CHAPTER VI. WAITING ON
On the sixth day after Dr. Lendrick’s arrival in Dublin – a fruitless journey so far as any hope of reconciliation was concerned – he resolved to return home. His friend Beattie, however, induced him to delay his departure to the-next day, clinging to some small hope from a few words-that had dropped from Sir William on that same morning. “Let me see you to-night, doctor; I have a note to show you which I could not to-day with all these people about me.” Now, the people in question resolved themselves into one person, Lady Lendrick, who indeed bustled into the room and out of it, slammed doors and upset chairs in a fashion that might well have excused the exaggeration that converted her into a noun of multitude. A very warm altercation had occurred, too, in the doctor’s presence with reference to some letter from India, which Lady Lendrick was urging Sir William to reply to, but which he firmly declared he would not answer.
“How I am to treat a man subject to such attacks of temper, so easily provoked, and so incessantly irritated, is not clear to me. At all events I will see him to-night, and hear what he has to say to me. I am sure it has no concern with this letter from India.” With these words Beattie induced his friend to defer his journey for another day.
It was a long and anxious day to poor Lendrick. It was not alone that he had to suffer the bitter disappointment of all his hopes of being received by his father and admitted to some gleam of future favor, but he had discovered that certain debts which he had believed long settled by the judge were still outstanding against him, Lady Lendrick having interfered to prevent their payment, while she assured the creditors that if they had patience Dr. Lendrick would one day or other be in a position to acquit them. Between two and three thousand pounds thus hung over him of indebtedness above all his calculations, and equally above all his ability to meet.
“We thought you knew all this, Dr. Lendrick,” said Mr. Hack, Sir William’s agent; “we imagined you were a party to the arrangement, understanding that you were reluctant to bring these debts under the Chief Baron’s eyes, being moneys lent to your wife’s relations.”
“I believed that they were paid,” was all his reply, for the story was a painful one of trust betrayed and confidence abused, and he did not desire to revive it. He had often been told that his stepmother was the real obstacle to all hope of reconciliation with his father, but that she had pushed her enmity to him to the extent of his ruin was more than he was prepared for. They had never met, but at one time letters had frequently passed between them. Hers were marvels of good wishes and kind intentions, dashed with certain melancholy reflections over some shadowy unknown something which had been the cause of his estrangement from his father, but which time and endurance might not impossibly diminish the bitterness of, though with very little hope of leading to a more amicable relation. She would assume, besides, occasionally a kind of companionship in sorrow, and, as though the confession had burst from her unawares, avow that Sir William’s temper was more than human nature was called upon to submit to, and that years only added to those violent outbursts of passion which made the existence of all around him a perpetual martyrdom. These always wound up with some sweet congratulations on “Tom’s good fortune in his life of peaceful retirement,” and the “tranquil pleasures of that charming spot of which every one tells me such wonders, and which the hope of visiting is one of my most entrancing daydreams.” We give the passage textually, because it occurred without a change of a word thus in no less than five different letters.
This formal repetition of a phrase, and certain mistakes she made about the names of his children, first opened Lendrick’s eyes as to the sincerity and affection of his correspondent, for he was the least suspicious of men, and regarded distrust as a disgrace to him who entertained it.
Over all these things now did he ponder during this long dreary day. He did not like to go out lest he should meet old acquaintances and be interrogated about his father, of whom he knew less than almost every one. He shunned the tone of compassionate interest men met him with, and he dreaded even the old faces that reminded him of the past. He could not read: he tried, but could not. After a few minutes he found that his thoughts wandered off from the book and centred on his own concerns, till his head ached with the weary round of those difficulties which came ever back, and back, and back again undiminished, unrelieved, and unsolved. The embarrassments of life are not, like chess problems, to be resolved by a skilful combination: they are to be encountered by temper, by patience, by daring at one time, by submission at another, by a careful consideration of a man’s own powers, and by a clear-sighted estimate of his neighbors; and all these exercised not beforehand, nor in retirement, but on the very field itself where the conflict is raging and the fight at its hottest.
