Henrietta Temple: A Love Story

  CHAPTER XIII.

  _In Which Ferdinand Has the Honour of Dining with Mr. Bond Sharpe_.

  WHEN Ferdinand arrived at Mr. Bond Sharpe's he was welcomed by his hostin a magnificent suite of saloons, and introduced to two of the guestswho had previously arrived. The first was a stout man, past middleage, whose epicurean countenance twinkled with humour. This was LordCastlefyshe, an Irish peer of great celebrity in the world of luxury andplay, keen at a bet, still keener at a dinner. Nobody exactly knewwho the other gentleman, Mr. Bland-ford, really was, but he had thereputation of being enormously rich, and was proportionately respected.He had been about town for the last twenty years, and did not look a dayolder than at his first appearance. He never spoke of his family, wasunmarried, and apparently had no relations; but he had contrived toidentify himself with the first men in London, was a member of everyclub of great repute, and of late years had even become a sort ofauthority; which was strange, for he had no pretension, was very quiet,and but humbly ambitious; seeking, indeed, no happier success thanto merge in the brilliant crowd, an accepted atom of the influentialaggregate. As he was not remarkable for his talents or his person,and as his establishment, though well appointed, offered no singularsplendour, it was rather strange that a gentleman who had apparentlydropped from the clouds, or crept out of a kennel, should have succeededin planting himself so vigorously in a soil which shrinks from anythingnot indigenous, unless it be recommended by very powerful qualities. ButMr. Bland-ford was good-tempered, and was now easy and experienced, andthere was a vague tradition that he was immensely rich, a rumour whichMr. Blandford always contradicted in a manner which skilfully confirmedits truth.

  'Does Mirabel dine with you, Sharpe?' enquired Lord Castlefyshe of hishost, who nodded assent.

  'You won't wait for him, I hope?' said his lordship. 'By-the-bye,Blandford, you shirked last night.'

  'I promised to look in at the poor duke's before he went off,' said Mr.Blandford.

  'Oh! he has gone, has he?' said Lord Castlefyshe. 'Does he take his cookwith him?'

  But here the servant ushered in Count Alcibiades de Mirabel, CharlesDoricourt, and Mr. Bevil.

  'Excellent Sharpe, how do you do?' exclaimed the Count. 'Castlefyshe,what _betises_ have you been talking to Crocky about Felix Winchester?Good Blandford, excellent Blandford, how is my good Blandford?'

  Mr. Bevil was a tall and handsome young man, of a great family andgreat estate, who passed his life in an imitation of Count Alcibiades deMirabel. He was always dressed by the same tailor, and it was his pridethat his cab or his _vis-a-vis_ was constantly mistaken for the equipageof his model; and really now, as the shade stood beside its substance,quite as tall, almost as good-looking, with the satin-lined coatthrown open with the same style of flowing grandeur, and revealing abreastplate of starched cambric scarcely less broad and brilliant, theuninitiated might have held the resemblance as perfect. The wristbandswere turned up with not less compact precision, and were fastenedby jewelled studs that glittered with not less radiancy. The satinwaistcoat, the creaseless hosen, were the same; and if the foot werenot quite as small, its Parisian polish was not less bright. But here,unfortunately, Mr. Bevil's mimetic powers deserted him.

  We start, for soul is wanting there!

  The Count Mirabel could talk at all times, and at all times well; Mr.Bevil never opened his mouth. Practised in the world, the Count Mirabelwas nevertheless the child of impulse, though a native grace, and anintuitive knowledge of mankind, made every word pleasing and every actappropriate; Mr. Bevil was all art, and he had not the talent to concealit. The Count Mirabel was gay, careless, generous; Mr. Bevil was solemn,calculating, and rather a screw. It seemed that the Count Mirabel'sfeelings grew daily more fresh, and his faculty of enjoyment more keenand relishing; it seemed that Mr. Bevil could never have been a child,but that he must have issued to the world ready equipped, like Minerva,with a cane instead of a lance, and a fancy hat instead of a helmet.His essence of high breeding was never to be astonished, and he neverpermitted himself to smile, except in the society of intimate friends.

