CHAPTER XLVI.
There was a youth who, as with toil and travel, Had grown quite weak andgrey before his time; Nor any could the restless grief unravel, Whichburned within him, withering up his prime, And goading him, like fiends,from land to land.--P. B. Shelley.
From Lady Roseville's I went to Glanville's house. He was at home. Iwas ushered into a beautiful apartment, hung with rich damask, andinterspersed with a profusion of mirrors, which enchanted me to theheart. Beyond, to the right of this room, was a small boudoir, fitted upwith books, and having, instead of carpets, soft cushions of dark greenvelvet, so as to supersede the necessity of chairs. This room, evidentlya favourite retreat, was adorned at close intervals with girandoles ofsilver and mother-of-pearl; and the interstices of the book-cases werefilled with mirrors, set in silver: the handles of the doors were of thesame metal.
Beyond this library (if such it might be called), and only dividedfrom it by half-drawn curtains of the same colour and material asthe cushion, was a bath room. The decorations of this room were ofa delicate rose colour: the bath, which was of the most elaborateworkmanship, represented, in the whitest marble, a shell, supportedby two Tritons. There was, as Glanville afterwards explained to me, amachine in this room which kept up a faint but perpetual breeze, and thelight curtains, waving to and fro, scattered about perfumes of the mostexquisite odour.
Through this luxurious chamber I was led, by the obsequious and bowingvalet, into a fourth room, in which, opposite to a toilet of massivegold, and negligently robed in his dressing-gown, sate ReginaldGlanville:--"Good Heavens," thought I, as I approached him, "can this bethe man who made his residence par choix, in a miserable hovel, exposedto all the damps, winds, and vapours, that the prolific generosity of anEnglish Heaven ever begot?"
Our meeting was cordial in the extreme. Glanville, though still pale andthin, appeared in much better health than I had yet seen him since ourboyhood. He was, or affected to be, in the most joyous spirits; and whenhis dark blue eye lighted up, in answer to the merriment of his lips,and his noble and glorious cast of countenance shone out, as if it hadnever been clouded by grief or passion, I thought, as I looked at him,that I had never seen so perfect a specimen of masculine beauty, at oncephysical and intellectual.
"My dear Pelham," said Glanville, "let us see a great deal of eachother: I live very much alone: I have an excellent cook, sent me overfrom France, by the celebrated gourmand Marechal de--. I dine every dayexactly at eight, and never accept an invitation to dine elsewhere.My table is always laid for three, and you will, therefore, be sureof finding a dinner here every day you have no better engagement. Whatthink you of my taste in furnishing?"
"I have only to say," answered I, "that since I am so often to dine withyou, I hope your taste in wines will be one half as good."
"We are all," said Glanville, with a faint smile, "we are all, in thewords of the true old proverb, 'children of a larger growth.'Our firsttoy is love--our second, display, according as our ambition prompts usto exert it. Some place it in horses--some in honours, some in feasts,and some--voici un exemple--in furniture. So true it is, Pelham, thatour earliest longings are the purest: in love, we covet goods forthe sake of the one beloved; in display, for our own: thus, our firststratum of mind produces fruit for others; our second becomes niggardly,and bears only sufficient for ourselves. But enough of my morals--willyou drive me out, if I dress quicker than you ever saw man dressbefore?"
"No," said I; "for I make it a rule never to drive out a badly dressedfriend; take time, and I will let you accompany me."
"So be it then. Do you ever read? If so, my books are made to be opened,and you may toss them over while I am at my toilet."
"You are very good," said I, "but I never do read."
"Look--here," said Glanville, "are two works, one of poetry--one on theCatholic Question--both dedicated to me. Seymour--my waistcoat. See whatit is to furnish a house differently from other people; one becomes abel esprit, and a Mecaenas, immediately. Believe me, if you arerich enough to afford it, that there is no passport to fame likeeccentricity. Seymour--my coat. I am at your service, Pelham. Believehereafter that one may dress well in a short time?"
"One may do it, but not two--allons!"
I observed that Glanville was dressed in the deepest mourning, andimagined, from that circumstance, and his accession to the title I heardapplied to him for the first time, that his father was only just dead.In this opinion I was soon undeceived. He had been dead for some years.Glanville spoke to me of his family;--"To my mother," said he, "I amparticularly anxious to introduce you--of my sister, I say nothing; Iexpect you to be surprised with her. I love her more than any thing onearth now," and as Glanville said this, a paler shade passed over hisface.
We were in the Park--Lady Roseville passed us--we both bowed to her; asshe returned our greeting, I was struck with the deep and sudden blushwhich overspread her countenance. "Can that be for me?" thought I. Ilooked towards Glanville: his countenance had recovered its serenity,and was settled into its usual proud, but not displeasing, calmness ofexpression.
"Do you know Lady Roseville well?" said I. "Very," answered Glanville,laconically, and changed the conversation. As we were leaving the Park,through Cumberland Gate, we were stopped by a blockade of carriages; avoice, loud, harsh, and vulgarly accented, called out to Glanville byhis name. I turned, and saw Thornton.
"For God's sake, Pelham, drive on," cried Glanville; "let me, for once,escape that atrocious plebeian."
