Фредерик Марриет
Japhet in Search of a Father
Part 1—Chapter XXIII
The Major prevents the Landlord from imposing on me, but I gain nothing by his Interference—For economical Reasons I agree to live with him that he may live on me.
I returned to the hotel, for my mind had been much agitated, and I wished for quiet, and the friendship of Timothy. As soon as I arrived I told him all that had passed.
“Indeed,” replied Timothy, “things do now wear a pleasant aspect; for I am afraid, that without that thousand, we could not have carried on for a fortnight longer. The bill here is very heavy, and I’m sure the landlord wishes to see the colour of his money.”
“How much do you think we have left? It is high time, Timothy, that we now make up our accounts, and arrange some plans for the future,” replied I. “I have paid the jeweller and the tailor, by the advice of the major, who says, that you should always pay your first bills as soon as possible, and all your subsequent bills as late as possible; and if put off sine die, so much the better. In fact, I owe very little now, but the bill here—I will send for it to-night.”
Here we were interrupted by the entrance of the landlord. “O Mr Wallace, you are the very person I wished to see; let me have my bill, if you please.”
“It’s not of the least consequence, sir,” replied he; “but if you wish it, I have posted down to yesterday,” and the landlord left the room.
“You were both of one mind, at all events,” said Timothy, laughing; “for he had the bill in his hand, and concealed it the moment you asked for it.”
In about ten minutes the landlord re-appeared, and presenting the bill upon a salver, made his bow and retired. I looked it over: it amounted to 104 pounds; which, for little more than three weeks, was pretty well. Timothy shrugged up his shoulders, while I ran over the items. “I do not see that there is anything to complain of, Tim,” observed I, when I came to the bottom of it; “but I do see that living here, with the major keeping me an open house, will never do. Let us see how much money we have left.”
Tim brought the dressing-case in which our cash was deposited, and we found, that after paying the waiters, and a few small bills not yet liquidated, our whole stock was reduced to fifty shillings.
“Merciful Heaven! what an escape,” cried Timothy; “if it had not been for this new supply, what should we have done?”
“Very badly, Timothy; but the money is well spent, after all. I have now entrance into the first circles. I can do without Major Carbonnell; at all events, I shall quit this hotel, and take furnished apartments, and live at the clubs. I know how to put him off.”
I laid the money on the salver, and desired Timothy to ring for the landlord, when who should come up but the major and Harcourt. “Why, Newland! what are you going to do with that money?” said the major.
“I am paying my bill, major.”
“Paying your bill, indeed; let us see—104 pounds. O this is a confounded imposition. You mustn’t pay this.” At this moment the landlord entered. “Mr Wallace,” said the major, “my friend Mr Newland was about, as you may see, to pay you the whole of your demand; but allow me to observe, that being my very particular friend, and the Piazza having been particularly recommended by me, I do think that your charges are somewhat exorbitant. I shall certainly advise Mr Newland to leave the house to-morrow, if you are not more reasonable.”
“Allow me to observe, major, that my reason for sending for my bill, was to pay it before I went into the country, which I must do to-morrow, for a few days.”
“Then I shall certainly recommend Mr Newland not to come here when he returns, Mr Wallace; for I hold myself, to a certain degree, after the many dinners we have ordered here, and of which I have partaken, as I may say, particeps criminis, or in other words, as having been a party to this extortion. Indeed, Mr Wallace, some reduction must be made, or you will greatly hurt the credit of your house.”
Mr Wallace declared, that really he had made nothing but the usual charges, that he would look over the bill again and see what he could do.
“My dear Newland,” said the major, “I have ordered your dinners, allow me to settle your bill. Now, Mr Wallace, suppose we take off one-third?”
“One-third, Major Carbonnell! I should be a loser.”
“I am not exactly of your opinion; but let me see—now take your choice. Take off 20 pounds, or you lose my patronage, and that of all my friends. Yes or no?”
The landlord, with some expostulation, at last consented, he receipted the bill, and leaving 20 pounds of the money on the salver, made his bow, and retired.
“Rather fortunate that I slipped in, my dear Newland; now there are 20 pounds saved. By-the-by, I’m short of cash. You’ve no objection to let me have this? I shall never pay you, you know.”
“I do know you never will pay me, major; nevertheless, as I should have paid it to the landlord had you not interfered, I will lend it to you.”
