Book: My Novel, Volume 9.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> My Novel, Volume 9.




"The poor youth!" thought Riccabocca, "how unprepared he is for the
happiness I give him!"

"The cunning old Jesuit!" thought Randal; "he has certainly learned,
since we met last, that he has no chance of regaining his patrimony, and
so he wants to impose on me the hand of a girl without a shilling. What
other motive can he possibly have? Had his daughter the remotest
probability of becoming the greatest heiress in Italy, would he dream of
bestowing her on me in this off-hand way? The thing stands to reason."

Actuated by his resentment at the trap thus laid for him, Randal was
about to disclaim altogether the disinterested and absurd affection
laid to his charge, when it occurred to him that, by so doing, he might
mortally offend the Italian, since the cunning never forgive those who
refuse to be duped by them,--and it might still be conducive to his
interest to preserve intimate and familiar terms with Riccabocca;
therefore, subduing his first impulse, he exclaimed,

"Oh, too generous man! pardon me if I have so long been unable to express
my amaze, my gratitude; but I cannot--no, I cannot, while your prospects
remain thus uncertain, avail myself of your--of your inconsiderate
magnanimity. Your rare conduct can only redouble my own scruples, if
you, as I firmly hope and believe, are restored to your great
possessions--you would naturally look so much higher than me. Should
these hopes fail, then, indeed, it may be different; yet even then, what
position, what fortune, have I to offer to your daughter worthy of her?"

"You are well born! all gentlemen are equals," said Riccabocca, with a
sort of easy nobleness. "You have youth, information, talent,--sources
of certain wealth in this happy country,--powerful connections; and, in
fine, if you are satisfied with marrying for love, I shall be contented;
if not, speak openly. As to the restoration to my possessions, I can
scarcely think that probable while my enemy lives. And even in that
case, since I saw you last, something has occurred," added Riccabocca,
with a strange smile, which seemed to Randal singularly sinister and
malignant, "that may remove all difficulties. Meanwhile, do not think me
so extravagantly magnanimous; do not underrate the satisfaction I must
feel at knowing Violante safe from the designs of Peschiera,--safe, and
forever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an Italian proverb,--it
contains a truth full of wisdom and terror,

"'Hai cinquanta Amici?--non basta. Hai un Nemico?--e troppo.'"
["Have you fifty friends?--it is not enough. Have you one enemy?--it is
too much."]

"Something has occurred!" echoed Randal, not heeding the conclusion of
this speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb, which the sage delivered
in his most emphatic and tragic tone. "Something has occurred! My dear
friend, be plainer. What has occurred?" Riccabocca remained silent.
"Something that induces you to bestow your daughter on me?" Riccabocca
nodded, and emitted a low chuckle.

"The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. "Something that makes her
not worth bestowing. He betrays himself. Cunning people always do."

"Pardon me," said the Italian, at last, "if I don't answer your question;
you will know later; but at present this is a family secret. And now I
must turn to another and more alarming cause for my frankness to you."
Here Riccabocca's face changed, and assumed an expression of mingled rage
and fear. "You must know," he added, sinking his voice, "that Giacomo
has seen a strange person loitering about the house, and looking up at
the windows; and he has no doubt--nor have I--that this is some spy or
emissary of Peschiera's."

"Impossible; how could he discover you?"

"I know not; but no one else has any interest in doing so. The man kept
at a distance, and Giacomo could not see his face."

"It may be but a mere idler. Is this all?"

"No; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked at a shop 'if we
were not Italians'?"

"And she answered?"

"'No;' but owned that 'we had a foreign servant, Giacomo.'"

"I will see to this. Rely on it that if Peschiera has discovered you, I
will learn it. Nay, I will hasten from you in order to commence
inquiry."

"I cannot detain you. May I think that we have now an interest in
common?"

"Oh, indeed yes; but--but--your daughter! How can I dream that one so
beautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope you have extended to me?"

"The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that it is a
father's right to dispose of her hand."

"But the heart?"

"/Cospetto!/" said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as to the
sex, "the heart of a girl is like a convent,--the holier the cloister,
the more charitable the door."




CHAPTER XII.

Randal had scarcely left the house before Mrs. Riccabocca, who was
affectionately anxious in all that concerned Violante, rejoined her
husband.

