Epicurism was scarcely more prevalent during the decline of the Roman empire than it is at this day amongst some of the wealthy and noble youths of Britain. Not one of my select dinner-party but would have been worthy of a place at the turbot consultation immortalized by the Roman satirist. A friend of mine, a bishop, one day went into his kitchen, to look at a large turbot, which the cook was dressing. The cook had found it so large that he had cut off the fins: “What a shame!” cried the bishop; and immediately calling for the cook’s apron, he spread it before his cassock, and actually sewed the fins again to the turbot with his own episcopal hands.
If I might judge from my own experience, I should attribute fashionable epicurism in a great measure to ennui. Many affect it, because they have nothing else to do; and sensual indulgences are all that exist for those who have not sufficient energy to enjoy intellectual pleasures. I dare say, that if Heliogabalus could be brought in evidence in his own case, and could be made to understand the meaning of the word ennui, he would agree with me in opinion, that it was the cause of half his vices. His offered reward for the discovery of a new pleasure is stronger evidence than any confession he could make. I thank God that I was not born an emperor, or I might have become a monster. Though not in the least inclined to cruelty, I might have acquired the taste for it, merely for desire of the emotion which real tragedies excite. Fortunately, I was only an earl and an epicure.
My indulgence in the excesses of the table injured my health; violent bodily exercise was necessary to counteract the effects of intemperance. It was my maxim, that a man could never eat or drink too much, if he would but take exercise enough. I killed fourteen horses,74 and survived; but I grew tired of killing horses, and I continued to eat immoderately. I was seized with a nervous complaint, attended with extreme melancholy. Frequently the thoughts of putting an end to my existence occurred; and I had many times determined upon the means; but very small and apparently inadequate and ridiculous motives, prevented the execution of my design. Once I was kept alive by a piggery, which I wanted to see finished. Another time, I delayed destroying myself, till a statue, which I had just purchased at a vast expense, should be put up in my Egyptian salon. By the awkwardness of the unpacker, the statue’s thumb was broken. This broken thumb saved my life; it converted ennui into anger. Like Montaigne and his sausage, I had now something to complain of, and I was happy. But at last my anger subsided, the thumb would serve me no longer as a subject of conversation, and I relapsed into silence and black melancholy. I was “a’weary of the sun;” my old thoughts recurred. At this time I was just entering my twenty-fifth year. Rejoicings were preparing for my birthday. My Lady Glenthorn had prevailed upon me to spend the summer at Sherwood Park, because it was new to her. She filled the house with company and noise; but this only increased my discontent. My birthday arrived — I wished myself dead — and I resolved to shoot myself at the close of the day. I put a pistol into my pocket, and stole out towards the evening, unobserved by my jovial companions. Lady Glenthorn and her set were dancing, and I was tired of these sounds of gaiety. I took the private way to the forest, which was near the house; but one of my grooms met me with a fine horse, which an old tenant had just sent as a present on my birthday. The horse was saddled and bridled; the groom held the stirrup, and up I got. The fellow told me the private gate was locked, and I turned as he pointed to go through the grand entrance. At the outside of the gate sat upon the ground, huddled in a great red cloak, an old woman, who started up and sprang forwards the moment she saw me, stretching out her arms and her cloak with one and the same motion.
“Ogh! is it you I see?” cried she, in a strong Irish tone.
At this sound and this sight, my horse, that was shy, backed a little. I called to the woman to stand out of my way.
“Heaven bless your sweet face! I’m the nurse that suckled yees when ye was a baby in Ireland. Many’s the day I’ve been longing to see you,” continued she, clasping her hands, and standing her ground in the middle of the gateway, regardless of my horse, which I was pressing forward.
“Stand out of the way, for God’s sake, my good woman, or I shall certainly ride over you. So! so! so!” said I, patting my restless horse.
“Oh! he’s only shy, God bless him! he’s as quite now as a lamb; and kiss one or other of yees, I must,” cried she, throwing her arms about the horse’s neck.
