What Will He Do with It? Complete - Бульвер-Литтон Эдвард Джордж 13 стр.

How Vance would enjoy this! cried Lionel. It would come into a picture even better than the Thames.

Vance? who is Vance?

The artist,a great friend of mine. Surely, sir, you have heard of him or seen his pictures!

Himself and his pictures are since my time. Days tread down days for the recluse, and he forgets that celebrities rise with their suns, to wane with their moons,

All suns do not set; all moons do not wane! cried Lionel, with blunt enthusiasm. When Horace speaks elsewhere of the Julian star, he compares it to a mooninter ignes minoresand surely Fame is not among the orbs which pergunt interire,hasten on to perish!

I am glad to see that you retain your recollections of Horace, said Mr. Darrell, frigidly, and without continuing the allusion to celebrities; the most charming of all poets to a man of my years, and (he very dryly added) the most useful for popular quotation to men at any age.

Then sauntering forth carelessly, he descended the sloping turf, came to the water-side, and threw himself at length on the grass: the wild thyme which he crushed sent up its bruised fragrance. There, resting his face on his hand, Darrell gazed along the water in abstracted silence. Lionel felt that he was forgotten; but he was not hurt. By this time a strong and admiring interest for his cousin had sprung up within his breast: he would have found it difficult to explain why. But whosoever at that moment could have seen Guy Darrells musing countenance, or whosoever, a few minutes before, could have heard the very sound of his voice, sweetly, clearly full; each slow enunciation unaffectedly, mellowly distinct,making musical the homeliest; roughest word, would have understood and shared the interest which Lionel could not explain. There are living human faces, which, independently of mere physical beauty, charm and enthrall us more than the most perfect lineaments which Greek sculptor ever lent to a marble face; there are key-notes in the thrilling human voice, simply uttered, which can haunt the heart, rouse the passions, lull rampant multitudes, shake into dust the thrones of guarded kings, and effect more wonders than ever yet have been wrought by the most artful chorus or the deftest quill.

In a few minutes the swans from the farther end of the water came sailing swiftly towards the bank on which Darrell reclined. He had evidently made friends with them, and they rested their white breasts close on the margin, seeking to claim his notice with a low hissing salutation, which, it is to be hoped, they changed for something less sibilant in that famous song with which they depart this life.

Darrell looked up. They come to be fed, said he, smooth emblems of the great social union. Affection is the offspring of utility. I am useful to them: they love me. He rose, uncovered, and bowed to the birds in mock courtesy: Friends, I have no bread to give you.

LIONEL.Let me run in for some. I would be useful too.

MR. DARRELL.Rival!useful to my swans?

LIONEL (tenderly).Or to you, sir.

He felt as if he had said too much, and without waiting for permission, ran indoors to find some one whom he could ask for the bread.

Sonless, childless, hopeless, objectless! said Darrell, murmuringly to himself, and sank again into revery.

By the time Lionel returned with the bread, another petted friend had joined the master. A tame doe had caught sight of him from her covert far away, came in light bounds to his side, and was pushing her delicate nostril into his drooping hand. At the sound of Lionels hurried step, she took flight, trotted off a few paces, then turned, looking.

I did not know you had deer here.

Deer!in this little paddock!of course not; only that doe. Fairthorn introduced her here. By the by, continued Darrell, who was now throwing the bread to the swans, and had resumed his careless, unmeditative manner, you were not aware that I have a brother hermit,a companion be sides the swans and the doe. Dick Fairthorn is a year or two younger than myself, the son of my fathers bailiff. He was the cleverest boy at his grammar-school. Unluckily he took to the flute, and unfitted himself for the present century. He condescends, however, to act as my secretary,a fair classical scholar, plays chess, is useful to me,I am useful to him. We have an affection for each other. I never forgive any one who laughs at him. The half-hour bell, and you will meet him at dinner. Shall we come in and dress?

They entered the house; the same man-servant was in attendance in the hall. Show Mr. Haughton to his room. Darrell inclined his headI use that phrase, for the gesture was neither bow nor nodturned down a narrow passage and disappeared.