It was late at night when Beattie returned home, and entered the study where Lendrick sat awaiting him. “I am very late, Tom,” said he, as he threw himself into an arm-chair, like one fatigued and exhausted; “but it was impossible to get away. Never in all my life have I seen him so full of anecdote, so abounding in pleasant recollections, so ready-witted, and so brilliant. I declare to you that if I could but recite the things he said, or give them even with a faint semblance of the way he told them, it would be the most amusing page of bygone Irish history. It was a grand review of all the celebrated men whom he remembered in his youth, from the eccentric Lord Bristol, the Bishop of Down, to O’Connell and Shiel. Nor did his own self-estimate, high as it was, make the picture in which he figured less striking, nor less memorable his concluding words, as he said, ‘These fellows are all in history, Beattie, – every man of them. There are statues to them in our highways, and men visit the spots that gave them birth; and here am I, second to none of them. Trinity College and the Four Courts will tell you if I speak in vanity; and here am I; and the only question about me is, when I intend to vacate the bench, when it will be my good pleasure to resign – they are not particular which – my judgeship or my life. But, sir, I mean not to do either; I mean to live and protest against the inferiority of the men around me, and the ingratitude of the country that does not know how to appreciate the one man of eminence it possesses.’ I assure you, Tom, vain and insolent as the speech was, as I listened I thought it was neither. There was a haughty dignity about him, to which his noble bead and his deep sonorous voice and his commanding look lent effect that overcame all thought of attributing to such a man any over-estimate of his powers.”
“And this note that he wished to show you, – what was it?”
“Oh, the note was a few lines written in an adjoining room by Balfour, the Viceroy’s secretary. It seems that his Excellency, finding all other seductions fail, thought of approaching your father through you.”
“Through me! It was a bright inspiration.”
“Yes; he sent Balfour to ask if the Chief Baron would feel gratified by the post of Hospital Inspector at the Cape being offered to you. It is worth eight hundred a year, and a house.”
“Well, what answer did he give?” asked Lendrick, eagerly.
“He directed Balfour, who only saw Lady Lendrick, to reduce the proposal to writing. I don’t fancy that the accomplished young gentleman exactly liked the task, but he did not care to refuse, and so he sat down and wrote one of the worst notes I ever read.”
“Worst – in what way?”
“In every way. It was scarcely intelligible, without a previous knowledge of its contents, and so worded as to imply that when the Chief Baron had acceded to the proposal, he had so bound himself in gratitude to the Government that all honorable retreat was closed to him. I wish you saw your father’s face when he read it. ‘Beattie,’ said he, ‘I have no right to say Tom must refuse this offer; but if he should do so, I will make the document you see there be read in the House, and my name is not William Lendrick if it do not cost them more than they are prepared for. Go now and consult your friend;’ it was so he called you. ‘If his wants are such that this place is of consequence to him, let him accept it. I shall not ask his reasons for whatever course he may take. My reply is already written, and to his Excellency in person.’ This he said in a way to imply that its tone was one not remarkable for conciliation or courtesy.
“I thought the opportunity a favorable one to say that you were in town at the moment, that the accounts of his illness had brought you up, and that you were staying at my house.
“‘The sooner will you be able to communicate with him, sir,’ said he, haughtily.”
“No more than that!”
“No more, except that he added, ‘Remember, sir, his acceptance or his refusal is to be his own act, not to be intimated in any way to me, nor to come through me.’”
“This is unnecessary harshness,” said Lendrick, with a quivering lip; “there was no need to tell me how estranged we are from each other.”
“I fancied I could detect a struggle with himself in all his sternness; and his hand trembled when I took it to say ‘good-bye.’ I was going to ask if you might not be permitted to see him, even for a brief moment; but I was afraid, lest in refusing he might make a reconciliation still more remote, and so I merely said, ‘May I leave you those miniatures I showed you a few days ago? ‘His answer was, ‘You may leave them, sir.’
“As I came down to the hall, I met Lady Lendrick. She was in evening dress, going out, but had evidently waited to Catch me as I passed.
“‘You find the Chief much better, don’t you?’ asked she. I bowed and assented.. ‘And he will be better still,’ added she, ‘when all these anxieties are over.’ She saw that I did not or would not apprehend her meaning, and added, ‘I mean about this resignation, which, of course, you will advise him to. The Government are really behaving so very well, so liberal, and withal so delicate. If they had been our own people, I doubt if they would have shown anything like the same generosity.’
“‘I have heard of nothing but the offer to Dr. Lendrick,’ said I.
“She seemed confused, and moved on; and then recovering herself, said, ‘And a most handsome offer it is. I hope he thinks so.’
“With this we parted, and I believe now I have told you almost word for word everything that occurred concerning you.”
“And what do you say to all this, Beattie?” asked Lendrick, in a half-sad tone.
“I say that if in your place, Tom, I would accept. It may be that the Chief Baron will interpose and say, Don’t go; or it may be that your readiness to work for your bread should conciliate him; he has long had the impression that you are indisposed to exertion, and too fond of your own ease.”
“I know it, – I know it; Lady Lendrick has intimated as much to me.”
“At all events, you can make no mistake in entertaining the project; and certainly the offer is not to be despised.”
“It is of him, and of him alone, I am thinking, Beattie. If he would let me see him, admit me once more on my old terms of affection, I would go anywhere, do anything that he counselled. Try, my dear friend, to bring this about; do your best for me, and remember I will subscribe to any terms, submit to anything, if he will only be reconciled to me.”
