The Bertrams

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER VIII.

  SIR LIONEL BERTRAM.

  The personal peculiarities which Sir Lionel had mentioned in hisletter to his son as being characteristic of himself were certainlytrue. He was an old, or, perhaps, rather an elderly gentleman, in amilitary frock, with a bald head, a hook nose, and a short allowanceof teeth. But he was more than this: though elderly he was tall andupright; he was distinguished looking, and, for an old man, handsomein spite of his lost teeth; and though bald as to the top of hishead, had yet enough hair to merit considerable attention, and to bethe cause of considerable pride. His whiskers, also, and mustache,though iron-gray, were excellent in their way. Had his baldness beenof an uglier description, or his want of teeth more disagreeablyvisible, he probably might not have alluded to them himself. Intruth, Sir Lionel was not a little vain of his personal appearance,and thought that in the matter of nose, he was quite equal to theDuke in aristocratic firmness, and superior to Sir Charles Napier inexpression and general design.

  But though a vain man, Sir Lionel was too clever to let his vanityshow itself in an offensive manner. The "ars celare artem" washis forte; and he was able to live before the world as though henever cast a thought on his coat and pantaloons, or ever did morethan brush and smooth his iron-gray locks with due attention tocleanliness.

  I was going to say that Sir Lionel's appearance was the best thingabout him; but in saying so I should belie his manner, with which itwas certainly difficult for any one to find fault. It was what theworld calls happy, meaning thereby, that so great was the possessor'sluck that he was able to make it pleasant to all men, and to allwomen--for a while. Mrs. Bertram--she had not lived to be mylady--had, I believe, not always found it so.

  These, joined to a readiness in the use of one or two languagesbesides his own, were the qualifications which had given Sir Lionelhis title, and had caused him to be employed in so many missions inso many countries; and on duty, too, which could not be said to be ofa military nature. He never made difficulties or enemies of his own,and could generally smooth down the difficulties and enemies leftbehind them by others, perhaps of a more sturdy temperament.

  But now the catalogue of his virtues is complete. He was not a man ofgenius, or even a man of talent. He had performed no great servicefor his country; had neither proposed nor carried through anyvaluable project of diplomacy; nor had he shown any close insightinto the habits and feelings of the people among whom he had lived.But he had been useful as a great oil-jar, from whence oil for thequiescence of troubled waters might ever and anon be forthcoming.Expediency was his god, and he had hitherto worshipped it with asuccessful devotion.

  That he had not been a good husband has been hinted; that he had beena very indifferent father has been made apparent. But at the momentof his meeting with his son, he atoned for all his past sins in thisrespect by the excellence of his manner; and before the evening wasover, George liked his father, who had owed him everything and givenhim nothing, ten times better than he had ever liked his uncle whohad given him everything though he had owed him nothing.

  "It's an odd place for us to have met in at last, is it not, sir?"said George. They were sitting after supper very close together onone of those stationary sofas which are found affixed to the wall inevery room in the East, and the son was half holding, half caressinghis father's arm. Sir Lionel, to tell the truth, did not much carefor such caresses, but under the peculiar circumstances of thispresent interview he permitted it.

  "You see, I'm always in odd places, George."

  "You've been in Jerusalem before?"

  "No, never. It's not on the road anywhere, or on any road at all, asone may well see. I never knew such a place to get to. Now there areroads of some sort even about Bagdad."

  "And Damascus?"

  "Oh, Damascus is a highway; but nobody comes to Jerusalem except thepilgrims, and those who like to look after the pilgrims. We are justin the thick of them now, I believe."

  "Yes, sir. There are thirteen thousand here. I am sure you'll likethe place. I am delighted with it, although I have been here as yetonly two days."

  "Perhaps more so than you will be when you have been ten."

  "I don't think it. But it is not the city itself."

  "No; that seems poor and dirty enough."

  "I would not mind the dirt if the place were but true." Sir Lioneldid not quite understand him, but he said nothing. "It is the countryround, the immediate vicinity of Jerusalem that fascinates sowonderfully."

  "Ah! the scenery is good, is it?"

