Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I.

I am not sure that she conciliated – I am not sure that she would have cared for – much personal attachment; but she had what certainly she did like, a large following of very devoted supporters. All her little social triumphs – and occasionally she had such – were blazoned abroad by those people who loved to dwell on the courtly attentions bestowed upon their favorite, what distinguished person had taken her “down” to dinner, and the neat compliment that the Viceroy paid her on the taste of her “tabinet.”

It need scarcely be remarked that the backwater of all this admiration for Lady Lendrick was a swamping tide of ill-favor for her husband. It would have been hard to deny him ability and talent. But what had he made of his ability and talent? The best lawyer of the bar was not even Chief-Justice of the Queen’s Bench. The greatest speaker and scholar of his day was unknown, except in the reminiscences of a few men almost as old as himself. Was the fault in himself, or was the disqualifying element of his nature the fact of being an Irishman? For a number of years the former theory satisfied all the phenomena of the case, and the restless, impatient disposition – irritable, uncertain, and almost irresponsible – seemed reason enough to deter the various English officials who came over from either seeking the counsels or following the suggestions of the bold Baron of the Exchequer. A change, however, had come, in pail; induced by certain disparaging articles of the English press as to the comparative ability of the two countries; and now it became the fashion to say that had Sir William been born on the sunnier side of St. George’s Channel, and had his triumphs been displayed at Westminster instead of the Four Courts, there would have been no limit to the praise of his ability as a lawyer, nor any delay in according him the highest honors the Crown could bestow.

Men shook their heads, recalled the memorable “curse” recorded by Swift, and said, “Of course there is no favor for an Irishman.” It is not the place nor the time to discuss this matter here. I would only say that a good deal of the misconception which prevails upon it is owing to the fact that the qualities which win all the suffrages of one country are held cheaply enough in the other. Plodding unadorned ability, even of a high order, meets little favor in Ireland, while on the other side of the Channel Irish quickness is accounted as levity, and the rapid appreciation of a question without the detail of long labor and thought, is set down as the lucky hit of a lively but very idle intelligence. I will not let myself wander away further in this digression, but come back to my story. Connected with this theory of Irish depreciation, was the position that but for the land of his birth Sir William would have been elevated to the peerage.

Of course it was a subject to admit of various modes of telling, according to the tastes, the opportunities, and the prejudices of the tellers. The popular version of the story, however, was this: that Sir William declined to press a claim that could not have been resisted, on account of the peculiarly retiring, unambitious character of him who should be his immediate successor. His very profession – adopted and persisted in, in despite of his father’s wish – was a palpable renunciation of all desire for hereditary honor. As the old Judge said, “The Libro d, Oro of nobility is not the Pharmacopoeia;” and the thought of a doctor in the peerage might have cost “Garter” a fit of apoplexy.

Sir William knew this well, – no man better; but the very difficulties gave all the zest and all the flavor to the pursuit. He lived, too, in the hope that some Government official might have bethought him of this objection, that he might spring on him, tiger-like, and tear him in fragments.

“Let them but tell me this,” muttered he, “and I will rip up the whole woof, thread by thread, and trace them! The noble duke whose ancestor was a Dutch pedler, the illustrious marquess whose great-grandfather was a smuggler, will have to look to it. Before this cause be called on I would say to them, better to retain me for the Crown! Ay, sirs, such is my advice to you.”

While these thoughts agitated Sir William’s mind, the matter of them was giving grave and deep preoccupation to the Viceroy. The Cabinet had repeatedly pressed upon him the necessity of obtaining the Chief Baron’s retirement from the bench, – a measure the more imperative that while they wanted to provide for an old adherent, they were equally anxious to replace him in the House by an abler and readier debater; for so is it, when dulness stops the way, dulness must be promoted, – just as the most tumble-down old hackney-coach must pass on before my Lord’s carriage can draw up.

“Pemberton must go up,” said the Viceroy. “He made a horrid mess of that explanation t’ other night in the House. His law was laughed at, and his logic was worse; he really must go on the bench. Can’t you hit upon something, Balfour? Can you devise nothing respecting the Chief Baron?”

“He ‘ll take nothing but what you won’t give him; I hear he insists on the peerage.”

