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Tales and Novels, Vol. V by Maria Edgeworth

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Tales and Novels, Vol. V




All this Vivian said to himself to quiet his conscience; and all this,
he knew, would be _abundantly satisfactory_ to the generality of people
with whom he associated; therefore, from them he could fear neither
reproach nor contempt: but he could not bear even to think of
Russell--he felt all the pangs of remorse, and agony of shame, as the
idea of such a friend came into his mind. Again he turned in his bed,
and groaned aloud--so loud, that Lady Sarah wakened, and, starting up,
asked what was the matter; but receiving no answer, she imagined that
she had been in a dream, or that her husband had spoken in his sleep. He
groaned no more, nor did he even sigh: but fatigued with thinking and
with feeling, he at last fell into a sort of slumber, which lasted till
it was time to rise. Before Vivian was dressed, Lord Glistonbury called
upon him--he went into his dressing-room. His lordship came with his
best address, and most courteous face of persuasion; he held out his
hand, in a frank and cordial manner, as he entered, begging his dear
son's pardon for the warmth and want of temper, he was free to confess,
he had shown last night; but he was persuaded, he said, that Vivian knew
his sincere regard for him, and convinced that, in short, they should
never _essentially_ differ: so that he was determined to come to talk
the matter over with him when they were both cool; and that he felt
assured that Vivian, after a night's reflection, would always act so as
to justify his preference of his son-in-law to his nephew, hey,
Vivian?--Lord Glistonbury paused for an answer--Vivian cut himself as he
was shaving, and was glad of a moment's reprieve; instead of answering,
he only exclaimed, "Cursed razor! cut myself!--My lord, won't you sit
down? will you do me the honour to--"

Lord Glistonbury seated himself; and, in regular order, with his
tiresome parade of expletives, went through all the arguments that could
be adduced to prove the expediency of Vivian's taking this place, and
assisting him, as he had taken it for granted his son-in-law would, on
such an occasion. The letters of the great and little men who had
negotiated the business of the marquisate were then produced, and an
account given of all that had passed _in confidence_; and Lord
Glistonbury finished by saying that the affair was absolutely concluded,
he having passed his word and pledged his honour for Vivian; that he
would not have spoken or acted for him if he had not felt that he was,
when acting for his son-in-law, in fact acting for himself--his second
self; that there had been no time to wait, no possibility of consulting
Vivian; that the whole plan was suggested yesterday, in two hours after
the house broke up, and was arranged in the evening; that search and
inquiries had been made every where for Vivian; but, as he could not be
found, Lord Glistonbury said he had ventured to decide for him, and, as
he hoped, for his interest and for that of the family; and the thing,
now done, could not be undone: his lordship's word was sacred, and could
not be retracted.

Vivian, in a feeble, irresolute tone, asked if there was no possibility
of his being allowed to decline the place that was offered him, and
suggested that he could take a middle course; to avoid voting against
his lordship's wishes, he could, and he believed that he would, accept
of the Chiltern Hundreds, and go out of parliament for the session.

Lord Glistonbury remonstrated against what he termed the madness of
the scheme.

"A man like you, my dear Vivian, who have distinguished yourself so much
already in opposition, who will distinguish yourself so much more
hereafter in place and in power----"

"No," said Vivian, rising as he finished shaving himself; "no, my lord,
I shall never more distinguish myself, if I abandon the principles I
believe to be just and true. What eloquence I have--if I have any--has
arisen from my being in earnest: I shall speak ill--I shall not be able
to speak at all--when I get up against my conscience."

"Oh!" said Lord Glistonbury, laughing, "your romantic patriotism may be
very nice in its feelings; but, believe me, it will not deprive you of
the use of your speech. Look at every one of the fine orators of our
times, and name me one, if you can, who has not spoken, and spoken
equally well, on both sides of the house; ay, and on both sides of most
political questions. Come, come, you'll find you will get on quite as
well as they got on before you, hey?"

"You will find that I shall he of no use to you--that I shall be a dead
weight on your hands."

