Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
ruin
does not express one evil, like
other words such as sickness, poverty, imprisonment; but it comprises and
expresses an awful catalogue of all the miseries which can be supposed to
afflict humanity. "Ruined!" he cried ;- then catching at a straw, he
added, "Aye! ruined in reputation, doubtless; but rich in the possessions
which this world principally esteems. My property was all vested in you by my
deceased father - I was not of age when I was condemned - and consequently the
law could not touch my fortune when it filched from me my good name!"
"Ruined - ruined in property and all!" returned
Mr. Monroe, solemnly. "Unfortunate speculations on
my
part, but in
your
interest, have consumed the vast
property entrusted to me by your father!"
Markham fell into an arm chair; and for a moment he thought
that every fibre in his heart would break. A terrible load oppressed his chest
and his brain ;- he was the victim of deep despair. As one look, forth into the
darkness of midnight, and sees it dense and motionless, so did he now survey
his own prospects The single consolation which, besides the hope of again
meeting his brother,- the real, the present, the tangible consolation, as it
might be called, which would have enabled him to forget a portion of his
sufferings and his wrongs - this was now gone; and, a beggar upon the face of
the earth, he found that he bed not even the advantage of a good name to help
him onwards in his career. Hope was quenched within him!
A long pause ensued.
At its expiration Markham suddenly rose from the arm-chair,
approached his guardian, and said in a low and hollow voice, "Tell me how
all this has happened: let me know the circumstances which led to this
calamity."
"They are brief," said Monroe, "and will
convince you that I am more to be pitied than blamed. Long previous to your
unfortunate trial, I commenced a series of speculations with my own property,
all of which turned out unhappily. The year 1832 was a fatal one to many
old-established houses; and mine was menaced with absolute ruin. In an evil
hour I listened to the advice of a Mr. Allen, a merchant who had been reduced
by great losses in America trading; and by his counsel. I employed a small
portion of
your
property with the view of
recovering my own, and augmenting your wealth at the same time. Allen acted as
my agent in these new speculations. At first we were eminently successful: I
speedily released myself from difficulty, and doubled the sum that I had
borrowed from your fortune. At the beginning of 1836 Mr. Allen heard of a
gentleman who required the loan of a considerable sum of money to work a patent
which was represented to be a perfect mine of gold. Mr. Allen and I consulted
upon the eligibility of embarking money in this enterprise: in a word, we were
dazzled by the immense advantages to be derived from the speculation. At that
time - it was shortly after your trial and sentence, Richard - I was ill
and confined to my bed. Mr. Allen therefore managed this for me; and it is an
extraordinary fact that I have never once seen the
individual to whom I lent an
enormous sum of money - for I did advance the sum required by that person; and
I drew largely upon your fortune to procure it! Oh! Richard - had this
speculation succeeded, I should have been a wealthy man once more, and your
property would have been more than doubled. But, alas! this individual to whom
I advanced that immense amount, and whose securities I had fancied
unexceptionable, defrauded me in the most barefaced manner! And yet the law
could not touch him, for he had contrived to associate Allen's name with his
own as a partner in the enterprise. Rendered desperate by this appalling loss,
I embarked in the moat extravagant speculations with the remainder of your
money. The infatuation of the gambler seized upon me: end I never stopped until
the result was ruin - total ruin to me and comparative ruin to you!"
"Comparative ruin - only
comparative
ruin!" ejaculated Markham,
his countenance suddenly brightening up at these words: "is there any
thing left from the wrecks of my property - is there any thing available still
remaining ? Speak ;- and if you answer me in the affirmative - if you announce
the existence of never so small a pittance, I will yet forgive you all!"
"This house and the small estate attached to it are
left," answered the old man, "and totally unincumbered. I neither
could nor would touch your paternal possessions."
Markham felt indescribable relief from this statement; and
he wrung his guardian's hand with the same gratitude which he would have shown
had he that day received his inheritance entire.
