37. XXXVII.
THE EARL AND FALCONBRIDGE.
IN the large apartment at Greenway Court, whose
picturesque decorations—stags' horns, guns, old
swords, and long tapering rods—were lit up by
the cheerful fire-light, and the more steady radiance
of two candles in the tall, silver candlesticks, the Earl
and Falconbridge talked long, and on many subjects.
The young man speedily found that nothing need now
detain him in the region. There was no longer any occasion
to proceed to the far South Branch of the Potomac, whither
he had promised himself a trip with George, who had completely
won his heart. The lands which he came to look
after, were all laid down upon the rudely-traced maps which
Lord Fairfax spread before him: his title was secured beyond
all question; and the slight quit-rent only, a mere
nothing, guaranteed the right of property conclusively.
It was then that, passing away from business, the host
and his guest conversed on other things for hours—those
long hours of the autumn night, which glide by rapidly like
joyful dreams, for the happy and light-hearted, but which
lag so drearily for those whose spirits are oppressed.
Falconbridge listened with a strange interest to the melancholy
tones of this singular man. Everything about the
Earl excited his imagination. Here, beyond the Blue Ridge
Mountains, in the Virginia wilderness, he conversed with
one who had once shone among the most splendid noblemen
of the English Court; who had lived in the brilliant
circle of which Bolingbroke, and Somerset, and Shaftesbury,
and Joseph Addison were the ornaments; who had
written for the “Spectator”—and been equally distinguished
in fashion and in letters: this exile was his host, in the
lonely mansion, and in his melancholy monologue, there
was an irresistible attraction, a strange spell which the
young man could not throw off. He leaned forward in his
chair, and gathered every word which fell from the grim
lips; every word was a new thought, a new emotion.
The gallant face of Falconbridge had in its turn strongly
impressed the Earl, though he exhibited little evidence of
the fact. We have said that his long commerce with the
great world had made him wonderfully penetrating in his
views and judgment of character. He thus comprehended
quickly the man with whom he was conversing. In Falconbridge
he recognized an organization of singular nobility
and sincerity. The spirit breathed by the Almighty into
this clay, was plainly of extraordinary delicacy. He understood
the silent indications of eye, and lip, and smile, and
gesture; he saw in the nature of this youth, the scorn of
falsehood; the love of truth; the pride of which made him
bow only before honesty and what was noble and sincere;
all the traits which go to form that lofty character, the true
gentleman.
The Earl saw all this at a single glance, and watched with
a grim and wistful interest, the emotions chasing each
other rapidly across the eloquent face. He saw that he was
appreciated; and this is always an agreeable conviction with
men of proud, strong natures, and original minds. The
colloquy thus came at last to embrace a great variety of
subjects; the different worlds in which the two men had
been dwellers; England over the sea, and Virginia here,
with all that made them what they were; the aims of noble
manhood, the philosoply of life; the past, the future, and
what lay beyond the future of this world, in the undiscovered
realm of silence. These mortals who represented from
a different point of view a single class—the class who take
the pole-star Honor for their guide, and sail toward the
course it points, through gloom and tempest, whether that
sail be in a crazy skiff or a mighty ship—these men, both
eminent for lofty traits, for cultivated intellects, and noble
instincts, recognized in each other something strangely similar,
and gave their confidence unasked.
Falconbridge spoke without reserve of his life, his surroundings
in the Lowland, his amusements—of everything:
and the Earl gave a picture in his turn of life in England,
without, however, touching upon his private history. It
was only in certain moods, and in presence of such old
acquaintances as Captain Wagner, that the stern and melancholy
nobleman threw off his mask of cold reserve. His
manner to Falconbridge was perfectly polite, but perfectly
ceremonious too; the young man was plainly nothing more
to him than a very agreeable stranger.
“Virginia, Mr. Falconbridge,” he said, “is England simply
under a different form. It is true that our white retainers,
essentially parts of the soil, are replaced by negroes
who are legally serfs for life; but I question which is the
happier of these classes.”