  Charles Doricourt was another friend of the Count Mirabel, but not hisimitator. His feelings were really worn, but it was a fact he alwaysconcealed. He had entered life at a remarkably early age, and hadexperienced every scrape to which youthful flesh is heir. Any otherman but Charles Doricourt must have sunk beneath these accumulateddisasters, but Charles Doricourt always swam. Nature had given him anintrepid soul; experience had cased his heart with iron. But he alwayssmiled; and audacious, cool, and cutting, and very easy, he thoroughlydespised mankind, upon whose weaknesses he practised without remorse.But he was polished and amusing, and faithful to his friends. The worldadmired him, and called him Charley, from which it will be inferred thathe was a privileged person, and was applauded for a thousand actions,which in anyone else would have been met with decided reprobation.

  'Who is that young man?' enquired the Count Mirabel of Mr. Bond Sharpe,taking his host aside, and pretending to look at a picture.

  'He is Captain Armine, the only son of Sir Ratcliffe Armine. He has justreturned to England after a long absence.'

  'Hum! I like his appearance,' said the Count. 'It is verydistinguished.'

  Dinner and Lord Catchimwhocan were announced at the same moment; CaptainArmine found himself seated next to the Count Mirabel. The dinners atMr. Bond Sharpe's were dinners which his guests came to eat. Mr. BondSharpe had engaged for his club-house the most celebrated of livingartists, a gentleman who, it was said, received a thousand a-year, whoseconvenience was studied by a chariot, and amusement secured by a boxat the French play. There was, therefore, at first little conversation,save criticism on the performances before them, and that chieflypanegyrical; each dish was delicious, each wine exquisite; and yet, evenin these occasional remarks, Ferdinand was pleased with the lively fancyof his neighbour, affording an elegant contrast to the somewhat grossunction with which Lord Castlefyshe, whose very soul seemed wrapped upin his occupation, occasionally expressed himself.

  'Will you take some wine, Captain Armine?' said the Count Mirabel, witha winning smile. 'You have recently returned here?'

  'Very recently,' said Ferdinand.

  'And you are glad?'

  'As it may be; I hardly know whether to rejoice or not.'

  'Then, by all means rejoice,' said the Count; 'for, if you are in doubt,it surely must be best to decide upon being pleased.'

  'I think this is the most infernal country there ever was,' said LordCatchimwhocan.

  'My dear Catch!' said the Count Mirabel, 'you think so, do you? You makea mistake, you think no such thing, my dear Catch. Why is it the mostinfernal? Is it because the women are the handsomest, or because thehorses are the best? Is it because it is the only country where you canget a good dinner, or because it is the only country where there arefine wines? Or is it because it is the only place where you can get acoat made, or where you can play without being cheated, or where youcan listen to an opera without your ears being destroyed? Now, my dearCatch, you pass your life in dressing and in playing hazard, in eatinggood dinners, in drinking good wines, in making love, in going to theopera, and in riding fine horses. Of what, then, have you to complain?'

  'Oh! the damned climate!'

  'On the contrary, it is the only good climate there is. In England youcan go out every day, and at all hours; and then, to those who lovevariety, like myself, you are not sure of seeing the same sky everymorning you rise, which, for my part, I think the greatest of allexisting sources of ennui.'

  'You reconcile me to my country, Count,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

  'Ah! you are a sensible man; but that dear Catch is always repeatingnonsense which he hears from somebody else. To-morrow,' he added, in alow voice, 'he will be for the climate.'

  The conversation of men, when they congregate together, is generallydedicated to one of two subjects: politics or women. In the presentinstance the party was not political; and it was the fair s
ex, andparticularly the most charming portion of it, in the good metropolisof England, that were subject to the poignant criticism or the profoundspeculation of these practical philosophers. There was scarcely acelebrated beauty in London, from the proud peeress to the vainopera-dancer, whose charms and conduct were not submitted to theirmasterly analysis. And yet it would be but fair to admit that theircritical ability was more eminent and satisfactory than their abstractreasoning upon this interesting topic; for it was curious to observethat, though everyone present piqued himself upon his profound knowledgeof the sex, not two of the sages agreed in the constituent principlesof female character. One declared that women were governed by theirfeelings; another maintained that they had no heart; a third propoundedthat it was all imagination; a fourth that it was all vanity. LordCastlefyshe muttered something about their passions; and CharleyDoricourt declared that they had no passions whatever. But they allagreed in one thing, to wit, that the man who permitted himself amoment's uneasiness about a woman was a fool.

