Godolphin, Complete - Бульвер-Литтон Эдвард Джордж 4 стр.

Why, I think that might be the best, and certainly it would be the pleasantest mode of passing my life. But

But what?

Why, I can scarcely quarter myself on your courtesy; I should soon grow discontented. So I shall write to my father, whom I, kindly and considerately, by the way, informed of my safety the very first day of my arrival at B. I told him to direct his letters to your house; but I regret to find that the handbill which so frightened me from my propriety is the only notice he has deigned to take of my whereabout. I shall write to him therefore again, begging him to let me enter the army. It is not a profession I much fancy; but what then! I shall be my own master.

Very well said! answered Saville; and here I hope I can serve you. If your father will pay the lawful sum for a commission in the Guards, why, I think I have interest to get you in for that sum aloneno trifling favour.

Godolphin was enchanted at this proposal, and instantly wrote to his father, urging it strongly upon him; Saville, in a separate epistle, seconded the motion. You see, wrote the latter, you see, my dear sir, that your son is a wild, resolute scapegrace. You can do nothing with him by schools and coercion: put him to discipline in the kings service, and condemn him to live on his pay. It is a cheap mode, after all, of providing for a reprobate; and as he will have the good fortune to enter the army at so early an age, by the time he is thirty, he may be a colonel on full pay. Seriously, this is the best thing you can do with him,unless you have a living in your family.

The old gentleman was much discomposed by these letters, and by his sons previous elopement. He could not, however, but foresee, that if he resisted the boys wishes, he was likely to have a troublesome time of it. Scrape after scrape, difficulty following difficulty, might ensue, all costing both anxiety and money. The present offer furnished him with a fair excuse for ridding himself, for a long time to come, of further provision for his offspring; and now growing daily more and more attached to the indolent routine of solitary economies in which he moved, he was glad of an opportunity to deliver himself from future interruption, and surrender his whole soul to his favourite occupation.

At length, after a fortnights delay and meditation, he wrote shortly to Saville and his son; saying, after much reproach to the latter, that if the commission could really be purchased at the sum specified he was willing to make a sacrifice, for which he must pinch himself, and conclude the business. This touched the son, but Saville laughed him out of the twinge of good feeling; and very shortly afterwards, Percy Godolphin was gazetted as a cornet in the Life-Guards.

The life of a soldier, in peace, is indolent enough, Heaven knows! Percy liked the new uniforms and the new horsesall of which were bought on credit. He liked his new companions; he liked balls; he liked flirting; he did not dislike Hyde Park from four oclock till six; and he was not very much bored by drills and parade. It was much to his credit in the world that he was the protege of a man who had so great a character for profligacy and gambling as Augustus Saville; and under such auspices he found himself launched at once into the full tide of good society.

Young, romantic, high-spiritedwith the classic features of an Antinous, and a very pretty knack of complimenting and writing versesPercy Godolphin soon became, while yet more fit in years for the nursery than the world, the curled darling of that wide class of high-born women who have nothing to do but to hear love made to them, and who, all artifice themselves, think the love sweetest which springs from the most natural source. They like boyhood when it is not bashful; and from sixteen to twenty, a Juan need scarcely go to Seville to find a Julia.

But love was not the worst danger that menaced the intoxicated boy. Saville, the most seductive of tutorsSaville who, in his wit; his bon ton, his control over the great world, seemed as a god to all less elevated and less aspiring,Saville was Godolphins constant companion; and Saville was worse than a profligatehe was a gambler! One would think that gaming was the last vice that could fascinate the young: its avarice, its grasping, its hideous selfishness, its cold, calculating meanness, would, one might imagine, scare away all who have yet other and softer deities to worship. But, in fact, the fault of youth is that it can rarely resist whatever is the Mode. Gaming, in all countries, is the vice of an aristocracy. The young find it already established in the best circles; they are enticed by the habit of others, and ruined when the habit becomes their own.

You look feverish, Percy, said Saville, as he met his pupil in the Park. I dont wonder at it; you lost infernally last night.

More than I can pay, replied Percy, with a quivering lip.

No! you shall pay it to-morrow, for you shall go shares with me to-night. Observe, continued Saville, lowering his voice, I never lose.

How never?

