Henrietta Temple, Benjamin Disraeli [free ereaders .TXT] 📗

hardly know whether to rejoice or not.'

'Then, by all means rejoice,' said the Count; 'for, if you are in doubt, it surely must be best to decide upon being pleased.'

'I think this is the most infernal country there ever was,' said Lord Catchimwhocan.

'My dear Catch!' said the Count Mirabel, 'you think so, do you? You make a mistake, you think no such thing, my dear Catch. Why is it the most infernal? Is it because the women are the handsomest, or because the horses are the best? Is it because it is the only country where you can get a good dinner, or because it is the only country where there are fine wines? Or is it because it is the only place where you can get a coat made, or where you can play without being cheated, or where you can listen to an opera without your ears being destroyed? Now, my dear Catch, you pass your life in dressing and in playing hazard, in eating good dinners, in drinking good wines, in making love, in going to the opera, and in riding fine horses. Of what, then, have you to complain?'

'Oh! the damned climate!'

'On the contrary, it is the only good climate there is. In England you can go out every day, and at all hours; and then, to those who love variety, like myself, you are not sure of seeing the same sky every morning you rise, which, for my part, I think the greatest of all existing sources of ennui.'

'You reconcile me to my country, Count,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

'Ah! you are a sensible man; but that dear Catch is always repeating nonsense which he hears from somebody else. To-morrow,' he added, in a low voice, 'he will be for the climate.'

The conversation of men, when they congregate together, is generally dedicated to one of two subjects: politics or women. In the present instance the party was not political; and it was the fair sex, and particularly the most charming portion of it, in the good metropolis of England, that were subject to the poignant criticism or the profound speculation of these practical philosophers. There was scarcely a celebrated beauty in London, from the proud peeress to the vain opera-dancer, whose charms and conduct were not submitted to their masterly analysis. And yet it would be but fair to admit that their critical ability was more eminent and satisfactory than their abstract reasoning upon this interesting topic; for it was curious to observe that, though everyone present piqued himself upon his profound knowledge of the sex, not two of the sages agreed in the constituent principles of female character. One declared that women were governed by their feelings; another maintained that they had no heart; a third propounded that it was all imagination; a fourth that it was all vanity. Lord Castlefyshe muttered something about their passions; and Charley Doricourt declared that they had no passions whatever. But they all agreed in one thing, to wit, that the man who permitted himself a moment's uneasiness about a woman was a fool.

All this time Captain Armine spoke little, but ever to the purpose, and chiefly to the Count Mirabel, who pleased him. Being very handsome, and, moreover, of a distinguished appearance, this silence on the part of Ferdinand made him a general favourite, and even Mr. Bevil whispered his approbation to Lord Catchimwhocan.

'The fact is,' said Charles Doricourt, 'it is only boys and old men who are plagued by women. They take advantage of either state of childhood. Eh! Castlefyshe?'

'In that respect, then, somewhat resembling you, Charley,' replied his lordship, who did not admire the appeal. 'For no one can doubt you plagued your father; I was out of my teens, fortunately, before you played ecarte.'

'Come, good old Fyshe,' said Count Mirabel, 'take a glass of claret, and do not look so fierce. You know very well that Charley learned everything of you.'

'He never learned from me to spend a fortune upon an actress,' said his lordship. 'I ave spent a fortune, but, thank heaven, it was on myself.'

'Well, as for that,' said the Count, 'I think there is something great in being ruined for one's friends. If I were as rich as I might have been, I would not spend much on myself. My wants are few; a fine house, fine carriages, fine horses, a complete wardrobe, the best opera-box, the first cook, and pocket-money; that is all I require. I have these, and I get on pretty well; but if I had a princely fortune I would make every good fellow I know quite happy.'

'Well,' said Charles Doricourt, 'you are a lucky fellow, Mirabel. I have had horses, houses, carriages, opera-boxes, and cooks, and I have had a great estate; but pocket-money I never could get. Pocket-money was the thing which always cost me the most to buy of all.'

The conversation now fell upon the theatre. Mr. Bond Sharpe was determined to have a theatre. He believed it was reserved for him to revive the drama. Mr. Bond Sharpe piqued himself upon his patronage of the stage. He certainly had a great admiration of actresses. There was something in the management of a great theatre which pleased the somewhat imperial fancy of Mr. Bond Sharpe. The manager of a great theatre is a kind of monarch. Mr. Bond Sharpe longed to seat himself on the throne, with the prettiest women in London for his court, and all his fashionable friends rallying round their sovereign. He had an impression that great results might be obtained with his organising energy and illimitable capital. Mr. Bond Sharpe had unbounded confidence in the power of capital. Capital was his deity. He was confident that it could always produce alike genius and triumph. Mr. Bond Sharpe was right: capital is a wonderful thing, but we are scarcely aware of this fact until we are past thirty; and then, by some singular process, which we will not now stop to analyse, one's capital is in general sensibly diminished. As men advance in life, all passions resolve themselves into money. Love, ambition, even poetry, end in this.

