Vivian felt exalted in his own opinion by such praise, and by these the warmest expressions he had ever received of Russell’s regard. He forgot even his domestic uneasiness; and this day, the first for many months he had spent happily, he passed with his friend. They supped together, and related mutually all that happened since their parting. Russell told Vivian that he had lately been agreeably surprised by the gift of a valuable living from the Bishop of —— , Lady Julia Lidhurst’s uncle; that the bishop, whom he had till then never seen, had written to him in the handsomest manner, saying that he knew the obligations his family owed to Mr. Russell; that it had been the dying request of his nephew, Lord Lidhurst, that some token of the family esteem and gratitude should be offered to him, to whom they owed so much; but the bishop added, that neither family gratitude nor private friendship could have induced him to bestow church preferments upon any but the person whose character best entitled him to such a distinction and such a trust.
This letter, as Vivian observed, was well calculated to satisfy Russell’s conscience and his delicacy. The conversation next turned upon Lady Julia Lidhurst. Russell was not aware that Vivian knew more of her attachment to him than what had been discovered the day before he left Glistonbury; and Vivian could not help admiring the honourable and delicate manner in which his friend spoke of her, without any air of mystery, and with the greatest respect. He told Vivian he had heard that proposals had been lately made to her ladyship by a gentleman of great talents and of high character; but that she had positively declined his addresses, and had repeated her declaration that she would never marry. Her good uncle left her, on this point, entirely at liberty, and did not mention the proposal to Lord Glistonbury, lest she should be exposed to any fresh difficulties. Russell expressed much satisfaction at this part of the bishop’s conduct, as being not only the most kind, but the most judicious, and the most likely to dispose his niece to change her determination. He repeated his opinion that, united to a man of sense and strength of mind, she would make a charming and excellent wife. Vivian agreed with him; yet observed, that he was convinced she would never marry — There he paused. — Could Lady Julia herself have overheard the conversation which afterwards passed between these two gentlemen, one of whom she had loved and the other of whom she had refused, not a word would have hurt her feelings: on the contrary, she would have been raised in her own opinion, and gratified by the strong interest they both showed for her happiness. They regretted only that a young woman of such talents, and of such a fine, generous disposition, had been so injudiciously educated.
“And now, my dear Russell,” cried Vivian, “that we have finished the chapter of Lady Julia, let us talk of Miss Sidney.” — Russell’s change of countenance showed that it was not quite so easy for him to talk upon this subject. — To spare him the effort, Vivian resumed, “As you are a rich man now, my dear Russell, you will certainly marry; and I know,” added he, smiling, “that Miss Sidney will be your wife. If ever man deserved such a prize, you do; and I shall be the first to wish you joy.”
“Stay, my good friend,” interrupted Russell; “your kindness for me, and your imagination, are too quick in this anticipation of my happiness.” — Russell then told him, that he never had declared his attachment to Selina till Vivian’s marriage had put an end to all probability of rivalship with his friend. She had expressed high esteem for Russell, but had told him, that she had suffered so much from a first unfortunate attachment, that she felt averse from any new engagements.
“Shall I assure you, as you assured me just now with regard to Lady Julia,” said Vivian, “that Miss Sidney will he prevailed upon to alter her determination; and shall I add, that, though I should like Lady Julia the less, I should like Selina the better, for changing her mind?” — He went on, generously expressing sincere hopes, that his friend might obtain Selina Sidney’s affections, and might enjoy that domestic happiness, which — Vivian was going to say, which he had himself forfeited; but checking this regret, he only said—”that domestic happiness, which I consider as the summit of human felicity, and which no man can deserve better than you do, my dear Russell.”
Russell easily guessed that poor Vivian had not attained this summit of human felicity by his own marriage, but never adverted to any of the conversations they had held about Lady Sarah Lidhurst; never recalled any of Vivian’s vehement declarations concerning the absolute impossibility of his making such a match; never evinced the least surprise at his marriage; nor inquired how he had conquered his passion for Lady Julia. With friendly forgetfulness, he seemed to have totally obliterated from his mind all that it could do no good to remember. Vivian was sensible of this delicacy, and grateful for it; but to imitate Russell’s reserve and silence upon certain subjects required a force, a forbearance of which he was not capable. At first he had determined not to say one word to Russell of domestic uneasiness; but they had not been many hours together before Vivian poured forth all his complaints, and confessed how bitterly he repented his marriage: be declared that he had been persuaded, by the united efforts of her family and of his mother, against his own judgment, or, at least, against his taste and inclinations, to marry Lady Sarah.
“By whatever persuasions, or by whatever motives, your choice was decided,” interrupted Russell, “reflect that it is decided for life; therefore abide by it, and justify it. Above all, make yourself happy with the means which are yet in your power, instead of wasting your mind in unavailing regret. You are united to a woman who has every estimable quality, as you candidly acknowledge: there are some particulars in which she does not please your taste; but withdraw your attention from these, and you will be happy with a wife who is so firmly attached to you. Consider, besides, that — romance apart — love, though a delightful passion, is not the only resource which a man of sense, virtue, and activity may find for happiness. Your public duties, your success, and your reputation as a public character, will—”
Russell was interrupted in this consolatory and invigorating speech, by the entrance of a servant of Lord Glistonbury’s, who brought a note from his lordship to Mr. Vivian, requesting to see him as soon as he could make it convenient to come to Glistonbury House, as his lordship wanted to speak to him on particular business of the greatest importance. Vivian was provoked by being thus summoned away from his friend, to attend to one of what he called Lord Glistonbury’s important mysteries about nothing. Russell was engaged to go into the country the ensuing day, to take possession of his new living; but he promised that he would see him again soon; and, with this hope, the two friends parted.