  All this time Captain Armine spoke little, but ever to the purpose, andchiefly to the Count Mirabel, who pleased him. Being very handsome, and,moreover, of a distinguished appearance, this silence on the part ofFerdinand made him a general favourite, and even Mr. Bevil whispered hisapprobation to Lord Catchimwhocan.

  'The fact is,' said Charles Doricourt, 'it is only boys and old men whoare plagued by women. They take advantage of either state of childhood.Eh! Castlefyshe?'

  'In that respect, then, somewhat resembling you, Charley,' repliedhis lordship, who did not admire the appeal. 'For no one can doubt youplagued your father; I was out of my teens, fortunately, before youplayed ecarte.'

  'Come, good old Fyshe,' said Count Mirabel, 'take a glass of claret,and do not look so fierce. You know very well that Charley learnedeverything of you.'

  'He never learned from me to spend a fortune upon an actress,' said hislordship. 'I ave spent a fortune, but, thank heaven, it was on myself.'

  'Well, as for that,' said the Count, 'I think there is something greatin being ruined for one's friends. If I were as rich as I might havebeen, I would not spend much on myself. My wants are few; a fine house,fine carriages, fine horses, a complete wardrobe, the best opera-box,the first cook, and pocket-money; that is all I require. I have these,and I get on pretty well; but if I had a princely fortune I would makeevery good fellow I know quite happy.'

  'Well,' said Charles Doricourt, 'you are a lucky fellow, Mirabel. I havehad horses, houses, carriages, opera-boxes, and cooks, and I have had agreat estate; but pocket-money I never could get. Pocket-money was thething which always cost me the most to buy of all.'

  The conversation now fell upon the theatre. Mr. Bond Sharpe wasdetermined to have a theatre. He believed it was reserved for him torevive the drama. Mr. Bond Sharpe piqued himself upon his patronage ofthe stage. He certainly had a great admiration of actresses. Therewas something in the management of a great theatre which pleased thesomewhat imperial fancy of Mr. Bond Sharpe. The manager of a greattheatre is a kind of monarch. Mr. Bond Sharpe longed to seat himself onthe throne, with the prettiest women in London for his court, andall his fashionable friends rallying round their sovereign. He had animpression that great results might be obtained with his organisingenergy and illimitable capital. Mr. Bond Sharpe had unbounded confidencein the power of capital. Capital was his deity. He was confident thatit could always produce alike genius and triumph. Mr. Bond Sharpe wasright: capital is a wonderful thing, but we are scarcely aware of thisfact until we are past thirty; and then, by some singular process, whichwe will not now stop to analyse, one's capital is in general sensiblydiminished. As men advance in life, all passions resolve themselves intomoney. Love, ambition, even poetry, end in this.

  'Are you going to Shropshire's this autumn, Charley?' said LordCatchimwhocan.

  'Yes, I shall go.'

  'I don't think I shall,' said his lordship; 'it is such a bore.'

  'It is rather a bore; but he is a good fellow.'

  'I shall go,' said Count Mirabel.

  'You are not afraid of being bored,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

  'Between ourselves, I do not understand what this being bored is,' saidthe Count. 'He who is bored appears to me a bore. To be bored supposesthe inability of being amused; you must be a dull fellow. Wherever I maybe, I thank heaven that I am always diverted.'

  'But you have such nerves, Mirabel,' said Lord Catchimwhocan. 'By Jove!I envy you. You are never floored.'

  'Floored! what an idea! What should floor me? I live to amuse myself,and I do nothing that does not amuse me. Why should I be floored?'

  'Why, I do not know; but every other man is floored now and then. As forme, my spirits are sometimes something dreadful.'

  'When you have been losing.'

  'Well, we cannot always win. Can we, Sharpe? That would not do. But, byJove! you are always in good humour, Mirabel, when you lose.'

