Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I.

CHAPTER XLI. THE PRIORY IN ITS DESERTION

The old Judge was very sad after Lucy’s departure from the Priory. While she lived there they had not seen much of each other, it is true. They met at meal-times, and now and then Sir William would send up the housekeeper to announce a visit from him; but there is a sense of companionship in the consciousness that under the same roof with you dwells one upon whose affection you can draw, whose sympathy will be with you in your hour of need; and this the old man now felt to be waiting; and he wandered restlessly about the house and the garden, tenacious to see that nothing she liked or loved was threatened with any change, and repeating to all that she must find everything as she left it when she came back again.

Sewell had been recalled to the country by the illness of his child, and they were not expected at the Priory for at least a week or two longer. Haire had gone on circuit, and even Beattie the Judge only saw hurriedly and at long intervals. With Lady Lendrick he had just had a most angry correspondence, ending in one of those estrangements which, had they been nations instead of individuals, would have been marked by the recall of their several envoys, but which they were satisfied to signalize by an order at the Priory gate-lodge not to admit her Ladyship’s carriage, and an equally determined command at Merrion Square for the porter to take in no letters that came from the Chief Baron.

Lest the world should connect this breach with any interest in my story, I may as well declare at once the incident had no possible bearing upon it. It was a little episode entirely self-contained, and consisted in Lady Lendrick having taken advantage of Sir William’s illness and confinement to house to send for and use his carriage-horses, – a liberty which he resented by a most furious letter, to which the rejoinder begot another infinitely more sarcastic, – the correspondence ending by a printed notice which her Ladyship received in an envelope, that the Chief Baron’s horses would be sold on the ensuing Saturday at Dycer’s to the highest bidder, his Lordship having no further use for them.

Let me own that the old Judge was sincerely sorry when this incident was concluded. So long as the contest lasted, while he was penning his epistle or waiting for the reply, his excitement rallied and sustained him. He used to sit after the despatch of one of his cutting letters calculating with himself the terror and consternation it produced, just as the captain of a frigate might have waited with eager expectancy that the smoke might drift away and show him the shattered spars or the yawning bulwarks of his enemy. But when his last missive was returned unopened, and the messenger reported that the doctor’s carriage was at her Ladyship’s door as he came away, the Judge collapsed at once, and all the dreariness of his deserted condition closed in upon him.

Till Sewell returned to-town, Sir William resolved not to proceed farther with respect to the registrarship. His plan, long determined upon, was to induct him into the office, administer the oaths, and leave him to the discharge of the duties. The scandal of displacing an official would, he deemed, be too great a hazard for any government to risk. At all events, if such a conflict came, it would be a great battle, and with the nation for spectators.

“The country shall ring with it,” was the phrase he kept repeating over and over as he strolled through his neglected garden or his leafy shrubberies; but as he plodded along, alone and in silence, the dreary conviction would sometimes shoot across his mind that he had run his race, and that the world had wellnigh forgotten him. “In a few days more,” sighed he out, “it will be over, and I shall be chronicled as the last of them.” And for a moment it would rally him to recall the glorious names with which he claimed companionship, and compare them – with what disparagement! – with the celebrities of the time.

It was strange how bright the lamp of intellect would shine out as the wick was fast sinking in the socket. His memory would revive some stormy scene in the House, some violent altercation at the Bar, and all the fiery eloquence of passion would recur to him, stirring his heart and warming his blood, till he half forgot his years, and stood forth, with head erect and swelling chest, strong with a sense of power and a whole soul full of ambition.

“Beattie would not let me take my Circuit,” would he say. “I wish he saw me to-day. Decaying powers! I would tell them that the Coliseum is grander in its ruin than all their stuccoed plastering in its trim propriety. Had he suffered me to go, the grand jury would have heard a charge such as men’s ears have not listened to since Avonmore! Avon-more! what am I saying? – Yelverton had not half my law, nor a tenth part of my eloquence.”

In his self-exaltation he began to investigate whether he was greater as an advocate or as prosecutor. How difficult to decide! After all, it was in the balance of the powers thus displayed that he was great as a judge. He recalled the opinions of the press when he was raised to the bench, and triumphantly asked aloud, had he not justified every hope and contradicted every fear that was entertained of him? “Has my learning made me intolerant, or my brilliancy led me into impatience? Has the sense of superiority that I possess rendered me less conciliatory? Has my ‘impetuous genius’ – how fond they were of that phrase! – carried me away into boundless indiscretions? and have I, as one critic said, so concentrated the attention of the jury on myself that the evidence went for nothing and the charge was everything?”

