Paul Clifford — Complete
predilection of the landlady for modern tastes had, indeed, on each
side of the huge fireplace suspended more novel masterpieces of the fine
arts. In emblematic gorgeousness hung the pictures of the four Seasons,
buxom wenches all, save Winter, who was deformedly bodied forth in the
likeness of an aged carle. These were interspersed by an engraving of
Lord Mauleverer, the lieutenant of the neighbouring county, looking
extremely majestical in his peer's robes; and by three typifications of
Faith, Hope, and Charity,--ladies with whom it may be doubted if the
gay earl ever before cultivated so close an intimacy. Curtains, of that
antique chintz in which fasces of stripes are alternated by rows of
flowers, filled the interstices of three windows; a heavy sideboard
occupied the greater portion of one side of the room; and on the
opposite side, in the rear of Brandon, a vast screen stretched its
slow length along, and relieved the unpopulated and as it were desolate
comfort of the apartment.
Pale and imperfectly streamed the light upon Brandon's face, as he sat
in his large chair, leaning his cheek on one hand, and gazing with the
unconscious earnestness of abstraction on the clear fire. At that moment
a whole phalanx of gloomy thought was sweeping in successive array
across his mind. His early ambition, his ill-omened marriage, the causes
of his after-rise in the wrong-judging world, the first dawn of his
reputation, his rapid and flattering successes, his present elevation,
his aspiring hope of far higher office, and more patrician honours,--all
these phantoms passed before him in checkered shadow and light; but ever
with each stalked one disquieting and dark remembrance,--the loss of his
only son.
Weaving his ambition with the wish to revive the pride of his hereditary
name, every acquisition of fortune or of fame rendered him yet
more anxious to find the only one who could perpetuate these hollow
distinctions to his race.
“I shall recover him yet!” he broke out suddenly and aloud. As he spoke,
a quick, darting, spasmodic pain ran shivering through his whole frame,
and then fixed for one instant on his heart with a gripe like the
talons of a bird; it passed away, and was followed by a deadly sickness.
Brandon rose, and filling himself a large tumbler of water, drank
with avidity. The sickness passed off like the preceding pain; but the
sensation had of late been often felt by Brandon, and disregarded,--for
few persons were less afflicted with the self-torture of hypochondria;
but now, that night, whether it was more keen than usual, or whether
his thought had touched on the string that jars naturally on the most
startling of human anticipations, we know not, but, as he resumed his
seat, the idea of his approaching dissolution shot like an ice-bolt
through his breast.
So intent was this scheming man upon the living objects of the world,
and so little were his thoughts accustomed to turn toward the ultimate
goal of all things, that this idea obtruding itself abruptly upon him,
startled him with a ghastly awe. He felt the colour rush from his cheek,
and a tingling and involuntary pain ran wandering through the channels
of his blood, even from the roots of the hair to the soles of his feet.
But the stern soul of Brandon was not one which shadows could long
affright. He nerved himself to meet the grim thought thus forced upon
his mental eye, and he gazed on it with a steady and enduring look.
“Well,” thought he, “is my hour coming, or have I yet the ordinary term
of mortal nature to expect? It is true, I have lately suffered these
strange revulsions of the frame with somewhat of an alarming frequency;
perhaps this medicine, which healed the anguish of one infirmity, has
produced another more immediately deadly. Yet why should I think this?
My sleep is sound and calm, my habits temperate, my mind active and
clear as in its best days. In my youth I never played the traitor with
my constitution; why should it desert me at the very threshold of my
age? Nay, nay, these are but passing twitches, chills of the blood
that begins to wax thin. Shall I learn to be less rigorous in my diet?
Perhaps wine may reward my abstinence in avoiding it for my luxuries,
by becoming a cordial to my necessities! Ay, I will consult,--I will
consult, I must not die yet. I have--let me see, three--four grades
to gain before the ladder is scaled. And, above all, I must regain my
child! Lucy married to Mauleverer, myself a peer, my son wedded to-whom?
Pray God he be not married already! My nephews and my children nobles!
the house of Brandon restored, my power high in the upward gaze of
men, my fame set on a more lasting basis than a skill in the quirks of
law,--these are yet to come; these I will not die till I have enjoyed!
Men die not till their destinies are fulfilled. The spirit that swells
and soars within me says that the destiny of William Brandon is but half
begun!”
With this conclusion, Brandon sought his pillow. What were the
reflections of the prisoner whom he was to judge? Need we ask? Let
us picture to ourselves his shattered health, the languor of sickness
heightening the gloom which makes the very air of a jail; his certainty
of the doom to be passed against him; his knowledge that the uncle of
Lucy Brandon was to be his judge, that Mauleverer was to be his accuser,
and that in all human probability the only woman he had ever loved must
sooner or later learn the criminality of his life and the ignominy of
his death; let us but glance at the above blackness of circumstances
that surrounded him, and it would seem that there is but little doubt
as to the complexion of his thoughts! Perhaps, indeed, even in that
terrible and desolate hour one sweet face shone on him, “and dashed the
darkness all away.” Perhaps, too, whatever might be the stings of his
conscience, one thought, one remembrance of a temptation mastered and
a sin escaped, brought to his eyes tears that were sweet and healing in
their source. But the heart of a man in Clifford's awful situation is
dark and inscrutable; and often when the wildest and gloomiest external
circumstances surround us, their reflection sleeps like a shadow, calm
and still upon the mind.