“I’d give it, I declare, – I ‘d give it to-morrow. As I told the Premier t’ other day, Providence always takes care that these law lords have rarely successors. They are life peerages and no more; besides, what does it matter a man more or less in ‘the Lords’? The peer without hereditary rank and fortune is like the officer who has been raised from the ranks, – he does not dine at mess oftener than he can help it.”

Balfour applauded the illustration, and resolved to use it as his own.

“I say again,” continued his Excellency, “I’d give it, but they won’t agree with me; they are afraid of the English bar, – they dread what the benchers of Lincoln’s Inn would say.”

“They’d only say it for a week or two,” mumbled Balfour.

“So I remarked: you’ll have discontent, but it will be passing. Some newspaper letters will appear, but Themis and Aristides will soon tire, and if they should not, the world who reads them will tire; and probably the only man who will remember the event three months after will be the silversmith who is cresting the covered dishes of the new creation. You think you can’t go and see him, Balfour?”

“Impossible, my Lord, after what occurred between us the last time.”

“I don’t take it in that way. I suspect he ‘ll not bear any malice. Lawyers are not thin-skinned people; they give and take such hard knocks that they lose that nice sense of injury other folks are endowed with. I think you might go.”

“I ‘d rather not, my Lord,” said he, shaking his head.

“Try his wife, then.”

“They don’t live together. I don’t know if they’re on speaking terms.”

“So much the better, – she’ll know every chink of his armor, and perhaps tell us where he is vulnerable. Wait a moment. There has been some talk of a picnic on Dalkey Island. It was to be a mere household affair. What if you were to invite her? – making of course the explanation that it was a family party, that no cards had been sent out; in fact, that it was to be so close a thing the world was never to hear of it.”

“I think the bait would be irresistible, particularly when she found out that all her own set and dear friends had been passed over.”

“Charge her to secrecy, – of course she’ll not keep her word.”

“May I say we ‘ll come for her? The great mystery will be so perfectly in keeping with one of the household carriages and your Excellency’s liveries.”

“Won’t that be too strong, Balfour?” said the Viceroy, laughing.

“Nothing is too strong, my Lord, in this country. They take their blunders neat as they do their sherry, and I’m sure that this part of the arrangement will, in the gossip it will give rise to, be about the best of the whole exploit.”

“Take your own way, then; only make no such mistake as you made with the husband. No documents, Balfour, – no documents, I beg;” and with this warning laughingly given, but by no means so pleasantly taken, his Excellency went off and left him.

CHAPTER XLIII. MR. BALFOUR’S MISSION

Lady Lendrick was dictating to her secretary, Miss Morse, the Annual Report of the “Benevolent Ballad-Singers’ Aid Society,” when her servant announced the arrival of Mr. Cholmondely Balfour. She stopped abruptly short at a pathetic bit of description, – “The aged minstrel, too old for erotic poetry, and yet debarred by the stern rules of a repressive policy from the strains of patriotic song,” – for, be it said parenthetically, Lady Lendrick affected “Irishry” to a large extent, – and, dismissing Miss Morse to an adjoining room, she desired the servant to introduce Mr. Balfour.

Is it fancy, or am I right in supposing that English officials have a manner specially assumed for Ireland and the Irish, – a thing like the fur cloak a man wears in Russia, or the snowshoes he puts on in Lapland, not intended for other latitudes, but admirably adapted for the locality it is made for? I will not insist that this theory of mine is faultless, but I appeal to a candid public of my own countrmen if they have not in their experience seen what may support it. I do not say it is a bad manner, – a presuming manner, – a manner of depreciation towards these it is used to, or a manner indicative of indifference in him who uses it. I simply say that they who employ it keep it as especially for Ireland as they keep their macintosh capes for wet weather, and would no more think of displaying it in England than they would go to her Majesty’s levee in a shooting-jacket. Mr. Balfour was not wanting in this manner. Indeed, the Administration of which he formed a humble part were all proficients in it. It was a something between a mock homage and a very jocular familiarity, so that when he arose after a bow, deep and reverential enough for the presence of majesty, he lounged over to a chair and threw himself down with the ease and unconcern of one perfectly at home.