"You a dead weight! you, who are formed to be--now, really, without
flattery--you know there's no occasion for flattery between you and
me--to be the soul, and, in time, the head of a party----Stay!--I know
all you are going to say, but give me leave to judge--You know there's
my own nephew, a very clever young man, no doubt, he is allowed to be;
and yet, you see, I make no comparison between you. I assure you I am a
judge in these matters, and you see the house has confirmed my judgment;
and, what is more--for I can keep nothing from you--if it won't make you
too vain, and make you set too high a price upon yourself, which will be
very troublesome in the present case; but, I say, be that as it may, I
will frankly own to you, that I believe you have been of essential
service in procuring me this great favourite object of my life, the
marquisate."

"I, my lord! impossible!--for I never took the slightest step toward
procuring it."

"Pardon me, you took the most effectual step, without knowing it,
perhaps. You spoke so well in opposition, that you made it the interest
of ministry to _muzzle you_; and there was no way so effectual of
getting at you as through me, I being your father-in-law and you my
heir. You don't see the secret concatenation of these things with a
glance as I do, who have been used to them so long. And there was no way
of coming to the point with me without the marquisate--that was my _sine
qua non_; and you see I gained my point--by your means, chiefly, I am
free to allow--though Marmaduke would gladly persuade me it was by his
negotiating. But I do you justice; I did you justice, too, in more than
words, when I stipulated for that place for you, which, in fact, I knew
you could not go on much longer without. So, my dear Vivian, all this
explained to our mutual satisfaction, we have nothing more to do but to
shake hands upon it and go down stairs; for I have engaged myself and
Secretary----to breakfast with you, and he has _full powers_, and is
to carry back our _capitulation_--and," continued Lord Glistonbury,
looking out of the window, "here's our friend's carriage."

"Oh, my lord, it is not yet too late!" cried Vivian; "it may yet be
arranged otherwise. Is there no way--no possibility----"

A loud knock at the house door.

"I wish to Heaven, my lord!----"

"So do I wish to Heaven, with all my soul, that you would finish this
nonsense, my dear Vivian, and come down to breakfast. Come, come,
come!--Hey, hey, hey!--This is absolutely too ridiculous, and I must go,
if you don't. Only consider a political breakfast of this nature!"

Lord Glistonbury hurried down stairs:--reluctantly, and with a heavy
heart and repugnant conscience, Vivian followed. At this instant, he
wished for Russell, to prevent what he knew would be the consequence of
this interview. But Russell was absent--the keeper of his conscience,
the supporter of his resolution, was not at hand. Woe to him who is not
the keeper of his own conscience--the supporter of his own resolution!
The result of this political breakfast was just what every reader, who
knows the world but half as well as Lord Glistonbury knew it, has
probably long since anticipated. The capitulation of the patriots of the
Glistonbury band, with Vivian at their head, was settled. Lord
Glistonbury lost no character by this transaction, for he had none to
lose--he was quite at his ease, or quite callous. But Vivian bartered,
for a paltry _accommodation_ of his pecuniary difficulties, a reputation
which stood high in the public opinion--which was invaluable in his
own--which was his last stake of happiness. He knew this--he felt it
with all the anguish of exquisite but USELESS sensibility.

Lord Glistonbury and his new friend, Secretary ----, who was a man of
wit as well as a politician, rallied Vivian upon his gravity and upon
his evident depression of spirits.

"Really, my dear Vivian," cried Lord Glistonbury, "my patience is now
exhausted, and I must not let you expose yourself here, before our
friend, as a novice--Hey! hey!--Why, will you never open your eyes, and
see the world as it is! Why! what!--Did you never read the fable of the
dog and his master's meat?--Well! it is come to that now in England; and
he is a foolish dog, indeed, who, when he can't save the meat, won't
secure his share--hey?"

His lordship and the secretary laughed in concert.

"Look, how Vivian preserves his solemnity!" continued Lord Glistonbury;
"and he really looks as if he was surprised at us. My dear Vivian, it
requires all my knowledge of your _bonne foi_ to believe that you are in
earnest, and not acting the part of a patriot of _older_ times."

"Oh!" cried the secretary, with a facetious air, "Mr. Vivian assuredly
knows, as well as we do, that--

'A patriot is a fool in ev'ry age,
Whom all lord chamberlains allow the stage.'

