 | CHAPTER IV. The monikins |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
Showing the ups and downs, the hopes and fears, and the
vagaries of love, some views of death, and an account of
an inheritance.
From my twentieth to my twenty-third year,
no event occurred of any great moment. The
day I became of age, my father settled on me
a regular allowance of a thousand a year, and I
as other young men, had it not been for the peculiarity
of my birth, which I now began to see was
wanting in a few of the requisites to carry me
successfully through a struggle for place, with a
certain portion of what is called the great world.
While most were anxious to trace themselves into
obscurity, there was a singular reluctance to effecting
the object as clearly and as distinctly as
it was in my power to do. From all which, as
well as from much other testimony, I have been
led to infer, that the doses of mistification which
appear to be necessary to the happiness of the human
race, require to be mixed with an experienced
and a delicate hand. Our organs, both physically
and morally, are so fearfully constituted, that they
require to be protected from realities. As the physical
eye has need of clouded glass, to look steadily
at the sun, so it would seem the mind's eye has also
need of something smoky, to look steadily at truth.
But, while I avoided laying open the secret of my
heart to Anna, I sought various opportunities to
converse with Dr. Etherington and my father, on
those points which gave me the most concern.
From the first, I heard principles which went to
show that society was of necessity divided into
orders; that it was not only impolitic, but wicked,
to weaken the barriers by which they were separated;
that Heaven had its seraphs and cherubs,
its archangels and angels, its saints and its merely
happy, and that, by obvious induction, this world
ought to have its kings, lords, and commons. The
usual winding up of all the Doctor's essays, was a
lamentation on the confusion in classes that was
visiting England as a judgment. My ancestor, on
the other hand, cared little for social classification,
or for any other conservatory expedient but force.
bayonets glittering in every sentence. When most
eloquent on this theme, he would cry, (like Mr.
Manners Sutton,) “ORDER—order!” nor can I
recall a single disquisition that did not end with,
“Alas, Jack, property is in danger!”
I shall not say that my mind entirely escaped
confusion among these conflicting opinions, although
I luckily got a glimpse of one important
truth, for both the commentators cordially agreed
in fearing and, of necessity, in hating the mass of
their fellow-creatures. My own natural disposition
was inclining to philanthropy, and, as I was
unwilling to admit the truth of theories that arrayed
me in open hostility against so large a portion
of mankind, I soon determined to set up one of my
own, which, while it avoided the faults, should
include the excellencies, of both the others. It was,
of course, no great affair merely to form such a
resolution; but I shall have occasion to say a word
hereafter, on the manner in which I attempted to
carry it out in practice.
Time moved on, and Anna became each day
more beautiful. I thought that she had lost some
of her frankness and girlish gaiety, it is true, after
the dialogue with her father; but this I attributed
to the reserve and discretion that became the
expanding reason and greater feeling of propriety
that adorn young womanhood. With me she was
always ingenuous and simple, and were I to live
a thousand years, the angelic serenity of countenance
with which she invariably listened to the
theories of my busy brain, would not be erased
from recollection.
We were talking of these things one morning
quite alone. Anna heard me when I was most
sedate with manifest pleasure, and she smiled
entangled by a vagary of the imagination. I felt
at my heart's core what a blessing such a Mentor
would be, and how fortunate would be my lot
could I succeed in securing her for life. Still I
did not—could not summon courage to lay bare
my inmost thoughts, and to beg a boon that, in
these moments of transient humility, I feared I
never should be worthy to possess.
“I have even thought of marrying,” I continued,
so occupied with my own theories as not
to weigh, with the accuracy that becomes the
frankness and superior advantages which man
possesses over the gentler sex, the full import of
my words—“could I find one, Anna, as gentle,
as good, as beautiful, and as wise as yourself, who
would consent to be mine, I should not wait a
minute; but, unhappily, I fear this is not likely to
be my blessed lot. I am not the grandson of a
Baronet, and your father expects to unite you with
one who can at least show that the “bloody hand”
has once been borne on his shield; and, on the
other side, my father talks of nothing but millions.”