“And how is my Lady? and how are the fourscore and one associations for turnkeys’ widows and dog-stealers’ orphans doing? What ‘s the last new thing in benevolence? Do tell me, for I ‘ve won five shillings at loo, and want to invest it.”

“You mean you have drawn your quarter’s salary, Mr. Balfour.”

“No, by Jove; they don’t pay us so liberally. We have the run of our teeth and no more.”

“You forget your tongue, sir; you are unjust.”

“Why, my Lady, you are as quick as Sir William himself; living with that great wit has made you positively dangerous.”

“I have not enjoyed over-much of the opportunity you speak of.”

“Yes, I know that; no fault of yours, though. The world is agreed on that point. I take it he’s about the most impossible man to live with the age has yet produced. Sewell has told me such things of him! – things that would be incredible if I had not seen him.”

“I beg pardon for interrupting, but of course you have not come to dilate on the Chief Baron’s defects of temper to his wife.”

“No, only incidentally, – parenthetically, as one may say, – just as one knocks over a hare when he’s out partridge-shooting.”

“Never mind the hare, then, sir; keep to your partridges.”

“My partridges! my partridges! which are my partridges? Oh, to be sure! I want to talk to you about Sewell. He has told you perhaps how ill we have behaved to him, – grossly, shamefully ill, I call it.”

“He has told me that the Government object to his having this appointment, but he has not explained on what ground.”

“Neither can I. Official life has its mysteries, and, hate them as one may, they must be respected; he ought n’t to have sold out, – it was rank folly to sell out. What could he have in the world better than a continued succession of young fellows fresh from home, and knowing positively nothing of horse-flesh or billiards?”

“I don’t understand you, sir, – that is, I hope I misunderstand you,” said she, haughtily.

“I mean simply this, that I’d rather be a lieutenant-colonel with such opportunities than I ‘d be Chairman of the Great Overland.”

“Opportunities – and for what?”

“For everything, – for everything; for game off the balls, on every race in the kingdom, and as snug a thing every night over a devilled kidney as any man could wish for. Don’t look shocked, – it’s all on the square; that old hag that was here last week would have given her diamond ear-rings to find out something against Sewell, and she could n’t.”

“You mean Lady Trafford?”

“I do. She stayed a week here just to blacken his character, and she never could get beyond that story of her son and Mrs. Sewell.”

“What story? I never heard of it.”

“A lie, of course, from beginning to end; and it’s hard to imagine that she herself believed it.”

“But what was it?”

“Oh, a trumpery tale of young Trafford having made love to Mrs. Sewell, and proposed to run off with her, and Sewell having played a game at écarté on it, and lost, – the whole thing being knocked up by Trafford’s fall. But you must have heard it! The town talked of nothing else for a fortnight.”

“The town never had the insolence to talk of it to me.”

“What a stupid town! If there be anything really that can be said to be established in the code of society, it is that you may say anything to anybody about their relations. But for such a rule how could conversation go on? – who travels about with his friend’s family-tree in his pocket? And as to Sewell, – I suppose I may say it, – he has not a truer friend in the world than myself.”

She bowed a very stiff acknowledgment of the speech, and he went on: “I ‘m not going to say he gets on well with his wife, – but who does? Did you ever hear of him who did? The fact I take to be this, that every one has a certain capital of good-nature and kindliness to trade on, and he who expends this abroad can’t have so much of it for home consumption; that’s how your insufferable husbands are such charming fellows for the world! Don’t you agree with me?”

A very chilling smile, that might mean anything, was all her reply.

“I was there all the time,” continued he, with unabated fluency. “I saw everything that went on: Sewell’s policy was what our people call non-intervention; he saw nothing, heard nothing, believed nothing; and I will say there ‘s a great deal of dignity in that line; and when your servant comes to wake you in the morning, with the tidings that your wife has run away, you have established a right before the world to be distracted, injured, overwhelmed, and outraged to any extent you may feel disposed to appear.”

“Your thoughts upon morals are, I must say, very edifying, sir.”

“They ‘re always practical, so much I will say. This world is a composite sort of thing, with such currents of mixed motives running through it, if a man tries to be logical he is sure to make an ass of himself, and one learns at last to become as flexible in his opinions and as elastic as the great British constitution.