“You are a good fellow, Newland,” said the major, pocketing the money. “If I had borrowed it, and you had thought you would have had it repaid, I should not have thanked you; but as you lend it me with your eyes open, it is nothing more than a very delicate manner of obliging me, and I tell you candidly, that I will not forget it. So you really are off to-morrow?”
“Yes,” replied I, “I must go; for I find that I am not to make ducks and drakes of my money, until I come into possession of my property.”
“I see, my dear fellow. Executors are the very devil; they have no feeling. Never mind; there’s a way of getting to windward of them. I dine with Harcourt, and he has come to ask you to join us.”
“With pleasure.”
“I shall expect you at seven, Newland,” said Harcourt, as he quitted the room with the major.
“Dear me, sir, how could you let that gentleman walk off with your money?” cried Timothy. “I was just rubbing my hands with the idea that we were 20 pounds better off than we thought, and away it went, like smoke.”
“And will never come back again, Tim; but never mind that, it is important that I make a friend of him, and his friendship is only to be bought. I shall have value received. And now, Tim, we must pack up, for I leave this to-morrow morning. I shall go down to—, and see little Fleta.”
I dined with Harcourt. The major was rather curious to know what it was which appeared to flurry Lord Windermear, and what had passed between us. I told him that his lordship was displeased on money matters, but that all was right, only that I must be more careful for the future. “Indeed, major, I think I shall take lodgings. I shall be more comfortable, and better able to receive my friends.”
Harcourt agreed with me, that it was a much better plan, when the major observed, “Why, Newland, I have a room quite at your service; suppose you come and live with me?”
“I am afraid I shall not save by that,” replied I, laughing, “for you will not pay your share of the bills.”
“No, upon my honour I will not; so I give you fair warning; but as I always dine with you when I do not dine elsewhere, it will be a saving to you—for you will save your lodgings, Newland; and you know the house is my own, and I let off the rest of it; so as far as that bill is concerned, you will be safe.”
“Make the best bargain you can, Newland,” said Harcourt: “accept his offer; for, depend upon it, it will be saving in the end.”
“It certainly deserves consideration,” replied I; “and the major’s company must be allowed to have its due weight in the scale; if Carbonnell will promise to be a little more economical—”
“I will, my dear fellow—I will act as your steward, and make your money last as long as I can, for my own sake, as well as yours. Is it a bargain? I have plenty of room for your servant, and if he will assist me a little, I will discharge my own.” I then consented to the arrangement.
Part 1—Chapter XXIV
The Major teaches us how to play Whist so as never to lose, which is by playing against each other, and into each other’s Hands.
The next day I went to the banker’s, drew out 150 pounds and set off with Timothy for —. Fleta threw herself into my arms, and sobbed with joy. When I told her Timothy was outside, and wished to see her, she asked why he did not come in; and, to show how much she had been accustomed to see, without making remarks, when he made his appearance in his livery, she did not, by her countenance, express the least surprise, nor, indeed, did she put any questions to me on the subject. The lady who kept the school praised her very much for docility and attention, and shortly after left the room. Fleta then took the chain from around her neck into her hand, and told me that she did recollect something about it, which was, that the lady whom she remembered, wore a long pair of ear-rings, of the same make and materials. She could not, however, call to mind anything else. I remained with the little girl for three hours, and then returned to London—taking my luggage from the hotel, and installed myself into the apartments of Major Carbonnell.
The major adhered to his promise; we certainly lived well, for he could not live otherwise; but in every other point he was very careful not to add to expense. The season was now over, and everybody of consequence quitted the metropolis. To remain in town would be to lose caste, and we had a conference where we should proceed.
“Newland,” said the major, “you have created a sensation this season, which has done great honour to my patronage; but I trust, next spring, that I shall see you form a good alliance; for, believe me, out of the many heartless beings we have mingled with, there are still not only daughters, but mothers, who are not influenced by base and sordid views.”
“Why, Carbonnell, I never heard you venture upon so long a moral speech before.”
“True, Newland, and it may be a long while before I do so again: the world is my oyster, which I must open, that I may live; but recollect, I am only trying to recover my own, which the world has swindled me out of. There was a time when I was even more disinterested, more confiding, and more innocent than you were when I first took you in hand. I suffered, and was ruined by my good qualities; and I now live and do well by having discarded them. We must fight the world with its own weapons; but still, as I said before, there is some good in it, some pure ore amongst the dross; and it is possible to find high rank and large fortune, and at the same time an innocent mind. If you do marry, I will try hard but you shall possess both; not that fortune can be of much consequence to you.”