  "Well, in one way it is; but I do not mean that. I cannot explain it;but to-morrow you will go to the Mount of Olives with me."

  "Mount of Olives, eh? I'm not very good at climbing up a hill, MasterGeorge; you must remember the difference between twenty-three andsixty-three. What is there to see there?"

  What was there to see there! This was said in a tone which madeGeorge feel rather indisposed to describe, if describe he could, whatthere was there to be seen. He had quite wit enough to perceive thathis father was not enthusiastic about Bible history.

  And then they changed the conversation, and began to talk aboutGeorge Bertram the elder.

  "It's eighteen years since I've seen my brother," said Sir Lionel."He was usually cross enough then. I suppose he has hardly improved?"

  "I can't exactly call him cross. He has been very kind to me, youknow."

  "Kind--well. If you are contented, I am; but, considering that youare his natural heir, I don't think he has done so very much. If hemeans to be kind, why does he bother me every other month with a longaccount, of which the postage comes to heaven knows how much?"

  "Ah! but, sir, I am not his heir."

  "Not his heir!" said Sir Lionel, with more of sharpness in his tonethan was at all usual with him; with a little sharpness also in hiseye, as George quickly observed. "Not his heir--who is his heirthen?"

  "Ah, that I do not know. Some corporation, perhaps, or some hospital.All I know is, that I am not. That he has told me quite plainly. Andhe was very right to do so," added George, after a pause.

  Sir Lionel repressed the exclamation of anger against his brotherwhich was in his heart, and had all but risen to his tongue. He hadnot been wandering for thirty years on foreign missions for nothing.He must find out more of this lad's disposition and feelings beforehe spoke out plainly before him what he thought. He had intendednot only that his son should be the rich uncle's heir, but the richuncle's adopted child also; so that some portion of that vast wealthmight be made use of, certainly by George, perhaps even in somemodest degree by himself, without the unnecessary delay of waitingfor his brother's death. It would be bad enough to wait, seeing howprobable it was that that brother might outlive himself. But now tobe told not only that his hopes in this respect were vain, but thatthe old miser had absolutely repudiated his connection with hisnephew! This was almost too much for his diplomatic equanimity.Almost, I say; for in fact he did restrain himself.

  "And did he say, George, in so many words that he meant to give younothing?"

  "Yes, very plainly--in so many words. And I told him as plainly, andin as many, that I wanted nothing from him."

  "Was that prudent, my boy?"

  "It was the truth, sir. But I must tell you the whole. He offered mea loan of three thousand pounds--"

  "Well, you took that?"

  "Indeed, no. He offered it on the condition that I should be anattorney."

  "An attorney! and you with a double-first?"

  "Ah, he does not much value double-firsts. Of course, I was not goingto make myself an attorney."

  "Of course not. But what is he doing about an allowance for you?"

  "He has been very liberal. He has given me a hundred and fifty ayear--"

  "Yes; and sent me the bill of it--with great regularity."

  The son did not remind the father that all regularity in the matterhad ended there, and that the bills so sent had never been paid; buthe could not help thinking that in justice he m
ight do so.

  "But that expense will soon be over, sir, as regards either you orhim. The allowance will be discontinued next year."

  "What! he is going to stop even that school-boy's pittance?"

  "Why not, sir? I have no claim on him. And as he has not forgotten totell me so once or twice--"

  "He was always a vulgar fellow," said Sir Lionel. "How he came tohave such a spirit of trade in his very blood, I can't conceive. Godknows I have none of it."

  "Nor I either, sir."

  "Well, I hope not. But does he expect you to live upon air? This isbad news, George--very bad."

  "Of course I have always intended to go into a profession. I havenever looked at it in the same light as you do. I have alwaysintended to make my own way, and have no doubt that I shall do so. Ihave quite made up my mind about it now."

  "About what, George?"

  "I shall go into orders, and take a college living."

  "Orders!" said Sir Lionel; and he expressed more surprise and almostmore disgust at this idea than at that other one respecting theattorney scheme.

  "Yes; I have been long doubting; but I think I have made up my mind."

  "Do you mean that you wish to be a parson, and that after taking adouble-first?"