"I like the young man very well," said the sage,--"very well indeed. I
find him just what I expected, from my general knowledge of human nature;
for as love ordinarily goes with youth, so modesty usually accompanies
talent. He is young, ergo, he is in love; he has talent, ergo, he is
modest, modest and ingenuous."

"And you think not in any way swayed by interest in his affections?"

"Quite the contrary; and to prove him the more, I have not said a word as
to the worldly advantages which, in any case, would accrue to him from an
alliance with my daughter. In any case: for if I regain my country, her
fortune is assured; and if not, I trust" (said the poor exile, lifting
his brow with stately and becoming pride) "that I am too well aware of my
child's dignity, as well as my own, to ask any one to marry her to his
own worldly injury."

"Eh! I don't quite understand you, Alphonso. To be sure, your dear life
is insured for her marriage portion; but--"

"Pazzie-stuff!" said Riccabocca, petulantly; "her marriage portion would
be as nothing to a young man of Randal's birth and prospects. I think
not of that. But listen: I have never consented to profit by Harley
L'Estrange's friendship for me; my scruples would not extend to my son-
in-law. This noble friend has not only high rank, but considerable
influence,--influence with the government, influence with Randal's
patron, who, between ourselves, does not seem to push the young man as he
might do; I judge by what Randal says. I should write, therefore, before
anything was settled, to L'Estrange, and I should say to him simply, 'I
never asked you to save me from penury, but I do ask you to save a
daughter of my House from humiliation. I can give to her no dowry; can
her husband owe to my friend that advance in an honourable career, that
opening to energy and talent, which is more than a dowry to generous
ambition?'"

"Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank," cried Jemima, with
enthusiasm; "it speaks in all you utter, when your passions are moved."

The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. "Pish," said he,
"there you are! rank again!"

But Jemima was right. There was something about her husband that was
grandiose and princely, whenever he escaped from his accursed
Machiavelli, and gave fair play to his heart.

And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that he could do
for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in-law the agreeable
surprise, which Randal was at that very time racking his yet cleverer
brains to disappoint.

These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Machiavelli, and
hunted out of his scanty collection of books, Buffon on Man, and various
other psychological volumes, in which he soon became deeply absorbed.
Why were these works the object of the sage's study? Perhaps he will let
us know soon, for it is clearly a secret known to his wife; and though
she has hitherto kept one secret, that is precisely the reason why
Riccabocca would not wish long to overburden her discretion with another.




CHAPTER XIII.

Randal reached home in time to dress for a late dinner at Baron Levy's.

The baron's style of living was of that character especially affected
both by the most acknowledged exquisites of that day, and, it must be
owned, also, by the most egregious /parvenus/. For it is noticeable that
it is your /parvenu/ who always comes nearest in fashion (so far as
externals are concerned) to your genuine exquisite. It is your /parvenu/
who is most particular as to the cut of his coat, and the precision of
his equipage, and the minutia, of his menage. Those between the
/parvenu/ and the exquisite, who know their own consequence, and have
something solid to rest upon, are slow in following all the caprices of
fashion, and obtuse in observation as to those niceties which neither
give them another ancestor, nor add another thousand to the account at
their banker's,--as to the last, rather indeed the contrary! There was a
decided elegance about the baron's house and his dinner. If he had been
one of the lawful kings of the dandies, you would have cried, "What
perfect taste!"--but such is human nature, that the dandies who dined
with him said to each other, "He pretend to imitate D----! vulgar dog!"
There was little affectation of your more showy opulence. The furniture
in the rooms was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from its
luxurious comfort; the ornaments and china scattered about the commodes
were of curious rarity and great value, and the pictures on the walls
were gems. At dinner, no plate was admitted on the table. The Russian
fashion, then uncommon, now more prevalent, was adopted, fruit and
flowers in old Sevres dishes of priceless /vertu/, and in sparkling glass
of Bohemian fabric. No livery servant was permitted to wait; behind each
guest stood a gentleman dressed so like the guest himself, in fine linen
and simple black, that guest and lacquey seemed stereotypes from one
plate.

The viands were exquisite; the wine came from the cellars of deceased
archbishops and ambassadors. The company was select; the party did not
exceed eight. Four were the eldest sons of peers (from a baron to a
duke); one was a professed wit, never to be got without a month's notice,
and, where a /parvenu/ was host, a certainty of green peas and peaches--
out of season; the sixth, to Randal's astonishment, was Mr. Richard
Avenel; himself and the baron made up the complement.

