he
had seen her, she had questioned him with much eagerness as to the family
of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the female part of it. Randal had
then judged it prudent to avoid speaking of Violante, and feigned
ignorance; but promised to ascertain all particulars by the time he next
saw the marchesa. It was the warmth with which she had thanked him that
had set his busy mind at work to conjecture the cause of her curiosity so
earnestly aroused, and to ascribe that cause to jealousy. If Harley
loved Violante (as Randal himself had before supposed), the little of
passion that the young man admitted to himself was enlisted in aid of
Peschiera's schemes. For though Randal did not love Violante, he
cordially disliked L'Estrange, and would have gone as far to render that
dislike vindictive, as a cold reasoner, intent upon worldly fortunes,
will ever suffer mere hate to influence him.

"At the worst," thought Randal, "if it be not Harley, touch the chord of
jealousy, and its vibration will direct me right."

Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's.

Now, in reality the marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's family had
their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest with which
she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal had no reason
to suspect. That interest had become yet more keen from the impatient
misery she had felt ever since she had plighted herself to another. A
wild hope that she might yet escape, a vague regretful thought that she
had been too hasty in dismissing Leonard from her presence,--that she
ought rather to have courted his friendship, and contended against her
unknown rival,--at times drew her wayward mind wholly from the future to
which she had consigned herself. And, to do her justice, though her
sense of duty was so defective, and the principles which should have
guided her conduct were so lost to her sight, still her feelings towards
the generous Hazeldean were not so hard and blunted but what her own
ingratitude added to her torment; and it seemed as if the sole atonement
she could make to him was to find an excuse to withdraw her promise, and
save him from herself. She had caused Leonard's steps to be watched; she
had found that he visited at Lord Lansmere's; that he had gone there
often, and stayed there long. She had learned in the neighbourhood that
Lady Lansmere had one or two young female guests staying with her.
Surely this was the attraction--here was the rival!

Randal found Beatrice in a state of mind that answered his purpose; and
first turning his conversation on Harley, and noting that her countenance
did not change, by little and little he drew forth her secret.

Then said Randal, gravely, "If one whom you honour with a tender thought
visits at Lord Lansmere's house, you have, indeed, cause to fear for
yourself, to hope for your brother's success in the object which has
brought him to England; for a girl of surpassing beauty is a guest in
Lord Lansmere's house, and I will now tell you that that girl is she whom
Count Peschiera would make his bride."

As Randal thus spoke, and saw how his listener's brow darkened and her
eye flashed, he felt that his accomplice was secured. Violante! Had not
Leonard spoken of Violante, and with such praise? Had not his boyhood
been passed under her eyes? Who but Violante could be the rival?
Beatrice's abrupt exclamations, after a moment's pause, revealed to
Randal the advantage he had gained. And partly by rousing her jealousy
into revenge, partly by flattering her love with assurances that,
if Violante were fairly removed from England, were the wife of Count
Peschiera, it would be impossible that Leonard could remain insensible to
her own attractions; that he, Randal, would undertake to free her
honourably from her engagement to Frank Hazeldean, and obtain from her
brother the acquittal of the debt which had first fettered her hand to
that confiding suitor,--he did not quit the marchesa until she had not
only promised to do all that Randal might suggest, but impetuously urged
him to mature his plans, and hasten the hour to accomplish them. Randal
then walked some minutes musing and slow along the streets, revolving the
next meshes in his elaborate and most subtle web. And here his craft
luminously devised its masterpiece.

It was necessary, during any interval that might elapse between
Violante's disappearance and her departure from England, in order to
divert suspicion from Peschiera (who might otherwise be detained), that
some cause for her voluntary absence from Lord Lansmere's should be at
least assignable; it was still more necessary that Randal himself should
stand wholly clear from any surmise that he could have connived at the
count's designs, even should their actual perpetrator be discovered or
conjectured. To effect these objects, Randal hastened to Norwood, and
obtained an interview with Riccabocca. In seeming agitation and alarm,
he informed the exile that he had reason to know that Peschiera had
succeeded in obtaining a secret interview with Violante, and he feared
had made a certain favourable impression on her mind; and speaking as
if with the jealousy of a lover, he entreated Riccabocca to authorize
Randal's direct proposals to Violante, and to require her consent to
their immediate nuptials.

The poor Italian was confounded with the intelligence conveyed to him;
and his almost superstitious fears of his brilliant enemy, conjoined with
his opinion of the susceptibility to outward attractions common to all
the female sex, made him not only implicitly credit, but even exaggerate,
the dangers that Randal intimated. The idea of his daughter's marriage
with Randal, towards which he had lately cooled, he now gratefully
welcomed.

But his first natural suggestion was to go, or send, for Violante, and
bring her to his own house. This, however, Randal artfully opposed.

"Alas! I know," said he, "that Peschiera has discovered your retreat, and
surely she would be far less safe here than where she is now!"

"But, diavolo! you say the man has seen her where she is now, in spite
of all Lady Lansmere's promises and Harley's precautions."