It was strange how these bursts of inordinate vanity and self-esteem appeared to rally and invigorate the old man, redressing, as it were, the balance of the world’s injustice – such he felt it – towards him. They were like a miser’s hoard, to be counted and re-counted in secret with that abiding assurance that he had wealth and riches, however others might deem him poor.

It was out of these promptings of self-love that he drew the energetic powers that sustained him, broken and failing and old as he was.

Carried on by his excited thoughts, he strayed away to a little mound, on which, under a large weeping-ash, a small bench was placed, from which a wide view extended over the surrounding country. There was a tradition of a summer-house on the spot in Curran’s day, and it was referred to more than once in the diaries and letters of his friends; and the old Chief loved the place, as sacred to great memories.

He had just toiled up the ascent, and gained the top, when a servant came to present him with a card and a letter, saying that the gentleman who gave them was then at the house. The card bore the name, “Captain Trafford, – th Regiment.” The letter was of a few lines, and ran thus: —

“My dear Sir William, – I had promised my friend and late patient Captain Trafford to take him over to the Priory this morning and present him to you. A sudden call has, however, frustrated the arrangement; and as his time is very brief, I have given him this as a credential to your acquaintance, and I hope you will permit him to stroll through the garden and the shrubberies, which he will accept as a great favor. I especially beg that you will lay no burden on your own strength to become his entertainer: he will be amply gratified by a sight of your belongings, of which he desires to carry the memory beyond seas. – Believe me very sincerely yours,

“J. Beattie.”

“If the gentleman who brought this will do me the favor to come up here, say I shall be happy to see him.”

As the servant went on his message, the old man lay back on his seat, and, closing his eyes, muttered some few dropping words, implying his satisfaction at this act of reverential homage. “A young soldier too; it speaks well for the service when the men of action revere the men of thought. I am glad it is a good day with me; he shall carry away other memories than of woods and streams. Ah! here he comes.”

Slowly, and somewhat feebly, Trafford ascended the hill, and with a most respectful greeting approached the Judge.

“I thank you for your courtesy in coming here, sir,” said the Chief; “and when we have rested a little, I will be your Cicerone back to the house.” The conversation flowed on pleasantly between them, Sir William asking where Traflford had served, and what length of time he had been in Ireland, – his inquiries evidently indicating that he had not heard of him before, or, if he had, had forgotten him.

“And now you are going to Malta?”

“Yes, my Lord; we sail on the 12th.”

“Well, sir, Valetta has no view to rival that. See what a noble sweep the bay takes here, and mark how well the bold headlands define the limits! Look at that stretch of yellow beach, like a golden fillet round the sea; and then mark the rich woods waving in leafy luxuriance to the shore! Those massive shadows are to landscape what times of silent thought are to our moral natures. Do you like your service, sir?”

“Yes, my Lord; there is much in it that I like. I would like it all if it were in ‘activity.’”

“I have much of the soldier in myself, and the qualities by which I have gained any distinction I have won are such as make generals, – quick decision, rapid intelligence, prompt action.”

Traflford bowed to this pretentions summary, but did not speak.

The old Judge went on to describe what he called the military mind, reviewing in turn the generals of note from Hannibal down to Marlborough. “What have they left us by way of legacy, sir? The game, lost or won, teaches us as much! Is not a letter of Cicero, is not an ode of Horace worth it all? And as for battle-fields, it is the painter, not the warrior, has made them celebrated. Wouvermans has done more for war than Turenne!”

“But, my Lord, there must be a large number of men like myself who make very tolerable soldiers, but who would turn out sorry poets or poor advocates.”

