Book: Paul Clifford, Volume 3.
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Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Paul Clifford, Volume 3.
"And is that all, Lucy?" said Brandon, with a keener sneer on his lip
than the occasion warranted. "Why, that is what every one does; only
some more gravely than others. Mauleverer in society, I at the bar, the
minister in parliament, friend to friend, lover to mistress, mistress to
lover,--half of us are employed in saying white is black, and the other
half in swearing that black is white. There is only one difference, my
pretty niece, between the clever man and the fool: the fool says what is
false while the colours stare in his face and give him the lie; but the
clever man takes as it were a brush and literally turns the black into
white and the white into black before he makes the assertion, which is
then true. The fool changes, and is a liar; the clever man makes the
colours change, and is a genius. But this is not for your young years
yet, Lucy."
"But I can't see the necessity of seeming to agree with people," said
Lucy, simply; "surely they would be just as well pleased if you differed
from them civilly and with respect?"
"No, Lucy," said Brandon, still sneering; "to be liked, it is not
necessary to be anything but compliant. Lie, cheat, make every word a
snare, and every act a forgery; but never contradict. Agree with people,
and they make a couch for you in their hearts. You know the story of
Dante and the buffoon. Both were entertained at the court of the vain
pedant, who called himself Prince Scaliger,--the former poorly, the
latter sumptuously. 'How comes it,' said the buffoon to the poet, 'that
I am so rich and you so poor?' 'I shall be as rich as you,' was the
stinging and true reply, 'whenever I can find a patron as like myself as
Prince Scaliger is like you!'"
"Yet my birds," said Lucy, caressing the goldfinch, which nestled to her
bosom, "are not like me, and I love them. Nay, I often think I could
love those better who differ from me the most. I feel it so in books,--
when, for instance, I read a novel or a play; and you, uncle, I like
almost in proportion to my perceiving in myself nothing in common with
you."
"Yes," said Brandon, "you have in common with me a love for old stories
of Sir Hugo and Sir Rupert, and all the other 'Sirs' of our mouldered and
bygone race. So you shall sing me the ballad about Sir John de Brandon,
and the dragon he slew in the Holy Land. We will adjourn to the drawing-
room, not to disturb your father."
Lucy agreed, took her uncle's arm, repaired to the drawing-room, and
seating herself at the harpsichord, sang to an inspiriting yet somewhat
rude air the family ballad her uncle had demanded.
It would have been amusing to note in the rigid face of the hardened and
habitual man of peace and parchments a certain enthusiasm which ever and
anon crossed his cheek, as the verses of the ballad rested on some
allusion to the knightly House of Brandon and its old renown. It was an
early prejudice, breaking out despite of himself,--a flash of character,
stricken from the hard fossil in which it was imbedded. One would have
supposed that the silliest of all prides (for the pride of money, though
meaner, is less senseless), family pride, was the last weakness which at
that time the callous and astute lawyer would have confessed, even to
himself.
"Lucy," said Brandon, as the song ceased, and he gazed on his beautiful
niece with a certain pride in his aspect, "I long to witness your first
appearance in the world. This lodging, my dear, is not fit--But pardon
me! what I was about to say is this: your father and yourself are here at
my invitation, and in my house you must dwell; you are my guests, not
mine host and hostess. I have therefore already directed my servant to
secure me a house and provide the necessary establishment; and I make no
doubt, as he is a quick fellow, that within three days all will be ready.
You must then be the magnet of my abode, Lucy; and meanwhile you must
explain this to my brother, and--for you know his jealous hospitality--
obtain his acquiescence."
"But--" began Lucy.
"But me no buts," said Brandon, quickly, but with an affectionate tone of
wilfulness; "and now, as I feel very much fatigued with my journey, you
must allow me to seek my own room."
"I will conduct you to it myself," said Lucy, for she was anxious to show
her father's brother the care and forethought which she had lavished on
her arrangements for his comfort. Brandon followed her into an apartment
which his eye knew at a glance had been subjected to that female
superintendence which makes such uses from what men reject as
insignificant; and he thanked her with more than his usual amenity, for
the grace which had presided over, and the kindness which had dictated
her preparations. As soon as he was left alone, he wheeled his armchair
near the clear, bright fire, and resting his face upon his hand, in the
attitude of a man who prepares himself as it were for the indulgence of
meditation, he muttered,--
"Yes! these women are, first, what Nature makes them, and that is good;
next, what use make them, and that is evil! Now, could I persuade myself
that we ought to be nice as to the use we put these poor puppets to, I
should shrink from enforcing the destiny which I have marked for this
girl. But that is a pitiful consideration, and he is but a silly player
who loses his money for the sake of preserving his counters. So the
young lady must go as another score to the fortunes of William Brandon.
