o ye immortal gods! ye are still immortal, although no longer ye hover o’er olympus. the crescent glitters on your mountain’s base, and crosses spring from out its toppling crags. but in vain the mufti, and the patriarch, and the pope flout at your past traditions. they are married to man’s memory by the sweetest chain that ever fancy wove for love. the poet is a priest, who does not doubt the inspiration of his oracles; and your shrines are still served by a faithful band, who love the beautiful and adore the glorious! in vain, in vain they tell us your divinity is a dream. from the cradle to the grave, our thoughts and feelings take their colour from you! o! ?giochus, the birch has often proved thou art still a thunderer; and, although thy twanging bow murmur no longer through the avenging air, many an apple twig still vindicates thy outraged dignity, pulcher apollo.
o, ye immortal gods! nothing so difficult as to begin a chapter, and therefore have we flown to you. in literature, as in life, it is the first step; you know the rest. after a paragraph or so our blood is up, and even our jaded hackneys scud along, and warm up into friskiness.
the duke awoke: another day of his eventful life is now to run its course. he found that the bird of paradise had not returned from an excursion to a neighbouring park: he left a note for her, apprising her of his departure to london, and he despatched an affectionate letter to lady aphrodite, which was the least that he could do, considering that he perhaps quitted brighton the day of her arrival. and having done all this, he ordered his horses, and before noon was on his first stage.
it was his birthday. he had completed his twenty-third year. this was sufficient, even if he had no other inducement, to make him indulge in some slight reflection. these annual summings up are awkward things, even to the prosperous and the happy, but to those who are the reverse, who are discontented with themselves, and find that youth melting away which they believe can alone achieve anything, i think a birthday is about the most gloomy four-and-twenty hours that ever flap their damp dull wings over melancholy man.
yet the duke of st. james was rather thoughtful than melancholy. his life had been too active of late to allow him to indulge much in that passive mood. ‘i may never know what happiness is,’ thought his grace, as he leaned back in his whirling britzska, ‘but i think i know what happiness is not. it is not the career which i have hitherto pursued. all this excitement which they talk of so much wears out the mind, and, i begin to believe, even the body, for certainly my energies seem deserting me. but two years, two miserable years, four-and-twenty months, eight-and-forty times the hours, the few hours, that i have been worse than wasting here, and i am shipwrecked, fairly bulged. yet i have done everything, tried everything, and my career has been an eminent career. woe to the wretch who trusts to his pampered senses for felicity! woe to the wretch who flies from the bright goddess sympathy, to sacrifice before the dark idol self-love! ah! i see too late, we were made for each other. too late, i discover the beautiful results of this great principle of creation. oh! the blunders of an unformed character! oh! the torture of an ill-regulated mind!
‘give me a life with no fierce alternations of rapture and anguish, no impossible hopes, no mad depression. free me from the delusions which succeed each other like scentless roses, that are ever blooming. save me from the excitement which brings exhaustion, and from the passion that procreates remorse. give me the luminous mind, where recognised and paramount duty dispels the harassing, ascertains the doubtful, confirms the wavering, sweetens the bitter. give me content. oh! give me love!
‘how is it to end? what is to become of me? can nothing rescue me? is there no mode of relief, no place of succour, no quarter of refuge, no hope of salvation? i cannot right myself, and there is an end of it. society, society, society! i owe thee much; and perhaps in working in thy service, those feelings might be developed which i am now convinced are the only source of happiness; but i am plunged too deep in the quag. i have no impulse, no call. i know not how it is, but my energies, good and evil, seem alike vanishing. there stares that fellow at my carriage! god! willingly would i break the stones upon the road for a year, to clear my mind of all the past!’
a carriage dashed by, and a lady bowed. it was mrs. dallington vere.
the duke had appointed his banker to dine with him, as not a moment must be lost in preparing for the reception of his brighton drafts. he was also to receive, this evening, a complete report of all his affairs. the first thing that struck his eye on his table was a packet from sir carte blanche. he opened it eagerly, stared, started, nearly shrieked. it fell from his hands. he was fortunately alone. the estimates for the completion of his works, and the purchase of the rest of the furniture, exactly equalled the sum already expended. sir carte added, that the works might of course be stopped, but that there was no possible way of reducing them, with any deference to the original design, scale, and style; that he had already given instructions not to proceed with the furniture until further notice, but regretted to observe that the orders were so advanced that he feared it was too late to make any sensible reduction. it might in some degree reconcile his grace to this report when he concluded by observing that the advanced state of the works could permit him to guarantee that the present estimates would not be exceeded.