Led up an uneven staircase of oak, black as ebony, with huge balustrades, and newel-posts supporting clumsy balls, Lionel was conducted to a small chamber, modernized a century ago by a faded Chinese paper, and a mahogany bedstead, which took up three-fourths of the space, and was crested with dingy plumes, that gave it the cheerful look of a hearse; and there the attendant said, Have you the key of your knapsack, sir? shall I put out your things to dress? Dress! Then for the first time the boy remembered that he had brought with him no evening dress,nay, evening dress, properly so called, he possessed not at all in any corner of the world. It had never yet entered into his modes of existence. Call to mind when you were a boy of seventeen, betwixt two ages hovering like a star, and imagine Lionels sensations. He felt his cheek burn as if he had been detected in a crime. I have no dress things, he said piteously; only a change of linen, and this, glancing at the summer jacket. The servant was evidently a most gentleman-like man: his native sphere that of groom of the chambers. I will mention it to Mr. Darrell; and if you will favour me with your address in London, I will send to telegraph for what you want against to-morrow.

Many thanks, answered Lionel, recovering his presence of mind; I will speak to Mr. Darrell myself.

There is the hot water, sir; that is the bell. I have the honour to be placed at your commands. The door closed, and Lionel unlocked his knapsack; other trousers, other waistcoat had he,those worn at the fair, and once white. Alas! they had not since then passed to the care of the laundress. Other shoes,double-soled for walking. There was no help for it but to appear at dinner, attired as he had been before, in his light pedestrian jacket, morning waistcoat flowered with sprigs, and a fawn-coloured nether man. Could it signify much,only two men? Could the grave Mr. Darrell regard such trifles?Yes, if they intimated want of due respect.

On descending the stairs, the same high-bred domestic was in waiting to show him into the library. Mr. Darrell was there already, in the simple but punctilious costume of a gentleman who retains in seclusion the habits customary in the world. At the first glance Lionel thought he saw a slight cloud of displeasure on his hosts brow. He went up to Mr. Darrell ingenuously, and apologized for the deficiencies of his itinerant wardrobe. Say the truth, said his host; you thought you were coming to an old churl, with whom ceremony was misplaced.

Indeed no! exclaimed Lionel. Butbut I have so lately left school.

Your mother might have thought for you.

I did not stay to consult her, indeed, sir; I hope you are not offended.

No, but let me not offend you if I take advantage of my years and our relationship to remark that a young man should be careful not to let himself down below the standard of his own rank. If a king could bear to hear that he was only a ceremonial, a private gentleman may remember that there is but a ceremonial between himself andhis hatter!

Lionel felt the colour mount his brow; but Darrell pressing the distasteful theme no further, and seemingly forgetting its purport, turned his remarks carelessly towards the weather. It will be fair to-morrow: there is no mist on the hill yonder. Since you have a painter for a friend, perhaps you yourself are a draughtsman. There are some landscape effects here which Fairthorn shall point out to you.

I fear, Mr. Darrell, said Lionel, looking down, that to-morrow I must leave you.

So soon? Well, I suppose the place must be very dull.

Not thatnot that; but I have offended you, and I would not repeat the offence. I have not the ceremonial necessary to mark me as a gentleman,either here or at home.

So! Bold frankness and ready wit command ceremonials, returned Darrell, and for the first time his lip wore a smile. Let me present to you Mr. Fairthorn, as the door, opening, showed a shambling awkward figure, with loose black knee-breeches and buckled shoes. The figure made a strange sidelong bow; and hurrying in a lateral course, like a crab suddenly alarmed, towards a dim recess protected by a long table, sank behind a curtain fold, and seemed to vanish as a crab does amidst the shingles.

Three minutes yet to dinner, and two before the lettercarrier goes, said the host, glancing at his watch. Mr. Fairthorn, will you write a note for me? There was a mutter from behind the curtain. Darrell walked to the place, and whispered a few words, returned to the hearth, rang the bell. Another letter for the post, Mills: Mr. Fairthorn is sealing it. You are looking at my book-shelves, Lionel. As I understand that your master spoke highly of you, I presume that you are fond of reading.

I think so, but I am not sure, answered Lionel, whom his cousins conciliatory words had restored to ease and good-humour.

You mean, perhaps, that you like reading, if you may choose your own books.