"Thank God, I am not totally ruined! " cried
Markham. "I can at least bury myself in this retreat; - I can daily ascend
that hill where the memorials of fraternal affection stand; - and I can there
hope for the return of my brother! My dears sir, what has been done cannot be
recalled: reproaches, even were I inclined to offer any, would be useless; and
regrets would be equally unavailing. This estate will produce me a small income
- but enough for my wants. Two hundred pounds a-year are certainly a beggar's
pittance, when compared with the inheritance which my father left me;- but I am
still grateful that even the means of subsistence are left. And you, Mr. Monroe
- upon what are you subsisting?"
"I still attend to the wrecks of my affairs,"
replied the old man; "and then I have my daughter Ellen - who earns a
little with her needle —"
"You shall come and take up your abode with me - you
and your daughter - and share my income," interrupted the generous young
man, who saw not before him an individual that had deprived him of a large
fortune, but an old - old man, bent down by the weight of numerous and deep afflictions.
Monroe wept at this noble conduct on the part of his ward,
and strenuously refused to accept the proffered kindness and hospitality.
Markham urged, begged, and entreated ;- but the old man would not accede to his
wish.
"You have not told me what became of your friend Mr.
Allen," said Richard, after a pause.
"He was an honourable and an upright man," was the
reply; "and the ruin which he had been the means of entailing, though
innocently, upon me, broke his heart. He died three months ago."
"And what became of the infamous cheat whose schemes
have thus killed one person and ruined two others?"
"I know not," answered Mr. Monroe. "I never
saw him myself; nor did he even know that there was such a person as myself
connected with the loan which he received. Certain commercial reasons - too
long to be explained now - made me put forward Allen as the person who advanced
the money, and conducted the entire business as a principal, and not as an
agent. Thus no communication ever took place between me and this George
Montague."
"George Montague!" ejaculated Richard.
"Yes - he was the villain who has plundered us."
"George Montague again!" murmured Richard, as he
paced the room with hurried and uneven steps. "Why is it that this name
should constantly obtrude itself upon my notice? wherefore should I be
perpetually condemned to hear it uttered, and always coupled with epithets of
abhorrence and reproach? and why should I be amongst the number of that
miscreant's victims? Strange combination of circumstances!"
"Are you acquainted with this Montague?" demanded
his guardian: "the name seemed to produce a singular effect upon
you."
"I am not acquainted with him: like you, I have never
even seen him," said Markham. "But I have heard much concerning him;
and all that I have heard is evil. Surely - surely justice will some day
overtake a miscreant who is constantly preying upon society, and who enriches
himself at the expense of his fellow-creatures' happiness! "
Some time longer was devoted to conversation upon topics of
interest to Markham and his guardian; and when the former had partially
succeeded in tranquillising the mind of the latter, the old man was suffered to
take his departure.
THE VISIT
WE purpose to follow the history of Richard Markham a little
farther, ere we return to Eliza Sydney. whose adventures, after her release
from Newgate, will, it is believed, excite the liveliest interest in the minds
of the readers.
As soon as Mr. Monroe had taken his departure, Richard made
Whittingham acquainted with his altered prospects; and they two together
settled certain economical alterations in the establishment at the Place which
were calculated to meet the limited means of its master, - who, it will be remembered,
was now of age, and, consequently invested with the control of the little
property that the villany of George Montague had left him.
Markham then proceeded, attended by Whittingham, to visit
the various apartments of the old mansion from which he had been so long
absent; and each recalled to his mind reminiscences that circumstances had made
painful. In one apartment he had been wont to sit with his revered father of an
evening, and survey the adjacent scenery and the mighty city from the windows.
In another he had pursued his studies with the dearly loved brother whom he had
lost: whichever way he turned, visions calculated to oppress his mind rose
before him. He felt like a criminal who had disgraced an honourable name; and
even the very pictures of his ancestors appeared to frown upon him from their
antique and dust-covered frames.
But when he entered the room where the spirit of his father
had taken its leave of this world, his emotions almost overpowered him. He wept
aloud; and even the old butler did not now endeavour to comfort him. He had
returned, branded with shame, to a house where he had received an existence
that was full of hope and honour; - he had come back to a dwelling in the rooms
of which were hung the portraits of many great and good men, who were his
ancestors, but amongst whom his own likeness could never take a place, for fear
that some visitor to that mansion should write the words "Freed
Convict" upon the frame.