“I am delighted with your liberality, sir, and charmed with your candor; and as you have expressed your opinion so freely upon my husband and my son, would it appear too great a favor if I were to ask what you would say of myself?”

“That you are charming, Lady Lendrick, – positively charming,” replied he, rapturously. “That there is not a grace of manner, nor a captivation, of which you are not mistress; that you possess that attraction which excels all others in its influence; you render all who come within the sphere of your fascination so much your slaves that the cold grow enthusiastic, the distrustful become credulous, and even the cautious reserve of office gives way, and the well-trained private secretary of a Viceroy betrays himself into indiscretions that would half ruin an aide-de-camp.”

“I assure you, sir, I never so much as suspected my own powers.”

“True as I am here; the simple fact is, I have come to say so.”

“You have come to say so! What do you mean?”

With this he proceeded to explain that her Excellency had deputed him to invite Lady Lendrick to join the picnic on the island. “It was so completely a home party, that, except himself and a few of the household, none had even heard of it. None but those really intimate will be there,” said he; “and for once in our lives we shall be able to discuss our absent friends with that charming candor that gives conversation its salt. When we had written down all the names, it was her Excellency said, ‘I ‘d call this perfect if I could add one more to the list.’ ‘I’ll swear I know whom you mean,’ said his Excellency; and he took his pencil and wrote a line on a card. ‘Am I right?’ asked he. She nodded, and said, ‘Balfour, go and ask her to come. Be sure you explain what the whole thing is, how it was got up, and that it must not be talked of.’ Of course, do what one will, these things do get about. Servants will talk of them, and tradespeople talk of them, and we must expect a fair share of ill-nature and malice from that outer world which was not included in the civility; but it can’t be helped. I believe it’s one of the conditions of humanity, that to make one man happy you may always calculate on making ten others miserable.”

This time Lady Lendrick had something else to think of besides Mr. Balfour’s ethics, and so she only smiled and said nothing.

“I hope I ‘m to bring back a favorable answer,” said he, rising to take leave. “Won’t you let me say that we ‘re to call for you?”

“I really am much flattered. I don’t know how to express my grateful sense of their Excellencies’ recollection of me. It is for Wednesday, you say?”

“Yes, Wednesday. We mean to leave town by two o’clock, and there will be a carriage here for you by that hour. Will that suit you?”

“Perfectly.”

“I am overjoyed at my success. Good-bye till Wednesday, then.” He moved towards the door, and then stopped. “What was it? I surely had something else to say. Oh, to be sure, I remember. Tell me, if you can, what are Sir William’s views about retirement: he is not quite pleased with us just now, and we can’t well approach him; but we really would wish to meet his wishes, if we could manage to come at them.” All this he said in a sort of careless, easy way, as though it were a matter of little moment, or one calling for very slight exercise of skill to set right.

“And do you imagine he has taken me into his confidence, Mr. Balfour?” asked she, with a smile.

“Not formally, perhaps, – not what we call officially; but he may have done so in that more effective way termed ‘officiously.’”

“Not even that. I could probably make as good a guess about your own future intentions as those of the Chief Baron.”

“You have heard him talk of them?”

“Scores of times.”

“And in what tone, – with what drift?”

“Always as that of one very ill-used, hardly treated, undervalued, and the like.”

“And the remedy? What was the remedy?”

“To make him a peer, – at least, so his friends say.”

“But taking that to be impossible, what next?”

“He becomes ‘impossible’ also,” said she, laughing.

“Are we to imagine that a man of such intelligence as he possesses cannot concede something to circumstances, – cannot make allowances for the exigencies of ‘party,’ – cannot, in fact, take any other view of a difficulty but the one that must respond to his own will?”

“Yes; I think that is exactly what you are called on to imagine. You are to persuade yourself to regard this earth as inhabited by the Chief Baron, and some other people not mentioned specifically in the census.”

“He is most unreasonable, then.”

“Of course he is; but I wouldn’t have you tell him so. You see, Mr. Balfour, the Chief imagines all this while that he is maintaining and upholding the privileges of the Irish Bar. The burden of his song is, ‘There would have been no objection to my claim had I been the Chief Baron of the English Court.’”