During the first part of this speech, the amiable
girl looked kindly up at me, and with a seeming desire
to soothe me; but at its close, her eyes dropped
upon her work, and she remained silent. “Your
father says that every man who has an interest in
the state should give it pledges,”—here Anna
smiled, but so covertly, that her sweet mouth
scarce betrayed the impulse—“and that none
others can ever control it to advantage. I have
thought of asking my father to buy a borough and
a baronetcy, for with the first, and the influence
that his money gives, he need not long wish for
the last; but I never open my lips on any matter
of the sort, that he does not answer—`Fol lol der
and bishoprics and boroughs—property is in danger!—loans
and regiments, if thou wilt,—give us
more order—`ORDER—order'—bayonets are
what we want, boy, and good wholesome taxes,
to accustom the nation to contribute to its own
wants, and to maintain its credit. Why, youngster,
if the interest on the debt were to remain unpaid
twenty-four hours, your body corporate, as you
call it, would die a natural death; and what would
then become of your knights-barro-knights—and
barren enough some of them are getting to be, by
their wastefulness and extravagance. Get thee
married, Jack, and settle prudently. There is
neighbor Silverpenny has an only daughter of a
suitable age; and a good hussy is she, in the bargain.
The only daughter of Oliver Silverpenny will
be a suitable wife for the only son of Thomas Goldencalf;
though I give thee notice, boy, that thou
wilt be cut off with a competency; so keep thy head
clear of extravagant castle-building, learn economy
in season, and, above all, make no debts.' ”
Anna laughed as I humorously imitated the well-known
intonations of Mr. Speaker Sutton, but a
cloud darkened her bright features when I concluded.
“Yesterday I mentioned the subject to your
father,” I resumed, “and he thought with me, that
the idea of the borough and the baronetcy was a
good one. `You would be the second of your line,
Jack,' he said, `and that is always better than
being the first; for there is no security for a man's
being a good member of society, like that of his
having presented to his eyes the examples of those
who have gone before him, and who have been
distinguished by their services, or their virtues. If
your father would consent to come into parliament,
his origin would be overlooked, and you would
have pride in looking back on his acts. As it is, I
fear his whole soul is occupied with the unworthy
and debasing passion of mere gain. Money is a
necessary auxiliary to rank, and without rank
there can be no order, and without order no liberty;
but when the love of money gets to occupy
the place of respect for descent and past actions,
a community loses the very sentiment on which
all its noble exploits are bottomed.' So, you see,
dear Anna, that our parents hold very different
opinions on a very grave question, and between
natural affection and acquired veneration, I scarcely
know which to receive. If I could find one,
sweet, and wise, and beautiful as thou, and who
could pity me, I would marry to-morrow, and cast
all the future on the happiness that is to be found
with such a companion.”
As usual, Anna heard me in silence. That she
did not, however, view matrimony with exactly
the same eyes as myself, was clearly proved the
very next day, for young Sir Harry Griffin (the
father was dead) offered in form, and was very
decidedly refused.
Although I was always happy at the rectory, I
could not help feeling, rather than seeing, that, as
the French express it, I occupied a false position
in society. Known to be the expectant of great
wealth, it was not easy to be overlooked altogether
in a country whose government is based on a
representation of property, and in which boroughs
are openly in market; and yet they who had obtained
the accidental advantage of having their
fortunes made by their grandfathers, were constantly
convincing me that mine, vast as it was
thought to be, was made by my father. Ten thousand
by the great captain of the age,) that I had been
my own grandson; for, notwithstanding the probability
that he who is nearest to the founder of
a fortune, is the most likely to share the largest
in its accumulations, as he who is nearest in descent
to the progenitor who has illustrated his race,
is the most likely to feel the influence of his character,
I was not long in perceiving that in highly
refined and intellectual communities, the public
sentiment, as it is connected with the respect
and influence that are the meed of both, directly
refutes the inferences of all reasonable conjectures
on the subject. I was out of my place,
uneasy, ashamed, proud, and resentful;—in short,
I occupied a false position,—and, unluckily, one
from which I saw no plausible retreat, except by
falling back on Lombard Street, or by cutting my
throat. Anna, alone,—kind, gentle, serene-eyed
Anna, entered into all my joys, sympathized in my
mortifications, and appeared to view me as I was;
neither dazzled by my wealth, nor repelled by my
origin. The day she refused young Sir Harry Griffin,
I could have kneeled at her feet, and called her
blessed!