Never, unless by design. I play at no game where chance only presides. Whist is my favourite game: it is not popular: I am sorry for it. I take up with other games,I am forced to do it; but, even at rouge et noir, I carry about with me the rules of whist. I calculateI remember.

But hazard?

I never play at that, said Saville, solemnly. It is the devils game; it defies skill. Forsake hazard, and let me teach you ecarte; it is coming into fashion.

Saville took great pains with Godolphin; and Godolphin, who was by nature of a contemplative, not hasty mood, was no superficial disciple. As his biographer, I grieve to confess, that he became, though a punctiliously honest, a wise and fortunate gamester; and thus he eked out betimes the slender profits of a subalterns pay.

This was the first great deterioration in Percys minda mind which ought to have made him a very different being from what he became, but which no vice, no evil example, could ever entirely pervert.

CHAPTER VII

Saville was deemed the consummate man of the worldwise and heartless. How came he to take such gratuitous pains with the boy Godolphin? In the first place, Saville had no legitimate children; Godolphin was his relation; in the second place it may be observed that hackneyed and sated men of the world are fond of the young, in whom they recognise somethinga better something belonging to themselves. In Godolphins gentleness and courage, Saville thought he saw the mirror of his own crusted urbanity and scheming perseverance; in Godolphins fine imagination and subtle intellect he beheld his own cunning and hypocrisy. The boys popularity flattered him; the boys conversation amused. No man is so heartless but that he is capable of strong likings, when they do not put him much out of his way; it was this sort of liking that Saville had for Godolphin. Besides, there was yet another reason for attachment, which might at first seem too delicate to actuate the refined voluptuary; but examined closely, the delicacy vanished. Saville had loved, at least had offered his hand toGodolphins mother (she was supposed an heiress!) He thought he had just missed being Godolphins father: his vanity made him like to show the boy what a much better father he would have been than the one that Providence had given him. His resentment, too, against the accepted suitor, made him love to exercise a little spiteful revenge against Godolphins father; he was glad to show that the son preferred where the mother rejected. All these motives combined made Saville take, as it were, to the young Percy; and being rich, and habitually profuse, though prudent, and a shrewd speculator withal, the pecuniary part of his kindness cost him no pain. But Godolphin, who was not ostentatious, did not trust himself largely to the capricious fount of the worldlings generosity. Fortune smiled on her boyish votary; and during the short time he was obliged to cultivate her favours, showered on him at least a sufficiency for support, or even for display.

Crowded with fine people, and blazing with light, were the rooms of the Countess of B, as, flushed from a late dinner at Savilles, young Godolphin made his appearance in the scene. He was not of those numerous gentlemen, the stock-flowers of the parterre, who stick themselves up against walls in the panoply of neckclothed silence. He came not to balls from the vulgar motive of being seen there in the most conspicuous situationa motive so apparent among the stiff exquisites of England. He came to amuse himself; and if he found no one capable of amusing him, he saw no necessity in staying. He was always seen, therefore, conversing or dancing, or listening to musicor he was not seen at all.

In exchanging a few words with a Colonel D, a noted roue and gamester, he observed, gazing on him very intentlyand as Percy thought, very rudelyan old gentleman in a dress of the last century. Turn where he would, Godolphin could not rid himself of the gaze; so at length he met it with a look of equal scrutiny and courage. The old gentleman slowly approached. Percy Godolphin, I think? said he.

That is my name, sir, replied Percy. Yours

No matter! Yet stay! you shall know it. I am Henry Johnstoneold Harry Johnstone. You have heard of him?your fathers first cousin. Well, I grieve, young sir, to find that you associate with that rascal SavilleNay, never interrupt me sir!I grieve to find that you, thus young, thus unguarded, are left to be ruined in heart and corrupted in nature by any one who will take the trouble! Yet I like your countenance!I like your countenance!it is open, yet thoughtful; frank, and yet it has something of melancholy. You have not Charless coloured hair; but you are much youngermuch. I am glad I have seen you; I came here on purpose; good-night!and without waiting for an answer, the old man disappeared.

Godolphin, recovering from his surprise, recollected that he had often heard his father speak of a rich and eccentric relation named Johnstone. This singular interview made a strong but momentary impression on him. He intended to seek out the old mans residence; but one thing or another drove away the fulfilment of the intention, and in this world the relations never met again.

