CHAPTER IX.
_A Duke Without A Friend_
O YE immortal Gods! ye are still immortal, although no longer ye hovero'er Olympus. The Crescent glitters on your mountain's base, and Crossesspring from out its toppling crags. But in vain the Mufti, and thePatriarch, and the Pope flout at your past traditions. They are marriedto man's memory by the sweetest chain that ever Fancy wove for Love. Thepoet is a priest, who does not doubt the inspiration of his oracles; andyour shrines are still served by a faithful band, who love the beautifuland adore the glorious! In vain, in vain they tell us your divinity isa dream. From the cradle to the grave, our thoughts and feelings taketheir colour from you! O! AEgiochus, the birch has often proved thouart still a thunderer; and, although thy twanging bow murmur no longerthrough the avenging air, many an apple twig still vindicates thyoutraged dignity, _pulcher_ Apollo.
O, ye immortal Gods! nothing so difficult as to begin a chapter, andtherefore have we flown to you. In literature, as in life, it is thefirst step; you know the rest. After a paragraph or so our blood Is up,and even our jaded hackneys scud along, and warm up into friskiness.
The Duke awoke: another day of his eventful life is now to run itscourse. He found that the Bird of Paradise had not returned from anexcursion to a neighbouring park: he left a note for her, apprising herof his departure to London, and he despatched an affectionate letter toLady Aphrodite, which was the least that he could do, considering thathe perhaps quitted Brighton the day of her arrival. And having done allthis, he ordered his horses, and before noon was on his first stage.
It was his birthday. He had completed his twenty-third year. This wassufficient, even if he had no other inducement, to make him indulge insome slight reflection. These annual summings up are awkward things,even to the prosperous and the happy, but to those who are the reverse,who are discontented with themselves, and find that youth melting awaywhich they believe can alone achieve anything, I think a birthday isabout the most gloomy four-and-twenty hours that ever flap their dampdull wings over melancholy man.
Yet the Duke of St. James was rather thoughtful than melancholy. Hislife had been too active of late to allow him to indulge much in thatpassive mood. 'I may never know what happiness is,' thought his Grace,as he leaned back in his whirling britzska, 'but I think I know whathappiness is not. It is not the career which I have hitherto pursued.All this excitement which they talk of so much wears out the mind,and, I begin to believe, even the body, for certainly my energiesseem deserting me. But two years, two miserable years, four-and-twentymonths, eight-and-forty times the hours, the few hours, that I have beenworse than wasting here, and I am shipwrecked, fairly bulged. Yet I havedone everything, tried everything, and my career has been an eminentcareer. Woe to the wretch who trusts to his pampered senses forfelicity! Woe to the wretch who flies from the bright goddess Sympathy,to sacrifice before the dark idol Self-love! Ah! I see too late, we weremade for each other. Too late, I discover the beautiful results of thisgreat principle of creation. Oh! the blunders of an unformed character!Oh! the torture of an ill-regulated mind!
'Give me a life with no fierce alternations of rapture and anguish, noimpossible hopes, no mad depression. Free me from the delusions whichsucceed each other like scentless roses, that are ever blooming. Save mefrom the excitement which brings exhaustion, and from the passion thatprocreates remorse. Give me the luminous mind, where recognised andparamount duty dispels the harassing, ascertains the doubtful, confirmsthe wavering, sweetens the bitter. Give me content. Oh! give me love!
'How is it to end? What is to become of me? Can nothing rescue me? Isthere no mode of relief, no place of succour, no quarter of refuge, nohope of salvation? I cannot right myself, and there is an end of it.Society, society, society! I owe thee much; and perhaps in working inthy service, those feelings might be developed which I am now convincedare the only source of happiness; but I am plunged too deep in the quag.I have no impulse, no call. I know not how it is, but my energies, goodand evil, seem alike vanishing. There stares that fellow at my carriage!God! willingly would I break the stones upon the road for a year, toclear my mind of all the past!'
A carriage dashed by, and a lady bowed. It was Mrs. Dallington Vere.
The Duke had appointed his banker to dine with him, as not a moment mustbe lost in preparing for the reception of his Brighton drafts. He wasalso to receive, this evening, a complete report of all his affairs. Thefirst thing that struck his eye on his table was a packet from Sir CarteBlanche. He opened it eagerly, stared, started, nearly shrieked. Itfell from his hands. He was fortunately alone. The estimates for thecompletion of his works, and the purchase of the rest of the furniture,exactly equalled the sum already expended. Sir Carte added, that theworks might of course be stopped, but that there was no possible wayof reducing them, with any deference to the original design, scale, andstyle; that he had already given instructions not to proceed with thefurniture until further notice, but regretted to observe that the orderswere so advanced that he feared it was too late to make any sensiblereduction. It might in some degree reconcile his Grace to this reportwhen he concluded by observing that the advanced state of the workscould permit him to guarantee that the present estimates would not beexceeded.