  'Fancy a man ever being in low spirits,' said the Count Mirabel. 'Lifeis too short for such _betises_. The most unfortunate wretch alivecalculates unconsciously that it is better to live than to die. Well,then, he has something in his favour. Existence is a pleasure, and thegreatest. The world cannot rob us of that; and if it is better to livethan to die, it is better to live in a good humour than a bad one. If aman be convinced that existence is the greatest pleasure, his happinessmay be increased by good fortune, but it will be essentially independentof it. He who feels that the greatest source of pleasure always remainsto him ought never to be miserable. The sun shines on all: every man cango to sleep: if you cannot ride a fine horse, it is something to lookupon one; if you have not a fine dinner, there is some amusement in acrust of bread and Gruyere. Feel slightly, think little, never plan,never brood. Everything depends upon the circulation; take care of it.Take the world as you find it; enjoy everything. _Vive la bagatelle!_'

  Here the gentlemen rose, took their coffee, and ordered their carriages.

  'Come with us,' said Count Mirabel to Ferdinand.

  Our hero accepted the offer of his agreeable acquaintance. There was agreat prancing and rushing of cabs and _vis-a-vis_ at Mr. BondSharpe's door, and in a few minutes the whole party were dashing upSt. James'-street, where they stopped before a splendid building,resplendent with lights and illuminated curtains.

  'Come, we will make you an honorary member, _mon cher_ Captain Armine,'said the Count; 'and do not say _Lasciate ogni speranza_ when you enterhere.'

  They ascended a magnificent staircase, and entered a sumptuous andcrowded saloon, in which the entrance of Count Mirabel and his friendsmade no little sensation. Mr. Bond Sharpe glided along, droppingoracular sentences, without condescending to stop to speak to those whomhe addressed. Charley Doricourt and Mr. Blandford walked away together,towards a further apartment. Lord Castlefyshe and Lord Catchimwhocanwere soon busied with ecarte.

  'Well, Faneville, good general, how do you do?' said Count Mirabel.'Where have you dined to-day? at the Balcombes'? You are a very braveman, mon general! Ah! Stock, good Stock, excellent Stock!' he continued,addressing Mr. Million de Stockville, 'that Burgundy you sent me iscapital. How are you, my dear fellow? Quite well? Fitzwarrene, I didthat for you: your business is all right. Ah! my good Massey, _mon cher,mon brave_, Anderson will let you have that horse. And what is doinghere? Is there any fun? Fitzwarrene, let me introduce you to my friendCaptain Armine:' (in a lower tone) 'excellent _garcon!_ You will likehim very much. We have been all dining at Bond's.'

  'A good dinner?'

  'Of course a good dinner. I should like to see a man who would give me abad dinner: that would be a _betise_,--to ask me to dine, and then giveme a bad dinner.'

  'I say, Mirabel,' exclaimed a young man, 'have you seen HoracePoppington about the match?'

  'It is arranged; 'tis the day after to-morrow, at nine o'clock.'

  'Well, I bet on you, you know.'

  'Of course you bet on me. Would you think of betting on that good Pop,with that gun? Pah! _Eh! bien!_ I
shall go in the next room.' And theCount walked away, followed by Mr. Bevil.

  Ferdinand remained talking for some time with Lord Fitzwarrene. Bydegrees the great saloon had become somewhat thinner: some had stolenaway to the House, where a division was expected; quiet men, who justlooked in after dinner, had retired; and the play-men were engaged inthe contiguous apartments. Mr. Bond Sharpe approached Ferdinand, andLord Fitzwarrene took this opportunity of withdrawing.

  'I believe you never play, Captain Armine,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe.

  'Never,' said Ferdinand.

  'You are quite right.'

  'I am rather surprised at your being of that opinion,' said Ferdinand,with a smile.

  Mr. Bond Sharpe shrugged his shoulders. 'There will always be votariesenough,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe, 'whatever may be my opinion.'

  'This is a magnificent establishment of yours,' said Ferdinand.

