The making a desert island for Miss Rosamond’s wedding-dinner was the object which had taken such forcible possession of Mrs. Harte’s imagination, that till it was accomplished it was in vain to hope that any other could, in her eyes, appear in any kind of proportion. In the midst of all the sentimental joy above stairs, and in the midst of all the important business of settlements and lawyers, Mrs. Harte was pursuing the settled purpose of her soul, constructing with infinite care, as directed by her complete English Housekeeper, a desert island for a wedding, in a deep china dish, with a mount in the middle, two figures upon the mount, with crowns on their heads, a knot of rock-candy at their feet, and gravel-walks of shot comfits, judiciously intersecting in every direction their dominions.
CHAPTER XLIV.
As soon as it was possible, after his return to Percy-hall, Mr. Percy went to pay his respects to Lord Oldborough. He found this great statesman happy in retirement, without any affectation of happiness. There were proofs in every thing about him that his mind had unbent itself agreeably; his powers had expanded upon different objects, building, planting, improving the soil and the people.
He had many tastes, which had long lain dormant, or rather which had been held in subjugation by one tyrant passion. That passion vanquished, the former tastes resumed their activity. The superior strength of his character was shown in his never recurring to ambition. Its vigour was displayed in the means by which he supplied himself, not only with variety of occupation, but with variety of motive. Those, who best know the human mind must be aware of the difficulty of supplying motive for one accustomed to stimulus of so high a kind, as that to which Lord Oldborough had been habituated. For one who had been at the head of the government of a great nation, to make for himself objects in the stillness and privacy of a country life, required no common talent and energy of soul. The difficulty was increased to Lord Oldborough, for to him the vast resource of a taste for literature was wanting.
The biographer of Sir Robert Walpole tells us, that though he had not forgotten his classical attainments, he had little taste for literary occupations. Sir Robert once expressed his regret on this subject to Mr. Fox, in the library at Houghton. “I wish,” he said, “I took as much delight in reading as you do; it would be the means of alleviating many tedious hours in my present retirement. But, to my misfortune, I derive no pleasure from such pursuits.”
Lord Oldborough felt, but never condescended to complain of that deficiency of general literature, which was caused in him, partly by his not having had time for the attainment, and partly by his having formed too low an estimate of the influence and power of literature in the political world. But he now took peculiar delight in recalling the classical studies in which he had in his youth excelled; as Mr. Percy sympathized with him in this taste, there was another point in which they coalesced. Mr. Percy stayed with his old friend some days, for he was anxious to give him this proof of attachment, and felt interested in seeing his character develope itself in a new direction, displaying fresh life and strength, and unexpected resource in circumstances, in which statesmen of the most vigorous minds, and of the highest spirit, have been seen to “droop and drowse,” to sink into indolence, sensuality, or the horrors of hypochondriacism and superstition.
Lord Oldborough, on his first retiring to Clermont-park, had informed Mr. Percy that he should wish to see him as soon as he had arranged certain papers. He now reminded his lordship of it, and Lord Oldborough put into his hands a sketch, which he had been drawing out, of the principal transactions in which he had been engaged during his political career, with copies of his letters to the first public characters of the day in our own and in foreign countries. Even by those who had felt no regard for the man, the letters of such a minister would have been read with avidity; but Mr. Percy perused them with a stronger interest than any which could be created by mere political or philosophical curiosity. He read them with a pleasure which a generous mind takes in admiring that which is good and great, with the delight which a true friend feels in seeing proofs that justify all the esteem he had previously felt. He saw in these original documents, in this history of Lord Oldborough’s political life, the most perfect consistency and integrity, the most disinterested and enlightened patriotism. When Mr. Percy returned the manuscript to his lordship, he spoke of the satisfaction he must experience in looking back upon this record of a life spent in the service of his country, and observed that he was not surprised that, with such a solid source of self-approbation, such indefeasible claims to the gratitude of his countrymen, and such well-earned fame, he should be, as he appeared, happy in retirement.