  "I don't see what the double-first has to do with it, sir. The onlyobjection I have is the system of the establishment. I do not likethe established church."

  "Then why go into it?" said Sir Lionel, not at all understanding thenature of his son's objection.

  "I love our liturgy, and I like the ritual; but what we want is thevoluntary principle. I do not like to put myself in a position whichI can, in fact, hold whether I do the duties of it or no. Nor do Iwish--"

  "Well; I understand very little about all that; but, George, Ihad hoped something better for you. Now, the army is a beggarlyprofession unless a man has a private fortune; but, upon my word, Ilook on the church as the worst of the two. A man _may_ be a bishopof course; but I take it he has to eat a deal of dirt first."

  "I don't mean to eat any dirt," said the son.

  "Nor to be a bishop, perhaps," replied the father.

  They were quite unable to understand each other on this subject. InSir Lionel's view of the matter, a profession was--a profession.The word was understood well enough throughout the known world. Itsignified a calling by which a gentleman, not born to the inheritanceof a gentleman's allowance of good things, might ingeniously obtainthe same by some exercise of his abilities. The more of these goodthings that might be obtained, the better the profession; the easierthe labour also, the better the profession; the less restriction thatmight be laid on a man in his pleasurable enjoyment of the world, thebetter the profession. This was Sir Lionel's view of a profession,and it must be acknowledged that, though his view was commonplace, itwas also common sense; that he looked at the matter as a great manypeople look at it; and that his ideas were at any rate sufficientlyintelligible. But George Bertram's view was different, and much lesseasy of explanation. He had an idea that in choosing a professionhe should consider, not so much how he should get the means ofspending his life, but how he should in fact spend it. He wouldhave, in making this choice, to select the pursuit to which he woulddevote that amount of power and that amount of life which God shouldallot to him. Fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, guardians andgrandfathers, was not this a singular view for a young man to take inlooking at such a subject?

  But in truth George was somewhat afflicted by a _tete monte_ in thismatter. I say afflicted, because, having imagination and ideality tolead him to high views, he had not a sufficient counterbalance inhis firmness of character. If his father was too mundane, he was tootranscendental. As for instance, he approved at the present moment,in theory, of the life of a parish clergyman; but could he havecommenced the life to-morrow, he would at once have shrunk from itsdrudgery.

  They did not understand each other; perceiving which, Sir Lionel gaveup the subject. He was determined not to make himself disagreeable tohis son. He, at any rate, intended to make him no allowance, to givehim no fortune, and was aware, therefore, that he had no right tointerfere otherwise than as his advice might be asked. Nor indeed hadhe any wish to do so, if he could only instil into the young man'smind a few--not precepts; precepts are harsh and disagreeable--a fewcomfortable friendly hints as to the tremendous importance of thegame which might be played with Mr. George Bertram senior. If hecould only do this pleasantly, and without offence to his son, hewould attempt nothing further.

  He turned the conversation, and they talked agreeably on othermatters--of Oxford, of the Wilkinsons, of Harcourt, and by degreesalso a little of uncle George.

  "What sort of a house does my brother keep at Hadley--eh, George?Dull enough it used to be."

  "Well; it is dull. Not that he is dull himself; I can always talk tomy uncle when he will talk to me."

  "Sees no company, I suppose?"

  "Not much."

  "Never goes into society?"

  "He dines out in London sometimes; and sometimes gives dinners too."

  "What! at taverns?"

  "Yes; at Blackwall, or Greenwich, or some of those places. I havebeen at his dinners, and he never spares anything."

  "He doesn't feel his years, then? He's not infirm? no rheumatism oranything of that sort--strong on his legs, eh?"

  "As strong as you are, sir."

  "He's ten years my senior, you know."

  "Yes, I know he is. He's not nearly so young a man as you are; butI really think he is as strong. He's a wonderful man for his years,certainly."

  "I'm delighted to hear it," said Sir Lionel. A keen judge ofcharacter, however, scrutinizing the colonel's face closely, wouldnot then have read much warm delight therein depicted.

  "You rather like him on the whole, then--eh, George?"

  "Well; I really think I do. I am sure I ought to like him. But--"

  "Well, George; speak out. You and I need have no secrets."

