Читать книгу The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1 - Lever Charles James - Страница 11

Of all the evil influences which swayed the destinies of Ireland in latter days, none can compare, in extent of importance, with the fatal taste for prodigality that characterized the habits of the gentry. Reckless, wasteful extravagance, in every detail of life, suggested modes of acting and thinking at variance with all individual and, consequently, all national prosperity. Hospitality was pushed to profusion, liberality became a spendthrift habit. The good and the bad qualities of the Irish temperament alike contributed to this passion; there was the wish to please, the desire to receive courteously, and entertain with splendor within doors, and to appear with proportionate magnificence without.

A proud sense of what they deemed befitting their station induced the gentry to vie in expenditure with the richly endowed officials of the Government, and the very thought of prudence or foresight in matters of expense would have been stigmatized as a meanness by those who believed they were sustaining the honor of their country while sapping the foundation of its prosperity.

If we have little to plead in defence or in palliation of such habits, we can at least affirm that in many cases they were practised with a taste and elegance that shed lustre over the period. Unlike the vulgar displays of newly acquired wealth, they exhibited in a striking light the generous and high-spirited features of the native character, which deemed that nothing could be too good for the guest, nor any expenditure for his entertainment either too costly or too difficult. The fatal facility of Irish nature, and the still more ruinous influence of example, hurried men along on this road to ruin; and as political prospects grew darker, a reckless indifference to the future succeeded, in which little care was taken for the morrow, until, at last, thoughtless extravagance became a habit, and moneyed difficulties the lot of almost every family of Ireland.

That a gentry so embarrassed, and with such prospects of ruin before them, should have been easy victims to Ministerial seduction, is far less surprising than that so many were to be seen who could prefer their integrity to the rich bribes of Government patronage; and it is a redeeming feature of the day that amid all the lavish and heedless course of prodigality and excess there were some who could face poverty with stouter hearts than they could endure the stigma of gilded corruption: nor is it the history of every Parliament that can say as much.

Let us leave this theme, even at the hazard of being misunderstood, for the moment, by our reader, and turn to the Knight of Gwynne, who now was seated at his breakfast in a large parlor of his house in Henrietta Street. Sad and deserted as it seems now, this was in those days the choice residence of Irish aristocracy, and the names of peers and baronets on every door told of a class which, now, should be sought for in scattered fragments among the distant cities of the Continent.

The Knight was reading the morning papers, in which, amid the fashionable news, was an account of his own wager with Lord Drogheda, when a carriage drove up hastily to the door, and, immediately after, the loud summons of a footman resounded through the street.

While the Knight was yet wondering who this early visitor should prove, the servant announced Mr. Con Heffernan.

“The very man I wished to see,” cried Darcy, eagerly; “tell me all about this unfortunate business. But, first of all, is he out of danger?”

“Quite safe. I understand, for a time, it was a very doubtful thing; Daly’s surgery, it would seem, rather increased the hazard. He began searching for the ball regardless of the bleeding, and the young fellow was very near sinking under loss of blood.”

“The whole affair was his doing!” said the Knight, impatiently. “How Mr. MacDonough could have found himself at my table is more than I can well imagine; that when he got there, something like this would follow, does not surprise me. Daly is really too bad. Well, well, I hoped to have set off for the abbey to-day, but I must stay here, I find; Drogheda is kind enough to let me redeem Ballydermot, and I must see Gleeson about it. It’s rather a heavy blow just now.”

“I am afraid I am not altogether blameless,” said Heffernan, timidly. “I ought not to have mentioned that unlucky business till the game was over; but I thought your nerve was proof against anything.”

“So it was, Heffernan,” said the Knight, laughing, “some five-and-twenty years ago; but this shattered wreck has little remains of the old three-decker. I should have won that game.”

“It’s all past and over now, so never think more about it.”

“Yes, I should have won the game. Drogheda saw my advantage: he went on with the very suit in my hand, and when he reached over for his snuff-box, his hand trembled like in an ague-fit.”

“Come, don’t let the thing dwell in your mind. There is another and a heavier game to play, and you ‘re certain to win there, if you do but like it.”

“I don’t clearly understand you,” said Darcy, doubtingly.

“I’ll be explicit enough, then,” said Heffernan, taking a chair and seating himself directly in front of the Knight. “You know the position of the Government at this moment. They have secured a safe and certain majority, – the ‘Union’ is carried. When I say ‘carried,’ I mean that there is not a doubt on any reasonable mind but that the bill will pass. The lists show a majority of seven, perhaps eight, for the Ministry; and if they had but one in their favor, Pitt is determined to go through with it. Now, we all very well know how this has been done. Our people have behaved infamously, disgracefully, – there’s no mincing the matter. You heard of Fox – ?”