“I am happy, and, I believe, principally from the cause you have mentioned,” said Lord Oldborough, who had a mind too great for the affectation of humility. “So far I am happy.”
“Yet,” added he, after a considerable pause, “I have, I feel, a greater capability of happiness, for which I have been prevented from making any provision, partly by the course of life of which I made choice, and partly by circumstances over which I had no control.”
He paused again; and, turning the conversation, spoke of his sister, an elderly lady, who had come to pass some time with him. They had lived separate almost all their lives; she in Scotland with her husband, a Scottish nobleman, who having died about the time when Lord Oldborough had resigned his ministerial situation, she had accepted his lordship’s invitation to visit him in his retirement. The early attachment he had had for this sister seemed to revive in his mind when they met; and, as if glad to have some object for his affections, they were poured out upon her. Mr. Percy observed a tenderness in his manner and voice when he spoke to her, a thousand little attentions, which no one would have expected from the apparently stern Lord Oldborough, a man who had been engrossed all his life by politics.
On the morning of the last day which Mr. Percy meant to spend at Clermont-park, his lordship, as they were sitting together in his study, expressed more than common regret at the necessity for his friend’s departure, but said, “I have no right to detain you from your family.” Then, after a pause, he added, “Mr. Percy, you first gave me the idea that a private life is the happiest.”
“My lord, in most cases I believe it is; but I never meant to assert that a public life spent in noble exertion, and with the consciousness of superior talent and utility, is not more desirable than the life of any obscure individual can possibly be, even though he possess the pleasure of domestic ease and tranquillity. There are men of eminent abilities, capable of extraordinary exertions, inspired by exalted patriotism. I believe, notwithstanding the corruption of so many has weakened all faith in public virtue, I believe in the existence of such men, men who devote themselves to the service of their country: when the time for their relinquishing the toils of public life arrives, honour and self-approbation follow them in retirement.”
“It is true, I am happy,” repeated Lord Oldborough; “but to go on with what I began to say to you yesterday — I feel that some addition might be made to my happiness. The sense of having, to the best of my ability, done my duty, is satisfactory. I do not require applause — I disdain adulation — I have sustained my public life without sympathy — I could seldom meet with it — where I could, I have enjoyed it — and could now enjoy it — exquisitely — as you do, Mr. Percy — surrounded by a happy family. Domestic life requires domestic pleasures — objects for the affections.”
Mr. Percy felt the truth of this, and could answer only by suggesting the idea of Mr. Temple, who was firmly and warmly attached to Lord Oldborough, and for whom his lordship had a strong regard.
“Mr. Temple, and my daughter Rosamond, whom your lordship honoured with so kind an invitation, propose, I know, paying their respects to you next week. Though I am her father, I may venture to say that Rosamond’s sprightliness is so mixed with solid information and good sense, that her society will become agreeable to your lordship.”
“I shall rejoice to see Mrs. Temple here. As the dau
ghter of one friend, and the wife of another, she has a double claim to my regard. And (to say nothing of hereditary genius or dispositions — in which you do not believe, and I do), there can be no doubt that the society of a lady, educated as your daughter has been, must suit my taste. The danger is, that her society should become necessary to me. For Mr. Temple I already feel a degree of affection, which I must repress, rather than indulge.”
“Repress! — Why so, my lord? You esteem him — you believe in the sincerity of his attachment?”
“I do.”
“Then why with stoicism — pardon me, my dear lord — why repress affection?”
“Lest I should become dependent for my daily happiness on one, whose happiness is independent of mine — in some degree incompatible with mine. Even if his society were given to me, his heart must be at his home, and with his family. You see I am no proud stoic, but a man who dares to look at life — the decline of life, such as it is — as it must be. Different, Mr. Percy, in your situation — and in mine.”
The conversation was here interrupted by the arrival of a carriage.
Lord Oldborough looked out of the window as it passed — then smiled, and observed how altered the times were, since Clermont-park used to be crowded with visitors and carriages — now the arrival of one is an event.