The eldest sons recognized each other with a meaning smile; the most
juvenile of them, indeed (it was his first year in London), had the grace
to blush and look sheepish. The others were more hardened; but they all
united in regarding with surprise both Randal and Dick Avenel. The
former was known to most of them personally, and to all, by repute, as a
grave, clever, promising young man, rather prudent than lavish, and never
suspected to have got into a scrape. What the deuce did he do there?
Mr. Avenel puzzled them yet more. A middle-aged man, said to be in
business, whom they had observed "about town" (for he had a noticeable
face and figure),--that is, seen riding in the Park, or lounging in the
pit at the opera, but never set eyes on at a recognized club, or in the
coteries of their "set;" a man whose wife gave horrid third-rate parties,
that took up half a column in the "Morning Post" with a list of "The
Company Present," in which a sprinkling of dowagers fading out of
fashion, and a foreign title or two, made the darkness of the obscurer
names doubly dark. Why this man should be asked to meet them, by Baron
Levy, too--a decided tuft-hunter and would-be exclusive--called all their
faculties into exercise. The wit, who, being the son of a small
tradesman, but in the very best society, gave himself far greater airs
than the young lords, impertinently solved the mystery. "Depend on it,"
whispered he to Spendquick,--"depend on it the man is the X. Y. of the
'Times' who offers to lend any sum of money from L10 to half-a-million.
He's the man who has all your bills; Levy is only his jackal."

"'Pon my soul," said Spendquick, rather alarmed, "if that's the case, one
may as well be civil to him."

"You, certainly," said the wit. "But I never have found an X. Y. who
would advance me the L. s.; and therefore I shall not be more respectful
to X. Y. than to any other unknown quantity."

By degrees, as the wine circulated, the party grew gay and sociable.
Levy was really an entertaining fellow; had all the gossip of the town at
his fingers' ends; and possessed, moreover, that pleasant art of saying
ill-natured things of the absent, which those present always enjoy. By
degrees, too, Mr. Richard Avenel came out; and, as the whisper had
circulated round the table that he was X. Y., he was listened to with a
profound respect, which greatly elevated his spirits. Nay, when the wit
tried once to show him up or mystify him, Dick answered with a bluff
spirit, that, though very coarse, was found so humorous by Lord
Spendquick and other gentlemen similarly situated in the money-market
that they turned the laugh against the wit, and silenced him for the rest
of the night,--a circumstance which made the party go off much more
pleasantly. After dinner, the conversation, quite that of single men,
easy and /debonnaire/, glanced from the turf and the ballet and the last
scandal towards politics; for the times were such that politics were
discussed everywhere, and three of the young lords were county members.

Randal said little, but, as was his wont, listened attentively; and he
was aghast to find how general was the belief that the Government was
doomed. Out of regard to him, and with that delicacy of breeding which
belongs to a certain society, nothing personal to Egerton was said,
except by Avenel, who, however, on blurting out some rude expressions
respecting that minister, was instantly checked by the baron. "Spare my
friend and Mr. Leslie's near connection," said he, with a polite but
grave smile.

"Oh," said Avenel, "public men, whom we pay, are public property,--aren't
they, my Lord?" appealing to Spendquick.

"Certainly," said Spendquick, with great spirit,--" public property, or
why should we pay them? There must be a very strong motive to induce us
to do that! I hate paying people. In fact," he subjoined in an aside,
"I never do."

"However," resumed Mr. Avenel, graciously, "I don't want to hurt your
feelings, Mr. Leslie. As to the feelings of our host, the baron, I
calculate that they have got tolerably tough by the exercise they have
gone through."

"Nevertheless," said the baron, joining in the laugh which any lively
saying by the supposed X. Y. was sure to excite, "nevertheless, 'love me,
love my dog,'--love me, love my Egerton."

Randal started, for his quick ear and subtle intelligence caught
something sinister and hostile in the tone with which Levy uttered this
equivocal comparison, and his eye darted towards the baron. But the
baron had bent down his face, and was regaling himself upon an olive.