"True. Of this Peschiera boasted to me. He effected it not, of course,
openly, but in some disguise. I am sufficiently, however, in his
confidence--any man may be that with so audacious a braggart--to deter
him from renewing his attempt for some days. Meanwhile, I or yourself
will leave discovered some surer home than this, to which you can remove,
and then will be the proper time to take back your daughter. And for the
present, if you will send by me a letter to enjoin her to receive me as
her future bridegroom, it will necessarily divert all thought at once
from the count; I shall be able to detect by the manner in which she
receives me, how far the count has overstated the effect he pretends to
have produced. You can give me also a letter to Lady Lansmere, to
prevent your daughter coming hither. Oh, sir, do not reason with me.
Have indulgence for my lover's fears. Believe that I advise for the
best. Have I not the keenest interest to do so?"

Like many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper before him, and
plenty of time wherewith to get up his wisdom, Riccabocca was flurried,
nervous, and confused when that wisdom was called upon for any ready
exertion. From the tree of knowledge he had taken grafts enough to serve
for a forest; but the whole forest could not spare him a handy walking-
stick. The great folio of the dead Machiavelli lay useless before him,--
the living Machiavelli of daily life stood all puissant by his side. The
Sage was as supple to the Schemer as the Clairvoyant is to the Mesmerist;
and the lean slight fingers of Randal actually dictated almost the very
words that Riccabocca wrote to his child and her hostess.

The philosopher would have liked to consult his wife; but he was ashamed
to confess that weakness. Suddenly he remembered Harley, and said, as
Randal took up the letters which Riccabocca had indited,

"There, that will give us time; and I will send to Lord L'Estrange and
talk to him."

"My noble friend," replied Randal, mournfully, "may I entreat you not to
see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have pleaded my cause to your
daughter,--until, indeed, she is no longer under his father's roof?"

"And why?"

"Because I presume that you are sincere when you deign to receive me as a
son-in-law, and because I am sure that Lord L'Estrange would hear with
distaste of your disposition in my favour. Am I not right?"

Riccabocca was silent.

"And though his arguments would fail with a man of your honour and
discernment, they might have more effect on the young mind of your child.
Think, I beseech you, the more she is set against me, the more accessible
she may be to the arts of Peschiera. Speak not, therefore, I implore
you, to Lord L'Estrange till Violante has accepted my hand, or at least
until she is again under your charge; otherwise take back your letter,--
it would be of no avail."

"Perhaps you are right. Certainly Lord L'Estrange is prejudiced against
you; or rather, he thinks too much of what I have been, too little of
what I am."

"Who can see you, and not do so? I pardon him." After kissing the hand
which the exile modestly sought to withdraw froin that act of homage,
Randal pocketed the letters; and, as if struggling with emotion, rushed
from the house.

Now, O curious reader, if thou wilt heedfully observe to what uses Randal
Leslie put those letters,--what speedy and direct results he drew forth
from devices which would seem to an honest simple understanding the most
roundabout, wire-drawn wastes of invention,--I almost fear that in thine
admiration for his cleverness, thou mayest half forget thy contempt for
his knavery.

But when the head is very full, it does not do to have the heart very
empty; there is such a thing as being top-heavy!




CHAPTER IV.

Helen and Violante had been conversing together, and Helen had obeyed her
guardian's injunction, and spoken, though briefly, of her positive
engagement to Harley. However much Violante had been prepared for the
confidence, however clearly she had divined that engagement, however
before persuaded that the dream of her childhood was fled forever, still
the positive truth, coming from Helen's own lips, was attended with that
anguish which proves how impossible it is to prepare the human heart for
the final verdict which slays its future. She did not, however, betray
her emotion to Helen's artless eyes; sorrow, deep-seated, is seldom self-
betrayed. But, after a little while, she crept away; and, forgetful of
Peschiera, of all things that could threaten danger (what danger could
harm her more!) she glided from the house, and went her desolate way
under the leafless wintry trees. Ever and anon she paused, ever and anon
she murmured the same words: "If she loved him, I could be consoled; but
she does not! or how could she have spoken to me so calmly! how could her
very looks have been so sad! Heartless! heartless!"

Then there came on her a vehement resentment against poor Helen, that
almost took the character of scorn or hate,--its excess startled herself.
"Am I grown so mean?" she said; and tears that humbled her rushed to her
eyes. "Can so short a time alter one thus? Impossible!"

Randal Leslie rang at the front gate, inquired for Violante, and,
catching sight of her form as he walked towards the house, advanced
boldly and openly. His voice startled her as she leaned against one of
the dreary trees, still muttering to herself,--forlorn. "I have a letter
to you from your father, Signorina," said Randal; "but before I give it
to your hands, some explanation is necessary. Condescend, then, to hear
me." Violante shook her head impatiently, and stretched forth her hand
for the letter. Randal observed her countenance with his keen, cold,
searching eye; but he still withheld the letter, and continued, after a
pause,

"I know that you were born to princely fortunes; and the excuse for my
addressing you now is, that your birthright is lost to you, at least
unless you can consent to a union with the man who has despoiled you of
your heritage,--a union which your father would deem dishonour to
yourself and him. Signorina, I might have presumed to love you, but I
should not have named that love, had your father not encouraged me by his
assent to my suit."

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.