The servant announced a foreign name, a Neapolitan abbé, who had come over in the train of a new ambassador: he had just arrived in England, and had letters from the Cardinal . . ., his uncle, which he was desired to deliver into Lord Oldborough’s own hand. The abbé was, it appeared, personally a stranger to him, but there had been some ministerial intercourse between his lordship and the cardinal. Lord Oldborough received these political letters with an air of composure and indifference which proved that he ceased to have an interest in the game.
“He supposed,” he said, “that the abbé had been apprized that he was no longer one of his majesty’s ministers — that he had resigned his official situation — had retired — and that he took no part whatever in public affairs.”
The abbé replied that he had been apprized that Lord Oldborough had retired from the public office; but his uncle, he added, with a significant smile, was aware that Lord Oldborough’s influence was as great still as it had ever been, and greater than that of any ostensible minister.
This Lord Oldborough disclaimed — coolly observing that his influence, whatever it might be, could not be known even to himself, as it was never exerted; and that, as he had determined nevermore to interfere in public business, he could not be of the least political service to the cardinal. The Duke of Greenwich was now the person to whom on such subjects all applications should be addressed.
The abbé, however, repeated, that his instructions from the cardinal were positive and peremptory, to deliver these letters into no hands but those of Lord Oldborough — that in consequence of this strict injunction he had come purposely to present them. He was instructed to request his lordship would not put the letters into the hands of any secretary, but would have the goodness to examine them himself, and give his counsel how to proceed, and to whom they should, in case of his lordship’s declining to interfere, be addressed.
“Mr. Percy!” said Lord Oldborough, recalling Mr. Percy, who had risen to quit the room, “you will not leave me — Whatever you may wish to say, M. l’abbé, may be said before this gentleman — my friend.”
His lordship then opened the packet, examined the letters — read and re-directed some to the Duke of Greenwich, others to the king: the abbé, all the time, descanting vehemently on Neapolitan politics — regretting Lord Oldborough’s resignation — adverting still to his lordship’s powerful influence — and pressing some point in negotiation, for which his uncle, the cardinal, was most anxious.
Among the letters, there was one which Lord Oldborough did not open: he laid it on the table with the direction downwards, leaned his elbow upon it, and sat as if calmly listening to the abbé; but Mr. Percy, knowing his countenance, saw signs of extraordinary emotion, with difficulty repressed.
At length the gesticulating abbé finished, and waited his lordship’s instructions.
They were given in few words. The letters re-directed to the king and the Duke of Greenwich were returned to him. He thanked his lordship with many Italian superlatives — declined his lordship’s invitation to stay till the next day at Clermont-park — said he was pressed in point of time — that it was indispensably necessary for him to be in London, to deliver these papers, as soon as possible. His eye glanced on the unopened letter.
“Private, sir,” said Lord Oldborough, in a stern voice, without moving his elbow from the paper: “whatever answer it may require, I shall have the honour to transmit to you — for the cardinal.”
The abbé bowed low, left his address, and took leave. Lord Oldborough, after attending him to the door, and seeing him depart, returned, took out his watch, and said to Mr. Percy “Come to me, in my cabinet, in five minutes.”
Seeing his sister on the walk approaching his house, he added, “Let none follow me.”
When the five minutes were over, Mr. Percy went to Lord Oldborough’s cabinet — knocked — no answer — knocked again — louder — all was silent — he entered — and saw Lord Oldborough seated, but in the attitude of one just going to rise; he looked more like a statue than a living person: there was a stiffness in his muscles, and over his face and hands a deathlike colour. His eyes were fixed, and directed towards the door — but they never moved when Mr. Percy entered, nor did Lord Oldborough stir at his approach. From one hand, which hung over the arm of his chair, his spectacles had dropped; his other hand grasped an open letter.
“My dear lord!” cried Mr. Percy.