Vivian went to Lord Glistonbury’s: he found his lordship in his study. “Where have you been, Vivian?” exclaimed he: “I have sent messenger after messenger to look for you, half over the town: I thought you were to have dined with us, but you ran away, and nobody could tell where, or with whom; and we have been waiting for you at our cabinet council here with the utmost impatience.” — Vivian answered, that he had unexpectedly met with his friend Russell; and was proceeding to tell his lordship how handsomely the Bishop of —— had provided for his friend; but Lord Glistonbury, like many other great men, having the habit of forgetting all the services of those from whom they have nothing more to expect, cut short Vivian’s narration, by exclaiming, “True, true! well, well! that’s all over now — Certainly, that Russell did his duty by my poor son; and acted as he ought to do — in all things; and I’m glad to hear my brother has given him a good living; and I hope, as you say, he will soon be married — so best — so best, you know, Vivian, for reasons of our own — Well! well! I’m glad he is provided for — not but what that living would have been of essential service, if it had been reserved for a friend of mine — but my brother the bishop never can enter into any political views — might as well not have a brother a bishop — But, however, Mr. Russell’s a friend of yours — I am not regretting — not so rude to you to regret —— on the contrary, rejoice, particularly as Mr. Russell is a man of so much meri
t — But all that’s over now; and I want to talk to you upon quite another matter. You know I have always said I should, sooner or later, succeed in my grand object, hey, Vivian?”
“Your lordship’s grand object? — I am not sure that I know it.”
“Oh, surely, you know my grand object. You my son-in-law, and forget my grand object? — The marquisate, you know; the marquisate, the marquisate! Did not I always tell you that I would make government, sooner or later, change my earldom into a marquisate? Well! the thing is done — that is, as good as done; they have sent to treat with me upon my own terms.”
“I give you joy, my dear lord!” said Vivian.
“Joy! — to be sure you do, my sober sir: — one would think you had no concern or interest in the business. Joy! to be sure you give me joy; but, I can tell you, you must give me something more than joy — you must give me support.”
“How he looks!” continued Lord Glistonbury, “as if he did not know what is meant by support. Vivian, did you never hear of parliamentary support?”
“I hope, my dear lord,” replied Vivian, gravely, “that you have not entered into any engagements, or made any promises for me, which I cannot have it in my power to perform.”
Lord Glistonbury hesitated in some confusion; and then, forcing a look of effrontery, in an assured tone, replied, “No. I have not made any engagements or promises for you which you cannot perform, Vivian, I am clear; nor any which I have not a right to expect my son-in-law will confirm with alacrity.”
“What have you engaged? — what have you promised for me, my lord?” said Vivian, earnestly.
“Only, my dear boy,” said Lord Glistonbury, assuming a facetious tone, “only that you will be always one of us — And are not you one of us? — my son-in-law? — the deuce is in it if he is not one of us! — In short, you know, to be serious, a party must go together, that is, a family party must go together; and, if a ministry do my business, of course I do theirs. If I have my marquisate, they have my votes.”
“But not my vote — pardon me, my lord — my vote cannot be bartered in this manner.”
“But, you know, Mr. Vivian, you know it is for your interest as much as for mine; for, you know, the marquisate will probably descend, in due course of time, to your son. So your interest is full as much concerned as mine; and besides, let me tell you, I have not forgotten your immediate interest: I have stipulated that you should have the valuable place which Mr. C —— was to have had.”
All that Russell had said of public virtue was fresh in our hero’s mind. “I thank you, my dear lord,” said he; “for I am sure this was kindly intended; but I am not one of those persons, who in public affairs think only of their private interest — I am not thinking of my interest. But if a man maintains certain public measures one day, and the next, for valuable consideration, supports diametrically opposite opinions and measures, he will lose, and deserve to lose, all reputation for integrity.”
“Integrity! political integrity!” said Lord Glistonbury; “fine words, which mean nothing. Behind the scenes, as we are now, Vivian, what use can there be in talking in that strain? — Between you and me, you know this is all nonsense. For who, of any party, now thinks, really and truly, of any thing but getting power or keeping it? Power, you know, stands for the measure of talent; and every thing else worth having is included in that word power. I speak plainly. And as honour is merely an affair of opinion, and opinion, again, an affair of numbers, and as there are numbers enough to keep one in countenance in these things; really, my dear Vivian, it is quite childish, quite boyish, smells of the lamp. To declaim about political integrity, and all that, is not the language of a man who knows any thing of business — any thing of the world. — But why do I say all this?” cried Lord Glistonbury, checking himself and assuming an air of more reserved displeasure.—”Mr. Vivian certainly knows all this as well as I do; I know how my nephew Marmaduke, who, with all his faults, is no fool, would interpret your present language: he would say, as I have often heard him say, that political integrity is only a civil put off.”
