CHAPTER XXI.
MR. MAULE, SENIOR.
The life of Mr. Maurice Maule, of Maule Abbey, the father of GerardMaule, had certainly not been prosperous. He had from his boyhoodenjoyed a reputation for cleverness, and at school had done greatthings,--winning prizes, spouting speeches on Speech days, playing inelevens, and looking always handsome. He had been one of those showboys of which two or three are generally to be found at our greatschools, and all manner of good things had been prophesied on hisbehalf. He had been in love before he was eighteen, and very nearlysucceeded in running away with the young lady before he went tocollege. His father had died when he was an infant, so that attwenty-one he was thought to be in possession of comfortable wealth.At Oxford he was considered to have got into a good set,--men offashion who were also given to talking of books,--who spent money,read poetry, and had opinions of their own respecting the Tractsand Mr. Newman. He took his degree, and then started himself in theworld upon that career which is of all the most difficult to followwith respect and self-comfort. He proposed to himself the life of anidle man with a moderate income,--a life which should be luxurious,refined, and graceful, but to which should be attached the burdenof no necessary occupation. His small estate gave him but little todo, as he would not farm any portion of his own acres. He became amagistrate in his county; but he would not interest himself with theprice of a good yoke of bullocks, as did Mr. Justice Shallow,--nordid he ever care how a score of ewes went at any fair. There is noharder life than this. Here and there we may find a man who has sotrained himself that day after day he can devote his mind withoutcompulsion to healthy pursuits, who can induce himself to work,though work be not required from him for any ostensible object, whocan save himself from the curse of misusing his time, though he hasfor it no defined and necessary use; but such men are few, and aremade of better metal than was Mr. Maule. He became an idler, a man ofluxury, and then a spendthrift. He was now hardly beyond middle life,and he assumed for himself the character of a man of taste. He lovedmusic, and pictures, and books, and pretty women. He loved also goodeating and drinking; but conceived of himself that in his love forthem he was an artist, and not a glutton. He had married early, andhis wife had died soon. He had not given himself up with any specialzeal to the education of his children, nor to the preservation of hisproperty. The result of his indifference has been told in a previouschapter. His house was deserted, and his children were scatteredabout the world. His eldest son, having means of his own, was livingan idle, desultory life, hardly with prospects of better success thanhad attended his father.
Mr. Maule was now something about fifty-five years of age, andalmost considered himself young. He lived in chambers on a flat inWestminster, and belonged to two excellent clubs. He had not beennear his property for the last ten years, and as he was addicted tono country sport there were ten weeks in the year which were terribleto him. From the middle of August to the end of October for him therewas no whist, no society,--it may almost be said no dinner. He hadtried going to the seaside; he had tried going to Paris; he hadendeavoured to enjoy Switzerland and the Italian lakes;--but allhad failed, and he had acknowledged to himself that this sad periodof the year must always be endured without relaxation, and withoutcomfort.
Of his children he now took but little notice. His daughter wasmarried and in India. His younger son had disappeared, and the fatherwas perhaps thankful that he was thus saved from trouble. With hiselder son he did maintain some amicable intercourse, but it was veryslight in its nature. They never corresponded unless the one hadsomething special to say to the other. They had no recognised groundfor meeting. They did not belong to the same clubs. They did not livein the same circles. They did not follow the same pursuits. They wereinterested in the same property;--but, as on that subject there hadbeen something approaching to a quarrel, and as neither looked forassistance from the other, they were now silent on the matter. Thefather believed himself to be a poorer man than his son, and was verysore on the subject; but he had nothing beyond a life interest inhis property, and there remained to him a certain amount of prudencewhich induced him to abstain from eating more of his pudding,--lestabsolute starvation and the poorhouse should befall him. There stillremained to him the power of spending some five or six hundred ayear, and upon this practice had taught him to live with a veryconsiderable amount of self-indulgence. He dined out a great deal,and was known everywhere as Mr. Maule of Maule Abbey.
He was a slight, bright-eyed, grey-haired, good-looking man,who had once been very handsome. He had married, let us say forlove;--probably very much by chance. He had ill-used his wife, andhad continued a long-continued liaison with a complaisant friend.This had lasted some twenty years of his life, and had been to him anintolerable burden. He had come to see the necessity of employing hisgood looks, his conversational powers, and his excellent manners ona second marriage which might be lucrative; but the complaisant ladyhad stood in his way. Perhaps there had been a little cowardice onhis part; but at any rate he had hitherto failed. The season for sucha mode of relief was not, however, as yet clean gone with him, andhe was still on the look out. There are women always in the marketready to buy for themselves the right to hang on the arm of a realgentleman. That Mr. Maurice Maule was a real gentleman no judge insuch matters had ever doubted.