He neither heard nor answered. Mr. Percy opened the window and let down the blind. Then attempting to raise the hand which hung down, he perceived it was fixed in all the rigidity of catalepsy. In hopes of recalling his senses or his power of motion, Mr. Percy determined to try to draw the letter from his grasp; the moment the letter was touched, Lord Oldborough started — his eyes darting fiercely upon him.
“Who dares? Who are you, sir?” cried he.
“Your friend, Percy — my lord.”
Lord Oldborough pointed to a chair — Mr. Percy sat down. His lordship recovered gradually from the species of trance into which he had fallen. The cataleptic rigidity of his figure relaxed — the colour of life returned — the body regained its functions — the soul resumed at once her powers. Without seeming sensible of any interruption or intermission of feeling or thought, Lord Oldborough went on speaking to Mr. Percy.
“The letter which I now hold in my hand is from that Italian lady of transcendent beauty, in whose company you once saw me when we first met at Naples. She was of high rank — high endowments. I loved her; how well — I need not — cannot say. We married secretly. I was induced — no matter how — to suspect her fidelity — pass over these circumstances — I cannot speak or think of them. We parted — I never saw her more. She retired to a convent, and died shortly after: nor did I, till I received this letter, written on her death-bed, know that she had given me a son. The proofs that I wronged her are irresistible. Would that they had been given to me when I could have repaired my injustice! — But her pride prevented their being sent till the hour of her death.”
On the first reading of her letter, Lord Oldborough had been so struck by the idea of the injustice he had done the mother, that he seemed scarcely to advert to the idea of his having a son. Absorbed in the past, he was at first insensible both to the present and the future. Early associations, long dormant, were suddenly wakened; he was carried back with irresistible force to the days of his youth, and something of likeness in air and voice to the Lord Oldborough he had formerly known appeared to Mr. Percy. As the tumult of passionate recollections subsided, as this enthusiastic reminiscence faded, and the memory of the past gave way to the sense of the present, Lord Oldborough resumed his habitual look and mann
er. His thoughts turned upon his son, that unknown being who belonged to him, who had claims upon him, who might form a great addition to the happiness or misery of his life. He took up the letter again, looked for the passage that related to his son, and read it anxiously to himself, then to Mr. Percy — observing, “that the directions were so vague, that it would be difficult to act upon them.”
“The boy was sent when three years old to England or Ireland, under the care of an Irish priest, who delivered him to a merchant, recommended by the Hamburg banker, &c.”
“I shall have difficulty in tracing this — great danger of being mistaken or deceived,” said Lord Oldborough, pausing with a look of anxiety. “Would to God that I had means of knowing with certainty where, and above all, what, he is, or that I had never heard of his existence!”
“My lord, are there any more particulars?” inquired Mr. Percy, eagerly.
Lord Oldborough continued to read, “Four hundred pounds of your English money have been remitted to him annually, by means of these Hamburg bankers. To them we must apply in the first instance,” said Lord Oldborough, “and I will write this moment.”
“I think, my lord, I can save you the trouble,” said Mr. Percy: “I know the man.”
Lord Oldborough put down his pen, and looked at Mr. Percy with astonishment.
“Yes, my lord, however extraordinary it may appear, I repeat it — I believe I know your son; and if he be the man I imagine him to be, I congratulate you — you have reason to rejoice.”
“The facts, my dear sir,” cried Lord Oldborough: “do not raise my hopes.”
Mr. Percy repeated all that he had heard from Godfrey of Mr. Henry — related every circumstance from the first commencement of them — the impertinence and insult to which the mystery that hung over his birth had subjected him in the regiment — the quarrels in the regiment — the goodness of Major Gascoigne — the gratitude of Mr. Henry — the attachment between him and Godfrey — his selling out of the regiment after Godfrey’s ineffectual journey to London — his wishing to go into a mercantile house — the letter which Godfrey then wrote, begging his father to recommend Mr. Henry to Mr. Gresham, disclosing to Mr. Percy, with Mr. Henry’s permission, all that he knew of his birth.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 166
