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Ernest Maltravers, Book 1

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Ernest was, as usual, in his own room, when he heard, along the corridor
without, all that indefinable bustling noise which announces an arrival.
Next came a most ringing laugh, and then a sharp, clear, vigorous voice,
that ran through his ears like a dagger. Ernest was immediately aroused
to all the majesty of indignant sullenness. He walked out on the
terrace of the portico, to avoid the repetition of the disturbance: and
once more settled back into his broken and hypochondriacal reveries.
Pacing to and fro that part of the peristyle which occupied the more
retired wing of the house, with his arms folded, his eyes downcast, his
brows knit, and all the angel darkened on that countenance which
formerly looked as if, like truth, it could shame the devil and defy the
world, Ernest followed the evil thought that mastered him, through the
Valley of the Shadow. Suddenly he was aware of something--some obstacle
which he had not previously encountered. He started, and saw before him
a young man, of plain dress, gentlemanlike appearance, and striking
countenance.

"Mr. Maltravers, I think," said the stranger, and Ernest recognised the
voice that had so disturbed him: "this is lucky; we can now introduce
ourselves, for I find Cleveland means us to be intimate. Mr. Lumley
Ferrers, Mr. Ernest Maltravers. There now, I am the elder, so I first
offer my hand, and grin properly. People always grin when they make a
new acquaintance! Well, that's settled. Which way are you walking?"

Maltravers could, when he chose it, be as stately as if he had never
been out of England. He now drew himself up in displeased astonishment;
extricated his hand from the gripe of Ferrers, and saying, very coldly,
"Excuse me, sir, I am busy," stalked back to his chamber. He threw
himself into his chair, and was presently forgetful of his late
annoyance, when, to his inexpressible amazement and wrath, he heard
again the sharp, clear voice close at his elbow.

Ferrers had followed him through the French casement into the room.
"You are busy, you say, my dear fellow. I want to write some letters:
we sha'n't interrupt each other--don't disturb yourself:" and Ferrers
seated himself at the writing-table, dipped a pen into the ink, arranged
blotting-book and paper before him in due order, and was soon employed
in covering page after page with the most rapid and hieroglyphical
scrawl that ever engrossed a mistress or perplexed a dun.

"The presuming puppy!" growled Maltravers, half audibly, but effectually
roused from himself; and examining with some curiosity so cool an
intruder, he was forced to own that the countenance of Ferrers was not
that of a puppy.

A forehead compact and solid as a block of granite, overhung small,
bright, intelligent eyes of a light hazel; the features were handsome,
yet rather too sharp and fox-like; the complexion, though not highly
coloured, was of that hardy, healthy hue which generally betokens a
robust constitution, and high animal spirits; the jaw was massive, and,
to a physiognomist, betokened firmness and strength of character; but
the lips, full and large, were those of a sensualist, and their restless
play, an habitual half smile, spoke of gaiety and humour, though when in
repose there was in them something furtive and sinister.

Maltravers looked at him in grave silence; but when Ferrers, concluding
his fourth letter before another man would have got through his first
page, threw down the pen, and looked full at Maltravers, with a
good-humoured but penetrating stare, there was something so whimsical in
the intruder's expression of face, and indeed in the whole scene, that
Maltravers bit his lip to restrain a smile, the first he had known for
weeks.

"I see you read, Maltravers," said Ferrers, carelessly turning over the
volumes on the table. "All very right: we should begin life with books;
they multiply the sources of employment; so does capital;--but capital
is of no use, unless we live on the interest,--books are waste paper,
unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought. Action,
Maltravers, action; that is the life for us. At our age we have
passion, fancy, sentiment; we can't read them away, or scribble them
away;--we must live upon them generously, but economically."

Maltravers was struck; the intruder was not the empty bore he had chosen
to fancy him. He roused himself languidly to reply. "Life, /Mr./
Ferrers--"

"Stop, /mon cher/, stop; don't call me Mister; we are to be friends; I
hate delaying that which /must be/, even by a superfluous dissyllable;
you are Maltravers, I am Ferrers. But you were going to talk about life.
Suppose we /live/ a little while, instead of talking about it? It wants
an hour to dinner; let us stroll into the grounds; I want to get an
appetite;--besides, I like nature when there are no Swiss mountains to
climb before one can arrive at a prospect. /Allons/!"