On a certain morning just at the end of February Mr. Maule wassitting in his library,--so-called,--eating his breakfast, at abouttwelve o'clock; and at his side there lay a note from his son Gerard.Gerard had written to say that he would call on that morning, and thepromised visit somewhat disturbed the father's comfort. He was inhis dressing-gown and slippers, and had his newspaper in his hand.When his newspaper and breakfast should be finished,--as they wouldbe certainly at the same moment,--there were in store for him twocigarettes, and perhaps some new French novel which had just reachedhim. They would last him till two o'clock. Then he would dress andsaunter out in his great coat, made luxurious with furs. He wouldsee a picture, or perhaps some china-vase, of which news had reachedhim, and would talk of them as though he might be a possible buyer.Everybody knew that he never bought anything;--but he was a man whoseopinion on such matters was worth having. Then he would call onsome lady whose acquaintance at the moment might be of service tohim;--for that idea of blazing once more out into the world on awife's fortune was always present to him. At about five he wouldsaunter into his club, and play a rubber in a gentle unexcited mannertill seven. He never played for high points, and would never beenticed into any bet beyond the limits of his club stakes. Were heto lose L10 or L20 at a sitting his arrangements would be greatlydisturbed, and his comfort seriously affected. But he played well,taking pains with his game, and some who knew him well declared thathis whist was worth a hundred a year to him. Then he would dress andgenerally dine in society. He was known as a good diner out, thoughin what his excellence consisted they who entertained him might findit difficult to say. He was not witty, nor did he deal in anecdotes.He spoke with a low voice, never addressing himself to any but hisneighbour, and even to his neighbour saying but little. But he lookedlike a gentleman, was well dressed, and never awkward. After dinnerhe would occasionally play another rubber; but twelve o'clock alwayssaw him back into his own rooms. No one knew better than Mr. Maulethat the continual bloom of lasting summer which he affected requiresgreat accuracy in living. Late hours, nocturnal cigars, and midnightdrinkings, pleasurable though they may be, consume too quickly thefree-flowing lamps of youth, and are fatal at once to the husbandedcandle-ends of age.
But such as his days were, every minute of them was precious to him.He possessed the rare merit of making a property of his time andnot a burden. He had so shuffled off his duties that he had nowrarely anything to do that was positively disagreeable. He had beena spendthrift; but his creditors, though perhaps never satisfied,had been quieted. He did not now deal with reluctant and hard-taskedtenants, but with punctual, though inimical, trustees, who paid tohim with charming regularity that portion of h
is income which he wasallowed to spend. But that he was still tormented with the ambitionof a splendid marriage it might be said of him that he was completelyat his ease. Now, as he lit his cigarette, he would have beenthoroughly comfortable, were it not that he was threatened withdisturbance by his son. Why should his son wish to see him, and thusbreak in upon him at the most charming hour of the day? Of coursehis son would not come to him without having some business in handwhich must be disagreeable. He had not the least desire to see hisson,--and yet, as they were on amicable terms, he could not denyhimself after the receipt of his son's note. Just at one, as hefinished his first cigarette, Gerard was announced.
"Well, Gerard!"
"Well, father,--how are you? You are looking as fresh as paint, sir."
"Thanks for the compliment, if you mean one. I am pretty well. Ithought you were hunting somewhere."
"So I am; but I have just come up to town to see you. I find you havebeen smoking;--may I light a cigar?"
"I never do smoke cigars here, Gerard. I'll offer you a cigarette."The cigarette was reluctantly offered, and accepted with a shrug."But you didn't come here merely to smoke, I dare say."
"Certainly not, sir. We do not often trouble each other, father; butthere are things about which I suppose we had better speak. I'm goingto be married!"
"To be married!" The tone in which Mr. Maule, senior, repeated thewords was much the same as might be used by any ordinary father ifhis son expressed an intention of going into the shoe-black business.
"Yes, sir. It's a kind of thing men do sometimes."
"No doubt;--and it's a kind of thing that they sometimes repent ofhaving done."
"Let us hope for the best. It is too late at any rate to think aboutthat, and as it is to be done, I have come to tell you."
"Very well. I suppose you are right to tell me. Of course you knowthat I can do nothing for you; and I don't suppose that you can doanything for me. As far as your own welfare goes, if she has a largefortune,--"
"She has no fortune."
"No fortune!"
"Two or three thousand pounds perhaps."
"Then I look upon it as an act of simple madness, and can only saythat as such I shall treat it. I have nothing in my power, andtherefore I can neither do you good or harm; but I will not hearany particulars, and I can only advise you to break it off, let thetrouble be what it may."
"I certainly shall not do that, sir."
"Then I have nothing more to say. Don't ask me to be present, anddon't ask me to see her."
"You haven't heard her name yet."
"I do not care one straw what her name is."
"It is Adelaide Palliser."