the duke had sufficiently recovered before the arrival of his confidential agent not to appear agitated, only serious. the awful catastrophe at brighton was announced, and his report of affairs was received. it was a very gloomy one. great agricultural distress prevailed, and the rents could not be got in. five-and-twenty per cent, was the least that must be taken off his income, and with no prospect of being speedily added on. there was a projected railroad which would entirely knock up his canal, and even if crushed must be expensively opposed. coals were falling also, and the duties in town increasing. there was sad confusion in the irish estates. the missionaries, who were patronised on the neighbouring lands of one of the city companies, had been exciting fatal confusion. chapels were burnt, crops destroyed, stock butchered, and rents all in arrear. mr. dacre had contrived with great prudence to repress the efforts of the new reformation, and had succeeded in preventing any great mischief. his plans for the pursual of his ideas and feelings upon this subject had been communicated to his late ward in an urgent and important paper, which his grace had never seen, but one day, unread, pushed into a certain black cabinet, which perhaps the reader may remember. his grace’s miscellaneous debts had also been called in, and amounted to a greater sum than they had anticipated, which debts always do. one hundred and forty thousand pounds had crumbled away in the most imperceptible manner. a great slice of this was the portion of the jeweller. his shield and his vases would at least be evidence to his posterity of the splendour and the taste of their imprudent ancestor; but he observed the other items with less satisfaction. he discovered that in the course of two years he had given away one hundred and thirty-seven necklaces and bracelets; and as for rings, they must be counted by the bushel. the result of this gloomy interview was, that the duke had not only managed to get rid of the immortal half-million, but had incurred debts or engagements to the amount of nearly eight hundred thousand pounds, incumbrances which were to be borne by a decreased and perhaps decreasing income. his grace was once more alone. ‘well! my brain is not turned; and yet i think it has been pretty well worked these last few days. it cannot be true: it must all be a dream. he never could have dined here, and said all this. have i, indeed, been at brighton? no, no, no; i have been sleeping after dinner. i have a good mind to ring and ask whether he really was here. it must be one great delusion. but no! there are those cursed accounts. well! what does it signify? i was miserable before, and now i am only contemptible in addition. how the world will laugh! they were made forsooth for my diversion. o, idiot! you will be the butt of everyone! talk of bagshot, indeed! why, he will scarcely speak to me!
‘away with this! let me turn these things in my mind. take it at one hundred and fifty thousand. it is more, it must be more, but we will take it at that. now, suppose one hundred thousand is allotted every year to meet my debts; i suppose, in nine or ten years i shall be free. not that freedom will be worth much then; but still i am thinking of the glory of the house i have betrayed. well, then, there is fifty thousand a-year left. let me see; twenty thousand have always been spent in ireland, and ten at pen bronnock, and they must not be cut down. the only thing i can do now is, not to spare myself. i am the cause, and let me meet the consequences. well, then, perhaps twenty thousand a-year remain to keep hauteville castle and hauteville house; to maintain the splendour of the duke of st. james. why, my hereditary charities alone amount to a quarter of my income, to say nothing of incidental charges: i too, who should and who would wish to rebuild, at my own cost, every bridge that is swept away, and every steeple that is burnt, in my county.
‘and now for the great point. shall i proceed with my buildings? my own personal convenience whispers no! but i have a strong conviction that the advice is treasonable. what! the young duke’s folly for every gazer in town and country to sneer at! oh! my fathers, am i indeed your child, or am i bastard? never, never shall your shield be sullied while i bear it! never shall your proud banner veil while i am chieftain! they shall be finished; certainly, they shall be finished, if i die an exile! there can be no doubt about this; i feel the deep propriety.
‘this girl, too, something must be done for her. i must get squib to run down to brighton for me: and afy, poor dear afy, i think she will be sorry when she hears it all!
‘my head is weak: i want a counsellor. this man cannot enter into my feelings. then there is my family lawyer; if i ask him for advice, he will ask me for instructions. besides, this is not a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence; it is an affair as much of sentiment as economy; it involves the honour of my family, and i want one to unburden myself to, who can sympathise with the tortured feelings of a noble, of a duke without a dukedom, for it has come to that. but i will leave sneers to the world.
‘there is annesley. he is clever, but so coldblooded. he has no heart. there is squib; he is a good fellow, and has heart enough; and i suppose, if i wanted to pension off a mistress, or compound with a few rascally tradesmen, he would manage the affair to a miracle. there is darrell; but he will be so fussy, and confidential, and official. every meeting will be a cabinet council, every discussion a debate, every memorandum a state paper. there is burlington; he is experienced, and clever, and kind-hearted, and, i really think, likes me; but, no, no, it is too ridiculous. we who have only met for enjoyment, whose countenance was a smile, and whose conversation was badinage; we to meet, and meditate on my broken fortunes! impossible! besides, what right have i to compel a man, the study of whose life is to banish care, to take all my anxieties on his back, or refuse the duty at the cost of my acquaintance and the trouble of his conscience. ah! i once had a friend, the best, the wisest; but no more of that. what is even the loss of fortune and of consideration to the loss of his — his daughter’s love?’
his voice faltered, yet it was long before he retired; and he rose on the morrow only to meditate over his harassing embarrassments. as if the cup of his misery were not o’erflowing, a new incident occurred about this time, which rendered his sense of them even keener. but this is important enough to commence a new chapter.