But off the stage we lay aside heroics, or how should we ever get
on?--Did you hear, my lord," continued the secretary, turning to Lord
Glistonbury, "that there is another blue riband fallen in to us by the
death of Lord G----?"

"I had a great regard for poor Lord G----. Many applications, I suppose,
for the vacant riband?"

From the vacant riband they went on to talk over this man's pension and
the other man's job; and considered who was to get such and such a place
when such and such a person should resign or succeed to something
better. Then all the miserable mysteries of ministerial craft were
unveiled to Vivian's eyes. He had read, he had heard, he had believed,
that public affairs were conducted in this manner; but he had never,
till now, actually seen it: he was really novice enough still to feel
surprise at finding that, after all the fine professions made on all
sides, the main, the only object of these politicians, was to keep their
own, or to get into the places of others. Vivian felt every moment his
disgust and his melancholy increase. "And it is with these people I have
consented to act! And am I to be hurried along by this stream of
corruption to infamy and oblivion! Then Russell--"

Vivian resolved to retract the engagement he had just made with Lord
Glistonbury and the secretary, and he waited only for a pause in their
conversation to explain himself. But, before any pause occurred, more
company came in,--the secretary hurried away, saying to Vivian, who
would have stopped him at the door, "Oh, my dear sir, every thing is
settled now, and you must be with us in the house to-night--and you will
find the whole business will go on as smoothly as possible, if gentlemen
will but act together, and strengthen the hands of government. I beg
pardon for breaking away--but so many people are waiting for me--and any
thing further we can settle when we meet in the house."

Lord Glistonbury also refused to listen to farther explanations--said
that all was settled, and that it was impossible to make any
recantations.




CHAPTER XV.


The hour of going to the House of Commons at length arrived; Lord
Glistonbury saw that Vivian was so much out of spirits, and in such
confusion of mind, that he began to fear that our hero's own account of
himself was just, and that he would not be able to command ideas, or
even words, when he was to speak in opposition to what he called his
principles and his conscience. "This son of mine, instead of being our
great Apollo, will be a dead weight on our hands, unless we can contrive
to raise his spirits."

So, to raise his spirits, Lord Glistonbury accompanied him to the
coffee-room of the house, and insisted upon his taking some refreshment
before he should attempt to speak. His lordship _fortified_ him with
bumper after bumper, till at last Vivian came up to the speaking point.
He took his seat in his new place in the house, and, endeavouring to
brave away the sense of shame, rose to speak. Notwithstanding the
assistance of the wine, and the example of Mr. Marmaduke Lidhurst, who
spoke before him with undaunted assurance, Vivian could scarcely get on
with a hesitating, confused, inconsistent speech, uttered in so low and
indistinct a voice, that the reporters in the gallery complained that
they could not catch this honourable member's meaning, or that his words
did not reach them. Conscious of his failure, and still more conscious
of its cause, he retired again to the coffee-room as soon as he had
finished speaking, and again Lord Glistonbury plied him with wine,
saying that he would find he would _do very well in reply_ presently. It
happened that Lord Glistonbury was called away--Vivian remained. Mr.
Wharton, with a party of his friends, entered the coffee-room. Wharton
seemed much heated both with wine and anger--he was talking eagerly to
the gentlemen with him, and he pronounced the words, "Infamous
conduct!--Shabby!--Paltry fellow!" so loud, that all the coffee-room
turned to listen. Colonel S----, a gentleman who was one of Wharton's
party, but who had a good opinion of Vivian, at this moment took him by
the arm, and, drawing him aside, whispered, in confidence, that he was
persuaded there had been some _mistake_ in the arrangements, which, as
it was reported, Lord Glistonbury had just made with the ministry, for
that Mr. Wharton and many of his lordship's former party, complained of
having been shamefully deserted. "And to break our word and honour to
our party, is a thing no gentleman _can_ do. Wharton had a direct
promise from his lordship, that he never would _come in_ till he should
_come in_ along with him. And now it is confidently said, that Lord
Glistonbury has made his bargain for his own marquisate, and provided
only for himself, his nephew, and his son-in-law."