"Excuse--" again began Maltravers, half interested, half annoyed.

"I'll be shot if I do. Come."

Ferrers gave Maltravers his hat, wound his arm into that of his new
acquaintance, and they were on the broad terrace by the lake before
Ernest was aware of it.

How animated, how eccentric, how easy was Ferrers' talk (for talk it
was, rather than conversation, since he had the ball to himself); books,
and men, and things; he tossed them about and played with them like
shuttlecocks; and then his egotistical narrative of half a hundred
adventures, in which he had been the hero, told so, that you laughed at
him and laughed with him.



CHAPTER XVI.

"Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east."--MILTON.

HITHERTO Ernest had never met with any mind that had exercised a strong
influence over his own. At home, at school, at Gottingen, everywhere,
he had been the brilliant and wayward leader of others, persuading or
commanding wiser and older heads than his own: even Cleveland always
yielded to him, though not aware of it. In fact, it seldom happens that
we are very strongly influenced by those much older than ourselves. It
is the senior, of from two to ten years, that most seduces and enthrals
us. He has the same pursuits--views, objects, pleasures, but more art
and experience in them all. He goes with us in the path we are ordained
to tread, but from which the elder generation desires to warn us off.
There is very little influence where there is not great sympathy. It was
now an epoch in the intellectual life of Maltravers. He met for the
first time with a mind that controlled his own. Perhaps the physical
state of his nerves made him less able to cope with the half-bullying,
but thoroughly good-humoured imperiousness of Ferrers. Every day this
stranger became more and more potential with Maltravers. Ferrers, who
was an utter egotist, never asked his new friend to give him his
confidence; he never cared three straws about other people's secrets,
unless useful to some purpose of his own. But he talked with so much
zest about himself--about women and pleasure, and the gay, stirring life
of cities--that the young spirit of Maltravers was roused from its dark
lethargy without an effort of its own. The gloomy phantoms vanished
gradually--his sense broke from its cloud--he felt once more that God
had given the sun to light the day, and even in the midst of darkness
had called up the host of stars.

Perhaps no other person could have succeeded so speedily in curing
Maltravers of his diseased enthusiasm: a crude or sarcastic unbeliever
he would not have listened to; a moderate and enlightened divine he
would have disregarded, as a worldly and cunning adjuster of laws
celestial with customs earthly. But Lumley Ferrers, who, when he
argued, never admitted a sentiment or a simile in reply, who wielded his
plain iron logic like a hammer, which, though its metal seemed dull,
kindled the ethereal spark with every stroke--Lumley Ferrers was just
the man to resist the imagination, and convince the reason, of
Maltravers; and the moment the matter came to argument, the cure was
soon completed: for, however we may darken and puzzle ourselves with
fancies and visions, and the ingenuities of fanatical mysticism, no man
can mathematically or syllogistically contend that the world which a God
made, and a Saviour visited, was designed to be damned.

And Ernest Maltravers one night softly stole to his room and opened the
New Testament, and read its heavenly moralities with purged eyes; and
when he had done, he fell upon his knees, and prayed the Almighty to
pardon the ungrateful heart that, worse than the Atheist's, had
confessed His existence, but denied His goodness. His sleep was sweet
and his dreams were cheerful. Did he rise to find that the penitence
which had shaken his reason would henceforth suffice to save his life
from all error? Alas! remorse overstrained has too often reactions as
dangerous; and homely Luther says well, that "the mind, like the drunken
peasant on horseback, when propped on the one side, nods and falls on
the other."--All that can be said is, that there are certain crises in
life which leave us long weaker; from which the system recovers with
frequent revulsion and weary relapse,--but from which, looking back,
after years have passed on, we date the foundation of strength or the
cure of disease. It is not to mean souls that creation is darkened by a
fear of the anger of Heaven.