“Depend upon it, Carbonnell, I never will marry without fortune.”
“I did not know that I had schooled you so well: be it so—it is but fair that you should expect it; and it shall be an item in the match, if I have anything to do with it.”
“But why are you so anxious that I should marry, Carbonnell?”
“Because I think you will, in all probability, avoid the gaming-table, which I should have taken you to myself had you been in possession of your fortune when I first knew you, and have had my share of your plucking; but now I do know you, I have that affection for you that I think it better you should not lose your all; for observe, Newland, my share of your spoliation would not be more than what I have, and may still receive, from you; and if you marry and settle down, there will always be a good house and a good table for me, as long as I find favour with your wife; and, at all events, a friend in need, that I feel convinced of. So now you have my reasons; some smack of the disinterestedness of former days, others of my present worldliness; you may believe which you please.” And the major laughed as he finished his speech.
“Carbonnell,” replied I, “I will believe that the better feelings predominate—that the world has made you what you are; and that had you not been ruined by the world, you would have been disinterested and generous; even now, your real nature often gains the ascendency, and I am sure that in all that you have done, which is not defensible, your poverty, and not your will, has consented. Now, blunted by habit and time, the suggestions of conscience do not often give you any uneasiness.”
“You are very right, my dear fellow,” replied the major; “and in having a better opinion of me than the world in general, you do me, I trust, no more than justice. I will not squander your fortune, when you come to it, if I can help it; and you’ll allow that’s a very handsome promise on my part.”
“I’ll defy you to squander my fortune,” replied I, laughing.
“Nay, don’t defy me, Newland, for if you do, you’ll put me on my mettle. Above all, don’t lay me a bet, for that will be still more dangerous. We have only spent about four hundred of the thousand since we have lived together, which I consider highly economical. What do you say, shall we go to Cheltenham? You will find plenty of Irish girls, looking out for husbands, who will give you a warm reception.”
“I hate your fortune and establishment hunters,” replied I.
“I grant that they are looking out for a good match, so are all the world; but let me do them justice. Although, if you proposed, in three days they would accept you; yet once married, they make the very best wives in the world. But recollect we must go somewhere; and I think Cheltenham is as good a place as any other. I do not mean for a wife, but—it will suit my own views.”
This last observation decided me, and in a few days we were at Cheltenham; and having made our appearance at the rooms, were soon in the vortex of society. “Newland,” said Carbonnell, “I dare say you find time hang rather heavy in this monotonous place.”
“Not at all,” replied I; “what with dining out, dancing, and promenading, I do very well.”
“But we must do better. Tell me, are you a good hand at whist?”
“Not by any means. Indeed, I hardly know the game.”
“It is a fashionable and necessary accomplishment. I must make you master of it, and our mornings shall be dedicated to the work.”
“Agreed,” replied I, and from that day, every morning after breakfast till four o’clock, the major and I were shut up, playing two dummies under his instruction. Adept as he was, I very soon learnt all the finesse and beauty of the game.
“You will do now, Newland,” said the major one morning, tossing the cards away. “Recollect, if you are asked to play, and I have agreed, do not refuse; but we must always play against each other.”
“I don’t see what we shall gain by that,” replied I: “for if I win, you’ll lose.”
“Never do you mind that; only follow my injunctions, and play as high as they choose. We only stay here three weeks longer, and must make the most of our time.”
I confess I was quite puzzled at what might be the major’s intentions; but that night we sauntered into the club. Not having made our appearance before, we were considered as new hands by those who did not know the major, and were immediately requested to make up a game. “Upon my word, gentlemen, in the first place, I play very badly,” replied the major; “and in the next,” continued he, laughing, “if I lose, I never shall pay you, for I’m cleaned out.”
The way in which the major said this only excited a smile; he was not believed, and I was also requested to take a hand. “I’ll not play with the major,” observed I, “for he plays badly, and has bad luck into the bargain; I might as well lay my money down on the table.”