For though conscience reproached him not for guilt, the
world would not believe his innocence.
That night he could not sleep; and he hailed the dawn of
morning as the shipwrecked mariner upon the raft beholds the signal of
assistance in the horizon. He rose, and hastened to the hill, where he seated
himself upon the bench between the two trees. There he gave free vent to his
tears; and he was relieved.
Suddenly his eye caught sight of letters carved upon the
bark of his brother's tree. He looked closer; and, to his indescribable joy, he
beheld these characters rudely hut deeply cut on the tree
EUGENE.
Dec. 25, 1836
"Thank God! my brother lives!"
exclaimed Richard, clasping his hands together. "This is an intimation of
his remembrance of me! But - oh! why did he desert me in my need? wherefore
came he not to see me in my prison? Alas! years must yet elapse ere I clasp him
to my heart! Let me not repine - let me not reproach him without hearing his
justification! He has revisited the hill; and he chose a sacred day for what he
no doubt deemed a sacred duty! It was on the anniversary of the nativity of the
Saviour that he came back to the
scenes of his youth! Oh, Eugene!
I thank thee for this: it is an assurance that the appointment on the 10th of
July, 1843, will be punctually kept!
From the moment when his eyes rested upon the memorial of
his lost brother thus carved upon the bark of the tree, Richard's mind became
composed, and, indeed, comparatively happy. His habits, however, grew more and
more secluded and reserved; and he seldom ventured into that mighty Babylon
whose snares had proved so fatal to his happiness.
One day - it was about the middle of March, 1838 - Richard
was surprised by the arrival of a phaeton and pair at his abode; and he eagerly
watched from the window to ascertain who could have thought of paying him a
visit. In a few minutes he was delighted to see Mr. Armstrong, the political
martyr with whom he had become acquainted in Newgate, alight from the vehicle.
Richard hastened to welcome him with the most unfeigned
sincerity.
"You see I have found you out, my dear young
friend," said Armstrong. "I miscalculated the date of your release
from that abominable hole, and a few weeks ago was waiting for hours one day in
Giltspur Street to welcome you to freedom. At length I did what I ought to have
done at first - that is, inquired of the turnkeys whether you were to be
released that day or not: and, behold - I found that the bird had flown."
"I should have written to you," said Richard,
"for you were kind enough to give me your address; but really my mind has
been so bent upon solitude —"
"From which solitude," interrupted Armstrong,
smiling, "I am come to drag you away. Will you allow me to dispose of the
next ten days for you?"
"How do you mean, my good friend?" inquired
Markham.
"I mean that you shall pass that time with me at the
house of a friend at Richmond. Solitude and seclusion will never wean you from
the contemplation of your past sorrows."
"But you know that I cannot go into society
again," said Richard.
"This is absurd, Markham. I will hear no apologies: you
must and shall place yourself at my disposal," returned the old gentleman,
in a kind and yet positive manner.
"But to whom do you wish to introduce me?"
inquired Markham.
"To an Italian emigrant, who has only just arrived in
this country, with his family, but the honour of whose friendship I have
enjoyed for many, many years. I must tell you that I have travelled much; and
that Italy has always been a country which has excited my warmest sympathy. It
was at Montoni, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Castelcicala that I first met
Count Alteroni; and his extremely liberal political opinions, which completely
coincide with my own, were the foundation of a staunch friendship between us.
Ten years ago he was compelled to fly from his native land; and he sought
refuge in England. His only child - a beautiful girl, of the name of Isabella -
thus obtained an English education and speaks the language with fluency. Two
years ago, he was allowed to return to Castelcicala; but a few months back
fresh political events in that state forced him once more to become an exile.
He arrived in England a month ago, and has taken a small but commodious and
picturesque residence at Richmond. His means are ample, but not vast; and he
therefore lives in comparative seclusion - other reasons, moreover, inducing
him to avoid the pomp and ostentation which noblemen of his rank usually
maintain. Thus, in addressing him, you must drop the formality of My Lord; and
remember also that his daughter chooses to be called simply,
Miss Isabella
, or the
Signora Isabella
.