Thrown into the utmost consternation by the idea of this double
forfeiture of honour, this breach both of public and private faith,
Vivian, after thanking Colonel S---- for his friendly manner of
communicating this information, and declaring that the transaction was
totally unknown to him, begged that the colonel would do him the favour
and the justice to be present when he should require an explanation from
Lord Glistonbury. To this Colonel S---- consented, and they hastened in
search of his lordship: his lordship was not to be found; but Mr.
Marmaduke Lidhurst was, however, in the coffee-room, and upon Vivian's
referring to him, he could not deny the truth of the charge, though he
used all his powers of circumlocution to evade giving a direct answer.
The shame, the indignation, that rapidly succeeded to each other in
Vivian's countenance, sufficiently convinced Colonel S---- that he had
no share in the _private_ part of this disgraceful transaction; and he
very handsomely assured Vivian, that he would set the matter in its true
point of view with his friends. Marmaduke soon found a pretence to
withdraw--some member was speaking in the house, whom he must hear, he
said, and away he went.

At this moment Mr. Wharton, who was walking down the room with his
friends, passed by Vivian, and, as he passed, said,

"That _private vices are public benefits_, we all know; but that public
vices are private benefits, some of us, alas! have yet to learn. But I'd
have that little, whiffling, _most noble and puissant prince_ expectant,
his majesty's _right trusty and entirely beloved cousin_ elect, know,
that plain Bob Wharton is not a man to be duped and deserted with
impunity."

"Whom does he mean?--What does he mean?" whispered some of the
bystanders. "What prince is he talking of?--Which of the princes?"

"Oh! none of the princes," replied another. "You know _most noble and
puissant prince_ is the title of a marquis, and _our right trusty and
entirely beloved cousin_, the style in which the king writes to him."

"But who is this marquis expectant?"

"Don't you know?--Lord Glistonbury."

"But some of his lordship's friends ought to take it up, surely."

"Hush!--his son-in-law will hear you."

"Where?"

"There--don't look!"

Vivian was, with reason, so much exasperated by the treacherous
duplicity of Lord Glistonbury's conduct, that he was ill inclined to
undertake his lordship's defence, and determined to leave it to himself,
or to his nephew; yet the whispers operated not a little upon his
weakness. Wharton, who was walking with his set up and down the room,
again came within Vivian's hearing, and, as he passed, exclaimed,
"_Public vice!_ and _public virtue!_ precious, well-matched pair!"

"Who is _public vice_, and who is _public virtue_?" said one of
Wharton's companions.

"Don't you know?" replied Wharton: "the heir-at-law and the son-in-law."

On hearing this speech, Vivian, who knew that he was one of the persons
to whom it alluded, started forward to demand an explanation from
Wharton: but Colonel S---- held him back. "You are not called upon, by
any means, to take notice of this," said the colonel: "Wharton did not
address himself to you, and though he might mean what he said for you,
yet he speaks under a false impression; and besides, he is not quite
sober. Leave it to me, and I will settle it all to your satisfaction
before to-morrow." Vivian listened unwillingly and uneasily to the
friendly counsel: he was more hurt than he had ever before felt himself
by any of Wharton's sarcasms, because there was now in them a mixture of
truth; and a man seldom feels more irritable than when he is conscious
that he is partly to blame, and apprehensive that others will think him
more blameable than he really is. His irritability was increased by the
whispers he had heard, and the looks he now perceived among the
bystanders: the voice, the opinion of numbers, the fear of what others
would think or say, operated against his better judgment.

"Come," said Colonel S----, "let us go and see what they are doing in
the house."

Vivian refused to stir, saying that it would be leaving the field to
Wharton. Wharton at this instant repassed; and still running the
changes, with half-intoxicated wit, upon the same ideas, reiterated,
"_Public vice!_--We all knew where _that_ would end in these days--in
public honours; but none of you would believe me, when I told you where
_public virtue_ would end--in private treachery!"

"That's neat!--that's strong!--faith, that's home!" whispered some one.

"Mr. Wharton!" cried Vivian, going up to him, "I could not help hearing
what you said just now--did you intend it for me?"

"You heard it, it seems, sir, and that is sufficient," replied Wharton,
in an insolent tone: "as to what I meant, I presume it is pretty
evident; but, if you think it requires any explanation, I am as ready to
give as you can be to ask it."

