Godolphin Part 33

And Constance began to turn with some curiosity to these charlatans or sages. The bright countess listened to their harangues, pondered over their demonstrations, and mused over their hopes. But she had lived too much on the surface of the actual world, her habits of thought were too essentially worldly, to be converted, while she was attracted, by doctrines so startling in their ultimate conclusions. She turned once more to herself, and waited, in a sad and thoughtful stillness, the progress of things-convinced only of the vanity of them all.

CHAPTER LVI.

THE ROUE HAS BECOME A VALETUDINARIAN.--NEWS.--A FORTUNETELLER.

Meanwhile the graced G.o.dolphin floated down the sunny tide of his prosperity. He lived chiefly with a knot of epicurean dalliers with the time, whom he had selected from the wittiest and the easiest of the London world. Dictator of theatres--patron of operas--oracle in music--mirror of entertainments and equipage--to these conditions had his natural genius and his once dreaming dispositions been bowed at last! A round of dissipation, however, left him no time for reflection; and he believed (perhaps he was not altogether wrong) that the best way to preserve the happy equilibrium of the heart is to blunt its susceptibilities. As the most uneven shapes, when whirled into rapid and ceaseless motion, will appear a perfect circle, so, once impelled in a career that admits no pause, our life loses its uneven angles, and glides on in smooth and rounded celerity, with false aspects more symmetrical than the truth.

One day G.o.dolphin visited Saville; who now, old, worn, and fast waning to the grave, cropped the few flowers on the margin, and jested, but with sourness, on his own decay. He found the actress (who had also come to visit the Man of Pleasure) sitting by the window, and rattling away with her usual vivacity, while she divided her attention with the labours of knitting a purse.

"Heaven only knows," said Saville, "what all these times will produce.

I lose my head in the dizzy quickness of events. f.a.n.n.y, hand me my snuff-box. Well, I fancy my last hour is not far distant; but I hope, at least, I shall die a gentleman. I have a great dislike to the thought of being revolutionised into a roturier. That's the only kind of revolution I have any notion about. What do you say to all this, G.o.dolphin? Every one else is turning politician; young Sunderland whirls his cab down to the House at four o'clock every day--dines at Bellamy's on cold beef; and talks of nothing but that d----d good speech of Sir Robert's'.

Revolution! faith, the revolution is come already. Revolutions only change the aspect of society, is it not changed enough within the last six months? Bah! I suppose you are bit by the mania?"

"Not I! while I live I will abjure the vulgar toil of ambition. Let others rule or ruin the state;--like the Duc de Lauzun, while the guillotine is preparing, I will think only of my oysters and my champagne."

"A n.o.ble creed!" said f.a.n.n.y, smiling: "let the world go to wreck, and bring me my biscuit! That's G.o.dolphin's motto."

"It is life's motto."

"Yes--a gentleman's life."

"Pish! f.a.n.n.y; no satire from you: you, who are not properly speaking even a tragic actress! But there is something about your profession sublimely picturesque in the midst of these noisy brawls. The storms of nations shake not the stage; you are wrapt in another life; the atmosphere of poetry girds you. You are like the fairies who lived among men, visible only at night, and playing their fantastic tricks amidst the surrounding pa.s.sions--the sorrow, the crime, the avarice, the love, the wrath, the luxury, the famine, that belong to the grosser dwellers of the earth. You are to be envied, f.a.n.n.y."

"Not so; I am growing old."

"Old!" cried Saville: "Ah, talk not of it! Ugh!--Ugh! Curse this cough!

But hang politics; it always brings disagreeable reflections. Glad, my old pupil,--glad am I to see that you still retain your august contempt for these foolish strugglers--insects splashing and panting in the vast stream of events, which they scarcely stir, and in which they scarcely drop before they are drowned--"

"Or the fishes, their pa.s.sions, devour them," said G.o.dolphin.

"News!" cried Saville; "let us have real news; cut all the politics out of the Times, f.a.n.n.y, with your scissors, and then read me the rest."

f.a.n.n.y obeyed.

"'Fire in Marylebone!'"

"That's not news!--skip that."

"'Letter from Padieal.'"

"Stuff! What else?"

"Emigration:--'No fewer than sixty-eight----'"

"Hold! for mercy's sake! What do I, just going out of the world, care for people only going out of the country? Here, child, give the paper to G.o.dolphin; he knows exactly what interests a man of sense."

"'Sale of Lord Lysart's wines----'"

"Capital!" cried Saville: "that's news--that's interesting!"

f.a.n.n.y's pretty hands returned to their knitting. When the wines had been discussed, the following paragraph was chanced upon:--

"There is a foolish story going the round of the papers about Lord Grey and his vision;--the vision is only in the silly heads of the inventors of the story, and the ghost is, we suppose, the apparition of Old Sarum.

By the way, there is a celebrated fortune-teller, or prophetess, now in London, making much noise. We conclude the discomfited Tories will next publish her oracular discourses. She is just arrived in time to predict the pa.s.sing of the Reform Bill, without any fear of being proved an impostor."

"Ah, by the by," said Saville, "I hear wonders of this sorceress. She dreams and divines with the most singular accuracy; and all the old women of both s.e.xes flock to her in hackney-coaches, making fools of themselves to-day in order to be wise to-morrow. Have you seen her, f.a.n.n.y?"

"Yes," replied the actress, very gravely; "and, in sober earnest, she has startled me. Her countenance is so striking, her eyes so wild, and in her conversation there is so much enthusiasm, that she carries you away in spite of yourself. Do you believe in astrology, Percy?"