It is said that no moral disease is ever benefited
by its study. I was a living proof of the truth
of the opinion, that brooding over one's wrongs or
infirmities seldom does much more than aggravate
the evil. I greatly fear it is in the nature of man
to depreciate the advantages he actually enjoys,
and to exaggerate those which are denied him.
Fifty times, during the six months that succeeded
the repulse of the young baronet, did I resolve to
take heart, and to throw myself at the feet of
Anna, and as often was I deterred by the apprehension
that I had nothing to render me worthy
the granddaughter of the seventh English baronet.
I do not pretend to explain the connexion between
cause and effect, for I am neither physician nor
metaphysician; but the tumult of spirits that resulted
from so many doubts, hopes, fears, resolutions
and breakings of resolutions, began to affect
my health, and I was just about to yield to the
advice of my friends (among whom Anna was the
most earnest and the most sorrowful,) to travel,
when an unexpected call to attend the death-bed
of my ancestor was received. I tore myself from
the rectory, and hurried up to town, with the diligence
and assiduity of an only son and heir, summoned
on an occasion so solemn.
I found my ancestor still in the possession of his
senses, though given over by the physicians; a circumstance
that proved a degree of disinterestedness
and singleness of purpose on their part, that
was scarcely to be expected towards a patient who
it was commonly believed was worth more than a
million. My reception by the servants, and by the
two or three friends who had assembled on this
melancholy occasion, too, was sympathizing, warm,
and of a character to show their solicitude and
forethought.
My reception by the sick man was less marked.
The total abstraction of his faculties in the one
great pursuit of his life; a certain sternness of purpose,
which is apt to get the ascendant with those
who are resolute to gain, and which usually communicates
itself to the manners; and an absence
of those kinder ties that are developed by the exercise
of the more familiar charities of our existence,
had opened a breach between us, that was
not to be filled by the simple unaided fact of natural
affinity I say of natural affinity, for, notwithstanding
branch of my genealogical tree by which I was
connected with my maternal grandfather, the title
of the King to his crown is not more apparent,
than was my direct lineal descent from my father.
I always believed him to be my ancestor de jure,
as well as de facto, and could fain have loved him
and honoured him as such, had my natural yearnings
been met with more lively bowels of sympathy
on his side.
Notwithstanding the long and unnatural estrangement
that had thus existed between the father and
son, the meeting, on the present occasion, however,
was not entirely without some manifestations of
feeling.
“Thou art come at last, Jack,” said my ancestor.
“I was affraid, boy, thou might'st be too late.”
The difficult breathing, haggard countenance,
and broken utterance of my father, struck me with
awe. This was the first death-bed by which I had
ever stood; and the admonishing picture of time
passing into eternity, was indelibly stamped on my
memory. It was not only a death-bed scene, but
it was a family death-bed scene. I know not how
it was, but I thought my ancestor looked more like
the Goldencalfs than I had ever seen him look before.
“Thou hast come at last, Jack,” he repeated, “and
I'm glad of it. Thou art the only being in whom
I have now any concern. It might have been better,
perhaps, had I lived more with my kind—
but thou wilt be the gainer. Ah! Jack, we are but
miserable mortals, after all!—To be called away
so suddenly, and so young!”
My ancestor had seen his seventy-fifth birth-day;
but, unhappily, he had not settled all his accounts
with the world, although he had given the physician
donation to the poor of the parish, that would make
even a beggar merry for a whole life.
“Thou art come at last, Jack!—Well, my loss
will be thy gain, boy! Send the nurse from the
room.”