"The sooner the better, then, sir," said Vivian. The two gentlemen
walked away together, whilst the spectators exclaimed, "Very spirited
indeed!--very right!--very proper!--Vivian could do no less than call
him out. But, after all, what was the quarrel about? Which of them was
to blame?"

Long before these points were settled, the challenge was given and
accepted. Colonel S----, who followed Vivian and Wharton, endeavoured to
set things to rights, by explaining that Vivian had been deceived by
Lord Glistonbury, and kept totally in the dark respecting the
negotiation for the marquisate. But Wharton, aware that by _taking up
the matter immediately in such a spirited way_ he should do himself
infinite honour with his party, and with that majority of the world who
think that the greatest merit of a man is to stand to be shot at, was
not at all willing to listen to these representations. Colonel S----
declared that, were he in Mr. Wharton's place, he should, without
hesitation, make an apology to Mr. Vivian, and publicly acknowledge that
what he said in the coffee-room was spoken under a false impression,
which a plain statement of facts had totally removed: but Wharton
disdained all terms of accommodation; his policy, pride, and desire of
revenge, all conspired to produce that air of insolent determination to
fight, which, with some people, would obtain the glorious name of
COURAGE. By this sort of courage can men of the most base and profligate
characters often put themselves in a moment upon an equal footing with
men of principle and virtue!

It was settled that Mr. Wharton and Vivian should meet, at eight
o'clock the next morning, in a field near town. Colonel S---- consented
to be Vivian's second. Russell was not yet returned--not expected till
ten the next day.

Left to his cool reflection, Vivian thought with horror of the misery
into which the event of this duel might involve all with whom he was
connected, and all who were attached to him. The affair was of course
to be kept a secret from all at Glistonbury House, where Vivian was
engaged to dine with a large ministerial party. He went home to dress,
hoping to have a quarter of an hour to himself; but, on entering his
own dressing-room, he, to his surprise and mortification, found his
wife seated there, waiting for him with a face of anxious expectation;
a case of newly-set diamonds on a table beside her. "I thought you were
at your father's, my dear: are you not to be at Glistonbury House
to-day?" said Vivian.

"No," replied Lady Sarah. "Surely, Mr. Vivian, you know that my father
gives a political dinner, and I suppose you are to be there?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Vivian; "I did not know what I was saying--I am to
be there, and must dress (looking at his watch), for I have no time
to spare."

"Be that as it may, I must intrude upon your time for a few minutes,"
said Lady Sarah.

Vivian stood impatiently attentive, whilst Lady Sarah seemed to find it
difficult to begin some speech which she had prepared.

"Women, I know, have nothing to do with politics," she began in a
constrained voice; but, suddenly quitting her air and tone of
constraint, she started up and exclaimed, "Oh, my dear, _dear_ husband!
what have you done?--No, no, I cannot, will not believe it, till I hear
it from your OWN lips!"

"What is the matter, my dear Lady Sarah?--You astonish and almost alarm
me!" said Vivian, endeavouring to preserve composure of countenance.

"I will not--Heaven forbid that I should alarm you as I have been
alarmed!" said Lady Sarah, commanding her voice again to a tone of
tranquillity. "I ought, and, if I were not weak, should be convinced
that there is no reason for alarm. There has been some mistake, no
doubt; and I have been to blame for listening to idle reports. Let me,
however, state the facts. Half an hour ago, I was at Gray's the
jeweller's, to call for my poor mother's diamonds, which, you know, he
has reset----"

"Yes--Well!"

"And whilst I was in the shop, a party of gentlemen came in, all of them
unknown to me, and, of course, I was equally unknown to them; for they
began to speak of you in a manner in which none knowing me could venture
in my presence. They said--I cannot bear to repeat or to think of what
they said--you cannot have bartered your public reputation for a
marquisate for my father!--You cannot have done that which is
dishonourable--you cannot have deserted your party for a paltry place
for yourself!--You turn pale.--I wish, if it pleased God, that I was
this moment in my grave!"

"Heaven forbid, my dear Lady Sarah!" cried Vivian, forcing a smile, and
endeavouring to speak in a tone of raillery. "Why should you wish to be
in your grave, because your husband has just got a good warm place?
Live! live!" said he, raising her powerless hand; "for consider--as I
did--and this consideration was of no small weight with me--consider, my
dear Sarah, how much better you will live for it!"