"I almost did once," said G.o.dolphin, with a half sigh; "but does this female seer profess to choose astrology in preference to cards? The last is the more convenient way of tricking the public."

"Oh, but this is no vulgar fortune-teller, I a.s.sure you," cried f.a.n.n.y, quite eagerly: "she dwells much on magnetism; insists on the effect of your own imagination; discards all outward quackeries; and, in short, has either discovered a new way of learning the future, or revived some forgotten trick of deluding the public. Come and see her some day, G.o.dolphin."

"No, I don't like that kind of imposture," said G.o.dolphin, quickly, and turning away, he sank into a silent and gloomy reverie.

CHAPTER LVII.

SUPERSt.i.tION.--ITS WONDERFUL EFFECTS.

It was perfectly true that there had appeared in London a person of the female s.e.x who, during the last few years, had been much noted on the Continent for the singular boldness with which she had promulgated the wildest doctrines, and the supposed felicity which had attended her vaticinations. She professed belief in all the dogmas that preceded the dawn of modern philosophy; and a strange, vivid, yet gloomy eloquence that pervaded her language gave effect to theories which, while incomprehensible to the many, were alluring to the few. None knew her native country, although she was believed to come from the North of Europe. Her way of life was lonely, her habits eccentric; she sought no companionship; she was beautiful, but not of this earth's beauty; men admired, but courted not; she, at least, lived apart from the reach of human pa.s.sions. In fact, the strange Liehbur, for such was the name the prophetness was known by (and she a.s.sumed before it the French t.i.tle of Madame), was not an impostor, but a fanatic: the chords of the brain were touched, and the sound they gave back was erring and imperfect.

She was mad, but with a certain method in her madness; a cold, and preternatural, and fearful spirit abode within her, and spoke from her lips--its voice froze herself, and she was more awed by her own oracles than her listeners themselves.

In Vienna and in Paris her renown was great, and even terrible: the greatest men in those capitals had consulted her, and spoke of her decrees with a certain reverence; her insanity thrilled there, and they mistook the cause. Besides, in the main, she was right in the principle she addressed: she worked on the imagination, and the imagination afterwards fulfilled what she predicted. Every one knows what dark things may be done by our own fantastic persuasions; belief insures the miracles it credits. Men dream they shall die within a certain hour; the hour comes, and the dream is realised. The most potent wizardries are less potent than fancy itself. Macbeth was a murderer, not because the witches predicted, but because their prediction aroused the thoughts of murder. And this principle of action the prophetess knew well: she appealed to that attribute common to us all, the foolish and the wise, and on that fruitful ground she sowed her soothsayings.

In London there are always persons to run after anything new, and Madame Liehbur became at once the rage.--I myself have seen a minister hurrying from her door with his cloak about his face; and one of the coldest of living sages confesses that she told him what he believes, by mere human means, she could not have discovered. Delusion all! But what age is free from it?

The race of the nineteenth century boast their lights, but run as madly after any folly as their fathers in the eighth. What are the prophecies of St. Simon but a species of sorcery? Why believe the external more than the inner miracle?

There were but a few persons present at Lady Erpingham's, and when Radclyffe entered, Madame Liehbur was the theme of the general conversation. So many anecdotes were told, so much that was false was mingled with so much that seemed true, that Lady Erpingham's curiosity was excited, and she resolved to seek the modern Ca.s.sandra with the first opportunity. G.o.dolphin sat apart from the talkers playing a quiet game at ecarte. Constance's eyes stole ever and anon to his countenance; and when she turned at length away with a sigh, she saw that Radclyffe's deep and inscrutable gaze was bent upon her, and the proud countess blushed, although she scarce knew why.

CHAPTER LVIII.

THE EMPIRE OF TIME AND OF LOVE.--THE PROUD CONSTANCE GROWN WEARY AND HUMBLE.--AN ORDEAL.

About this time the fine const.i.tution of Lady Erpingham began to feel the effects of that life which, at once idle and busy, is the most exhausting of all. She suffered under no absolute illness; she was free from actual pain; but a fever crept over her at night, and a languid debility succeeded it the next day. She was melancholy and dejected; tears came into her eyes without a cause; a sudden noise made her tremble; her nerves were shaken,--terrible disease, which marks a new epoch in life, which is the first token that our youth is about to leave us!

It is in sickness that we feel our true reliance on others, especially if it is of that vague and not dangerous character when those around us are not ashamed or roused into attendance; when the care, and the soothing, and the vigilance, are the result of that sympathy which true and deep love only feels. This thought broke upon Constance as she sat alone one morning in that mood when books cannot amuse, nor music lull, nor luxury soothe--the mood of an aching memory and a spiritless frame.

Above her, and over the mantelpiece of her favourite room, hung that picture of her father which I have before described; it had been long since removed from Wendover Castle to London, for Constance wished it to be frequently in her sight. "Alas!" thought she, gazing upon the proud and animated brow that bent down upon her; "Alas! though in a different sphere, thy lot, my father, has been mine;--toil unrepaid, affection slighted, sacrifices forgotten;--a harder lot in part; for thou hadst, at least, in thy stirring and magnificent career, continued excitement and perpetual triumph. But I, a woman, shut out by my s.e.x from contest, from victory, am left only the thankless task to devise the rewards which others are to enjoy; the petty plot, the poor intrigue, the toil without the honour, the humiliation without the revenge;--yet have I worked in thy cause, my father, and thou--thou, couldst thou see my heart, wouldst pity and approve me."