She ceased, for Nelligan had now drawn nigh to where they sat, and stood as if trying to collect himself to say something.
“Do you sing, Mr. Nelligan?” asked Kate.
“No; I am ignorant of music,” said he, half abstractedly.
“But you like it?” asked Mary.
“Yes, I believe I do, – that is, it calms and quiets me. If I could understand it, it would do more.”
“Then why not understand it, since that is the way you phrase it?” asked Kate. “Everybody can be a musician to a certain degree of proficiency. There is no more ear required than you want to learn a language.”
“Then you shall teach me,” cried Mary, eagerly.
Kate took up her hand and pressed it to her lips for a reply.
“Foreigners – men, I mean – are all so well aware of this that they cultivate music as a necessary part of education; few attain high eminence, but all know something of it. But somehow we have got to believe that cultivation in England must always tend to material profit. We learn this, that, and t’ other, to be richer or greater or higher, but never to be more acceptable in society, more agreeable or pleasanter company.”
“We have n’t time,” said Nelligan, gravely.
“For what have we not time? Do you mean we have no time to be happy?” cried Repton, suddenly stepping in amongst them. “Now, my dear young ladies, which of you will bid highest for the heart of an old lawyer – by a song?”
“It must be Miss Henderson,” said Mary, smiling, “for I don’t sing.”
“Not a ballad? – not even one of the Melodies?”
“Not even one of the Melodies,” said she, sorrowfully.
“Shame upon me for that ‘even,’” said Repton; “but you see what comes of surviving one’s generation. I lived in an age when the ‘Last Rose of Summer’ and the ‘Harp that Once’ were classical as Homer’s ‘Hymns,’ but I have now fallen upon times when English music is estimated in the same category with English cookery, and both deemed very little above barbarous. To be sure,” added he, “it does seem very like a poetical justice for the slavish adherence of our education to Greek and Roman literature, that our ladies should only sing to us in the languages of Italy or Germany.”
“I hope you would not imply that we are as little versed in these as great scholars are in the others?” said Kate Henderson, slyly.
“Sharply said, miss, and truthfully insinuated too! Not to mention that there is courage in such a speech before Mr. Nelligan, here.”
“Yes – very true – a just remark!” said Joseph, who only overheard a reference to himself without understanding to what it alluded. And now a very joyous burst of laughter from the others startled him, while it covered him with confusion.
“We must make them sing, Nelligan,” said Repton, gayly. “They’ll vanquish us in these tilting-matches of word-fence. – Now, Miss Henderson, something very plaintive and very sentimental, to suit the tenderness of a feeling heart.”
“I’ll sing for you with pleasure,” said Kate. “Will this suit you?” And with a short prelude she sang one of those brilliant little snatches of Venetian melody which seem like the outburst of a sudden inspiration, – wild, joyous, floating as they are, – wherein such is the expression that sounds usurp the place of language, and the mind is carried away by a dreamy fascination impossible to resist.
“How often have I heard that on the Lido!” said Mas-singbred, entering the room hastily; “and what a glorious thing it is!”
“Then you know this?” said Kate, running her fingers over the notes, and warbling out another of the popular airs of the same class.
“The last time I heard that,” said Jack, musingly, “was one night when returning home from a late party, along the Grand Canal at Venice. There is a single word at the end of each verse which should be uttered by a second voice. Just as I passed beneath a brilliantly lighted salon, the sounds of this melody came floating forth, and as the stanza finished, I supplied the ‘refrain.’”
“You?” cried Kate, eagerly.
“Yes; but why do you ask?”
“Do you remember the exact spot?” said she, not heeding his question.
“As well as though I were there only yesterday.”
“Shall I tell you where it was?” He waited, and she went on: “It was under the balcony of the Mocenigo Palace.”
“Why, this is witchcraft,” cried Jack; “you are perfectly correct.”
“The bouquet that was thrown to you from the window fell into the water.”
“But I regained it. I have it still,” cried he, more eagerly; “and yours was the hand that threw it?”
She nodded assent.
“How strange, is it not, that we should meet here?” He paused for a minute or two, and then said, “It was the Duchesse de Courcelles lived there at the time?”
“Yes, we passed the winter in that palace.”