I did as commanded, and we were left to ourselves.
“Take this key,” handing me one from beneath
his pillow, “and open the upper draw of my secretary.
Bring me the packet which is addressed to
thyself.”
I silently obeyed; when my ancestor, first gazing
at it with a sadness that I cannot well describe—
for it was neither worldly, nor quite of an ethereal
character, but a singular and fearful compound
of both,—put the papers into my hand, relinquishing
his hold slowly and with reluctance.
“Thou wilt wait till I am out of thy sight, Jack?”
A tear burst from out its source, and fell upon
the emaciated hand of my father. He looked at
me wistfully, and I felt a slight pressure that denoted
affection.
“It might have been better, Jack, had we known
more of each other. But Providence made me
fatherless, and I have lived childless by my own
folly. Thy mother was a saint, I believe; but I
fear I learned it too late. Well, a blessing often
comes at the eleventh hour!”
As my ancestor now manifested a desire not to
be disturbed, I called the nurse, and quitted the
room, retiring to my own modest chamber, where
the packet, a large bundle of papers sealed and
directed to myself in the handwriting of the dying
man, was carefully secured under a good lock. I
did not meet my father again, but once, under circumstances
which admitted of intelligible communion.
gradually grew worse, his reason tottered, and,
like the sinful cardinal of Shakspeare, “he died
and gave no sign.”
Three days after my arrival, however, I was left
alone with him, and he suddenly revived from a
state approaching to stupor. It was the only time,
since the first interview, in which he had seemed
even to know me.
“Thou art come at last!” he said, in a tone that
was already sepulchral—“Canst tell me, boy, why
they had golden rods to measure the city?”—his
nurse had been reading to him a chapter of the
Revelations, which had been selected by himself—
“Thou seest, lad, the wall itself was of jasper, and
the city was of pure gold—I shall not need money
in my new habitation—ha! it will not be wanted
there!—I am not crazed, Jack—would I had loved
gold less and my kind more.—The city itself is
of pure gold, and the walls of jasper—precious
abode!—ha! Jack, thou hearest, boy—I am happy
—too happy, Jack!—gold—gold!”
The final words were uttered with a shout.
They were the last that ever came from the lips of
Thomas Goldencalf. The noise brought in the attendants,
who found him dead. I ordered the room
to be cleared, as soon as the melancholy truth was
fairly established, and remained several minutes
alone with the body. The countenance was set in
death. The eyes, still open, had that revolting
glare of frenzied delight with which the spirit had
departed, and the whole face presented the dread
picture of a hopeless end. I knelt, and, though a
Protestant, prayed fervently for the soul of the
deceased. I then took my leave of the first and
the last of all my ancestors.
To this scene succeeded the usual period of outward
the expectations of the survivors. I observed that
the house was much frequented by many who
rarely or never had crossed its threshold during
the life of its late owner. There was much cornering,
much talking in an under-tone, and looking
at me, that I did not understand, and gradually
the number of regular visiters increased, until it
amounted to about twenty. Among them were
the parson of the parish, the trustees of several
notorious charities, three attorneys, four or five
well-known dealers of the stock-exchange, foremost
among whom was Sir Joseph Job, and three
of the professionally benevolent, or of those whose
sole occupation appears to be that of quickening
the latent charities of their neighbors.
The day after my ancestor was finally removed
from our sight, the house was more than usually
crowded. The secret conferences increased both
in earnestness and in frequency, and finally I was
summoned to meet these ill-timed guests in the
room which had been the sanctum sanctorum of
the late owner of the dwelling. As I entered
among twenty strange faces, wondering why I,
who had hitherto passed through life so little
heeded, should be so unseasonably importuned, Sir
Joseph Job presented himself as the spokesman
of the party.