“Give me your arm now, and I will take you round by the fish-pond and show you where the ‘Monks of the Screw’ held their first meeting. You have heard of that convivial club?” Trafiford bowed; and the Judge went on to tell of the strange doings of those grave and thoughtful men, who-deemed no absurdity too great in their hours of distraction and levity. When they reached the house, the old man was so fatigued that he had to sit down in the porch to rest. “You have seen all, sir; all I have of memorable. You say you ‘d like to see the garden, but there is not a memory connected with it. See it, however, by all means; saunter about till I have rallied a little, and then join me at my early dinner. I ‘ll send to tell you when it is ready. I am sorry it will be such a lonely meal; but she who could have thrown sunshine over it is gone – gone!” And he held his hands over his face, and said no more. Trafiford moved silently away, and went in search of the garden. He soon found the little wicket, and ere many minutes was deep in the leafy solitude of the neglected spot. At last he came upon the small gate in the laurel hedge, passing through which he entered the little flower-garden. Yes, yes; there was no doubting it! This was hers! Here were the flowers she tended; here the heavy bells from which she emptied the rain-drops; here the tendrils her own hands had trained! Oh, force of love, that makes the very ground holy, and gives to every leaf and bud an abiding value! He threw himself upon the sward and kissed it. There was a little seat under a large ilex – how often had she sat there thinking! – could it be thinking over the days beside the Shannon, – that delicious night they came back from Holy Island, the happiest of all his life? Oh, if he could but believe that she loved him! if he could only know that she did not think of him with anger and resentment! – for she might! Who could tell what might have been said of his life at the Sewells’? He had made a confidante of one who assumed to misunderstand him, and who overwhelmed him with a confession of her own misery, and declared she loved him; and this while he lay in a burning fever, his head racked with pain, and his mind on the verge of wandering. Was there-ever a harder fate than his? That he had forfeited the affection of his family, that he had wrecked his worldly fortunes, seemed little in his eyes to the danger of being thought ill of by her he loved.

His father’s last letter to him had been a command to leave the army and return home, to live there as became the expectant head of the house. “I will have your word of honor to abandon this ignoble passion” – so he called his love; “and in addition, your solemn pledge never to marry an Irishwoman.” These words were, he well knew, supplied by his mother. It had been the incessant burden of her harangues to him during the tedious days of his recovery; and even when, on the morning of this very day, she had been suddenly recalled to England by a severe attack of illness of her husband, her last act before departure was to write a brief note to Lionel, declaring that if he should not follow her within a week, she would no longer conceive herself bound to maintain his interests against those of his more obedient and more affectionate brother.

“Won’t that help my recovery, doctor?” said he, showing the kind and generous epistle to Beattie. “Are not these the sort of tonic stimulants your art envies?”

Beattie shook his head in silence, and after a long pause said, “Well, what was your reply to this?”

“Can you doubt it? Don’t you know it; or don’t you know me?”

“Perhaps I guess.”

“No, but you are certain of it, doctor. The regiment is ordered to Malta, and sails on the 12th. I go with them! Holt is a grand old place, and the estate is a fine one; I wish my brother every luck with both. Will you do me a favor, – a great favor?”

“If in my power, you may be certain I will. What is it?”

“Take me over to the Priory; I want to see it. You can find some pretext to present me to the Chief Baron, and obtain his leave to wander through the grounds.”

“I perceive – I apprehend,” said Beattie, slyly. “There is no difficulty in this. The old Judge cherishes the belief that the spot is little short of sacred; he only wonders why men do not come as pilgrims to visit it. There is a tradition of Addison having lived there, while secretary in Ireland; Curran certainly did; and a greater than either now illustrates the locality.”

It was thus that Trafford came to be there; with what veneration for the haunts of genius let the reader picture to himself!

“His Lordship is waiting dinner, sir,” said a servant, abruptly, as he sat there – thinking, thinking; and he arose and followed the man to the house.

The Chief Baron had spent the interval since they parted in preparing for the evening’s display. To have for his guest a youth so imbued with reverence for Irish genius and ability, was no common event. Young Englishmen and soldiers, too, were not usually of this stuff; and the occasion to make a favorable impression was not to be lost.

When he entered the dinner-room, Trafford was struck by seeing that the table was laid for three, though they were but two; and that on the napkin opposite to where he sat a small bouquet of fresh flowers was placed.

“My granddaughter’s place, sir,” said the old Judge, as he caught his eye. “It is reserved for her return. May it be soon!”

How gentle the old man’s voice sounded as he said this, and how kindly his eyes beamed! Trafford thought there was something actually attractive in his features, and wondered he had not remarked it before.