“Miss Henderson was the companion of the young Princess,” said Lady Dorothea, who had just joined the group, and experienced no slight shock at observing the tone of easy familiarity in which the conversation was conducted. But Massingbred seemed wonderfully little moved by the intelligence, for, drawing his chair closer to Kate’s, he led her to talk of Venice and its life, till, imperceptibly as it were, the discourse glided into Italian. What a dangerous freemasonry is the use of a foreign language, lifting the speakers out of the ordinary topics, and leading them away to distant scenes and impressions, which, constituting a little world apart, give a degree of confidential feeling to intercourse. Massingbred would willingly have lent himself to the full enjoyment of this illusion; but Kate, with quicker tact, saw all the difficulties and embarrassment it would occasion, and under pretext of searching for some music, escaped at once from the spot.
“How I envy you, dear girl!” said Mary, following her, and passing her arm affectionately around her. “What a happiness must it be to possess such gifts as yours, which, even in their careless exercise, are so graceful. Tell me frankly, is it too late for me to try – ”
“You overrate me as much as you disparage yourself,” said Kate, mildly; “but if you really will accept me, I will teach you the little that I know, but, in return, will you make me your friend?”
Mary pressed the other’s hand warmly within her own.
“Here are some vows of everlasting friendship going forward, I ‘ll be sworn,” said old Repton, stepping in between them; “and you ought to have a legal opinion as to the clauses, – eh, young ladies, am I not right?”
“When was Mr. Repton wrong?” said Mary, laughing.
“When he waited till his present age to fall in love!” said he, gayly. “But, seriously, what have you done with our young student? Of all the woe-begone faces I ever beheld, his was the very saddest, as he moved into the large drawing-room awhile ago. Which of you is to blame for this?”
“Not guilty, upon my honor,” said Mary, with mock solemnity.
“I’m half afraid that our showy friend has eclipsed him in your eyes, as I own to you he has in mine, clever fellow that he is.”
“Are you not charmed with yourself that you did not shoot him this morning?” said Mary, laughing.
“I am sincerely gratified that he has not shot me, which, taking his pistol performance on the same level with his other acquirements, was not so very improbable!”
“There’s your uncle stealing away to bed,” said Repton, “and fancying that nobody remarks him. Shall I be cruel enough to mar the project? Martin – Martin – come here for a moment; we want your opinion on a knotty point.”
“I know what it is,” said Martin, smiling; “the question under discussion is, “whether you or Mr. Massingbred were the more successful to-day? ”
“I think Mr. Massingbred may claim the prize,” said Mary Martin, with a sly whisper; “he made Lady Dorothea cry.”
“Ay,” said Repton, “but I made young Nelligan laugh!”
And now the party broke up, Massingbred lingering a little behind to say something to Miss Henderson, and then betaking himself to his chamber, well satisfied with his day, and the change it had wrought in his fortunes. Perhaps a few passages from a letter that he, on that same night, penned to one of his friends in Dublin, will not be ill-timed as an exponent of his sentiments. The letter was written, directing certain articles of dress to be forwarded to him at once, by coach, and contained these paragraphs: —
“You now know how I came here: the next thing is to tell you of the place itself. The house is large and admirably montée– abundance of servants, well drilled, and orderly. The master a nonentity, apparently; easy-tempered and good-humored; liking the quiet monotony of his humdrum life, and only asking that it may not be interfered with. His wife, a fine lady of the school of five-and-forty years ago, – a nervous terrorist about mob encroachments and the democratic tendencies of the times, – insufferably tiresome on genealogies and ‘connections,’ and what many would call downright vulgar in the amount of her pretension. Gratitude – for I have the honor of being a favorite already – seals my lips against any further or harsher criticism. As for the niece, she is decidedly handsome; a great deal of style about her too; with a degree of – shall I call it daring? for it is more like courage than any other quality – that tells you she is the uncontrolled ruler over the wild regions and wild people around her. With more of manner, she would be very charming; but perhaps she is better in the unfettered freedom of her own capricious independence: it certainly suits her to perfection. And now I should have completed my catalogue, if it were not for the governess. Ay, Harry, the governess! And just fancy, under this unimposing title, a dark-eyed, haughty-looking girl – I don’t think she can be above twenty or twenty-one – with a carriage and port that might suit an Archduchess of Austria. She has travelled all over Europe – been everywhere – seen everything, and, stranger again, everybody; for she was what they style a companion. By Jove! she must have been a very charming one; that is, if she liked it; for if she did not, Hal! – At all events, here she is; only having arrived the very day before myself; so that we are free to discuss the family, and compare notes together, in the most confidential fashion.