“We have sent for you, Mr. Goldencalf,” the
knight commenced, decently wiping his eyes, “because
we think that respect for our late much-esteemed,
most excellent, and very respectable
friend requires that we no longer neglect his final
pleasure, but that we should at once proceed to
open his will, in order that we may take prompt
measures for its execution. It would have been
more regular had we done this before he was interred,
concerning his venerable remains; but it is fully
my determination to have every thing done as he
has ordered, even though we may be compelled to
disinter the body.”
I am habitually quiescent, and possibly credulous,
but nature has not denied me a proper spirit.
What Sir Joseph Job, or any one but myself,
had to do with the will of my ancestor, did not
strike me at first sight; and I took care to express
as much, in terms it was not easy to misunderstand.
“The only child, and, indeed, the only known
relative of the deceased,” I said, “I do not well
see, gentlemen, how this subject should interest,
in this lively manner, so many strangers!”
“Very spirited and proper, no doubt, sir,” returned
Sir Joseph, smiling; “but you ought to
know, young gentleman, that if there are such
things as heirs, there are also such things as executors!”
This I did know already, and I had also somewhere
imbibed an opinion that the latter was commonly
the most lucrative situation.
“Have you any reason to suppose, Sir Joseph
Job, that my late father has selected you to fulfil
this trust?”
“That will be better known in the end, young
gentleman. Your late father is known to have
died rich; very rich—not that he has left as much
by half a million as vulgar report will have it—
but what I should term comfortably off; and it is
unreasonable to suppose that a man of his great
caution and prudence should suffer his money to
go to the heir-at-law, that heir being a youth only
in his twenty-third year, ignorant of business, not
over-gifted with experience, and having the propensities
and extravagant age, without certain trusts and
provisions, which will leave his hard earnings, for
some time to come, under the care of men who,
like himself, know the full value of money.”
“No, never!—'t is quite impossible—'t is more
than impossible!” exclaimed the by-standers, all
shaking their heads.
“And the late Mr. Goldencalf, too, intimate with
most of the substantial names on `Change, and
particularly with Sir Joseph Job!” added another.
Sir Joseph Job nodded his head, smiled, stroked
his chin, and stood waiting for my reply.
“Property is in danger, Sir Joseph,” I said,
ironically; “but it matters not. If there is a will,
it is as much my interest to know it as it can possibly
be yours; and I am quite willing that a search
be made on the spot.”
Sir Joseph looked daggers at me; but, being a
man of business, he took me at my word, and, receiving
the keys I offered, a proper person was
immediately set to work to open the drawers. The
search was continued for four hours without success.
Every private drawer was rummaged, every
paper opened, and many a curious glance was cast
at the contents of the latter, in order to get some
clue to the probable amount of the assets of the
deceased. Consternation and uneasiness very evidently
increased among most of the spectators, as
the fruitless examination proceeded; and when the
notary ended, declaring that no will was to be
found, nor any evidence of credits, every eye was
fastened on me, as if I were suspected of stealing
that which, in the order of nature, was likely to be
my own without the necessity of crime.
“There must be a secret repository of papers
somewhere,” said Sir Joseph Job, as if he suspected
“Mr. Goldencalf is largely a creditor on the public
books, and yet here is not so much as scrip for
a pound!”
I left the room, and soon returned, bringing with
me the bundle that had been committed to me by
my father.
“Here, gentlemen,” I said, “is a large packet of
papers that were given to me by the deceased, on
his death-bed, with his own hands. It is, as you
see, sealed with his seal, and especially addressed
to me, in his own hand-writing, and it is not violent
to suppose that the contents concern me only.
Still, as you take so great an interest in the affairs
of the deceased, it shall now be opened, and those
contents, so far as you can have any right to know
them, shall not be hid from you.”
I thought Sir Joseph looked grave when he saw
the packet, and had examined the hand-writing of
the envelope. All, however, expressed their satisfaction
that the search was now most probably
ended. I broke the seals, and exposed the contents
of the envelope. Within it, there were several smaller
packets, each sealed with the seal of the deceased,
and each addressed to me, in his own hand-writing,
like the external covering. Each of these smaller
packets, too, had a separate endorsement of its contents.
