The Young Duke by Benjamin Disraeli (notion reading list TXT) 📕

which, with a shawl, effectually disguised his person; and putting in one pocket a shirt, and in the other a few articles from his dressing-case, the Duke of St. James stole out of Castle Dacre, leaving a note for his host, accounting for his sudden departure by urgent business at Hauteville, and promising a return in a day or two.

The fresh morn had fully broke. He took his hurried way through the long dewy grass, and, crossing the Park, gained the road, which, however, was not the high one. He had yet another hour's rapid walk, before he could reach his point of destination; and when that was accomplished, he found himself at a small public-house, bearing for a sign his own arms, and situated in the high road opposite his own Park. He was confident that his person was unknown to the host, or to any of the early idlers who were lingering about the mail, then breakfasting.

'Any room, guard, to London?'

'Room inside, sir: just going off.'

The door was opened, and the Duke of St. James took his seat in the Edinburgh and York Mail. He had two companions: the first, because apparently the most important, was a hard-featured, grey-headed gentleman, with a somewhat supercilious look, and a mingled air of acuteness and conceit; the other was a humble-looking widow in her weeds, middle-aged, and sad. These persons had recently roused themselves from their nocturnal slumbers, and now, after their welcome meal and hurried toilet, looked as fresh as birds.

'Well! now we are off,' said the gentleman. 'Very neat, cleanly little house this, ma'am,' continued he to his companion. 'What is the sign?' 'The Hauteville Arms.' 'Oh! Hauteville; that is--that is, let me see! the St. James family. Ah! a pretty fool that young man has made of himself, by all accounts. Eh! sir?'

'I have reason to believe so,' said the Duke.

'I suppose this is his park, eh? Hem! going to London, sir?'

'I am.'

'Ah! hem! Hauteville Park, I suppose, this. Fine ground wasted. What the use of parks is, I can't say.'

'The place seems well kept up,' said the widow.

'So much the worse; I wish it were in ruins.'

'Well, for my part,' continued the widow in a low voice, 'I think a park nearly the most beautiful thing we have. Foreigners, you know, sir----'

'Ah! I know what you are going to say,' observed the gentleman in a curt, gruffish voice. 'It is all nonsense. Foreigners are fools. Don't talk to me of beauty; a mere word. What is the use of all this? It produces about as much benefit to society as its owner does.'

'And do you think his existence, then, perfectly useless?' asked the Duke.

'To be sure, I do. So the world will, some day or other. We are opening our eyes fast. Men begin to ask themselves what the use of an aristocracy is. That is the test, sir.'

'I think it not very difficult to demonstrate the use of an aristocracy,' mildly observed the Duke.

'Pooh! nonsense, sir! I know what you are going to say; but we have got beyond all that. Have you read this, sir? This article on the aristocracy in "The Screw and Lever Review?"'

'I have not, sir.'

'Then I advise you to make yourself master of it, and you will talk no more of the aristocracy. A few more articles like this, and a few more noblemen like the man who has got this park, and people will open their eyes at last.'

'I should think,' said his Grace, 'that the follies of the man who had got this park have been productive of evil only to himself. In fact, sir, according to your own system, a prodigal noble seems to be a very desirable member of the commonwealth and a complete leveller.'

'We shall get rid of them all soon, sir,' said his companion, with a malignant smile.

'I have heard that he is very young, sir,' remarked the widow.

'What is that to you or me?'

'Ah! youth is a trying time. Let us hope the best! He may turn out well yet, poor soul!'

'I hope not. Don't talk to me of poor souls. There is a poor soul,' said the utilitarian, pointing to an old man breaking stones on the highway. 'That is what I call a poor soul, not a young prodigal, whose life has been one long career of infamous debauchery.'

'You appear to have heard much of this young nobleman,' said the Duke; 'but it does not follow, sir, that you have heard truth.'

'Very true, sir,' said the widow. 'The world is very foul-mouthed. Let us hope he is not so very bad.'

'I tell you what, my friends; you know nothing about what you are talking of. I don't speak without foundation. You have not the least idea, sir, how this fellow has lived. Now, what I am going to tell you is a fact: I know it to be a fact. A very intimate friend of mine, who knows a person, who is a very intimate friend of an intimate friend of a person, who knows the Duke of St. James, told me himself, that one night they had for supper--what do you think ma'am?--Venison cutlets, each served up in a hundred pound note!'

'Mercy!' exclaimed the widow.

'And do you believe it?' asked the Duke.

'Believe it! I know it!'

'He is very young,' said the widow. 'Youth is a very trying time.'

'Nothing to do with his youth. It's the system, the infernal system. If that man had to work for his bread, like everybody else, do you think he would dine off bank notes? No! to be sure he wouldn't! It's the system.'

'Young people are very wild!' said the widow.