Thornton was crossing the road towards us; I waved my hand to himcivilly enough (for I never cut any body), and drove rapidly through theother gate, without appearing to notice his design of speaking to us.
"Thank Heaven!" said Glanville, and sunk back in a reverie, from which Icould not awaken him, till he was set down at his own door.
When I returned to Mivart's, I found a card from Lord Dawton, and aletter from my mother.
"My Dear Henry, (began the letter,)
"Lord Dawton having kindly promised to call upon you, personally, withthis note, I cannot resist the opportunity that promise affords me, ofsaying how desirous I am that you should cultivate his acquaintance. Heis, you know, among the most prominent leaders of the Opposition; andshould the Whigs, by any possible chance, ever come into power, he wouldhave a great chance of becoming prime minister. I trust, however, thatyou will not adopt that side of the question. The Whigs are a horridset of people (politically speaking), vote for the Roman Catholics, andnever get into place; they give very good dinners, however, and till youhave decided upon your politics, you may as well make the most of them.I hope, by the by, that you see a great deal of Lord Vincent: every onespeaks highly of his talents; and only two weeks ago, he said, publicly,that he thought you the most promising young man, and the most naturallyclever person, he had ever met. I hope that you will be attentiveto your parliamentary duties; and, oh, Henry, be sure that you seeCartwright, the dentist, as soon as possible.
"I intend hastening to London three weeks earlier than I had intended,in order to be useful to you. I have written already to dear LadyRoseville, begging her to introduce you at Lady C.'s, and Lady--; theonly places worth going to at present. They tell me there is a horrid,vulgar, ignorant book come out, about--. As you ought to be well versedin modern literature, I hope you will read it, and give me your opinion.Adieu, my dear Henry, ever your affectionate mother,
"Frances Pelham."
I was still at my solitary dinner, when the following note was broughtme from Lady Roseville:--
"Dear Mr. Pelham,
"Lady Frances wishes Lady C--to be made acquainted with you; this is hernight, and I therefore enclose you a card. As I dine at--House, I shallhave an opportunity of making your eloge before your arrival. Your'ssincerely,
"C. Roseville."
I wonder, thought I, as I made my toilet, whether or not Lady Rosevilleis enamoured with her new correspondent? I went very early, and before Iretired, my vanity was undeceived. Lady Ro
seville was playing at ecarte,when I entered. She beckoned to me to approach. I did. Her antagonistwas Mr. Bedford, a natural son of the Duke of Shrewsbury, and one of thebest natured and best looking dandies about town: there was, of course,a great crowd round the table. Lady Roseville played incomparably; betswere high in her favour. Suddenly her countenance changed--her handtrembled--her presence of mind forsook her. She lost the game. I lookedup and saw just opposite to her, but apparently quite careless andunmoved, Reginald Glanville. We had only time to exchange nods, for LadyRoseville rose from the table, took my arm, and walked to the other endof the room, in order to introduce me to my hostess.
I spoke to her a few words, but she was absent and inattentive; mypenetration required no farther proof to convince me that she was notwholly insensible to the attentions of Glanville. Lady--was as civil andsilly as the generality of Lady Blanks are: and feeling very much bored,I soon retired to an obscurer corner of the room. Here Glanville joinedme.
"It is but seldom," said he, "that I come to these places; to-night mysister persuaded me to venture forth."
"Is she here?" said I.
"She is," answered he; "she has just gone into the refreshment room withmy mother, and when she returns, I will introduce you."
While Glanville was yet speaking, three middle-aged ladies, who hadbeen talking together with great vehemence for the last ten minutes,approached us.
"Which is he?--which is he?" said two of them, in no inaudible accents.
"This," replied the third; and coming up to Glanville, she addressedhim, to my great astonishment, in terms of the most hyperbolicalpanegyric.
"Your work is wonderful! wonderful!" said she.
"Oh! quite--quite!" echoed the other two.
"I can't say," recommenced the Coryphoea, "that I like the moral--atleast not quite; no, not quite."
"Not quite," repeated her coadjutrices.
Glanville drew himself up with his most stately air, and after threeprofound bows, accompanied by a smile of the most unequivocal contempt,he turned on his heel, and sauntered away.
"Did your grace ever see such a bear?" said one of the echoes.
"Never," said the duchess, with a mortified air; "but I will have himyet. How handsome he is for an author!"
I was descending the stairs in the last state of ennui, when Glanvillelaid his hand on my shoulder.
"Shall I take you home?" said he: "my carriage has just drawn up."
I was too glad to answer in the affirmative.
"How long have you been an author?" said I, when we were seated inGlanville's carriage.
"Not many days," he replied. "I have tried one resource afteranother--all--all in vain. Oh, God! that for me there could exist such ablessing as fiction! Must I be ever the martyr of one burning, lasting,indelible truth!"
Glanville uttered these words with a peculiar wildness and energy oftone: he then paused abruptly for a minute, and continued, with analtered voice--"Never, my dear Pelham, be tempted by any inducement intothe pleasing errors of print; from that moment you are public property;and the last monster at Exeter 'Change has more liberty than you; buthere we are at Mivart's. Addio--I will call on you to-morrow, if mywretched state of health will allow me."
And with these words we parted.
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