The next morning, the whole town of (a town in which, we regret to say,
an accident once detained ourself for three wretched days, and which
we can, speaking therefore from profound experience, assert to be in
ordinary times the most melancholy and peopleless-looking congregation
of houses that a sober imagination can conceive) exhibited a scene of
such bustle, animation, and jovial anxiety as the trial for life or
death to a fellow-creature can alone excite in the phlegmatic breasts
of the English. Around the court the crowd thickened with every moment,
until the whole marketplace in which the townhall was situated became
one living mass. The windows of the houses were filled with women, some
of whom had taken that opportunity to make parties to breakfast; and
little round tables, with tea and toast on them, caught the eyes of the
grinning mobists as they gaped impatiently upwards.
“Ben,” said a stout yeoman, tossing up a halfpenny, and catching the
said coin in his right hand, which he immediately covered with the
left,--“Ben, heads or tails that Lovett is hanged; heads hanged, tails
not, for a crown.”
“Petticoats, to be sure,” quoth Ben, eating an apple; and it was heads!
“Damme, you've lost!” cried the yeoman, rubbing his rough hands with
glee.
It would have been a fine sight for Asmodeus, could he have perched on
one of the house tops of the market-place of --------, and looked on the
murmuring and heaving sea of mortality below. Oh! the sight of a crowd
round a court of law or a gibbet ought to make the devil split himself
with laughter.
While the mob was fretting, and pushing, and swearing, and grinning, and
betting, and picking pockets, and trampling feet, and tearing gowns,
and scrambling nearer and nearer to the doors and windows of the court,
Brandon was slowly concluding his abstemious repast, preparatory to
attendance on his judicial duties. His footman entered with a letter.
Sir William glanced rapidly over the seal (one of those immense
sacrifices of wax used at that day), adorned with a huge coat-of-arms,
surmounted with an earl's coronet, and decorated on either side with
those supporters so dear to heraldic taste. He then tore open the
letter, and read as follows:--
MY DEAR SIR WILLIAM,--You know that in the last conversation I had
the Honour to hold with you I alluded, though perhaps somewhat
distantly, to the esteem which his Majesty had personally expressed
for your principles and talents, and his wish to testify it at the
earliest opportunity. There will be, as you are doubtless aware, an
immediate creation of four peerages. Your name stands second on the
list. The choice of title his Majesty graciously leaves to you; but
he has hinted that the respectable antiquity of your family would
make him best pleased were you to select the name of your own
family-seat, which, if I mistake not, is Warlock. You will instruct
me at your leisure as to the manner in which the patent should be
made out, touching the succession, etc. Perhaps (excuse the license
of an old friend) this event may induce you to forsake your long-
cherished celibacy. I need not add that this accession of rank will
be accompanied by professional elevation. You will see by the
papers that the death of --------leaves vacant the dignity of Chief
Baron; and I am at length empowered to offer you a station
proportioned to your character and talents.
With great consideration, believe me, my dear Sir, Very truly yours,
Private and Confidential.
Brandon's dark eye glanced quickly from the signature of the premier,
affixed to this communication, towards the mirror opposite him. He
strode to it, and examined his own countenance with a long and wistful
gaze. Never, we think, did youthful gallant about to repair to the
trysting-spot, in which fair looks make the greatest of earthly
advantages, gaze more anxiously on the impartial glass than now did the
ascetic and scornful judge; and never, we ween, did the eye of the said
gallant retire with a more satisfied and triumphant expression.
“Yes, yes!” muttered the judge, “no sign of infirmity is yet written
here; the blood flows clear and warm enough; the cheek looks firm too,
and passing full, for one who was always of the lean kine. Aha! this
letter is a cordial, an elixir vitro. I feel as if a new lease were
granted to the reluctant tenant. Lord Warlock, the first Baron of
Warlock, Lord Chief Baron,--what next?”
As he spoke, he strode unconsciously away, folding his arms with that
sort of joyous and complacent gesture which implies the idea of a man
hugging himself in a silent delight. Assuredly had the most skilful
physician then looked upon the ardent and all-lighted face, the firm
step, the elastic and muscular frame, the vigorous air of Brandon, as
he mentally continued his soliloquy, he would have predicted for him as
fair a grasp on longevity as the chances of mortal life will allow. He
was interrupted by the servant entering.
“It is twenty-five minutes after nine, sir,” said he, respectfully.
“Sir,--sir!” repeated Brandon. “Ah, well! so late!”
“Yes, sir, and the sheriff's carriage is almost at the door.”
“Humph! Minister,--Peer,--Warlock,--succession. My son, my son! would to
God that I could find thee!”
Such were Brandon's last thoughts as he left the room. It was with
great difficulty, so dense was the crowd, that the judge drove up to
the court. As the carriage slowly passed, the spectators pressed to