Percy, now musingly gliding through the crowd, sank into a seat beside a lady of forty-five, who sometimes amused herself in making love to himbecause there could be no harm in such a mere boy!and presently afterwards, a Lord George Somebody, sauntering up, asked the lady if he had not seen her at the play on the previous night.

O, yes! we went to see the new actress. How pretty she is!so unaffected too;how well she sings!

Pretty weller! replied Lord George, passing his hand through his hair. Very nice girler!good ankles. Devilish hoter, is it noterer? What a bore this is: eh! Ah! Godolphin! dont forget Wattierser! and his lordship erd himself off.

What actress is this?

Oh, a very good one indeed!came out in The Belles Stratagem. We are going to see her to-morrow; will you dine with us early, and be our cavalier?

Nothing will please me more! Your ladyship has dropped your handkerchief.

Thank you! said the lady, bending till her hair touched Godolphins cheek, and gently pressing the hand that was extended to her. It was a wonder that Godolphin never became a coxcomb.

He dined at Wattiers the next day according to appointment: he went to the play; and at the moment his eye first turned to the stage, a universal burst of applause indicated the entrance of the new actressFanny Millinger!

CHAPTER VIII

Now this event produced a great influence over Godolphins habitsand I suppose, therefore, I may add, over his character. He renewed his acquaintance with the lively actress.

What a change! cried both.

The strolling player risen into celebrity!

And the runaway boy polished into fashion!

You are handsomer than ever, Fanny.

I return the compliment, replied Fanny; with a curtsey.

And now Godolphin became a constant attendant at the theatre. This led him into a mode of life quite different from that which he had lately cultivated.

There are in London two sets of idle men: one set, the butterflies of balls; the loungers of the regular walks of society; diners out; the old familiar faces, seen everywhere, known to every one: the other set, a more wild, irregular, careless race; who go little into parties, and vote balls a nuisance; who live in clubs; frequent theatres; drive about late o nights in mysterious-looking vehicles and enjoy a vast acquaintance among the Aspasias of pleasure. These are the men who are the critics of theatricals: black-neckclothed and well-booted, they sit in their boxes and decide on the ankles of a dancer or the voice of a singer. They have a smattering of literature, and use a great deal of French in their conversation: they have something of romance in their composition, and have been known to marry for love. In short, there is in their whole nature, a more roving, liberal, Continental character of dissipation, than belongs to the cold, tame, dull, prim, hedge-clipped indolence of more national exquisitism. Into this set, out of the other set, fell young Godolphin; and oh! the merry mornings at actresses houses; the jovial suppers after the play; the buoyancy, the brilliancy, the esprit, with which the hours, from midnight to cockcrow, were often pelted with rose-leaves and drowned in Rhenish.

By degrees, however, as Godolphin warmed into his attendance at the playhouses, the fine intellectual something that lay yet undestroyed at his heart stirred up emotions which he felt his more vulgar associates were unfitted to share.

There is that in theatrical representation which perpetually awakens whatever romance belongs to our character. The magic lights; the pomp of scene; the palace, the camp; the forest; the midnight wold; the moonlight reflected on the water; the melody of the tragic rhythm; the grace of the comic wit; the strange art that give such meaning to the poets lightest word;the fair, false, exciting life that is detailed before uscrowding into some three little hours all that our most busy ambition could desirelove, enterprise, war, glory! the kindling exaggeration of the sentiments which belong to the stagelike our own in our boldest moments: all these appeals to our finer senses are not made in vain. Our taste for castle-building and visions deepens upon us; and we chew a mental opium which stagnates all the other faculties, but wakens that of the ideal.

Godolphin was peculiarly fascinated by the stage; he loved to steal away from his companions, and, alone, and unheeded, to feast his mind on the unreal stream of existence that mirrored images so beautiful. And oh! while yet we are youngwhile yet the dew lingers on the green leaf of springwhile all the brighter, the more enterprising part of the future is to comewhile we know not whether the true life may not be visionary and excited as the falsehow deep and rich a transport is it to see, to feel, to hear Shakspeares conceptions made actual, though all imperfectly, and only for an hour! Sweet Arden! are we in thy forest?thy shadowy groves and unfrequented glens? Rosalind, Jaques, Orlando, have you indeed a being upon earth! Ah! this is true enchantment! and when we turn back to life, we turn from the colours which the Claude glass breathes over a winters landscape to the nakedness of the landscape itself!