“Possibly,” murmured Balfour; and then, lower again, “Fleas are not – ”

“Quite true,” said she, for her quick ear caught his words, – “quite true. Fleas are not lobsters, – bless their souls! But, as I said before, I ‘d not remind them of that fact. ‘The Fleas’ are just sore enough upon it already.”

Balfour for once felt some confusion. He saw what a slip he had made, and now it had damaged his whole negotiation. Nothing but boldness would avail now, and he resolved to be bold.

“There is a thing has been done in England, and I don’t see why we might not attempt it in the present case. A great lawyer there obtained a peerage for his wife – ”

She burst out into a fit of laughter at this, at once so hearty and so natural that at last he could not help joining, and laughing too.

“I must say, Mr. Balfour,” said she, as soon as she could speak, – “I must say there is ingenuity in your suggestion. The relations that subsist between Sir William and myself are precisely such as to recommend your project.”

“I am not so sure that they are obstacles to it. I have always heard that he had a poor opinion of his son, who was a common-place sort of man that studied medicine. It could be no part of the Chief Baron’s plan to make such a person the head of a house. Now, he likes Sewell, and he dotes on that boy, – the little fellow I saw at the Priory. These are all elements in the scheme. Don’t you think so?”

“Let me ask you one question before I answer yours: Does this thought come from yourself alone, or has it any origin in another quarter?”

“Am I to be candid?”

“You are.”

“And are you to be confidential?”

“Certainly.”

“In that case,” said he, drawing a long breath, as though about to remove a perilous weight off his mind, “I will tell you frankly, it comes from authority. Now, don’t ask me more, – not another question. I have already avowed what my instructions most imperatively forbid me to own, – what, in fact, would be ruin to me if it were known that I revealed. What his Excellency – I mean, what the other person said was, ‘Ascertain Lady Lendrick’s wishes on this subject; learn, if you can, – but, above all, without compromising yourself, – whether she really cares for a step in rank; find out, if so, what aid she can or will lend us.’ But what am I saying? Here am I entering upon the whole detail? What would become of me if I did not know I might rely upon you?”

“It’s worth thinking over,” said she, after a pause.

“I should think it is. It is not every day of our lives such a brilliant offer presents itself. All I ask, all I stipulate for, is that you make no confidences, ask no advice from any quarter. Think it well over in your own mind, but impart it to none, least of all to Sewell.”

“Of course not to him,” said she, resolutely, for she knew well to what purposes he would apply the knowledge.

“Remember that we want to have the resignation before Parliament meets, – bear that in mind. Time is all-important with us; the rest will follow in due course.” With this he said “Good-bye,” and was gone.

“The rest will follow in due course,” said she to herself, repeating his last words as he went. “With your good leave, Mr. Balfour, the ‘rest’ shall precede the beginning.”

Was n’t it Bolingbroke that said constitutional government never could go on without lying, – audacious lying too? If the old Judge will only consent to go, her Ladyship’s peerage will admit of a compromise. Such was Mr. Balfour’s meditation as he stepped into his cab.

CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER-DINNER THOUGHTS

Her Majesty’s – th had got their orders for Malta, and some surmised for India, though it was not yet known; but all agreed it was hard, – “confoundedly hard,” they called it. “Had n’t they had their turn of Inidan service? – how many years had that grim old major passed in the Deccan, – what weary winters had the bronzed bald captain there spent at Rangoon!”

How they inveighed against the national niggardliness that insisted on making a small army do the work of a large one! How they scouted the popular idea that regiments were treated alike and without favoritism! They knew better. They knew that if they had been the Nine Hundred and Ninth, or Three Thousand and First, there would have been no thought of sending them back to cholera and jungle fever. Some, with a little sly flattery, ascribed the order to their efficiency, and declared that they had done their work so well at Gonurshabad, the Government selected them at once when fresh troubles were threatening; and a few old grumblers, tired of service, sick of the Horse Guards, – not over-enamored of even life, – agreed that it was rank folly to join a regiment where the Lieutenant-Colonel was not a man of high connections; as they said, “If old Cave there had been a Lord George or even an Honorable, we ‘d have had ten years more of home service.”