This was agreed to by the other parties, and we sat down. The first rubber of short whist was won by the major and his partner: with the bets it amounted to eighteen pounds. I pulled out my purse to pay the major; but he refused, saying, “No, Newland, pay my partner; and with you, sir,” said he, addressing my partner, “I will allow the debt to remain until we rise from the table. Newland, we are not going to let you off yet, I can tell you.”
I paid my eighteen pounds, and we recommenced. Although his partner did not perhaps observe it, for he was but an indifferent player, or if he did observe it, had the politeness not to say anything, the major now played very badly. He lost three rubbers one after another, and, with bets and stakes, they amounted to one hundred and forty pounds. At the end of the last rubber he threw up the cards, exclaiming against his luck, and declaring that he would play no more. “How are we now, sir?” said he to my partner.
“You owed me, I think, eighteen pounds.”
“Eighteen from one hundred and forty, leaves one hundred and twenty-two pounds, which I now owe you. You must, I’m afraid, allow me to be your debtor,” continued the major, in a most insinuating manner. “I did not come here with the intention of playing. I presume I shall find you here to-morrow night.”
The gentleman bowed, and appeared quite satisfied. Major Carbonnell’s partner paid me one hundred and forty pounds, which I put in my pocket-book, and we quitted the club.
End of the First Volume.
Part 2—Chapter I
We fund our Winnings, and consider to refund, a Work of Supererogation—In looking after my Father, I obey the old Adage, “Follow your Nose.”
As soon as we were in the street, I commenced an inquiry as to the major’s motives. “Not one word, my dear fellow, until we are at home,” replied he. As soon as we arrived, he threw himself in a chair, and crossing his legs, commenced: “You observe, Newland, that I am very careful that you should do nothing to injure your character. As for my own, all the honesty in the world will not redeem it; nothing but a peerage will ever set me right again in this world, and a coronet will cover a multitude of sins. I have thought it my duty to add something to our finances, and intend to add very considerably to them before we leave Cheltenham. You have won one hundred and twenty-eight pounds.”
“Yes,” replied I; “but you have lost it.”
“Granted; but, as in most cases, I never mean to pay my losses, you see that it must be a winning speculation as long as we play against each other.”
“I perceive,” replied I; “but am not I a confederate?”
“No; you paid when you lost, and took your money when you won. Leave me to settle my own debts of honour.”
“But you will meet him again to-morrow night.”
“Yes, and I will tell you why. I never thought it possible that we could have met two such bad players at the club. We must now play against them, and we must win in the long run: by which means I shall pay off the debt I owe him, and you will win and pocket the money.”
“Ah,” replied I, “if you mean to allow him a chance for his money, I have no objection—that will be all fair.”
“Depend upon it, Newland, when I know that people play as badly as they do, I will not refuse them; but when we sit down with others, it must be as it was before—we must play against each other, and I shall owe the money. I told the fellow that I never would pay him.”
“Yes; but he thought you were only joking.”
“That is his fault—I was in earnest. I could not have managed this had it not been that you are known to be a young man of ten thousand pounds per annum, and supposed to be my dupe. I tell you so candidly; and now good night.”
I turned the affair over in my mind as I undressed—it was not honest—but I paid when I lost, and I only took the money when I won,—still I did not like it; but the bank notes caught my eye as they lay on the table, and—I was satisfied. Alas! how easy are scruples removed when we want money! How many are there who, when in a state of prosperity and affluence, when not tried by temptation, would have blushed at the bare idea of a dishonest action, have raised and held up their hands in abhorrence, when they have heard that others have been found guilty; and yet, when in adversity, have themselves committed the very acts which before they so loudly condemned! How many of the other sex, who have expressed their indignation and contempt at those who have fallen, when tempted, have fallen themselves! Let us therefore be charitable; none of us can tell to what we may be reduced by circumstances; and when we acknowledge that the error is great, let us feel sorrow and pity rather than indignation, and pray that we also may not be “led into temptation.”