Perhaps on that day when the old Judge well knew how agreeable he was, what stores of wit and pleasantry he was pouring forth, his convictions assured him that his guest was charmed. It was a very pardonable delusion, – he talked with great brilliancy and vigor. He possessed the gift – which would really seem to be the especial gift of Irishmen of that day – to be a perfect relater. To a story he imparted that slight dash of dramatic situation and dialogue that made it lifelike, and yet never retarded the interest nor prolonged the catastrophe. Acute as was his wit, his taste was fully as conspicuous, never betraying him for an instant, so long as his personal vanity could be kept out of view.

Trafford’s eager and animated attention showed with what pleasure he listened; and the Chief, like all men who love to talk and know they talk well, talked all the better for the success vouchsafed to him. He even arrived at that stage of triumph in which he felt that his guest was no common man, and wondered if England really turned out many young fellows of this stamp, – so well read, so just, so sensible, so keenly alive to nice distinction, and so unerring in matters of taste.

“You were schooled at Rugby, sir, you told me; and Rugby has reason to be proud if she can turn out such young men. I am only sorry Oxford should not have put the fine edge on so keen an intellect.”

Trafford blushed at a compliment he felt to be so unmerited, but the old man saw nothing of his confusion, – he was once again amongst the great scenes and actors of his early memories.

“I hope you will spare me another day before you leave Ireland. Do you think you could give me Saturday?” said the Chief, as his guest arose to take leave.

“I am afraid not, my Lord; we shall be on the march by that day.”

“Old men have no claim to use the future tense, or I should ask you to come and see me when you come back again.”

“Indeed will I. I cannot thank you enough for having asked me.”

“Why are there not more young men of that stamp?” said the old Judge, as he looked after him as he went. “Why are they not more generally cultivated and endowed as he is? It is long since I have found one more congenial to me in every way. I must tell Beattie I like his friend. I regret not to see more of him.”

It was in this strain Sir William ruminated and reflected; pretty much like many of us, who never think our critics so just or so appreciative as when they applaud ourselves.

CHAPTER XLII. NECESSITIES OP STATE

It is, as regards views of life and the world, a somewhat narrowing process to live amongst sympathizers; and it may be assumed as an axiom, that no people so much minister to a man’s littleness as those who pity him.

Now, when Lady Lendrick separated from Sir William, she carried away with her a large following of sympathizers. The Chief Baron was well known; his haughty overbearing temper at the bar, his assuming attitude in public life, his turn for sarcasm and epigram, had all contributed to raise up for him a crowd of enemies; and these, if not individually well disposed to Lady Lendrick, could at least look compassionately on one whose conjugal fate had been so unfortunate. All her shortcomings were lost sight of in presence of his enormities, for the Chief Baron’s temper was an Aaron’s rod of irascibility, which devoured every other; and when the verdict was once passed, that “no woman could live with him,” very few women offered a word in his defence.

It is just possible that if it had not been for this weight in the opposite scale, Lady Lendrick herself would not have stood so high. Sir William’s faults, however, were accounted to her for righteousness, and she traded on a very pretty capital in consequence. Surrounded by a large circle of female friends, she lived in a round of those charitable dissipations by which some people amuse themselves; and just as dull children learn their English history through a game, and acquire their geography through a puzzle, these grown-up children take in their Christianity by means of deaf and dumb bazaars, balls for blind institutions, and private theatricals for an orphan asylum. This devotion, made easy to the lightest disposition, is not, perhaps, a bad theory, – at least, it does not come amiss to an age which likes to attack its gravest ills in a playful spirit, to treat consumption with cough lozenges, and even moderate the excesses of insanity by soft music. There is another good feature, too, in the practice: it furnishes occupation and employment to a large floating class which,’ for the interest and comfort of society, it is far better should be engaged in some pursuit, than left free to the indulgence of censorious tastes and critical habits. Lady Lendrick lived a sort of monarch amongst these. She was the patroness of this, the secretary of that, and the corresponding member of some other society. Never was an active intelligence more actively occupied; but she liked it all, for she liked power, and, strange as it may seem, there is in a small way an exercise of power even in these petty administrations. Loud, bustling, overbearing, and meddlesome, she went everywhere, and did everything. The only sustaining hope of those she interfered with was that she was too capricious to persist in any system of annoyance, and was prone to forget to-day the eternal truths she had propounded for reverence yesterday.