The Duke had sufficiently recovered before the arrival of hisconfidential agent not to appear agitated, only serious. The awfulcatastrophe at Brighton was announced, and his report of affairswas received. It was a very gloomy one. Great agricultural distressprevailed, and the rents could not be got in. Five-and-twenty per cent,was the least that must be taken off his income, and with no prospectof being speedily added on. There was a projected railroad which wouldentirely knock up his canal, and even if crushed must be expensivelyopposed. Coals were falling also, and the duties in town increasing.There was sad confusion in the Irish estates. The missionaries, who werepatronised on the neighbouring lands of one of the City Companies, hadbeen exciting fatal confusion. Chapels were burnt, crops destroyed,stock butchered, and rents all in arrear. Mr. Dacre had contrived withgreat prudence to repress the efforts of the new reformation, and hadsucceeded in preventing any great mischief. His plans for the pursualof his ideas and feelings upon this subject had been communicated to hislate ward in an urgent and important paper, which his Grace had neverseen, but one day, unread, pushed into a certain black cabinet, whichperhaps the reader may remember. His Grace's miscellaneous debtshad also been called in, and amounted to a greater sum than they hadanticipated, which debts always do. One hundred and forty thousandpounds had crumbled away in the most imperceptible manner. A great sliceof this was the portion of the jeweller. His shield and his vases wouldat least be evidence to his posterity of the splendour and the tasteof their imprudent ancestor; but he observed the other items with lesssatisfaction. He discovered that in the course of two years he had givenaway one hundred and thirty-seven necklaces and bracelets; and as forrings, they must be counted by the bushel. The result of this gloomyinterview was, that the Duke had not only managed to get rid of theimmortal half-million, but had incurred debts or engagements to theamount of nearly eight hundred thousand pounds, incumbrances which wereto be borne by a decreased and perhaps decreasing income. His Grace wasonce more alone. 'Well! my brain is not turned; and yet I think it hasbeen pretty well worked these last few days. It cannot be true: it mustall be a dream. He never could have dined here, and said all this. HaveI, indeed, been at Brighton? No, no, no; I have been sleeping afterdinner. I have a good mind to ring and ask whether he really was here.It must be one great delusion. But no! there are those cursed accounts.Well! what does it signify? I was miserable before, and now I am onlycontemptible in addition. How the world will laugh! They were madeforsooth for my diversion. O, idiot! you will be the butt of everyone!Talk of Bagshot, indeed! Why, he will scarcely speak to me!
'Away with this! Let me turn these things in my mind. Take it at onehundred and fifty thousand. It is more, it must be more, but we willtake it at that. Now, suppose one hundred thousand is
allotted everyyear to meet my debts; I suppose, in nine or ten years I shall be free.Not that freedom will be worth much then; but still I am thinking of theglory of the House I have betrayed. Well, then, there is fifty thousanda-year left. Let me see; twenty thousand have always been spent inIreland, and ten at Pen Bronnock, and they must not be cut down. Theonly thing I can do now is, not to spare myself. I am the cause, andlet me meet the consequences. Well, then, perhaps twenty thousand a-yearremain to keep Hauteville Castle and Hauteville House; to maintain thesplendour of the Duke of St. James. Why, my hereditary charities aloneamount to a quarter of my income, to say nothing of incidental charges:I too, who should and who would wish to rebuild, at my own cost, everybridge that is swept away, and every steeple that is burnt, in mycounty.
'And now for the great point. Shall I proceed with my buildings? My ownpersonal convenience whispers no! But I have a strong conviction thatthe advice is treasonable. What! the young Duke's folly for every gazerin town and country to sneer at! Oh! my fathers, am I indeed your child,or am I bastard? Never, never shall your shield be sullied while I bearit! Never shall your proud banner veil while I am chieftain! They shallbe finished; certainly, they shall be finished, if I die an exile! Therecan be no doubt about this; I feel the deep propriety.
'This girl, too, something must be done for her. I must get Squib torun down to Brighton for me: and Afy, poor dear Afy, I think she will besorry when she hears it all!
'My head is weak: I want a counsellor. This man cannot enter into myfeelings. Then there is my family lawyer; if I ask him for advice, hewill ask me for instructions. Besides, this is not a matter of pounds,shillings, and pence; it is an affair as much of sentiment as economy;it involves the honour of my family, and I want one to unburden myselfto, who can sympathise with the tortured feelings of a noble, of a Dukewithout a dukedom, for it has come to that. But I will leave sneers tothe world.
'There is Annesley. He is clever, but so coldblooded. He has no heart.There is Squib; he is a good fellow, and has heart enough; and Isuppose, if I wanted to pension off a mistress, or compound with a fewrascally tradesmen, he would manage the affair to a miracle. There isDarrell; but he will be so fussy, and confidential, and official. Everymeeting will be a cabinet council, every discussion a debate, everymemorandum a state paper. There is Burlington; he is experienced, andclever, and kind-hearted, and, I really think, likes me; but, no, no, itis too ridiculous. We who have only met for enjoyment, whose countenancewas a smile, and whose conversation was badinage; we to meet, andmeditate on my broken fortunes! Impossible! Besides, what right have Ito compel a man, the study of whose life is to banish care, to takeall my anxieties on his back, or refuse the duty at the cost of myacquaintance and the trouble of his conscience. Ah! I once had a friend,the best, the wisest; but no more of that. What is even the loss offortune and of consideration to the loss of his--his daughter's love?'
His voice faltered, yet it was long before he retired; and he rose onthe morrow only to meditate over his harassing embarrassments. As if thecup of his misery were not o'erflowing, a new incident occurred aboutthis time, which rendered his sense of them even keener. But this isimportant enough to commence a new chapter.