“No. What of him?”

“He has just accepted the escheatorship of – I forget what or where, but he vacates his seat to make room for Courtenay.”

“Sam Courtenay? – Scrub, as we used to call him?”

“Scrub, – exactly so. Well, he comes in for Roscommon, and is to have a place under the new commission of twelve hundred a year. But to go back to what I was saying: Castlereagh has bought these fellows at his price or their own; some were dear enough, some were cheap. Barton, for instance, takes it out in Castle dinners, and has sold his birthright for the Viceroy’s venison.”

“May good digestion wait on appetite!” repeated Darcy, laughing.

“Well, let’s not waste more time on them, but come to what I mean. Castlereagh wants to know how you mean to vote: some have told him you would be on his side; others, myself among the number, say the reverse. In fact, little as you may think about the matter, heavy bets are laid at this moment on the question, and – But I won’t mention names; enough if I say a friend of ours – an old friend, too – has a thousand on it.”

The Knight tapped his snuff-box calmly, and with his blandest smile begged Heffernan to proceed.

“Faith! I ‘ve nearly told all I had to say. Every one well knows that, whatever decision you come to, it will be unbiassed by everything save your own conscientious sense of right; and as arguments are pretty nearly equal on the question, – for, in truth, after having heard and read most of what has been written or spoken on the point, – I ‘m regularly nonplussed on which side to see the advantage. The real question seems to be, Can we go on as we are?”

“I think not,” observed the Knight, gravely. “A Parliament which has exhibited its venality so openly can have little pretension to public confidence.”

“The very remark I made myself,” cried Heffernan, triumphantly.

“The men who sell themselves to-day to the Crown will, if need be, sell themselves to-morrow to the mob.”

“My own words, by Jove! – my very words.”

“A dependent Parliament, attempting separate and independent legislation, means an absurdity.”

“There is no other name for it,” cried Heffernan, in ecstasy.

“I have known Ireland for something more than half a century now,” said the Knight, with a touch of melancholy in his voice, “and yet never before saw so much of social disorder as at present, and perhaps we are only at the beginning of it. The scenes we have witnessed in France have been more bloody and more cruel, but they will leave less permanent results behind them than our own revolution; for such, after all, it is. The property of the country is changing hands, the old aristocracy are dying out, if not dead; their new successors have neither any hold on the affection of the people, nor a bond of union with each other. See what will come of it; the old game of feudalism will be tried by these men of yesterday, and the peasantry, whose reverence for birth is a religion, will turn on them, and the time is not very distant, perhaps, when the men who would not harm the landlord’s dog will have little reverence for the landlord’s self.”

“You have drawn a sad picture,” said Heffernan, either feeling or affecting to feel the truthfulness of the Knight’s delineation.

“Our share in the ruin,” said the Knight, rising, and pacing the room with rapid strides, – “our share is not undeserved. We had a distinct and defined duty to perform, and we neglected it; instead of extending civilization, we were the messengers of barbarism among the people.”

“Your own estates, I have heard, are a refutation of your theory,” interposed Heffernan, insinuatingly.

“My estates – ” repeated the Knight; and then, stopping suddenly, with a changed voice, he said, “Heffernan, we have got into a long and very unprofitable theme; let us try back, if we can, and see whence we started: we were talking of the Union.”

“Just so,” said Heffernan, not sorry to resume the subject which induced his visit.

“I have determined not to vote on the measure,” said the Knight, solemnly; “my reasons for the course I adopt I hope to be able to justify when the proper time arrives; meanwhile, it will prevent unnecessary speculation, and equally unnecessary solicitation, if I tell you frankly what I mean to do. Such is my present resolve.”

The word “solicitation” fell from the Knight’s lips with such a peculiar expression that Heffernan at once saw his own game was detected, and, like a clever tactician, resolved to make the best of his forced position.

“You have been frank with me, Knight; I’ll not be less candid with you, I came here to convey to you a distinct offer from the Government, – not of any personal favor or advantage, that, they well knew, you would reject, – but, in the event of your support, to take any suggestion you might make on the new Bill into their serious and favorable consideration; to advise with you how, in short, the measure might be made to meet your views, and, so to say, admit you into conclave with the Cabinet.”

“All this is very flattering,” said the Knight, with a smile of evident satisfaction, “but I scarcely see how the opinions of a very humble country gentleman can weigh in the grave councils of a Government.”