After all, who suffers? Not she. She will have wealth, rank, honour.
I shall suffer, to yield so pretty and pure a gem to the coronet of--
Faugh! How I despise that dog; but how I could hate, crush, mangle him,
could I believe that he despised me! Could he do so? Umph! No, I have
resolved myself that is impossible. Well, let me hope that matrimonial
point will be settled; and now let me consider what next step I shall
take for myself,--myself, ay, only myself! With me perishes the last
male of Brandon; but the light shall not go out under a bushel."
As he said this, the soliloquist sunk into a more absorbed and silent
revery, from which he was disturbed by the entrance of his servant.
Brandon, who was never a dreamer save when alone, broke at once from his
reflections.
"You have obeyed my orders, Barlow?" said he.
"Yes, sir," answered the domestic. "I have taken the best house yet
unoccupied; and when Mrs. Roberts [Brandon's housekeeper] arrives from
London, everything will, I trust, be exactly to your wishes."
"Good! And you gave my note to Lord Mauleverer?"
"With my own hands, sir; his lordship will await you at home all
to-morrow."
"Very well! and now, Barlow, see that your room is within call [bells,
though known, were not common at that day], and give out that I am gone
to bed, and must not be disturbed. What's the hour?"
"Just on the stroke of ten, sir."
"Place on that table my letter-case and the inkstand. Look in, to help
me to undress, at half-past one; I shall go to bed at that hour. And--
stay--be sure, Barlow, that my brother believes me retired for the night.
He does not know my habits, and will vex himself if he thinks I sit up so
late in my present state of health."
Drawing the table with its writing appurtenances near to his master, the
servant left Brandon once more to his thoughts or his occupations.
CHAPTER XIV.
Servant. Get away, I say, wid dat nasty bell.
Punch. Do you call this a bell? (patting it.) It is an
organ.
Servant. I say it is a bell,--a nasty bell!
Punch. I say it is an organ (striking him with it). What do
you say it is now?
Servant. An organ, Mr. Punch!
The Tragical Comedy of Punch and Judy.
The next morning, before Lucy and her father had left their apartments,
Brandon, who was a remarkably early riser, had disturbed the luxurious
Mauleverer in his first slumber. Although the courtier possessed a villa
some miles from Bath, he preferred a lodging in the town, both as being
warmer than a rarely inhabited country-house, and as being to an indolent
man more immediately convenient for the gayeties and the waters of the
medicinal city. As soon as the earl had rubbed his eyes, stretched
himself, and prepared himself for the untimeous colloquy, Brandon poured
forth his excuses for the hour he had chosen for a visit. "Mention it
not, my dear Brandon," said the good-natured nobleman, with a sigh; "I am
glad at any hour to see you, and I am very sure that what you have to
communicate is always worth listening to."
"It was only upon public business, though of rather a more important
description than usual, that I ventured to disturb you," answered
Brandon, seating himself on a chair by the bedside. "This morning, an
hour ago, I received by private express a letter from London, stating
that a new arrangement will positively be made in the Cabinet,--nay,
naming the very promotions and changes. I confess that as my name
occurred, as also your own, in these nominations, I was anxious to have
the benefit of your necessarily accurate knowledge on the subject, as
well as of your advice."
"Really, Brandon," said Mauleverer, with a half-peevish smile, "any other
hour in the day would have done for 'the business of the nation,' as the
newspapers call that troublesome farce we go through; and I had imagined
you would not have broken my nightly slumbers except for something of
real importance,--the discovery of a new beauty or the invention of a new
dish."
"Neither the one nor the other could you have expected from me, my dear
lord," rejoined Brandon. "You know the dry trifles in which a lawyer's
life wastes itself away; and beauties and dishes have no attraction for
us, except the former be damsels deserted, and the latter patents
invaded. But my news, after all, is worth hearing, unless you have heard
it before."
"Not I! but I suppose I shall hear it in the course of the day. Pray
Heaven I be not sent for to attend some plague of a council. Begin!"
"In the first place Lord Duberly resolves to resign, unless this
negotiation for peace be made a Cabinet question."