“Of course I need n’t tell you Jack Massingbred does not fall in love, – the very phrase implies it must be beneath one, – but I already see that if such a girl were a Lady Catherine or a Lady Agnes, with a father in the Upper House, and two brothers in the ‘Lower,’ her dowry anything you like above thirty thousand, – that, in short, even Jack himself might exhibit the weakness of inferior mortals; for she is precisely one of those types that are ever looking upward, – a girl with a high ambition, I ‘ll be sworn, and formed to make the man, whose fortunes she shared, stand forward in the van and distinguish himself.
“These are our whole dramatis persono, if I include an old barrister, with a racy humor and a strong stock of Bar anecdotes; and young Nelligan, the Medal man, whom you quizzed me so much for noticing in Dublin. You were right then, Harry; he is a low fellow, and I was wrong in ever thinking him otherwise. I chanced upon his father’s acquaintance rather oddly; and the son has not forgiven it. When we met here, yesterday, he fancied that we were to speak, and was actually rushing forward to shake hands with the most enthusiastic warmth; but with that manner which you have often admired, and once encouraged, when you called me the ‘Cool of the day,’ I pulled him up dead short, stared, and passed on. At dinner, I managed to ignore him so utterly that everybody else fell into the trap, and he dined as a tutor or the chaplain or the agent’s son might, – mingling his sighs with the soup, and sipping his claret in all dreariness.
“You will see, even from these hasty lines, that there is enough here to interest and amuse; food for observation, and opportunity for malice. What can a man want more? The ‘joint and the pickles.’ They have asked me to stay, – they have even entreated; and so I mean to pass a week – perhaps two – here. I conclude that will give me enough of it: however, you shall hear frequently of my res gesto, and learn all that befalls
“Jack Massingbred.
“… When you pass that way, pray see what letters there may be lying for me in my chambers. If any of my father’s – he writes in a large splashy hand – and the seal, two maces, saltierwise – forward them here. I am, or I shall soon be, in want of money; and as I have overdrawn my allowance already, I shall be obliged to issue bonds, bearing a certain interest. Can you recommend me to a safe capitalist? – not Fordyce – nor Henniker – nor yet Sloan – with all of whom I have held dealings, mutually disagreeable. It is a sad reflection that the stamp worth five shillings upon a piece of unsullied paper is absolutely valueless when the words ‘Jack Massingbred’ are inscribed beneath. Try, and if you can, solve this curious problem.
“At all events, write to me here: supply me freely with news, for I am supposed to be acquainted with all that goes on, socially and politically, and I shall be driven to imagination if you do not store me with fact.”
CHAPTER XVIII. STATECRAFT
It was a cabinet council; they were met in Lady Dorothea’s boudoir, Martin and Mr. Repton being summoned to her presence. A letter had that morning reached her Ladyship from a very high quarter; the writer was the Marquis of Reckington, a very distant connection, who had suddenly been graciously pleased, after a long interval of utter obliviousness, to remember that Lady Dorothea was his relative, and yet living! Whatever pride her Ladyship might have summoned to her aid to repel the slights or impertinences of the vulgar, she displayed a most Christian forgiveness as she broke the seal of an epistle from one who had left several of her own without answers, and even replied to her application for a staff appointment for her son, by a cold assurance that these were times when “nothing but fitness and superior qualifications entitled any man to advancement in the public service.” Oh dear, were there ever any other times since the world was made! Is not merit the only passport to place, and high desert and capacity the sole recommendation to favor? Of all the immense advantages of a representative government, is there any more conspicuous than the unerring certainty with which men of ability rise to eminence without other aid than their own powers; and that, in a system like ours, family influence, wealth, name, connections, and parliamentary support are just so much mere dross? If any one be incredulous of the virtue of public men, let him only ask for a place; let him entreat his great friend – everybody has at least one great friend – mine is a coroner – to make him a Junior Lord, or a Vice-Something, and see what the answer will be. Polite, certainly; nothing more so; but what a rebuke to self-seeking! – what a stern chastisement to the ignorant presumption that places are awarded by means of favor, or that the public service is ever filled through the channels of private influence! Far from it. He is told that our age is an incorruptible one, that ministers pass sleepless nights in balancing the claims of treasury clerks, and that Lord Chancellors suffer agonies in weighing the merits of barristers of six years’ standing. “We have but one rule for our guidance: the best man in the best place.” A high-sounding maxim, which it would be excessively uncivil to disparage by asking what constitutes “a best man.” Is he some unscrupulous partisan, who first gave his fortune, and afterwards his fame, to the support of a party? Is he the indisputable disposer of three, or perhaps four votes in the House? Is he a floating buoy to be anchored in either roadstead of politics, and only to be secured to either, for a consideration? Is he the dangerous confidant of some damaging transaction? Or is he the deserter from a camp, where his treason may sow disaffection? These several qualifications have ere this served to make up “a best man;” and strangely enough, are gifts which fit him for the Army, the Navy, the Home Service, or the Colonies.