“It will be hard if we cannot manage this somehow,” said Beattie; “but now let us to bed. It is past two o’clock. Good-night, Tom; sleep well, and don’t dream of the Cape or the Caffres.”
CHAPTER VII. THE FOUNTAIN OF HONOR
That ancient and incongruous pile which goes by the name of the Castle in Dublin, and to which Irishmen very generally look as the well from which all honors and places flow, is not remarkable for either the splendor or space it affords to the inmates beneath its roof. Upheld by a great prestige perhaps, as in the case of certain distinguished people, who affect a humble exterior and very simple belongings, it may deem that its own transcendent importance has no need of accessories. Certainly the ugliness of its outside is in noway unbalanced by the meanness within; and even the very highest of those who claim its hospitality are lodged in no-princely fashion.
In a corner of the old red brick quadrangle, to the right of the state entrance, in a small room whose two narrow windows looked into a lane, sat a very well-dressed young-gentleman at a writing-table. Short, and disposed to roundness in face as well as figure, Mr. Cholmondely Balfour scarcely responded in appearance to his imposing name. Nature had not been as bountiful, perhaps, as Fortune; for while he was rich, well born, and considerably gifted in abilities, his features were unmistakably common and vulgar, and all the aids of dress could not atone for the meanness in his general look. Had he simply accepted his image as a thing to be quietly borne and submitted to, the case might not have been so very bad; but he took it as something to be corrected, changed, and ameliorated, and the result was a perpetual struggle to make the most ordinary traits and commonplace features appear the impress of one on whom Nature had written gentleman. It would have been no easy task to have imposed on him in a question of his duty. He was the private secretary of the Viceroy, who was his maternal uncle. It would have been a tough task to have misled or deceived him in any matter open to his intelligence to examine; but upon this theme there was not the inventor of a hair-wash, a skin-paste, a whisker-dye, or a pearl-powder that might not have led him captive. A bishop might have found difficulty in getting audience of him, – a barber might have entered unannounced; and while the lieutenant of a county sat waiting in the antechamber, the tailor, with a new waistcoat pattern, walked boldly into the august presence. Entering life by that petite porte of politics, an Irish office, he had conceived a very humble estimate of the people amongst whom he was placed. Regarding his extradition from Whitehall and its precincts as a sort of probationary banishment, he felt, however, its necessity; and as naval men are accredited with two years of service for every one year on the coast of Africa, Mr. Balfour was aware that a grateful Government could equally recognize the devotion of him who gave some of the years of his youth to the Fernando Po of statecraft.
This impression, being rarely personal in its consequences, was not of much moment; but it was conjoined with a more serious error, which was to imagine that all rule and governance in Ireland should be carried on with a Machiavellian subtlety. The people, he had heard, were quick-witted; he must therefore out-manoeuvre them. Jobbery had been, he was told, the ruin of Ireland; he would show its inefficiency by the superior skill with which he could wield its weapon. To be sure his office was a very minor one, its influence very restricted, but Mr. Balfour was ambitious; he was a Viceroy’s nephew; he had sat for months in the House, from which he had been turned out on a petition. He had therefore social advantages to build on, abilities to display, and wrongs to avenge; and as a man too late for the train speculates during the day how far on his road he might have been by this time or by that, so did Mr. Balfour continually keep reminding himself how, but for that confounded petition, he might now have been a Treasury this or a Board of Trade that, – a corporal, in fact, in that great army whose commissioned officers are amongst the highest in Europe.
Let us now present him to our reader, as he lay back in his chair, and by a hand-bell summoned his messenger.
“I say, Watkins, when Clancey calls about those trousers show him in, and send some one over to the packet-office about the phosphorus blacking; you know we are on the last jar of it. If the Solicitor-General should come – ”
“He is here, sir; he has been waiting these twenty minutes. I told him you were with his Excellency.”
“So I was, – so I always am,” said he, throwing a half-smoked cigar into the fire. “Admit him.”
A pale, care-worn, anxious-looking man, whose face was not without traces of annoyance at the length of time he had been kept waiting, now entered and sat down.
“Just where we were yesterday, Pemberton,” said Balfour, as he rose and stood with his back to the fire, the tails of his gorgeous dressing-gown hanging over his arms. “Intractable as he ever was; he won’t die, and he won’t resign.”
“His friends say he is perfectly willing to resign if you agree to his terms.”
“That may be possible; the question is, What are his terms? Have you a precedent of a Chief Baron being raised to the peerage?”
“It’s not, as I understand, the peerage he insists on; he inclines to a moneyed arrangement.”
“We are too poor, Pemberton, – we are too poor. There’s a deep gap in our customs this quarter. It’s reduction we must think of, not outlay.”
“If the changes are to be made,” said the other, with a tone of impatience, “I certainly ought to be told at once, or I shall have no time left for my canvass.”