As agreed upon, the next evening we repaired to the club, and found the two gentlemen ready to receive us. This time the major refused to play unless it was with me, as I had such good fortune, and no difficulty was made by our opponents. We sat down and played till four o’clock in the morning. At first, notwithstanding our good play, fortune favoured our adversaries; but the luck soon changed, and the result of the evening was, that the major had a balance in his favour of forty pounds, and I rose a winner of one hundred and seventy-one pounds, so that in two nights we had won three hundred and forty-two pounds. For nearly three weeks this continued, the major not paying when not convenient, and we quitted Cheltenham with about eight hundred pounds in our pockets; the major having paid about one hundred and twenty pounds to different people who frequented the club; but they were Irishmen, who were not to be trifled with. I proposed to the major that we should pay those debts, as there still would be a large surplus: he replied, “Give me the money.” I did so. “Now,” continued he, “so far your scruples are removed, as you will have been strictly honest; but, my dear fellow, if you know how many debts of this sort are due to me, of which I never did touch one farthing, you would feel as I do—that it is excessively foolish to part with money. I have them all booked here, and may some day pay—when convenient; but at present, most decidedly, it is not so.” The major put the notes into his pocket, and the conversation was dropped.
The next morning we had ordered our horses, when Timothy came up to me, and made a sign, as we were at breakfast, for me to come out. I followed him.
“Oh! sir, I could not help telling you, but there is a gentleman with—”
“With what?” replied I, hastily.
“With your nose, sir, exactly—and in other respects very like you—just about the age your father should be.”
“Where is he, Timothy?” replied I, all my feelings in “search of my father” rushing into my mind.
“Down below, sir, about to set off in a post-chaise and four, now waiting at the door.”
I ran down with my breakfast napkin in my hand, and hastened to the portico of the hotel—he was in his carriage and the porter was then shutting the door. I looked at him. He was, as Timothy said, very like me, indeed, the nose exact. I was breathless, and I continued to gaze.
“All right,” cried the ostler.
“I beg your pardon, sir,—” said I, addressing the gentleman in the carriage, who perceiving a napkin in my hand, probably took me for one of the waiters, for he replied very abruptly, “I have remembered you;” and pulling up the glass, away whirled the chariot, the nave of the hind wheel striking me a blow on the thigh which numbed it so, that it was with difficulty I could limp up to our apartments, when I threw myself on the sofa in a state of madness and despair.
“Good heavens, Newland, what is the matter?” cried the major.
“Matter,” replied I, faintly. “I have seen my father.”
“Your father, Newland? you must be mad. He was dead before you could recollect him—at least so you told me. How then, even if it were his ghost, could you have recognised him?”
The major’s remarks reminded me of the imprudence I had been guilty of.
“Major,” replied I, “I believe I am very absurd; but he was so like me, and I have so often longed after my father, so long wished to see him face to face—that—I’m a great fool, that’s the fact.”
“You must go to the next world, my good fellow, to meet him face to face, that’s clear; and I presume, upon a little consideration, you will feel inclined to postpone your journey. Very often in your sleep I have heard you talk about your father, and wondered why you should think so much about him.”
“I cannot help it,” replied I. “From my earliest days my father has ever been in my thoughts.”
“I can only say, that very few sons are half so dutiful to their fathers’ memories—but finish your breakfast, and then we start for London.”
I complied with his request as well as I could, and we were soon on our road. I fell into a reverie—my object was to again find out this person, and I quietly directed Timothy to ascertain from the post-boys the directions he gave at the last stage. The major perceiving me not inclined to talk, made but few observations; one, however struck me. “Windermear,” said he, “I recollect one day, when I was praising you, said carelessly, ‘that you were a fine young man, but a little tête montée upon one point.’ I see now it must have been upon this.” I made no reply; but it certainly was a strange circumstance that the major never had any suspicions on this point—yet he certainly never had. We had once or twice talked over my affairs. I had led him to suppose that my father and mother died in my infancy, and that I should have had a large fortune when I came of age; but this had been entirely by indirect replies, not by positive assertions; the fact was, that the major, who was an adept in all deceit, never had an idea that he could have been deceived by one so young, so prepossessing, and apparently so ingenuous as myself. He had, in fact, deceived himself. His ideas of my fortune arose entirely from my asking him whether he would have refused the name of Japhet for ten thousand pounds per annum. Lord Windermear, after having introduced me, did not consider it at all necessary to acquaint the major with my real history, as it was imparted to him in confidence. He allowed matters to take their course, and me to work my own way in the world. Thus do the most cunning overreach themselves, and with their eyes open to any deceit on the part of others, prove quite blind when they deceive themselves.
Timothy could not obtain any intelligence from the people of the inn at the last stage, except that the chariot had proceeded to London. We arrived late at night, and, much exhausted, I was glad to go to bed.