"And how can I venture to present myself to this
nobleman of high rank, and his wife and daughter, knowing that but a few weeks
ago I was liberated from a gaol?" demanded Richard, somewhat bitterly.
"The count has not heard of your misfortune, and is not
likely to do so," answered Armstrong. He pressed me yesterday to
pass a few days with him; and I happened to mention that I was about to visit a
young friend - meaning yourself - in whom I felt a deep interest. I then gave
him such an account of you that he expressed a desire to form your
acquaintance. Thus, you perceive, that I am taking no unwarranted liberty in
introducing you to his house. As for the danger which you incur of your history
being known, that cannot be avoided; and it is a point which you may as well
risk how as upon any future occasion. A man of the world must always he
prepared for reverses of this kind, and I think that I am not mistaken in you,
Markham, when I express my opinion that you would know how to vindicate your
character and assert your innocence in a manner which would disarm resentment
and conquer prejudice. At least, assume as cheerful an appearance as possible;
and, believe me, you will find yourself right welcome at the dwelling of Count
Alteroni."
Reassured by remarks of this nature, and warmed by the
generous friendship displayed towards him by the Republican writer, Markham's
countenance again wore a smile; and he felt more at ease than he had done ever
since his misfortune. The presence of one who took an interest in his welfare -
the prospect of enjoying pleasant society - and the idea of change of scene,
combined to elevate his spirits and create new hopes in his breast. He began to
think that he was not altogether the solitary, deserted, and sorrow-doomed
being he had so lately considered himself.
It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that the phaeton,
in which rode Markham and his friend the Republican, entered a spacious
shrubbery, through which a wide avenue led to the front-door of a very
beautiful country residence near Richmond. The dwelling was not large; but its
external appearance seemed to bear ample testimony to its interior comfort.
A domestic, in a plain and unpretending livery, appeared at
the door the moment the phaeton stopped; and the count himself met his visitors
in the hall, to welcome their arrival.
The nobleman shook hands with Armstrong in the most cordial
manner; and, when Richard was introduced to him, he received him with a
courtesy and warm affability which showed how much any friend of Armstrong's
was valued by the Italian exile.
The guests were ushered into the drawing-mom. where the
countess and her daughter, and two gentlemen who were also visitors, were
seated.
But while we allow Richard time to get acquainted with the
family of the Italian noble, we must give the reader a brief description of the
new characters now introduced upon the stage.
Count Alteroni was about forty years of age. His hair and
whiskers, originally of a deep black, were tinged prematurely with grey; but
his moustachios were of the darkest jet. His complexion was of a clear olive.
In figure he was tall, well formed, and
muscular, though slight. His
countenance was expressive of great dignity - one would almost say of conscious
superiority; hut this softness of aspect and the nobility of demeanour which
distinguished him, failed to produce any unpleasant impression, inasmuch as every
one who approached the count was charmed by the affability of his manners and
the condescending kindness of his tone.
The countess was about two years younger than her husband,
and was of a complexion and cast of countenance which denoted her northern
origin. In fact, she was a German lady of high birth; but she spoke Italian,
French, and English with as much facility as her own tongue.
But what of Isabella? To say that she was beautiful were to
say nothing. Her aspect was resplendent with all those graces which innocence
lavishly diffuses over the lineaments of loveliness. She was sixteen years old;
and her dark black eyes were animated with all the fire of that impassioned
age, when even the most rugged paths of life seem adorned and strewed with
flowers. Her mouth was small; but the lips were full and pouting, and revealed,
when she smiled, a set of beautifully white and even teeth. Her hair was dark
as the raven's wing, and was invariably arranged in the most natural and simple
manner. Her brows were exquisitely pencilled; and as her large black eyes were
the mirror of her pure and guileless soul, when she glanced downwards, and
those expressive orbs were concealed by their long black fringes, it seemed as
if she were drawing a veil over her thoughts. Her complexion was that of a
brunette; but the pure, red blood shone in her vermilion lips and her
rose-tinted nostrils, and mantled her pure brow with a crimson hue when any
passion was excited. Her sylph-like figure was modelled with the most perfect
symmetry. Her waist was so delicate, and her hands and feet, so small, that it
was easy to perceive she came of patrician blood; and the swell of her bosom
gave a proper roundness to her form, without expanding into proportions that
might be termed voluptuous.