'Pooh! ma'am. Nonsense! Don't talk cant. If a man be properly educated, he is as capable at one-and-twenty of managing anything, as at any time in his life; more capable. Look at the men who write "The Screw and Lever;" the first men in the country. Look at them. Not one of age. Look at the man who wrote this article on the aristocracy: young Duncan Macmorrogh. Look at him, I say, the first man in the country by far.'

'I never heard his name before,' calmly observed the Duke.

'Not heard his name? Not heard of young Duncan Macmorrogh, the first man of the day, by far; not heard of him? Go and ask the Marquess of Sheepshead what he thinks of him. Go and ask Lord Two and Two what he thinks of him. Duncan dines with Lord Two and Two every week.'

The Duke smiled, and his companion proceeded.

'Well, again, look at his friends. There is young First Principles. What a "head that fellow has got! Here, this article on India is by him. He'll knock up their Charter. He is a clerk in the India House. Up to the detail, you see. Let me read you this passage on monopolies. Then there is young Tribonian Quirk. By G--, what a mind that fellow has got! By G--, nothing but first principles will go down with these fellows! They laugh at anything else. By G--, sir, they look upon the administration of the present day as a parcel of sucking babes! When I was last in town, Quirk told me that he would not give that for all the public men that ever existed! He is keeping his terms at Gray's Inn. This article on a new Code is by him. Shows as plain as light, that, by sticking close to first principles, the laws of the country might be carried in every man's waistcoat pocket.'

The coach stopped, and a colloquy ensued.

'Any room to Selby?'

'Outside or in?'

'Out, to be sure.'

'Room inside only.'

'Well! in then.'

The door opened, and a singularly quaint-looking personage presented himself. He was very stiff and prim in his appearance; dressed in a blue coat and scarlet waistcoat, with a rich bandanna handkerchief tied very neatly round his neck, and a very new hat, to which his head seemed little habituated.

'Sorry to disturb you, ladies and gentlemen: not exactly the proper place for me. Don't be alarmed. I'm always respectful wherever I am. My rule through life is to be respectful.'

'Well, now, in with you,' said the guard.

'Be respectful, my friend, and don't talk so to an old soldier who has served his king and his country.'

Off they went.

'Majesty's service?' asked the stranger of the Duke.

'I have not that honour.'

'Hum! Lawyer, perhaps?'

'Not a lawyer.'

'Hum! A gentleman, I suppose?'

The Duke was silent; and so the stranger addressed himself to the anti-aristocrat, who seemed vastly annoyed by the intrusion of so low a personage.

'Going to London, sir?'

'I tell you what, my friend, at once; I never answer impertinent questions.'

'No offence, I hope, sir! Sorry to offend. I'm always respectful. Madam! I hope I don't inconvenience you; I should be sorry to do that. We sailors, you know, are always ready to accommodate the ladies.'

'Sailor!' exclaimed the acute utilitarian, his curiosity stifling his hauteur. 'Why! just now, I thought you were a soldier.'

'Well! so I am.'

'Well, my friend, you are a conjuror then.'

'No, I ayn't; I'm a marine.'

'A very useless person, then.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean to say, that if the sailors were properly educated, such an amphibious corps would never have been formed, and some of the most atrocious sinecures ever tolerated would consequently not have existed.'

'Sinecures! I never heard of him. I served under Lord Combermere. Maybe you have heard of him, ma'am? A nice man; a beautiful man. I have seen him stand in a field like that, with the shot falling about him like hail, and caring no more for them than peas.'

'If that were for bravado,' said the utilitarian, 'I think it a very silly thing.'

'Bravado! I never heard of him. It was for his king and country.'

'Was it in India?' asked the widow.

'In a manner, ma'am,' said the marine, very courteously. 'At Bhurtpore, up by Pershy, and thereabouts; the lake of Cashmere, where all the shawls come from. Maybe you have heard of Cashmere, ma'am?'

'"Who has not heard of the vale of Cashmere!'" hummed the Duke to himself.

'Ah! I thought so,' said the marine; 'all people know much the same; for some have seen, and some have read. I can't read, but I have served my king and country for five-and-twenty years, and I have used my eyes.'

'Better than reading,' said the Duke, humouring the character.

'I'll tell you what,' said the marine, with a knowing look. 'I suspect there is a d--d lot of lies in your books. I landed in England last seventh of June, and went to see St. Paul's. "This is the greatest building in the world," says the man. Thinks I, "You lie." I did not tell him so, because I am always respectful. I tell you what, sir; maybe you think St. Paul's the greatest building in the world, but I tell you what, it's a lie. I have seen one greater. Maybe, ma'am, you think I am telling you a lie too; but I am not. Go and ask Captain Jones, of the 58th. I went with him: I give you his name: go and