Let us turn from this digression, into which we have fallen half inadvertently, and read over some parts of Lord Reckington’s letter. It was somewhat difficult to decipher, as most great men’s letters are, and displayed in more than one place the signs of correction. Although it had been, as we have said, a very long time since any correspondence had occurred between the “cousins,” his Lordship resumed the intercourse as though not a week had intervened. After a little playful chiding over the laxity of her Ladyship’s writing habits, – three of hers had been left unreplied to, – and some of that small gossip of family changes and events, never interesting to any but the direct actors, his Lordship approached the real topic of his letter; and, as he did so, his writing grew firmer, and larger and bolder, like the voice of a man who spoke of what truly concerned him.
“I thought, my dear Dora, I had done with it all. I flattered myself that I had served my time in public capacities, and that neither the Crown nor its advisers could reasonably call upon me for further sacrifices. You know how little to my taste were either the cares or ambitions of office. In fact, as happens to most men who are zealous for the public service, my official career imposed far more of sacrifices than it conferred privileges. Witness the occasions in which I was driven to reject the claims of my nearest and dearest friends, in compliance with that nervous terror of imputed favoritism so fatal to all in power! I thought, as I have said, that they had no fair claim upon me any longer. I asked nothing; indeed, many thought I was wrong there. But so it was; I quitted office without a pension, and without a ribbon! It was late on a Saturday evening, however, when a Cabinet messenger arrived at ‘Beech Woods’ with an order for me to repair at once to Windsor. I was far from well; but there was no escape. Immediately on arriving I was summoned to the presence, and before I had paid my respects, his Majesty, who was much excited, said, ‘Reckington, we want you. You must go to Ireland!’ I believe I started, for he went on, ‘I ‘ll have no refusal. There is but one settlement of this question that I will accept of. You shall go to Ireland!’ The King then entered with considerable warmth, but with all his own remarkable perspicuity, into a detail of late changes and events in the Cabinet. He was excessively irritated with B – , and spoke of G – as one whom he never could forgive. He repeatedly said, ‘I have been duped; I have been tricked;’ and, in fact, exhibited a degree of emotion which, combined with the unbounded frankness of his manner towards me, affected me almost to tears. Of course, my dear Dora, personal considerations ceased at once to have any hold upon me; and I assured his Majesty that the remainder of my life was freely at his disposal, more than requited, as it already was, by the precious confidence he had that day reposed in me. I must not weary you with details. I accepted and kissed hands as Viceroy on Monday morning; since that I have been in daily communication with G – , who still remains in office. We have discussed Ireland from morning to night, and I hope and trust have at last come to a thorough understanding as to the principles which must guide the future administration. These I reserve to talk over with you when we meet; nor do I hesitate to say that I anticipate the very greatest benefit in the fruits of your long residence and great powers of observation of this strange people.” The letter here went off into a somewhat long-winded profession of the equal-handed justice which was to mark the acts of the administration. It was to be, in fact, a golden era of equity and fairness; but, somehow, as codicils are occasionally found to revoke the body of the testament, a very suspicious little paragraph rather damaged this glorious conclusion. “I don’t mean to say, my dear coz., that we are to neglect our followers, – the Government which could do so never yet possessed, never deserved to possess, able support; but we must discriminate, – we must distinguish between the mere partisan who trades on his principles, and that high-minded and honorable patriot who gives his convictions to party. With the noisy declaimer at public meetings, the mob-orator or pamphleteer, we shall have no sympathy. To the worthy country gentleman, independent by fortune as well as by principle, extending the example of a blameless