  "Secrets, no; I've no secret. My uncle has a way of saying too muchhimself about what he does for one."

  "Sends in the bill too often--eh, George?"

  "If it is to be a bill, let him say so. I for one shall not blamehim. There is no reason he should give me anything. But situated as Ihave been at Oxford, it would have been almost absurd in me to refusehis allowance--"

  "Quite absurd."

  "When he knew I was coming out to you, he made Pritchett--you knowPritchett?"

  "And his handwriting--very well indeed."

  "He made Pritchett put three hundred pounds to my credit; that wasover and above my allowance. Well, I did almost make up my mind toreturn that; as it is, I have not touched it, and I think I shallrepay it."

  "For heaven's sake do no such thing. It would be an offence which hewould never forgive." Sir Lionel did say so much with something ofparental energy in his tone and manner.

  "Yes, sir; but to be told of it!"

  "But he does not ask you to pay it him back again?"

  "If he asks you;--is not that the same thing? But you hardlyunderstand me, or him either."

  "I think I understand him, George. I wonder whether they could giveus a cup of coffee here?"

  "Of course they can:" and George rang the bell.

  "Perhaps so; but as far as my experience goes, wherever Englishmenfrequent, there the coffee is spoilt. Englishmen, as far as I cansee, have a partiality for chicory, but none at all for coffee."

  "What I mean, sir, is this. Connected as I and my uncle are together,seeing that he has all my life--" Here George paused a moment, forwhat he was about to say might have seemed to imply a censure on hisfather.

  "Paid your school-bills, and all that sort of thing," filled in SirLionel.

  "Yes; as he has always done that, it seemed so natural that I shouldtake what he gave me."

  "Quite natural. You could have done nothing else."

  "And now he speaks of it as though--as though;--of course I am underan obligation to him--a very deep obligatio
n. I understand that, andshould not fret at it. But he thinks of it as though I had been toblame in spending his money. When I see him next, he'll say somethingof the same sort about that three hundred pounds. All I can do is toremind him that I did not ask for it, and tell him that he may haveit back again."

  "Do nothing of the kind, George," said Sir Lionel, who regarded aslittle less than lunacy on his son's part this declared intention torefund money to a rich man. "I know very well what you mean. It isdisagreeable to be reminded of money that you have spent."

  "But I haven't spent it."

  "Well, of money that you have received. But what can you do? It isnot your fault. As you truly say, it would be absurd and ungratefultoo if you were to decline to take such trifles from your own uncle;especially seeing what he has done for you. It is his manner, andthat was always disagreeable; especially in money matters." And sohaving given to his son the best advice he had to offer, Sir Lionelsipped his coffee. "Very bad--very bad, indeed; it always is at theseEnglish places. If I could have my own way, I would always keep outof English haunts." In this respect Sir Lionel had had his own wayduring the greater portion of his life.

  Before they parted for the evening, George communicated to his fatherthe great fact of Miss Todd's picnic as settled for the next day;and Sir Lionel expressed himself as willing to make one of the partyif Miss Todd could be induced to extend to him the light of hercountenance. On this head young Bertram, though his own acquaintancehad certainly been short, thought that he might take on himself toanswer. People soon get intimate with each other at such places asJerusalem. When you have been up the Great Pyramid with a lady, thechances are you know more about her than you would do from a year'sacquaintance fostered by a dozen London parties; and a journey up theNile with a man may be considered quite equal to three years spenttogether at the same college,--that is, if the fellow-travellers beyoung. After a certain age, men never become really intimate, lettheir relations with each other be ever so close.

  "There will be a Miss Baker there, sir, who says she knows you; and aMiss Waddington, a very fine girl, who at any rate knows my name."

  "What! Caroline Waddington?"

  "Yes, Caroline Waddington."

  "She is a ward of your uncle."

  "So Miss Baker tells me; but I never heard my uncle mention them.Indeed, he never mentions anything."

  "It will be very desirable that you should know Miss Waddington.There is no saying what your uncle may do with his money. Yes, I'llgo to the picnic; only I hope the place is not distant." So thatmatter was settled.