"Pshaw! let him resign. I have opposed the peace so long that it is out
of the question. Of course, Lord Wansted will not think of it, and he
may count on my boroughs. A peace!--shameful, disgraceful, dastardly
proposition!"
"But, my dear lord, my letter says that this unexpected firmness on the
part of Lord Daberly has produced so great a sensation that, seeing the
impossibility of forming a durable Cabinet without him, the king has
consented to the negotiation, and Duberly stays in!"
"The devil!--what next?"
"Raffden and Sternhold go out in favour of Baldwin and Charlton, and in
the hope that you will lend your aid to--"
"I!" said Lord Mauleverer, very angrily,--"I lend my aid to Baldwin, the
Jacobin, and Charlton, the son of a brewer!"
"Very true!" continued Brandon. "But in the hope that you might be
persuaded to regard the new arrangements with an indulgent eye, you are
talked of instead of the Duke of for the vacant garter and the office of
chamberlain."
"You don't mean it!" cried Mauleverer, starting from his bed.
"A few other (but, I hear, chiefly legal) promotions are to be made.
Among the rest, my learned brother, the democrat Sarsden, is to have a
silk gown; Cromwell is to be attorney-general; and, between ourselves,
they have offered me a judgeship."
"But the garter!" said Mauleverer, scarcely hearing the rest of the
lawyer's news,--"the whole object, aim, and ambition of my life. How
truly kind in the king! After all," continued the earl, laughing, and
throwing himself back, "opinions are variable, truth is not uniform. The
times change, not we; and we must have peace instead of war!"
"Your maxims are indisputable, and the conclusion you come to is
excellent," said Brandon.
"Why, you and I, my dear fellow," said the earl, "who know men, and who
have lived all our lives in the world, must laugh behind the scenes at
the cant we wrap in tinsel, and send out to stalk across the stage. We
know that our Coriolanus of Tory integrity is a corporal kept by a
prostitute, and the Brutus of Whig liberty is a lacquey turned out of
place for stealing the spoons; but we must not tell this to the world.
So, Brandon, you must write me a speech for the next session, and be sure
it has plenty of general maxims, and concludes with 'my bleeding
country!'"
The lawyer smiled. "You consent then to the expulsion of Sternhold and
Raffden? for, after all, that is the question. Our British vessel, as
the d---d metaphor-mongers call the State, carries the public good safe
in the hold like brandy; and it is only when fear, storm, or the devil
makes the rogues quarrel among themselves and break up the casks, that
one gets above a thimbleful at a time. We should go on fighting with the
rest of the world forever, if the ministers had not taken to fight among
themselves."
"As for Sternhold," said the earl, "'t is a vulgar dog, and voted for
economical reform. Besides, I don't know him; he may go to the devil,
for aught I care; but Raffden must be dealt handsomely with, or, despite
the garter, I will fall back among the Whigs, who, after all, give
tolerable dinners."
"But why, my lord, must Raffden be treated better than his brother
recusant?"
"Because he sent me, in the handsomest manner possible, a pipe of that
wonderful Madeira, which you know I consider the chief grace of my
cellars, and he gave up a canal navigation bill, which would have
enriched his whole county, when he knew that it would injure my property.
No, Brandon, curse public cant! we know what that is. But we are
gentlemen, and our private friends must not be thrown overboard,--unless,
at least, we do it in the civilest manner we can."
"Fear not," said the lawyer; "you have only to say the word, and the
Cabinet can cook up an embassy to Owhyhee, and send Raffden there with a
stipend of five thousand a year."
"Ah! that's well thought of; or we might give him a grant of a hundred
thousand acres in one of the colonies, or let him buy crown land at a
discount of eighty per cent. So that's settled."
"And now, my dear friend," said Brandon, "I will tell you frankly why I
come so early; I am required to give a hasty answer to the proposal I
have received, namely, of the judgeship. Your opinion?"
"A judgeship! you a judge? What! forsake your brilliant career for so
petty a dignity? You jest!"