'Are you going to Shropshire's this autumn, Charley?' said Lord Catchimwhocan.

'Yes, I shall go.'

'I don't think I shall,' said his lordship; 'it is such a bore.'

'It is rather a bore; but he is a good fellow.'

'I shall go,' said Count Mirabel.

'You are not afraid of being bored,' said Ferdinand, smiling.

'Between ourselves, I do not understand what this being bored is,' said the Count. 'He who is bored appears to me a bore. To be bored supposes the inability of being amused; you must be a dull fellow. Wherever I may be, I thank heaven that I am always diverted.'

'But you have such nerves, Mirabel,' said Lord Catchimwhocan. 'By Jove! I envy you. You are never floored.'

'Floored! what an idea! What should floor me? I live to amuse myself, and I do nothing that does not amuse me. Why should I be floored?'

'Why, I do not know; but every other man is floored now and then. As for me, my spirits are sometimes something dreadful.'

'When you have been losing.'

'Well, we cannot always win. Can we, Sharpe? That would not do. But, by Jove! you are always in good humour, Mirabel, when you lose.'

'Fancy a man ever being in low spirits,' said the Count Mirabel. 'Life is too short for such _betises_. The most unfortunate wretch alive calculates unconsciously that it is better to live than to die. Well, then, he has something in his favour. Existence is a pleasure, and the greatest. The world cannot rob us of that; and if it is better to live than to die, it is better to live in a good humour than a bad one. If a man be convinced that existence is the greatest pleasure, his happiness may be increased by good fortune, but it will be essentially independent of it. He who feels that the greatest source of pleasure always remains to him ought never to be miserable. The sun shines on all: every man can go to sleep: if you cannot ride a fine horse, it is something to look upon one; if you have not a fine dinner, there is some amusement in a crust of bread and Gruyere. Feel slightly, think little, never plan, never brood. Everything depends upon the circulation; take care of it. Take the world as you find it; enjoy everything. _Vive la bagatelle!_'

Here the gentlemen rose, took their coffee, and ordered their carriages.

'Come with us,' said Count Mirabel to Ferdinand.

Our hero accepted the offer of his agreeable acquaintance. There was a great prancing and rushing of cabs and _vis-a-vis_ at Mr. Bond Sharpe's door, and in a few minutes the whole party were dashing up St. James'-street, where they stopped before a splendid building, resplendent with lights and illuminated curtains.

'Come, we will make you an honorary member, _mon cher_ Captain Armine,' said the Count; 'and do not say _Lasciate ogni speranza_ when you enter here.'

They ascended a magnificent staircase, and entered a sumptuous and crowded saloon, in which the entrance of Count Mirabel and his friends made no little sensation. Mr. Bond Sharpe glided along, dropping oracular sentences, without condescending to stop to speak to those whom he addressed. Charley Doricourt and Mr. Blandford walked away together, towards a further apartment. Lord Castlefyshe and Lord Catchimwhocan were soon busied with ecarte.

'Well, Faneville, good general, how do you do?' said Count Mirabel. 'Where have you dined to-day? at the Balcombes'? You are a very brave man, mon general! Ah! Stock, good Stock, excellent Stock!' he continued, addressing Mr. Million de Stockville, 'that Burgundy you sent me is capital. How are you, my dear fellow? Quite well? Fitzwarrene, I did that for you: your business is all right. Ah! my good Massey, _mon cher, mon brave_, Anderson will let you have that horse. And what is doing here? Is there any fun? Fitzwarrene, let me introduce you to my friend Captain Armine:' (in a lower tone) 'excellent _garcon!_ You will like him very much. We have been all dining at Bond's.'

'A good dinner?'

'Of course a good dinner. I should like to see a man who would give me a bad dinner: that would be a _betise_,--to ask me to dine, and then give me a bad dinner.'

'I say, Mirabel,' exclaimed a young man, 'have you seen Horace Poppington about the match?'

'It is arranged; 'tis the day after to-morrow, at nine o'clock.'

'Well, I bet on you, you know.'

'Of course you bet on me. Would you think of betting on that good Pop, with that gun? Pah! _Eh! bien!_ I shall go in the next room.' And the Count walked away, followed by Mr. Bevil.

Ferdinand remained talking for some time with Lord Fitzwarrene. By degrees the great saloon had become somewhat thinner: some had stolen away to the House, where a division was expected; quiet men, who just looked in after dinner, had retired; and the play-men were engaged in the contiguous apartments. Mr. Bond Sharpe approached Ferdinand, and Lord Fitzwarrene took this opportunity of withdrawing.

'I believe you never play, Captain Armine,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe.

'Never,' said Ferdinand.

'You are quite right.'

'I am rather surprised at your being of that opinion,' said Ferdinand, with a smile.

Mr. Bond Sharpe shrugged his shoulders. 'There will always be votaries enough,' said Mr. Bond Sharpe, 'whatever may be my opinion.'

'This is a magnificent establishment of