life to a large neighborhood, aiding us by his counsels as much as by the tender of his political support, – to him, I say, we shall show our gratitude, not grudgingly nor sparingly, but freely, openly, and largely. You now know in what ranks we wish to see our friends, in the very van of which array I reckon upon yourself.” We shall again skip a little, since here the writer diverged into a slight dissertation on the indissoluble ties of kindred, and the links, stronger than adamant, that bind those of one blood together. After a brief but rapid survey of the strong opposition which was to meet them, he went on: “Of course all will depend upon our parliamentary support; without a good working majority we cannot stand, and for this must we use all our exertions.” A few generalities on the comfort and satisfaction resulting from “safe divisions” ensued, and then came the apparently careless question, “What can you do for us? Yes, my dear Dora, I repeat, what can you do for us? What we need is the support of men who have courage enough to merge old prejudices and old convictions in their full trust in us; who, with the intelligence of true statesmanship, will comprehend the altered condition of the country, and not endeavor to adapt the nation to their views, but rather their views to the nation. In a word, a wise and liberal policy, not based upon party watchwords and antiquated symbols, but on the prospect of seeing Ireland great and united. Now, will Martin come to our aid in this wise? He ought to be in Parliament for his county. But if he be too indolent, or too happy at home, whom can he send us? And again, what of the borough? They tell me that Kilcock, seeing his father’s great age, will not stand where a contest might be expected, so that you must necessarily be prepared with another.”
Again the writer launched out upon the happiness he felt at being able to appeal thus candidly and freely to his own “dearest kinswoman,” inviting her to speak as frankly in return, and to believe that no possible difference of political opinion should ever throw a coldness between those whose veins were filled with the same blood, and whose hearts throbbed with the same affections. Her Ladyship’s voice slightly faltered as she read out the concluding paragraph, and when she laid the letter down, she turned away her head and moved her handkerchief to her eyes.
As for Martin, he sat still and motionless, his gaze firmly directed to Repton, as though seeking in the impassive lines of the old lawyer’s face for some clew to guide and direct him.
“You used to be a Tory, Martin?” said Repton, after a pause.
“Yes, to be sure, we were always with that party.”
“Well, there’s an end of them now,” said the other. “What’s to follow and fill their place, my Lord Reckington may be able to say; I cannot. I only know that they exist no longer; and the great question for you – at least, one of the great questions – is, have you spirit enough to join a travelling party without knowing whither they ‘re journeying?”
“And what may be the other great question, sir?” asked Lady Dorothea, haughtily.
“The other is, what will it cost in money – ay, my Lady, in money; because any other outlay will not require searches nor title-deeds, loans, mortgages, nor bond-debts.”
“To contest the county would cost ten thousand pounds; Scanlan says so,” rejoined Martin.
“And the borough?” asked Repton.
“A few hundreds would suffice; at least, they have done so hitherto.”
“Then remain content with the cheap luxury of the borough,” said Repton. “You don’t want anything from these people, Martin. You don’t covet a peerage; you would n’t accept a baronetcy. You remember what Langton said when told that the King was going to give him the ‘Red Hand.’ ‘If I have been unfortunate enough to incur his Majesty’s displeasure, I must deplore it deeply; but surely my innocent son should not be included in the penalty of my offence. Therefore, in all humility, I beseech and entreat the royal favor to commute the sentence into knighthood, so that the disgrace may die with me.’”
“There were times when such insolence would have cost him dearly,” said her Ladyship, sternly.
“I am not sorry that we don’t live in them, my Lady,” replied Repton. “But to return: as I was saying, you ask for no favors; why should you expend ten or fifteen thousand pounds to advocate views of whose tendencies you know nothing, and principles whose very meaning you are in ignorance of?”