By-and-by the party rose from table. The four young noblemen had their
engagements elsewhere, and proposed to separate without re-entering the
drawing-room. As, in Goethe's theory, monads which have affinities with
each other are irresistibly drawn together, so these gay children of
pleasure had, by a common impulse, on rising from table, moved each to
each, and formed a group round the fireplace. Randal stood a little
apart, musing; the wit examined the pictures through his eye-glass; and
Mr. Avenel drew the baron towards the side-board, and there held him in
whispered conference. This colloquy did not escape the young gentlemen
round the fireplace; they glanced towards each other.

"Settling the percentage on renewal," said one, sotto voce. "X. Y. does
not seem such a very bad fellow," said another.

"He looks rich, and talks rich," said a third.

"A decided, independent way of expressing his sentiments; those moneyed
men generally have."

"Good heavens!" ejaculated Spendquick, who had been keeping his eye
anxiously fixed on the pair, "do look; X. Y. is actually taking out his
pocket-book; he is coming this way. Depend on it he has got our bills--
mine is due to-morrow!"

"And mine too," said another, edging off. "Why, it is a perfect /guet-
apens/."

Meanwhile, breaking away from the baron, who appeared anxious to detain
him, and failing in that attempt, turned aside, as if not to see Dick's
movements,--a circumstance which did not escape the notice of the group,
and confirmed all their suspicions,--Mr. Avenel, with a serious,
thoughtful face, and a slow step, approached the group. Nor did the
great Roman general more nervously "flutter the dove-cots in Corioli,"
than did the advance of the supposed X. Y. agitate the bosoms of Lord
Spendquick and his sympathizing friends. Pocket-book in hand, and
apparently feeling for something formidable within its mystic recesses,
step by step came Dick Avenel towards the fireplace. The group stood
still, fascinated by horror.

"Hum," said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat.

"I don't like that hum at all," muttered Spendquick. "Proud to have made
your acquaintance, gentlemen," said Dick, bowing.

The gentlemen thus addressed bowed low in return.

"My friend the baron thought this not exactly the time to--" Dick stopped
a moment; you might have knocked down those four young gentlemen, though
four finer specimens of humanity no aristocracy in Europe could produce,
--you might have knocked them down with a feather! "But," renewed
Avenel, not finishing his sentence, "I have made it a rule in life never
to lose securing a good opportunity; in short, to make the most of the
present moment. And," added he, with a smile which froze the blood in
Lord Spendquick's veins, "the rule has made me a very warm man!
Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with one of these"
--every hand retreated behind the back of its well-born owner, when, to
the inexpressible relief of all, Dick concluded with,--"a little soiree
dansante," and extended four cards of invitation.

"Most happy!" exclaimed Spendquick. "I don't dance in general; but to
oblige X--I mean, to have a better acquaintance, sir, with you--I would
dance on the tight-rope."

There was a good-humoured, pleasant laugh at Spendquick's enthusiasm, and
a general shaking of hands and pocketing of the invitation cards.

"You don't look like a dancing man," said Avenel, turning to the wit, who
was plump and somewhat gouty,--as wits who dine out five days in the week
generally are; "but we shall have supper at one o'clock."

Infinitely offended and disgusted, the wit replied dryly, "that every
hour of his time was engaged for the rest of the season," and, with a
stiff salutation to the baron, took his departure. The rest, in good
spirits, hurried away to their respective cabriolets; and Leslie was
following them into the hall, when the baron, catching hold of him, said,
"Stay, I want to talk to you."




CHAPTER XIV.

The baron turned into his drawing-room, and Leslie followed.

"Pleasant young men, those," said Levy, with a slight sneer, as he threw
himself into an easy-chair and stirred the fire. "And not at all proud;
but, to be sure, they are--under great obligations to me. Yes; they owe
me a great deal /a propos/, I have had a long talk with Frank Hazeldean,
--fine young man, remarkable capacities for business. I can arrange his
affairs for him. I find, on reference to the Will Office, that you were
quite right; the Casino property is entailed on Frank. He will have the
fee simple. He can dispose of the reversion entirely. So that there
will be no difficulty in our arrangements."

"But I told you also that Frank had scruples about borrowing on the event
of his father's death."

"Ay, you did so. Filial affection! I never take that into account in
matters of business. Such little scruples, though they are highly
honourable to human nature, soon vanish before the prospect of the King's
Bench. And, too, as you so judiciously remarked, our clever young friend
is in love with Madame di Negra."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No; but Madame di Negra did!"

"You know her?"