"Adelaide Muggins would be exactly the same thing to me. My dearGerard, I have lived too long in the world to believe that men cancoin into money the noble blood of well-born wives. Twenty thousandpounds is worth more than all the blood of all the Howards, anda wife even with twenty thousand pounds would make you a poor,embarrassed, and half-famished man."
"Then I suppose I shall be whole famished, as she certainly has notgot a quarter of that sum."
"No doubt you will."
"Yet, sir, married men with families have lived on my income."
"And on less than a quarter of it. The very respectable man whobrushes my clothes no doubt does so. But then you see he has beenbrought up in that way. I suppose that you as a bachelor put by everyyear at least half your income?"
"I never put by a shilling, sir. Indeed, I owe a few hundred pounds."
"And yet you expect to keep a house over your head, and an expensivewife and family, with lady's maid, nurses, cook, footman, and grooms,on a sum which has been hitherto insufficient for your own wants! Ididn't think you were such an idiot, my boy."
"Thank you, sir."
"What will her dress cost?"
"I have not the slightest idea."
"I dare say not. Probably she is a horsewoman. As far as I knowanything of your life that is the sphere in which you will have madethe lady's acquaintance."
"She does ride."
"No doubt, and so do you; and it will be very easy to say whither youwill ride together if you are fools enough to get married. I can onlyadvise you to do nothing of the kind. Is there anything else?"
There was much more to be said if Gerard could succeed in forcing hisfather to hear him. Mr. Maule, who had hitherto been standing, seatedhimself as he asked that last question, and took up the book whichhad been prepared for his morning's delectation. It was evidentlyhis intention that his son should leave him. The news had beencommunicated to him, and he had said all that he could say on thesubject. He had at once determined to confine himself to a generalview of the matter, and to avoid details,--which might be personal tohimself. But Gerard had been specially required to force his fatherinto details. Had he been left to himself he would certainly havethought that the conversation had gone far enough. He was inclined,almost as well as his father, to avoid present discomfort. But whenMiss Palliser had suddenly,--almost suddenly,--accepted him; andwhen he had found himself describing the prospects of his life inher presence and in that of Lady Chiltern, the question of theMaule Abbey inheritance had of necessity been discussed. At MauleAbbey there might be found a home for the married couple, and,--sothought Lady Chiltern,--the only fitting home. Mr. Maule, the father,certainly did not desire to live there. Probably arrangements mightbe made for repairing the house and furnishing it with Adelaide'smoney. Then, if Gerard Maule would be prudent, and give up hunting,and farm a little himself,--and if Adelaide would do her ownhousekeeping and dress upon forty pounds a year, and if they wouldboth live an exemplary, model, energetic, and strictly economicallife, both ends might be made to meet. Adelaide had been quiteenthusiastic as to the forty pounds, and had suggested that she woulddo it for thirty. The housekeeping was a matter of course, and themore so as a leg of mutton roast or boiled would be the beginningand the end of it. To Adelaide the discussion had been exciting andpleasurable, and she had been quite in earnest when looking forwardto a new life at Maule Abbey. After all there could be no such greatdifficulty for a young married couple to live on L800 a year, witha house and garden of their own. There would be no carriage and noman servant till,--till old Mr. Maule was dead. The suggestion as tothe ultimate and desirable haven was wrapped up in ambiguous words."The property must be yours some day," suggested Lady Chiltern."If I outlive my father." "We take that for granted; and then, youknow--" So Lady Chiltern went on, dilating upon a future state ofsquirearchal bliss and rural independence. Adelaide was enthusiastic;but Gerard Maule,--after he had assented to the abandonment of hishunting, much as a man assents to being hung when the antecedents ofhis life have put any option in the matter out of his power,--hadsat silent and almost moody while the joys of his coming life weredescribed to him. Lady Chiltern, however, had been urgent in pointingout to him that the scheme of living at Maule Abbey could not becarried out without his father's assistance. They all knew that Mr.Maule himself could not be affected by the matter, and they alsoknew that he had but very little power in reference to the property.But the plan could not be matured without some sanction from him.Therefore there was still much more to be said when the father hadcompleted the exposition of his views on marriage in general. "Iwanted to speak to you about the property," said Gerard. He had beenspecially enjoined to be staunch in bringing his father to the point.
"And what about the property?"
"Of course my marriage will not affect your interests."
"I should say not. It would be very odd if it did. As it is, yourincome is much larger than mine."
"I don't know how that is, sir; but I suppose you will not refuse togive me a helping hand if you can do so without disturbance to yourown comfort."
"In what sort of way? Don't you think anything of that kind can bemanaged better by the lawyer? If there is a thing I hate, it isbusiness."
Gerard, remembering his promise to Lady Chiltern, did persevere,though the perseverance went much
against the grain with him. "Wethought, sir, that if you would consent we might live at MauleAbbey."