"Not at all. Listen. You know how bitterly I have opposed this peace,
and what hot enemies I have made among the new friends of the
administration. On the one hand, these enemies insist on sacrificing me;
and on the other, if I were to stay in the Lower House and speak for what
I have before opposed, I should forfeit the support of a great portion of
my own party. Hated by one body, and mistrusted by the other, a seat in
the House of Commons ceases to be an object. It is proposed that I
should retire on the dignity of a judge, with the positive and pledged
though secret promise of the first vacancy among the chiefs. The place
of chief-justice or chief-baron is indeed the only fair remuneration for
my surrender of the gains of my profession, and the abandonment of my
parliamentary and legal career; the title, which will of course be
attached to it, might go (at least, by an exertion of interest) to the
eldest son of my niece,--in case she married a commoner,--or," added he,
after a pause, "her second son in case she married a peer."
"Ha, true!" said Mauleverer, quickly, and as if struck by some sudden
thought; "and your charming niece, Brandon, would be worthy of any
honour, either to her children or herself. You do not know how struck I
was with her. There is something so graceful in her simplicity; and in
her manner of smoothing down the little rugosities of Warlock House there
was so genuine and so easy a dignity that I declare I almost thought
myself young again, and capable of the self-cheat of believing myself in
love. But, oh! Brandon, imagine me at your brother's board,--me, for
whom ortolans are too substantial, and who feel, when I tread, the
slightest inequality in the carpets of Tournay,--imagine me, dear
Brandon, in a black wainscot room, hung round with your ancestors in
brown wigs with posies in their button-hole; an immense fire on one side,
and a thorough draught on the other; a huge circle of beef before me,
smoking like Vesuvius, and twice as large; a plateful (the plate was
pewter,--is there not a metal so called?) of this mingled flame and lava
sent under my very nostril, and upon pain of ill-breeding to be
despatched down my proper mouth; an old gentleman in fustian breeches and
worsted stockings, by way of a butler, filling me a can of ale, and your
worthy brother asking me if I would not prefer port; a lean footman in
livery,--such a livery, ye gods!--scarlet, blue, yellow, and green, a
rainbow ill made!--on the opposite side of the table, looking at the
'Lord' with eyes and mouth equally open, and large enough to swallow me;
and your excellent brother himself at the head of the table glowing
through the mists of the beef, like the rising sun in a signpost; and
then, Brandon, turning from this image, behold beside me the fair,
delicate, aristocratic, yet simple loveliness of your niece, and--But you
look angry; I have offended you?"
It was high time for Mauleverer to ask that question, for during the
whole of the earl's recital the dark face of his companion had literally
burned with rage; and here we may observe how generally selfishness,
which makes the man of the world, prevents its possessor, by a sort of
paradox, from being consummately so. For Mauleverer, occupied by the
pleasure he felt at his own wit, and never having that magic sympathy
with others which creates the incessantly keen observer, had not for a
moment thought that he was offending to the quick the hidden pride of the
lawyer. Nay, so little did he suspect Brandon's real weaknesses that he
thought him a philosopher who would have laughed alike at principles and
people, however near to him might be the latter, and however important
the former. Mastering by a single effort, which restored his cheek to
its usual steady hue, the outward signs of his displeasure, Brandon
rejoined,--
"Offend me! By no means, my dear lord. I do not wonder at your painful
situation in an old country-gentleman's house, which has not for
centuries offered scenes fit for the presence of so distinguished a
guest,--never, I may say, since the time when Sir Charles de Brandon
entertained Elizabeth at Warlock, and your ancestor (you know my old
musty studies on those points of obscure antiquity), John Mauleverer, who
was a noted goldsmith of London, supplied the plate for the occasion."
"Fairly retorted," said Mauleverer, smiling; for though the earl had a
great contempt for low birth set on high places in other men, he was
utterly void of pride in his own family,--"fairly retorted! But I never
meant anything else but a laugh at your brother's housekeeping,--a joke
surely permitted to a man whose own fastidiousness on these matters is so
standing a jest. But, by heavens, Brandon! to turn from these subjects,
your niece is the prettiest girl I have seen for twenty years; and if she
would forget my being the descendant of John Mauleverer, the noted
goldsmith of London, she may be Lady Mauleverer as soon as she pleases."
"Nay, now, let us be serious, and talk of the judgeship," said Brandon,
affecting to treat the proposal as a joke.
"By the soul of Sir Charles de Brandon, I am serious!" cried the earl;
"and as a proof of it, I hope you will let me pay my respects to your
niece to-day,--not with my offer in my hand yet, for it must be a love
match on both sides." And the earl, glancing towards an opposite glass,
which reflected his attenuated but comely features beneath his velvet
nightcap trimmed with Mechlin, laughed half-triumphantly as he spoke.