In manners, disposition, and accomplishments, Isabel was
equally calculated to charm all her acquaintances. Having finished her
education in England, she had united all the solid morality of English manners,
with the sprightliness and vivacity of her native clime; and as she was without
levity and frivolity, she was also entirely free from any insipid and
ridiculous affectations. She was artlessness itself; her manners commanded
universal respect; and her bearing alone repressed the impertinence of the
libertine's gaze. With a disposition naturally lively, she was still attached
to serious pursuits; and her mind was well stored with all useful information,
and embellished with every feminine accomplishment.
The two gentlemen who were present in the drawing room when
Armstrong and Richard arrived, were two young
beaux
- members of the aristocracy; and
this was their only recommendation. It was not, however, on this account that
they had obtained a footing in the count's abode; but because they were nearly
related to a deceased English general who had taken part with the Italians
against the French, during the career of Napoleon, and had been of essential
service to the family to which the count belonged. With regard to their
exterior, suffice it to say, that they were dressed in the extreme of fashion:
one was very effeminate in appearance, having neither whiskers nor the
slightest appearance of a beard; and the other was rather good-looking, sported
an incipient moustachio, and wore an undress military uniform.
The effeminate young gentleman was introduced to Armstrong
and Markham by the name of Sir Cherry Bounce, and the moustachioed one as the
Honourable Smilax Dapper, a captain (at the age of twenty) in His Majesty's
Regiment of Hussars.
During the hour which intervened between the arrival of the
new guests and the announcement of dinner, a conversation ensued which will
serve to throw some light upon the characters of those inmates of the
hospitable abode, whom we have as yet only partially introduced to our readers.
"You reside in a very pleasant and healthy part of
London, Mr. Markham," said the count; "I am well acquainted with the
situation of your mansion and grounds, from the description which my friend
Armstrong has given me. The house stands close by a hill, on the summit of
which there are two trees."
"Ah, indeed!" ejaculated Sir Cherry Bounce.
"The other day I wode by there for the firtht time in my life; and I
remember the houth ith veway beautifully thithuate in the neighbourwood of the
hill dethwibed by the count, and with two ath tweeth on the top."
"That is my house," said Richard. "But it is
an antiquated, gloomy-looking pile; but —"
"Oh! I beg your pardon, thir; it is the thweeteth
little plaith I ever thaw. I never thaw it but that time, and wath thwuck with
the weway wemarkable appearanth of the hill and the tweeth."
"Those trees were planted many years ago by my brother
and myself," said Markham, a deep shade of melancholy suddenly
overclouding his countenance; "and they yet remain there as the
trysting-mark for a strange appointment."
"Indeed!" said the count; and as Richard saw that
Isabella was also interested in his observations, he determined to gratify the
sentiment of curiosity which he had excited.
"It is nearly seven years since that event took place.
My elder brother disputed with my father, and determined to leave home and
choose some career for himself, which he hoped might lead to fortune. He and I
parted upon that hill, beneath those trees, with the understanding that in
twelve years we were to meet again upon that same spot, and then compare our
respective fortunes and worldly positions. On the 10th of July, 1848, that
appointment is to be kept."
"And during the seven years which have already elapsed,
have you received no tidings of your brother?" inquired Isabella.
"None direct," answered Markham. "All that I
know is that on Christmas-day, 1836, he was alive; for he went to the hill,
while I was absent from home, and carved his name upon the tree that he himself
planted."
"Strike me stupid, if that isn't the most romantic
thing I ever heard of!" exclaimed Captain Dapper, caressing his moustachio.
"You ought to wite a copy of vertheth upon the
wemarkable inthident, in Mith Ithabella'th