"Oh;--you did; did you?"
"Is there any objection?"
"Simply the fact that it is my house, and not yours."
"It belongs, I suppose, to the property; and as--"
"As what?" asked the father, turning upon the son with sharp angryeyes, and with something of real animation in his face.
Gerard was very awkward in conveying his meaning to his father. "Andas," he continued,--"as it must come to me, I suppose, some day, andit will be the proper sort of thing that we should live there then,I thought that you would agree that if we went and lived there now itwould be a good sort of thing to do."
"That was your idea?"
"We talked it over with our friend, Lady Chiltern."
"Indeed! I am so much obliged to your friend, Lady Chiltern, for theinterest she takes in my affairs. Pray make my compliments to LadyChiltern, and tell her at the same time that, though no doubt I haveone foot in the grave, I should like to keep my house for the otherfoot, though too probably I may never be able to drag it so far asMaule Abbey."
"But you don't think of living there."
"My dear boy, if you will inquire among any friends you may happento know who understand the world better than Lady Chiltern seemsto do, they will tell you that a son should not suggest to hisfather the abandonment of the family property, because the fathermay--probably--soon--be conveniently got rid of under ground."
"There was no thought of such a thing," said Gerard.
"It isn't decent. I say that with all due deference to LadyChiltern's better judgment. It's not the kind of thing that mendo. I care less about it than most men, but even I object to sucha proposition when it is made so openly. No doubt I am old." Thisassertion Mr. Maule made in a weak, quavering voice, which showedthat had his intention been that way turned in his youth, he mightprobably have earned his bread on the stage.
"Nobody thought of your being old, sir."
"I shan't last long, of course. I am a poor feeble creature. Butwhile I do live, I should prefer not to be turned out of my ownhouse,--if Lady Chiltern could be induced to consent to such anarrangement. My doctor seems to think that I might linger on for ayear or two,--with great care."
"Father, you know I was thinking of nothing of the kind."
"We won't act the king and the prince any further, if you please.The prince protested very well, and, if I remember right, the fatherpretended to believe him. In my weak state you have rather upset me.If you have no objection I would choose to be left to recover myselfa little."
"And is that all that you will say to me?"
"Good heavens;--what more can you want? I will not--consent--to giveup--my house at Maule Abbey for your use,--as long as I live. Willthat do? And if you choose to marry a wife and starve, I won't thinkthat any reason why I should starve too. Will that do? And yourfriend, Lady Chiltern, may--go--and be d----d. Will that do?"
"Good morning, sir."
"Good morning, Gerard." So the interview was over, and Gerard Mauleleft the room. The father, as soon as he was alone, immediately litanother cigarette, took up his French novel, and went to work asthough he was determined to be happy and comfortable again withoutlosing a moment. But he found this to be beyond his power. He hadbeen really disturbed, and could not easily compose himself. Thecigarette was almost at once chucked into the fire, and the littlevolume was laid on one side. Mr. Maule rose almost impetuously fromhis chair, and stood with his back to the fire, contemplating theproposition that had been made to him.
It was actually true that he had been offended by the very faint ideaof death which had been suggested to him by his son. Though he wasa man bearing no palpable signs of decay, in excellent health, withgood digestion,--who might live to be ninety,--he did not like tobe warned that his heir would come after him. The claim which hadbeen put forward to Maule Abbey by his son had rested on the factthat when he should die the place must belong to his son;--and thefact was unpleasant to him. Lady Chiltern had spoken of him behindhis back as being mortal, and in doing so had been guilty of animpertinence. Maule Abbey, no doubt, was a ruined old house, inwhich he never thought of living,--which was not let to a tenant bythe creditors of his estate, only because its condition was unfitfor tenancy. But now Mr. Maule began to think whether he might notpossibly give the lie to these people who were compassing his death,by returning to the halls of his ancestors, if not in the bloom ofyouth, still in the pride of age. Why should he not live at MauleAbbey if this successful marriage could be effected? He almost knewhimself well enough to be aware that a month at Maule Abbey woulddestroy him; but it is the proper thing for a man of fashion to havea place of his own, and he had always been alive to the glory ofbeing Mr. Maule of Maule Abbey. In preparing the way for the marriagethat was to come he must be so known. To be spoken of as the fatherof Maule of Maule Abbey would have been fatal to him. To be thefather of a married son at all was disagreeable, and thereforewhen the communication was made to him he had managed to be veryunpleasant. As for giving up Maule Abbey,--! He fretted and fumedas he thought of the proposition through the hour which should havebeen to him an hour of enjoyment; and his anger grew hot againsthis son as he remembered all that he was losing. At last, however,he composed himself sufficiently to put on with becoming care hisluxurious furred great coat, and then he sallied forth in quest ofthe lady.