  'Yes; it is a very magnificent establishment. I have spared no expenseto produce the most perfect thing of the kind in Europe; and it is themost perfect thing of the kind. I am confident that no noble in anycountry has an establishment better appointed. I despatched an agent tothe Continent to procure this furniture: his commission had no limit,and he was absent two years. My cook was with Charles X.; the cellar isthe most choice and considerable that was ever collected. I take a pridein the thing, but I lose money by it.'

  'Indeed!'

  'I have made a fortune; there is no doubt of that; but I did not make ithere.'

  'It is a great thing to make a fortune,' said Ferdinand.

  'Very great,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe. 'There is only one thing greater,and that is, to keep it when made.'

  Ferdinand smiled.

  'Many men make fortunes; few can keep them,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe.'Money is power, and rare are the heads that can withstand thepossession of great power.'

  'At any rate, it is to be hoped that you have discovered this moreimportant secret,' said Ferdinand; 'though I confess to judge from myown experience, I should fear that you are too generous.'

  'I had forgotten that to which you allude,' said his companion, quietly.'But with regard to myself, whatever may be my end, I have not yetreached my acme.'

  'You have at least my good wishes,' said Ferdinand.

  'I may some day claim them,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe. 'My position,' hecontinued, 'is difficult. I have risen by pursuits which the world doesnot consider reputable, yet if I had not had recourse to them, I shouldbe less than nothing. My mind, I think, is equal to my fortune; I amstill young, and I would now avail myself of my power and establishmyself in the land, a recognised member of society. But this cannotbe. Society shrinks from an obscure foundling, a prizefighter, a leg, ahell-keeper, and an usurer. Debarred therefore from a fair theatre formy energy and capital, I am forced to occupy, perhaps exhaust, myself inmultiplied speculations. Hitherto they have flourished, and perhaps mytheatre, or my newspaper, may be as profitable as my stud. But Iwould gladly emancipate myself. These efforts seem to me, as it were,unnecessary and unnatural. The great object has been gained. It is atempting of fate. I have sometimes thought myself the Napoleon of thesporting world; I may yet find my St. Helena.' 'Forewarned, forearmed,Mr. Sharpe.' 'I move in a magic circle: it is difficult to extricatemyself from it. Now, for instance, there is not a man in the room who isnot my slave. You see how they treat me. They place me upon an equalitywith them. They know my weakness; they fool me to the top of mybent. And yet there is not a man in that room who, if I were to breakto-morrow, would walk down St. James'-street to serve me. Yes! thereis one; there is the Count. He has a great and generous soul. I believeCount Mirabel sympathises with my situation. I believe he does notthink, because a man has risen from an origin the most ignoble andobscure to a powerful position, by great courage and dexterity, andlet me add also, by some profound thought, by struggling too, be itremembered, with a class of society as little scrupulous, though not soskilful as himself, that he is necessarily an infamous character. Whatif, at eighteen years of age, without a friend in the world, trusting tothe powerful frame and intrepid spirit with which Nature had endowed me,I flung myself into the ring? Who should be a gladiator if I werenot? Is that a crime? What if, at a later period, with a brain forcalculation which none can rival, I invariably succeeded in that inwhich the greatest men in the country fail! Am I to be branded becauseI have made half a million by a good book? What if I have kept agambling-house? From the back parlour of an oyster-shop my hazardtable has been removed to this palace. Had the play been foul, thismetamorphosis would never have occurred. It is true I am an usurer. Mydear sir, if all the usurers in this great metropolis could only passin procession before you at this moment, how you would start! You mightfind some Right Honourables among them; many a great functionary, manya grave magistrate; fathers of families, the very models of respectablecharacters, patrons and presidents of charitable institutions, andsubscribers for the suppression of those very gaming-houses whosevictims, in nine cases out of ten, are their principal customers. Ispeak not in bitterness. On the whole, I must not complain of the world,but I have seen a great deal of mankind, and more than most, of what isconsidered its worst portion. The world, Captain Armine, believe me, isneither so bad nor so good as some are apt to suppose. And after all,'said Mr. Bond Sharpe, shrugging up his shoulders, 'perhaps we ought tosay with our friend the Count, _Vive la bagatelle!_ Will you take somesupper?'