Or rather, if I may choose my own time to read them, and that would not be on bright summer days.

Without sacrificing bright summer days, one finds one has made little progress when the long winter nights come.

Yes, sir. But must the sacrifice be paid in books? I fancy I learned as much in the play-ground as I did n the schoolroom, and for the last few months, in much my own master, reading hard in the forenoon, it is true, for many hours at a stretch, and yet again for a few hours at evening, but rambling also through the streets, or listening to a few friends whom I have contrived to make,I think, if I can boast of any progress at all, the books have the smaller share in it.

You would, then, prefer an active life to a studious one?

Oh, yesyes.

Dinner is served, said the decorous Mr. Mills, throwing open the door.

CHAPTER III

In our happy country every mans house is his castle. But however stoutly he fortify it, Care enters, as surely as she did in Horaces time, through the porticos of a Romans villa. Nor, whether ceilings be fretted with gold and ivory, or whether only coloured with whitewash, does it matter to Care any more than it does to a house-fly. But every tree, be it cedar or blackthorn, can harbour its singing-bird; and few are the homes in which, from nooks least suspected, there starts not a music. Is it quite true that, non avium citharaeque cantus somnum reducent? Would not even Damocles himself have forgotten the sword, if the lute-player had chanced on the notes that lull?

The dinner was simple enough, but well dressed and well served. One footman, in plain livery, assisted Mr. Mills. Darrell ate sparingly, and drank only water, which was placed by his side iced, with a single glass of wine at the close of the repast, which he drank on bending his head to Lionel, with a certain knightly grace, and the prefatory words of Welcome here to a Haughton. Mr. Fairthorn was less abstemious; tasted of every dish, after examining it long through a pair of tortoise-shell spectacles, and drank leisurely through a bottle of port, holding up every glass to the light. Darrell talked with his usual cold but not uncourteous indifference. A remark of Lionel on the portraits in the room turned the conversation chiefly upon pictures, and the host showed himself thoroughly accomplished in the attributes of the various schools and masters. Lionel, who was very fond of the art, and indeed painted well for a youthful amateur, listened with great delight.

Surely, sir, said he, struck much with a very subtile observation upon the causes why the Italian masters admit of copyists with greater facility than the Flemish,surely, sir, you yourself must have practised the art of painting?

Not I; but I instructed myself as a judge of pictures, because at one time I was a collector.

Fairthorn, speaking for the first time: The rarest collection,such Albert Durers! such Holbeins! and that head by Leonardo da Vinci! He stopped; looked extremely frightened; helped himself to the port, turning his back upon his host, to hold, as usual, the glass to the light.

Are they here, sir? asked Lionel.

Darrells face darkened, and he made no answer; but his head sank on his breast, and he seemed suddenly absorbed in gloomy thought. Lionel felt that he had touched a wrong chord, and glanced timidly towards Fairthorn; but that gentleman cautiously held up his finger, and then rapidly put it to his lip, and as rapidly drew it away. After that signal the boy did not dare to break the silence, which now lasted uninterruptedly till Darrell rose, and with the formal and superfluous question, Any more wine? led the way back to the library. There he ensconced himself in an easy-chair, and saying, Will you find a book for yourself, Lionel? took a volume at random from the nearest shelf, and soon seemed absorbed in its contents. The room, made irregular by baywindows, and shelves that projected as in public libraries, abounded with nook and recess. To one of these Fairthorn sidled himself, and became invisible. Lionel looked round the shelves. No belles lettres of our immediate generation were found there; none of those authors most in request in circulating libraries and literary institutes. The shelves disclosed no poets, no essayists, no novelists, more recent than the Johnsonian age. Neither in the lawyers library were to be found any law books; no, nor the pamphlets and parliamentary volumes that should have spoken of the once eager politician. But there were superb copies of the ancient classics. French and Italian authors were not wanting, nor such of the English as have withstood the test of time. The larger portions of the shelves seemed, however, devoted to philosophical works. Here alone was novelty admitted, the newest essays on science, or the best editions of old works thereon. Lionel at length made his choice,a volume of the Faerie Queene. Coffee was served; at a later hour tea. The clock struck ten. Darrell laid down his book.