Taking them as they lay, I read aloud the
nature of each, before I proceeded to the next.
They were also numbered.
“No. 1.”—I commenced—“Certificates of public
stock held by Tho: Goldencalf, June 12th, 1815.”
We were now at June 29th, of the same year. As
I laid aside this packet, I observed that the sum
endorsed on its back greatly exceeded a million.
“No. 2. Certificates of Bank of England stock.”
This sum was several hundred thousands of pounds.
thousand pounds. “No. 4. Bonds and mortgages.”
Four hundred and thirty thousand pounds.
“No. 5. The Bond of Sir Joseph Job, for sixty-three
thousand pounds.”
I laid down the paper, and involuntarily exclaimed,
“Property is in danger!” Sir Joseph turned
pale, but he beckoned to me to proceed, saying,—
“We shall soon come to the will, sir.”
“No. 6.—” I hesitated; for it was an assignment
to myself, which, from its very nature, I perceived
was an abortive attempt to escape the payment
of the legacy duty.
“Well, sir, No. 6.?” inquired Sir Joseph, with
tremulous exultation.
“Is an instrument affecting myself, and with
which you have no concern, sir.”
“We shall see, sir—we shall see, sir—if you refuse
to exhibit the paper, there are laws to compel
you.”
“To do what, Sir Joseph Job?—To exhibit to
my father's debtors, papers that are exclusively
addressed to me, and which can affect me only?—
But here is the paper, gentlemen, that you so much
desire to see. `No. 7. The Last Will and Testament
of Tho: Goldencalf, dated June 17th, 1816.' ”
(He died June the 24th, of the same year.)
“Ah! the precious instrument!” exclaimed Sir
Joseph Job, eagerly extending his hand, as if expecting
to receive the will.
“This paper, as you perceive, gentlemen,” I said,
holding it up in a manner that all present might see
it, “is especially addressed to myself, and it shall
not quit my hands until I learn that some other has
a better right to it.”
I confess my heart failed me as I broke the seals,
for I had seen but little of my father, and I knew
as well as habits. The will was all in his own hand-writing,
and it was very short. Summoning courage,
I read it aloud, in the following words:—
“In the name of God,—Amen: I, Tho: Goldencalf,
of the parish of Bow, in the city of London,
do publish and declare this instrument to be my
last Will and Testament:—
“That is to say; I bequeath to my only child and
much beloved son, John Goldencalf, all my real
estate in the parish of Bow, and city of London,
aforesaid, to be held in fee-simple, by him, his heirs,
and assigns, for ever.
“I bequeath to my said only child and much beloved
son, John Goldencalf, all my personal property,
of every sort and description whatever, of which
I may die possessed, including bonds and mortgages,
public debt, bank stock, notes of hand, goods
and chattels, and all others of my effects, to him,
his heirs, or assigns.
“I nominate and appoint my said much beloved
son, John Goldencalf, to be the sole executor of
this my last will and testament, counselling him not
to confide in any of those who may profess to have
been my friends; and particularly to turn a deaf
ear to all the pretensions and solicitations of Sir
Joseph Job, Knight. In witness whereof,” &c. &c.
The will was duly executed, and it was witnessed
by the nurse, his confidential clerk, and the
house-maid.
“Property is in danger, Sir Joseph!” I dryly remarked,
as I gathered together the papers, in order
to secure them.
“This will may be set aside, gentlemen!” cried
the Knight, in a fury. “It contains a libel!”
“And for whose benefit, Sir Joseph?” I quietly
my father's assets would seem to be equally valid.”
This was so evidently true, that the more prudent
retired in silence; and even Sir Joseph, after
a short delay, during which he appeared to be
strangely agitated, withdrew. The next week, his
failure was announced, in consequence of some
extravagant risks on 'Change, and eventually I received
but three shillings and four-pence in the
pound, for my bond of sixty-three thousand.
When the money was paid, I could not help exclaiming,
mentally, “Property is in danger!”
The following morning, Sir Joseph Job balanced
his account with the world, by cutting his throat.
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