“An Irish borough, Pemberton, – an Irish borough requires so little,” said Balfour, with a compassionate smile.
“Such is not the opinion over here, sir,” said Pemberton, stiffly; “and I might even suggest some caution in saying it.”
“Caution is the badge of all our tribe,” said Balfour, with a burlesque gravity. “By the way, Pemberton, his Excellency is greatly disappointed at the issue of these Cork trials; why did n’t you hang these fellows?”
“Juries can no more be coerced here than in England; they brought them in not guilty.”
“We know all that, and we ask you why? There certainly was little room for doubt in the evidence.”
“When you have lived longer in Ireland, Mr. Balfour, you will learn that there are other considerations in a trial than the testimony of the witnesses.”
“That’s exactly what I said to his Excellency; and I remarked, ‘If Pemberton comes into the House, he must prepare for a sharp attack about these trials.’”
“And it is exactly to ascertain if I am to enter Parliament that I have come here to-day,” said the other, angrily.
“Bring me the grateful tidings that the Lord Chief Baron has joined his illustrious predecessors in that distinguished court, I ‘ll answer you in five minutes.”
“Beattie declares he is better this morning. He says that he has in all probability years of life before him.”
“There ‘s nothing so hard to kill as a judge, except it be an archbishop. I believe a sedentary life does it; they say if a fellow will sit still and never move he may live to any age.”
Pemberton took an impatient turn up and down the room, and then wheeling about directly in front of Balfour, said, “If his Excellency knew, perhaps, that I do not want the House of Commons – ”
“Not want the House, – not wish to be in Parliament?”
“Certainly not. If I enter the House, it is as a law-officer of the Crown; personally it is no object to me.”
“I’ll not tell him that, Pem. I’ll keep your secret safe, for I tell you frankly it would ruin you to reveal it.”
“It’s no secret, sir; you may proclaim it, – you may publish it in the ‘Gazette,’ But really we are wasting much valuable time here. It is now two o’clock, and I must go down to Court. I have only to say that if no arrangement be come to before this time to-morrow – ” He stopped short. Another word might have committed him, but he pulled up in time.
“Well, what then?” asked Balfour, with a half smile.
“I have heard you pride yourself, Mr. Balfour,” said the other, recovering, “on your skill in nice negotiation; why not try what you could do with the Chief Baron?”
“Are there women in the family?” said Balfour, caressing his moustache.
“No; only his wife.”
“I ‘ve seen her,” said he, contemptuously.
“He quarrelled with his only son, and has not spoken to him, I believe, for nigh thirty years, and the poor fellow is struggling on as a country doctor somewhere in the west.”
“What if we were to propose to do something for him? Men are often not averse to see those assisted whom their own pride refuses to help.”
“I scarcely suspect you ‘ll acquire his gratitude that way.”
“We don’t want his gratitude, we want his place. I declare I think the idea a good one. There’s a thing now at the Cape, an inspectorship of something, – Hottentots or hospitals, I forget which. His Excellency asked to have the gift of it; what if we were to appoint this man?”
“Make the crier of his Court a Commissioner in Chancery, and Baron Lendrick will be more obliged to you,” said Pem-berton, with a sneer. “He is about the least forgiving man I ever knew or heard of.”
“Where is this son of his to be found?”
“I saw him yesterday walking with Dr. Beattie. I have no doubt Beattie knows his address. But let me warn you once more against the inutility of the step you would take. I doubt if the old Judge would as much as thank you.”
Balfour turned round to the glass and smiled sweetly at himself, as though to say that he had heard of some one who knew how to make these negotiations successful, – a fellow of infinite readiness, a clever fellow, but withal one whose good looks and distinguished air left even his talents in the background.
“I think I ‘ll call and see the Chief Baron myself,” said he. “His Excellency sends twice a day to inquire, and I ‘ll take the opportunity to make him a visit, – that is, if he will receive me.”
“It is doubtful. At all events, let me give you one hint for your guidance. Neither let drop Mr. Attorney’s name nor mine in your conversation; avoid the mention of any one whose career might be influenced by the Baron’s retirement; and talk of him less as a human being than as an institution that is destined to endure as long as the British constitution.”
“I wish it was a woman – if it was only a woman I had to deal with, the whole affair might be deemed settled.”
“If you should be able to do anything before the mail goes out to-night, perhaps you will inform me,” said Pem-berton, as he bowed and left the room. “And these are the men they send over here to administer the country!” muttered he, as he descended the stairs, – “such are the intelligences that are to rule Ireland! Was it Voltaire who said there was nothing so inscrutable in all the ways of Providence as the miserable smallness of those creatures to whom the destiny of nations was committed?”
Ruminating over this, he hastened on to a nisi prius case.