The horse, unaccustomed to this mode of salutation, suddenly plunged, and threw me. My head fell against the pier of the gate. The last sound I heard was the report of a pistol; but I can give no account of what happened afterwards. I was stunned by my fall, and senseless. When I opened my eyes, I found myself stretched on one of the cushions of my landau, and surrounded by a crowd of people, who seemed to be all talking at once: in the buzz of voices I could not distinguish any thing that was said, till I heard Captain Crawley’s voice above the rest, saying,
“Send for a surgeon instantly: but it’s all over! it’s all over! Take the body the back way to the banqueting-house; I must run to Lady Glenthorn.”
I perceived that they thought me dead. I did not at this moment feel that I was hurt. I was curious to know what they would all do; so I closed my eyes again before any one perceived that I had opened them. I lay motionless, and they proceeded with me, according to Captain Crawley’s orders, to the banqueting-house. When we arrived there, my servants laid me on one of the Turkish sofas; and the crowd, after having satisfied their’ curiosity, dropped off one by one, till I was left with a single footman and my steward.
“I don’t believe he’s quite dead,” said the footman, “for his heart beats.”
“Oh, he’s the same as dead, for he does not stir hand or foot, and his skull, they say, is fractured for certain; but it will all be seen when the surgeon comes. I am sure he will never do. Crawley will have every thing his own way now, and I may as well decamp.”
“Ay; and among them,” said the footman, “I only hope I may get my wages.”
“What a fool that Crawley made of my lord!” said the steward.
“What a fool my lord made of himself,” said the footman, “to be ruled, and let all his people be ruled, by such an upstart! With your leave, Mr. Turner, I’ll just run to the house to say one word to James, and be back immediately.”
“No, no, you must stay, Robert, whilst I step home to lock my places, before Crawley begins to rummage.”
The footman was now left alone with me. Scarcely had the steward been gone two minutes, when I heard a low voice near me saying, in a tone of great anxiety, “Is he dead?”
I half opened my eyes to see who it was that spoke. The voice came from the door which was opposite to me; and whilst the footman turned his back, I raised my head, and beheld the figure of the old woman, who had been the cause of my accident. She was upon her knees on the threshold — her arms crossed over her breast. I never shall forget her face, it was so expressive of despair.
“Is he dead?” she repeated.
“I tell you yes,” replied the footman.
“For the love of God, let me come in, if he is here,” cried she.
“Come in, then, and stay here whilst I run to the house.” 75
The footman ran off; and my old nurse, on seeing me, burst into an agony of grief. I did not understand one word she uttered, as she spoke in her native language; but her lamentations went to my heart, for they came from hers. She hung over me, and I felt her tears dropping upon my forehead. I could not refrain from whispering, “Don’t cry — I am alive.”
“Blessings on him!” exclaimed she, starting back: she then dropped down on her knees to thank God. Then calling me by every fondling name that nurses use to their children, she begged my forgiveness, and alternately cursed herself and prayed for me.
The strong affections of this poor woman touched me more than any thing I had ever yet felt in my life; she seemed to be the only person upon earth who really cared for me; and in spite of her vulgarity, and my prejudice against the t
one in which she spoke, she excited in my mind emotions of tenderness and gratitude. “My good woman, if I live, I will do something for you: tell me what I can do,” said I. “Live! live! God bless you, live; that’s all in the wide world I want of you, my jewel; and, till you are well, let me watch over you at nights, as I used to do when you were a child, and I had you in my arms all to myself, dear.”
Three or four people now ran into the room, to get before Captain Crawley, whose voice was heard at this instant at a distance. I had only time to make the poor woman understand that I wished to appear to be dead; she took the hint with surprising quickness. Captain Crawley came up the steps, talking in the tone of a master to the steward and people who followed.