“I anticipated every word of this,” said Lady Dorothea. “I told Mr. Martin, this morning, almost literally, the exact advice you’d proffer.”
“I am proud that your Ladyship should have read me so justly,” said Repton, bowing.
An insolent toss of her head was the significant answer to this speech.
“But were I to speak my mind more candidly, I ‘d even say, let the borough go after the county; and for this plain reason,” said Repton, speaking with increased firmness and animation, “you neither seek for the ambition of political life, nor want to make a trade of its casualties.”
“Is it not possible, sir, that we might desire the natural influence that should arise out of our station in society and our rank in this county?” said Lady Dorothea, proudly.
“And your Ladyship has it, and can never lose it. Having a vote or two to throw into a Ministerial division would never repay you for the anxieties and cares of contested elections. Ah, my Lady, what do you care for the small flatteries of London attentions?”
“We should have these, sir, as our right,” broke she in.
“To be sure you would, and much happiness do I hope they would confer,” added he, in a tone only overheard by Martin; then continued aloud: “As to the patronage at your disposal, would you take a present of it? Whom do you want to make tide-waiters, gaugers, barony-constables, or even clerks of the peace? Of all men living, who is so free of hungry dependants or poor relations!”
“I must say, sir, that you reduce the question of political support to a very intelligible one of material benefit,” said her Ladyship, with a sneer; “but, just for argument sake, imagine that there should be such a thing as a little principle in the matter.”
“I’m going to that part of the case, my Lady,” said Repton. “Martin is a Tory; now, what are the men coming into power? I wish you could tell me. Here, for instance, is one of their own journals,” – and he opened a newspaper and ran his eye over the columns, – “ay, here it is: ‘With regard to Ireland, Lord Reckington’s appointment as Viceroy is the best guarantee that the rights of Irishmen of every persuasion and every denomination will be respected.’ So far so good;” and he read on in a low, humdrum voice for some minutes, till he came to the following: “‘No privileged class will any longer be tolerated; no exceptional loyalty admitted as an excuse for insufferable oppression and tyranny; the wishes and benefits of the people – the real people of that country – will at length enter into the views of an administration; and Ireland as she is, – not the possible Ireland of factious enthusiasts, – be governed by men determined to redress her grievances and improve her capacities.’ Now, Martin, you want no augur to interpret that oracle. They are going to rule you by the people; but the people must be represented.
“Now, who represents them? Not the demagogue; he is merely their tool. The real representative is the priest; don’t laugh, my dear friend, at such a shadowy possibility; the thing is nearer than you dream of. No administration ever yet tried to govern Ireland except by intimidation. The Beresfords were undertakers once, and they did their work very well, let me tell you; they advanced their friends and whipped their enemies; and what with peerages for one set, and pitched caps for the other, they ruled Ireland. Then there came the Orangemen, who rather blundered their work; there were too many heads amongst them, and the really clever fellows were overborne by brawling, talkative fools, who always had the masses with them because they were fools. Still they ruled Ireland. They preserved the country to the King’s crown; and I say once more, that was no small matter. And now we have arrived at a new era; we have obtained Emancipation, and must look out for another stamp of administrators, and I see nothing for it but the priest. Of course you, and every man of your station, sneer at the notion of being dictated to by Father Luke, in the greasy leather small-clothes and dirty black boots, – only, himself, a cottier once removed, a plant of the wild growth of the fields, cultivated, however, in the hotbeds of Maynooth, – a forcing-house whose fruits you are yet to taste of! Sneer away, Martin; but my name is not Val Repton if those men do not rule Ireland yet! Ay, sir, and rule it in such a fashion as your haughty Beresfords and Tottenhams, and Tisdalls never dreamed of! They ‘ll treat with the Government on equal terms, – so much, for so much; and, what’s more, it won’t be higgling for a place here, or a peerage there; but they’ll have the price paid down in hard legislative coin, – Acts of Parliament, sir; privileges for themselves and their order, benefits to ‘the Church;’ and, when nothing better or more tempting offers, insults and slights to their antagonists. You, and all like you, will be passed over as if you never existed; the minister will not need you; you’ll be so many general officers on the retired list, and only remarked when you swell the crowd at a levee.”