“Political integrity only a civil put off!” repeated Vivian, with unfeigned astonishment. When he formerly heard similar sentiments from the avowed profligate and hackneyed politician Mr. Wharton, he was shocked; but to hear them repeated, as being coolly laid down by so young a man as Mr. Lidhurst, excited so much disgust and contempt in Vivian’s mind, that he could hardly refrain from saying more than either prudence or politeness could justify.
“Now I am free to confess,” pursued Lord Glistonbury, “that I should think it more candid and manly, and, I will add, more friendly, and more the natural, open conduct of a son-in-law to a father-in-law, instead of talking of political integrity, to have said, at once, I cannot oblige you in this instance.”
“Surely, my lord, you cannot be in earnest?” said Vivian.
“I tell you, sir, I am in earnest,” cried his lordship, turning suddenly in a rage, as he walked up and down the room; “I say, it would have been more candid, more manly, more every thing, — and much more like a son-in-law — much! — much! —— I am sure, if I had known as much as I do now, sir, you never should have been my son-in-law — never! never! — seen Lady Sarah in her grave first! — I would! — I would! — yes, sir — I would! —— And you are the last person upon earth I should have expected it from. But I have a nephew — I have a nephew, and now I know the difference. No man can distinguish his friends till he tries them.”
Vivian in vain endeavoured to appease Lord Glistonbury by assurances that he would do any thing in his power to oblige him, except what he himself considered as dishonourable: his lordship reiterated, with divers passionate ejaculations, that if Vivian would not oblige him in this point, on which he had set his heart — where the great object of his life was at stake — he could never believe he had any regard for him; and that in short, it must come to an open rupture between them, for that he should never consider him more as his son. Having uttered this denunciation as distinctly as passion would permit, Lord Glistonbury retired to rest.
Vivian went immediately to his mother, to tell her what had passed, and he felt almost secure of her approbation; but though she praised him for his generous spirit of independence, yet it was evident the hopes that the title of marquis might descend to a grandson of her own weighed more with her than any patriotic considerations. She declared, that indeed she would not, for any title, or any thing upon earth, have her son act dishonourably; but what was asked of him, as far as she could understand, was only such a change of party, such compliances, as every public man in his place would make: and though she would not have him, like some she could name, a corrupt tool of government, yet, on the other hand, it was folly to expect that he alone could do any thing against the general tide of corruption — that it would be madness in him to sacrifice himself entirely, without the slightest possibility of doing any good to his country.
Vivian interrupted her, to represent that, if each public man argued in this manner, nothing could ever be accomplished for the public good: that, on the contrary, if every man hoped that something might be done, even by his individual exertion, and if he determined to sacrifice a portion of his private interest in the attempt, perhaps much might be effected.
“Very likely!” Lady Mary said. She confessed she knew little of politics: so from argument she went to persuasion and entreaties. She conjured him not to quarrel with the Glistonburys, and not to provoke Lord Glistonbury’s displeasure. “I see all that artful Marmaduke’s schemes,” said she: “he knows his uncle’s pertinacious temper; and he hopes that your notions of patriotism will prevent you from yielding on a point, on which his uncle has set his heart. Marmaduke will know how to take advantage of all this, believe me!”
Vivian was shaken in his resolution by his mother’s entreaties — by the idea of all the family quarrels that would ensue, and of all the difficulties in which he might be involved, if he persisted in his generous determination.
“My dear son,” resumed she, “it would be absolute madness to refuse the place that is now offered you: only consider the situation of your affairs — consider, I beseech you, the distress you will be in by and by, if you reject this offer — recollect the immense demands upon you; recollect that heap of bills for the election, and for the buildings, and all the poor workmen about the castle! and that coachmaker too! and remember, the purchase money of the house in town must be paid in three months. And the only possible means by which you can get out of debt, is by accepting this place, which would put you at ease at once, and enable you to continue in the style of life to which you have of late been accustomed.”
“As to that, I could alter my style of life — I would do any thing,” cried Vivian, “to pay my debts and preserve my independence. I will alter my mode of living, and retrench decidedly and vigorously.”
“Well, my dear son, I admire your spirit, and, if you can do this, it will certainly be best; but I fear that when it comes to the trial, you will not be able to persevere.”
“I shall — I shall! Believe me, mother, I have resolution enough for this — you do me injustice,” said Vivian.
“No, my dear Charles, I do you justice; for I do not doubt your resolution, as far as your own privations are concerned; but, consider your wife — consider Lady Sarah — consider the luxury in which she has always been accustomed to live, and the high sphere in which her relations move! How her pride would be hurt by their looking down upon her! I have no doubt Lady Sarah would do her duty, and make any sacrifices for her husband; and if you were — I must now speak plainly — if you were passionately fond of her — an all-for-love husband — you could, with honour and propriety, accept of such sacrifices; but what would retirement be to poor Lady Sarah, and with Lady Sarah?”
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