“The best proof is the fact itself,” replied Heffernan, artfully. “Were I to tell you of other reasons, you might suspect me of an intention to canvass your support on very different grounds.”

“I confess I’m in the dark; explain yourself more fully.”

“This is a day for sincerity,” said Heffernan, smiling, “and so, here it is: the Prince has taken a special liking to your son Lionel, and has given him his company.”

“His company! I never heard of it.”

“Strange enough that he should not have written to you on the subject, but the fact is unquestionable; and, as I was saying, he is a frequent guest at Carlton House, and admitted into the choice circle of his Royal Highness’s parties: if, in the freedom of that intimacy with which he is honored by the Prince, the question should have arisen, how his father meant to vote, the fact was not surprising, no more than that Captain Darcy should have replied – ”

“Lionel never pledged himself to control my vote, depend upon that, Mr. Heffernan,” said the Knight, reddening.

“Nor did I say so,” interposed Heffernan. “Hear me out: your son is reported to have answered, ‘My father’s family have been too trained in loyalty, sire, not to give their voice for what they believe the best interests of the empire: your Royal Highness may doubt his judgment, his honor will, I am certain, never be called in question.’ The Prince laughed good-naturedly, and said, ‘Enough, Darcy, – quite enough; it will give me great satisfaction to think as highly of the father as I do of the son; there is a vacancy on the staff, and I can offer you the post of an extra aide-de-camp.’”

“This is very good news, – the best I ‘ve heard for many a day, Heffernan; and for its accuracy – ”

“Lord Castlereagh is the guarantee,” added Heffernan, hastily; “I had it from his own lips.”

“I ‘ll wait on him this morning. I can at least express my gratitude for his Royal Highness’s kindness to my boy.”

“You ‘ll not have far to go,” said Heffernan, smiling.

“How so? – what do you mean?”

“Lord Castlereagh is at the door this moment in that carriage;” and Hefifernan pointed to the chariot which, with its blinds closely drawn, stood before the street door.

The Knight moved hastily towards the door, and then, turning suddenly, burst into a hearty laugh, – a laugh so racy and full of enjoyment that Heffernan himself joined in it, without knowing wherefore.

“You are a clever fellow, Hefifernan!” said the Knight, as he lay back in a deep-cushioned chair, and wiped his eyes, now streaming with tears of laughter, – “a devilish clever fellow! The whole affair reminds me of poor Jack Morris.”

“Faith! I don’t see your meaning,” said Hefifernan, half fearful that all was not right.

“You knew Jack, – we all knew him. Well, poor Morris was going home one night, – from the theatre, I believe it was, – but, just as he reached Ely Place, he saw, by the light of a lamp, a gentlemanlike fellow trying to make out an address on a letter, and endeavoring, as well as he could, to spell out the words by the uncertain light. ‘Devilish provoking!’ said the stranger, half aloud; ‘I wrote it myself, and yet cannot read a word of it.’ ‘Can I be of any service?’ said Jack. Poor fellow! he was always ready for anything kind or good-natured. ‘Thank you,’ said the other; ‘but I ‘m a stranger in Dublin, – only arrived this evening from Liverpool, – and cannot remember the name or the street of my hotel, although I noted both down on this letter.’ ‘Show it to me,’ said Jack, taking the document. But although he held it every way, and tried all manner of guesses, he never could hit on the name the stranger wanted. ‘Never mind,’ said Jack; ‘don’t bother yourself about it. Come home with, me and have an oyster, – I ‘ll give you a bed; ‘t will be time enough after breakfast to-morrow to hunt out the hotel.’ To make short of it, the stranger complied; after all the natural expressions of gratitude and shame, home they went, supped, finished two bottles of claret, and chatted away till past two o’clock. ‘You ‘d like to get to bed, I see,’ said Jack, as the stranger seemed growing somewhat drowsy, and so he rang the bell and ordered the servant to show the gentleman to his room. ‘And, Martin,’ said he, ‘take care that everything is comfortable, and be sure you have a nightcap.’ ‘Oh! I ‘ve a nightcap myself,’ said the stranger, pulling one, neatly folded, out of his coat pocket. ‘Have you, by G – d!’ said Jack. ‘If you have, then, you ‘ll not sleep here. A man that’s so ready for a contingency has generally some hand in contriving it.’ And so he put him out of doors, and never saw more of him. Eh, Heffernan, was Jack right?” And again the old man broke into a hearty laugh, in which Heffernan, notwithstanding his discomfiture, could not refrain from participating.