“What is this old hag doing here? Where is Robert? Where is Thomas? I ordered them to stay till I came. Mr. Turner, why did not you stay? What! has not the coroner been here yet? The coroner must see the body, I tell you. Good God! What a parcel of blockheads you all are! How many times must I tell you the same thing? Nothing can be done till the coroner has seen him; then we’ll talk about the funeral, Mr. Turner — one thing at a time. Every thing shall be done properly, Mr. Turner. Lady Glenthorn trusts every thing to me — Lady Glenthorn wishes that I should order every thing.”
“To be sure — no doubt — very proper — I don’t say against that.”
“But,” continued Crawley, turning towards the sofa upon which I lay, and seeing Ellinor kneeling beside me, “what keeps this old Irish witch here still? What business have you here, pray; and who are you, or what are you?”
“Plase your honour, I was his nurse formerly, and so had a nat’ral longing to see him once again before I would die.”
“And did you come all the way from Ireland on this wise errand?”
“Troth I did — every inch of the way from his own sweet place.”
“Why, you are little better than a fool, I think,” said Crawley.
“Little better, plase your honour; but I was always so about them childer that I nursed.”
“Childer! Well, get along about your business now; you see your nursing is not wanted here.”
“I’ll not stir out of this, while he is here,” said my nurse, catching hold of the leg of the sofa, and clinging to it.
“You’ll not stir, you say,” cried Captain Crawley: “Turn her out!”
“Oh, sure you would not have the cru’lty to turn his old nurse out before he’s even cowld. And won’t you let me see him buried?”
“Out with her! out with her! the old Irish hag! We’ll have no howling here. Out with her, John!” said Crawley to my groom.
The groom hesitated, I fancy; for Crawley repeated the order more imperiously: “Out with her! or go yourself.”
“May be it’s you that will go first yourself,” said she.
“Go first myself!” cried Captain Crawley, furiously: “Are you insolent to me?”
“And are not you cru’l to me, and to my child I nursed, that lies all as one as dead before you, and was a good friend to you in his day, no doubt?”
Crawley seized hold of her: but she resisted with so much energy, that she dragged along with her the sofa to which she clung, and on which I lay.
“Stop!” cried I, starting up. There was sudden silence. I looked round, but could not utter another syllable. Now, for the first time, I was sensible that I had been really hurt by the fall. My head grew giddy, and my stomach sick. I just saw Crawley’s fallen countenance, and him and the steward looking at one another; they were like hideous faces in a dream. I sunk back.
“Ay, lie down, my darling; don’t be disturbing yourself for such as them,” said my nurse. “Let them do what they will with me; it’s little I’d care for them, if you were but once in safe hands.”
I beckoned to the groom, who had hesitated to turn out Ellinor, and bid him go to the housekeeper, and have me put to bed. “She,” added I, pointing to my old nurse, “is to sit up with me at night.” It was all I could say. What they did with me afterwards, I do not know; but I was in my bed, and a bandage was round my temples, and my poor nurse was kneeling on one side of the bed, with a string of beads in her hand; and a surgeon and physician, and Crawley and my Lady Glenthorn were on the other side, whispering together. The curtain was drawn between me and them; but the motion I made on wakening was instantly observed by Crawley, who immediately left the room. Lady Glenthorn drew back my curtain, and began to ask me how I did: but when I fixed my eyes upon her, she sunk upon the bed, trembling violently, and could not finish her sentence. I begged her to go to rest, and she retired. The physician ordered that I should be kept quiet, and seemed to think I was in danger. I asked what was the matter with me? and the surgeon, with a very grave face, informed me that I had an ugly contusion on my head. I had heard of a concussion of the brain; but I did not know distinctly what it was, and my fears were increased by my ignorance. The life which, but a few hours before, I had been on the point of voluntarily destroying, because it was insupportably burdensome, I was now, the moment it was in danger, most anxious to preserve; and the interest which I perceived others had in getting rid of me, increased my desire to recover. My recovery was, however, for some time doubtful. I was seized with a fever, which left me in a state of alarming debility. My old nurse, whom I shall henceforward call by her name of Ellinor, attended me with the most affectionate solicitude during my illness;76 she scarcely stirred from my bedside, night or day; and, indeed, when I came to the use of my senses, she was the only