A sneer just passed the lips of Brandon, and as instantly vanished, while
Mauleverer continued,--
"And as for the judgeship, dear Brandon, I advise you to accept it,
though you know best; and I do think no man will stand a fairer chance of
the chief-justiceship,--or, though it be somewhat unusual for 'common'
lawyers, why not the woolsack itself? As you say, the second son of your
niece might inherit the dignity of a peerage!"
"Well, I will consider of it favourably," said Brandon; and soon
afterwards he left the nobleman to renew his broken repose.
"I can't laugh at that man," said Mauleverer to himself, as he turned
round in his bed, "though he has much that I should laugh at in another;
and, faith, there is one little matter I might well scorn him for, if I
were not a philosopher. 'T is a pretty girl, his niece, and with proper
instructions might do one credit; besides, she has L60,000 ready money;
and, faith, I have not a shilling for my own pleasure, though I have--or
alas! had--fifty thousand a year for that of my establishment! In all
probability she will be the lawyer's heiress, and he must have made at
least as much again as her portion; nor is he, poor devil, a very good
life. Moreover, if he rise to the peerage? and the second son--Well!
well! it will not be such a bad match for the goldsmith's descendant
either!"
With that thought, Lord Mauleverer fell asleep. He rose about noon,
dressed himself with unusual pains, and was just going forth on a visit
to Miss Brandon, when he suddenly remembered that her uncle had not
mentioned her address or his own. He referred to the lawyer's note of
the preceding evening; no direction was inscribed on it; and Mauleverer
was forced, with much chagrin, to forego for that day the pleasure he had
promised himself.
In truth, the wary lawyer, who, as we have said, despised show and
outward appearances as much as any man, was yet sensible of their effect
even in the eyes of a lover; and moreover, Lord Mauleverer was one whose
habits of life were calculated to arouse a certain degree of vigilance on
points of household pomp even in the most unobservant. Brandon therefore
resolved that Lucy should not be visited by her admirer till the removal
to their new abode was effected; nor was it till the third day from that
on which Mauleverer had held with Brandon the interview we have recorded,
that the earl received a note from Brandon, seemingly turning only on
political matters, but inscribed with the address and direction in full
form.
Mauleverer answered it in person. He found Lucy at home, and more
beautiful than ever; and from that day his mind was made up, as the
mammas say, and his visits became constant.
CHAPTER XV.
There is a festival where knights and dames,
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
Appear.
'T is he,--how came he thence?
What doth he here?
Lara.
There are two charming situations in life for a woman,--one, the first
freshness of heiressship and beauty; the other, youthful widowhood, with
a large jointure. It was at least Lucy's fortune to enjoy the first. No
sooner was she fairly launched into the gay world than she became the
object of universal idolatry. Crowds followed her wherever she moved
nothing was talked of or dreamed of, toasted or betted on, but Lucy
Brandon; even her simplicity, and utter ignorance of the arts of fine
life, enhanced the eclat of her reputation. Somehow or other, young
people of the gentler sex are rarely ill-bred, even in their
eccentricities; and there is often a great deal of grace in inexperience.
Her uncle, who accompanied her everywhere, himself no slight magnet of
attraction, viewed her success with a complacent triumph which he
suffered no one but her father or herself to detect. To the smooth
coolness of his manner, nothing would have seemed more foreign than pride
at the notice gained by a beauty, or exultation at any favour won from
the caprices of fashion. As for the good old squire, one would have
imagined him far more the invalid than his brother. He was scarcely ever
seen; for though he went everywhere, he was one of those persons who sink
into a corner the moment they enter a room. Whoever discovered him in
his retreat, held out their hands, and exclaimed, "God bless me! you
here! We have not seen you for this age!" Now and then, if in a very
dark niche of the room a card-table had been placed, the worthy gentleman
toiled through an obscure rubber; but more frequently he sat with his
hands clasped and his mouth open, counting the number of candles in the
room, or calculating "when that stupid music would be over."
Lord Mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man, whose great object
was necessarily to ingratiate himself with the father of his intended
bride, had a horror of being bored, which surpassed all other feelings in
his mind. He could not therefore persuade himself to submit to the
melancholy duty of listening to the squire's "linked speeches long drawn
out." He always glided by the honest man's station, seemingly in an
exceeding hurry, with a "Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? How delighted I
am to see you! And your incomparable daughter? Oh, there she is!
Pardon me, dear sir,--you see my attraction."