CHAPTER XVII.

"There are times when we are diverted out of errors, but could
not be preached out of them.--There are practitioners who can cure
us of one disorder, though, in ordinary cases, they be but poor
physicians--nay, dangerous quacks."-STEPHEN MONTAGUE.

LUMLEY FERRERS had one rule in life; and it was this: to make all things
and all persons subservient to himself. And Ferrers now intended to go
abroad for some years. He wanted a companion, for he disliked solitude:
besides, a companion shared the expenses; and a man of eight hundred a
year, who desires all the luxuries of life, does not despise a partner
in the taxes to be paid for them. Ferrers, at this period, rather liked
Ernest than not: it was convenient to choose friends from those richer
than himself, and he resolved, when he first came to Temple Grove, that
Ernest should be his travelling companion. This resolution formed, it
was very easy to execute it.

Maltravers was now warmly attached to his new friend, and eager for
change. Cleveland was sorry to part with him; but he dreaded a relapse,
if the young man were again left upon his hands. Accordingly, the
guardian's consent was obtained; a travelling carriage was bought, and
fitted up with every imaginable imperial and /malle/. A Swiss (half
valet and half courier) was engaged, one thousand a year was allowed to
Maltravers;--and one soft and lovely morning, towards the close of
October, Ferrers and Maltravers found themselves midway on the road to
Dover.

"How glad I am to get out of England," said Ferrers: "it is a famous
country for the rich; but here, eight hundred a year, without a
profession, save that of pleasure, goes upon pepper and salt; it is a
luxurious competence abroad."

"I think I have heard Cleveland say that you will be rich some day or
other."

"O yes: I have what are called expectations! You must know that I have
a kind of settlement on two stools, the Well-born and the Wealthy; but
between two stools--you recollect the proverb! The present Lord
Saxingham, once plain Frank Lascelles, and my father, Mr. Ferrers, were
first cousins. Two or three relations good-naturedly died, and Frank
Lascelles became an earl; the lands did not go with the coronet; he was
poor, and married an heiress. The lady died; her estate was settled on
her only child, the handsomest little girl you ever saw. Pretty
Florence, I often wish I could look up to you! Her fortune will be
nearly all at her own disposal, too, when she comes of age; now she is
in the nursery, 'eating bread and honey.' My father, less lucky and
less wise than his cousin, thought fit to marry a Miss Templeton--a
nobody. The Saxingham branch of the family politely dropped the
acquaintance. Now, my mother had a brother, a clever, plodding fellow,
in what is called 'business:' he became richer and richer: but my father
and mother died, and were never the better for it. And I came of age,
and /worth/ (I like that expression) not a farthing more or less than
this often-quoted eight hundred pounds a year. My rich uncle is
married, but has no children. I am, therefore, heir-presumptive,--but
he is a saint, and close, though ostentatious. The quarrel between
Uncle Templeton and the Saxinghams still continues. Templeton is angry
if I see the Saxinghams and the Saxinghams--my Lord, at least--is by no
means so sure that I shall be Templeton's heir as not to feel a doubt
lest I should some day or other sponge upon his lordship for a place.
Lord Saxingham is in the administration, you know. Somehow or other I
have an equivocal amphibious kind of place in London society, which I
don't like; on one side I am a patrician connection, whom the /parvenu/
branches always incline lovingly to--and on the other side I am a
half-dependent cadet, whom the noble relations look civilly shy at.
Some day, when I grow tired of travel and idleness, I shall come back
and wrestle with these little difficulties, conciliate my methodistical
uncle, and grapple with my noble cousin. But now I am fit for something
better than getting on in the world. Dry chips, not green wood, are the
things for making a blaze! How slow this fellow drives! Hollo, you
sir! get on! mind, twelve miles to the hour! You shall have sixpence a
mile. Give me your purse, Maltravers; I may as well be cashier, being
the elder and the wiser man; we can settle accounts at the end of the
journey. By Jove, what a pretty girl!"

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