"And you did consider me? And that _did_ weigh with you?"

"--Oh, this is what I dreaded most!" cried Lady Sarah.--"When will you
know my real character? When will you have confidence in your wife, sir?
When will you know the power, the unconquered, unconquerable power of
her affection for you?"

Vivian, much struck by the strength of her expression as she uttered
these words, was a moment silent in astonishment; and then could only,
in an incoherent manner, protest, that he did know--that he had always
done justice to her character--that he believed in her affection--and
had the greatest confidence in its power.

"No, sir, no!--Do not say that which I cannot credit!--You have not
confidence in the power of my affection, or you would never have done
this thing to save me pain. What pain can be so great to me as the
thought of my husband's reputation suffering abasement?--Do you think
that, in comparison with this, I, your wife, could put the loss of a
service of plate, or house in town, or equipage, or servants, or such
baubles as these?" added she, her eyes glancing upon the diamonds;
then, snatching them up, "Take them, take them!" cried she; "they were
my mother's; and if her spirit could look down from heaven upon us she
would approve my offer--she would command your acceptance. Then here
on my knees I conjure you, my beloved husband, take them--sell
them--sell plate, furniture, house, equipage, sell every thing rather
than your honour!"

John Crace digests High Fidelity by Nick Hornby
Review: The Thin Blue Line: How Humanitarianism Went to War by Conor FoleyAid worker Foley conducts a fascinating and important analysis of recent wars and disasters around the world, says Steven Poole

Review: Under Two Dictators: Prisoner of Stalin and Hitler by Margarete Buber-Neumann

He might be almost 90 years old in real terms, but Christopher Robin and his bear of very little brain are set to make a literary comeback after the estate of AA Milne agreed to authorise the first-ever official sequel to the much-loved children's books.

Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by author David Benedictus picks up from the poignant ending of Milne's last Pooh book, The House at Pooh Corner, in which Christopher Robin is growing up and heading away to school. "Pooh, promise you won't forget about me, ever. Not even when I'm a hundred," he tells the bear, and they leave together.

The estates of Milne and EH Shepard, who provided the simple but enduring illustrations for the books, said they had been searching for a sequel that would do justice to the original stories for "a good many years".

Although Disney has franchised the characters in a number of films, there has not previously been an authorised literary sequel to Milne's books, Winnie-the-Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner, first published in 1926 and 1928. Milne wrote the books for his son Christopher Robin, naming Pooh after his teddy bear.

The sequel, to be published by Egmont Publishing in Britain and Penguin imprint Dutton Children's Books in the US, is due out on 5 October, illustrated by Mark Burgess. Benedictus, who is familiar with the world of Winnie the Pooh after adapting and producing audio versions of the books starring Judi Dench, Stephen Fry and Jane Horrocks, did not reveal any more details, but promised that the book would both "complement and maintain Milne's idea that whatever happens, a little boy and his bear will always be playing".

Michael Brown, chairman of Pooh Properties, which manages the affairs of the Milne and Shepard estates, said the sequel would capture "the spirit and quality" of the original books.

Benedictus said all Milne's well-loved characters, from Tigger to Eeyore, would be making an appearance in his sequel, which features 10 stories and around 150 illustrations. The stories retain their original 1920s setting.

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Review: The Error World: An Affair with Stamps by Simon Garfield

One might say that Margarete Buber-Neumann had a charmed life, had it not been so horrible. She was fortunate - if that is the word - to be sent to a Soviet labour camp in 1939, during a momentary lull in the mass shooting of prisoners. Handed over to the Nazis in 1940, she was similarly lucky to be released from an SS concentration camp in 1945, just days before the remaining prisoners were forced on evacuation marches ending in death. It is a measure of the dismal times she lived through that such events marked her as fortunate, and it is a testament to her skill as a writer that this thoughtful, humane memoir (published in English in 1949) became an international bestseller. From the very first page we are with her, scurrying through Moscow surrounded by images of Stalin. We accompany her throughout the gruelling years ahead, encountering a host of characters, good and bad, and share in her dogged attempt to make sense of the madness of totalitarianism. This revised text is the definitive edition.

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