person whom I really liked to have near me. I knew that she was sincere; and, however unpolished her manners, and however awkward her assistance, the good-will with which it was given, made me prefer it to the most delicate and dexterous attentions which I believed to be interested. The very want of a sense of propriety, and the freedom with which she talked to me, regardless of what was suited to her station, or due to my rank, instead of offending or disgusting me, became agreeable; besides, the novelty of her dialect, and of her turn of thought, entertained me as much as a sick man could be entertained. I remember once her telling me, that, “if it plased God, she would like to die on a Christmas-day, of all days; because the gates of Heaven, they say, will be open all that day; and who knows but a body might slip in unknownst?” When she sat up with me at nights she talked on eternally; for she assured me there was nothing like talking, as she had found, to put one asy asleep. I listened or not, just as I liked; any way she was contint. She was inexhaustible in her anecdotes of my ancestors, all tending to the honour and glory of the family; she had also an excellent memory for all the insults, or traditions of insults, which the Glenthorns had received for many ages back, even to the times of the old kings of Ireland; long and long before they stooped to be lorded; when their “names, which it was a pity and a murder, and moreover a burning shame, to change, was, O’Shaughnessy.” She was well-stored with histories of Irish and Scotish chiefs. The story of O’Neill, the Irish blackbeard, I am sure I ought to remember, for Ellinor told it to me at least six times. Then she had a large assortment of fairies and shadowless witches, and banshees; and besides, she had legions of spirits and ghosts, and haunted castles without end, my own castle of Glenthorn not excepted, in the description of which she was extremely eloquent; she absolutely excited in my mind some desire to see it. For many a long year, she said, it had been her nightly prayer, that she might live to see me in my own castle; and often and often she was coming over to England to tell me so, only her husband, as long as he lived, would not let her set out on what he called a fool’s errand: but it pleased God to take him to himself last fair day, and then she resolved that nothing should hinder her to be with her own child against his birthday: and now, could she see me in my own Castle Glenthorn, she would die contint — and what a pity but I should be in it! I was only a lord, as she said, in England; but I could be all as one as a king in Ireland.
Ellinor impressed me with the idea of the sort of feudal power I should possess in my vast territory, over tenants who we
re almost vassals, and amongst a numerous train of dependents. We resist the efforts made by those who, we think, exert authority or employ artifice to change our determinations; whilst the perverse mind insensibly yields to those who appear not to have power, or reason, or address, sufficient to obtain a victory. I should not have heard any human being with patience try to persuade me to go to Ireland, except this ignorant poor nurse, who spoke, as I thought, merely from the instinct of affection to me and to her native country. I promised her that I would, some time or other, visit Glenthorn Castle: but this was only a vague promise, and it was but little likely that it should be accomplished. As I regained my strength, my mind turned, or rather was turned, to other thoughts.
CHAPTER IV.
One morning — it was the day after my physicians had pronounced me out of all danger — Crawley sent me a note by Ellinor, congratulating me upon my recovery, and begging to speak to me for half an hour. I refused to see him; and said, that I was not yet well enough to do business. The same morning Ellinor came with a message from Turner, my steward, who, with his humble duty, requested to see me for five minutes, to communicate to me something of importance. I consented to see Turner. He entered with a face of suppressed joy and affected melancholy.
“Sad news I am bound in duty to be the bearer of, my lord. I was determined, whatever came to pass, however, not to speak till your honour was out of danger, which, I thank Heaven, is now the case, and I am happy to be able to congratulate your lordship upon looking as well as—”
“Never mind my looks. I will excuse your congratulations, Mr. Turner,” said I, impatiently; for the recollection of the banqueting-house, and the undertaker whom Turner was so eager to introduce, came full into my mind. “Go on, if you please; five minutes is all I am at present able to give to any business, and you sent me word you had something of importance to communicate.”
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