"I know most people in good society, who now and then require a friend in
the management of their affairs. And having made sure of the fact you
stated, as to Hazeldean's contingent property (excuse my prudence), I
have accommodated Madame di Negra and bought up her debts."

"You have--you surprise me!"

"The surprise will vanish on reflection. But you are very new to the
world yet, my dear Leslie. By the way, I have had an interview with
Peschiera--"

"About his sister's debts?"

"Partly. A man of the nicest honour is Peschiera." Aware of Levy's
habit of praising people for the qualities in which, according to the
judgment of less penetrating mortals, they were most deficient, Randal
only smiled at this eulogy, and waited for Levy to resume. But the baron
sat silent and thoughtful for a minute or two, and then wholly changed
the subject.

"I think your father has some property in ----shire, and you probably can
give me a little information as to certain estates of a Mr. Thornhill,
estates which, on examination of the title-deeds, I find once, indeed,
belonged to your family." The baron glanced at a very elegant
memorandum-book.--"The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, with sundry farms
thereon. Mr. Thornhill wants to sell them--an old client of mine,
Thornhill. He has applied to me on the matter. Do you think it an
improvable property?"

Randal listened with a livid cheek and a throbbing heart. We have seen
that, if there was one ambitious scheme in his calculation which, though
not absolutely generous and heroic, still might win its way to a certain
sympathy in the undebased human mind, it was the hope to restore the
fallen fortunes of his ancient house, and repossess himself of the long
alienated lands that surrounded the dismal wastes of the mouldering hall.
And now to hear that those lands were getting into the inexorable gripe
of Levy--tears of bitterness stood in his eyes.

"Thornhill," continued Levy, who watched the young man's countenance,--
"Thornhill tells me that that part of his property--the old Leslie lands
--produces L2, 000 a year, and that the rental could be raised. He would
take L50,000 for it, L20,000 down, and suffer the remaining L30,000 to
lie on mortgage at four per cent. It seems a very good purchase. What
do you say?"

"Don't ask me," said Randal, stung into rare honesty; for I had hoped I
might live to repossess myself of that property."

"Ah, indeed! It would be a very great addition to your consequence in
the world,--not from the mere size of the estate, but from its hereditary
associations. And if you have any idea of the purchase, believe me, I'll
not stand in your way."

"How can I have any idea of it?"

"But I thought you said you had."

"I understood that these lands could not be sold till Mr. Thornhill's son
came of age, and joined in getting rid of the entail."

"Yes, so Thornhill himself supposed, till, on examining the title-deeds,
I found he was under a mistake. These lands are not comprised in the
settlement made by old Jasper Thornhill, which ties up the rest of the
property. The title will be perfect. Thornhill wants to settle the
matter at once,--losses on the turf, you understand; an immediate
purchaser would get still better terms. A Sir John Spratt would give the
money; but the addition of these lands would make the Spratt property of
more consequence in the county than the Thornhill. So my client would
rather take a few thousands less from a man who don't set up to be his
rival. Balance of power in counties as well as nations."

Randal was silent.

"Well," said Levy, with great kindness of manner, "I see I pain you;
and though I am what my very pleasant guests would call a /parvenu/,
I comprehend your natural feelings as a gentleman of ancient birth.
/Parvenu!/ Ah, is it not strange, Leslie, that no wealth, no fashion, no
fame can wipe out that blot? They call me a /parvenu/, and borrow my
money. They call our friend the wit a /parvenu/, and submit to all his
insolence--if they condescend to regard his birth at all--provided they
can but get him to dinner. They call the best debater in the parliament
of England a /parvenu/, and will entreat him, some day or other, to be
prime minister, and ask him for stars and garters. A droll world, and no
wonder the /parvenus/ want to upset it."

Randal had hitherto supposed that this notorious tufthunter, this dandy
capitalist, this money-lender, whose whole fortune had been wrung from
the wants and follies of an aristocracy, was naturally a firm supporter
of things as they are--how could things be better for men like Baron
Levy? But the usurer's burst of democratic spleen did not surprise his
precocious and acute faculty of observation. He had before remarked,
that it is the persons who fawn most upon an aristocracy, and profit the
most by the fawning, who are ever at heart its bitterest disparagers.
Why is this? Because one full half of democratic opinion is made up of
envy; and we can only envy what is brought before our eyes, and what,
while very near to us, is still unattainable. No man envies an
archangel.

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