“I know our servants are happy,” replied Falconbridge,
“and we love them as they love us. I have an old nurse
who is quite as dear to me, as many of my relations. She
nursed me in my childhood; has loved me in my manhood;
and I am less her master than she is my mistress! for she
scolds, and reprimands, and makes me do just what she
pleases. I would rage at one half she says from any man
in the world, however much above me, but I can't rage at
her. I love her because I know she loves me, and I think I
would defend her at the peril of my life.”
“I really think you would,” returned Lord Fairfax, looking
at the speaker with grim interest; “you have a cordial
nature, Mr. Falconbridge.”
“I don't regard my feeling as at all meritorious, my lord.
I should be more than a heathen were I not to love the old
nurse who has loved me so faithfully. I would see to her
comfort before that of the greatest lady in the province, and
would rather she would smile on me than have his Excellency,
the governor, take off his hat to me. That would
seem very simple to you if you knew how she has loved and
cherished me.”
“I can understand,” said the Earl, with the same melancholy
smile. “You are a perfect democrat, and would
rather talk with some old `Colonel' on Tide-water, than
with the greatest Duke of England.”
“You are laughing at me, my lord,” said Falconbridge.
“What would a Duke take the trouble to talk with me
for?”
“There might be no inequality,” returned the Earl. “I
mean, Mr. Falconbridge, that in England, there is a very
absurd mode of viewing the people of the American provinces.
They are regarded as persons of an inferior
race, which is simply nonsense. A very great number of
persons in the Colonies here, are either descended from our
nobility—the sons and grandsons, it may be, of “younger
sons,” but of course no less inheriting the family blood—or
they are the offshoots of that “untitled nobility,” as they
have been called, the country gentlemen of England. This
class, sir, is after all the real strength of the British Empire:
our peerage is the flower, simply, of the vigorous plant.
What matter if a coronet, or noble order, does not decorate
these men? They are the life-blood of the Anglo-Saxon
body; the foremost men of all this world, as Shakespeare
writes it; and the time may come when our exhausted stem
will look with pride upon its flourishing offshoots, growing
in the soil of the west. Thus, sir,” added the Earl, gravely,
“I may now have the honor of conversing with a young
nebleman above my own poor rank; one who is such by
right of blood, if not by title.”
Falconbridge laughed as he listened to this grave statement.
“I am afraid you flatter me, my lord,” he replied, “we
are only gentlemen.”
`Gentlemen!” returned the Earl, “only gentlemen? My
dear Mr. Falconbridge, you will find, as you go on in life,
that this is an unphilosophical phrase. It is no slight task
to be “only” this. It is better to be a gentleman than a
lord—and the greatest lord can be no more. I pray that
the historian of my life, if I shall have one, may give me
that noble title only. 'Tis my sole ambition, sir, I crave no
more. My career has been troubled and unhappy; my fortune
adverse. I am growing old in a foreign land—alone
in this wilderness after living at the finest Courts in Europe
—but this does not afflict me very greatly, 'tis a matter of
small importance. If my 'scutcheon is untarnished, my
name free from all stain, I shall think myself fortunate and
happy.”
There was something so noble and moving in the melancholy
earnestness of the speaker, that Falconbridge unconsciously
stretched out his hand. The Earl pressed it gravely,
and said:
“I take your hand as 'tis offered, sir—as the hand of an
honest gentleman—and now, sir, I will no longer detain
you with my talk. You are young and must require rest,
and I too am weary after this annoying day, in which I have
filled a position which is far from agreeable to me.”
With these words the Earl rang his little bell, which was
promptly answered by the appearance of the old body-servant,
and with grave inclinations the two men separated.
The Earl sat down in his carved chair, as the door closed,
and leaning his pale face upon his hand, mused long and
moodily. At last he rose with a deep sigh, and muttered:
“The eyes and lips of this youth have a singular effect
upon me; they are wonderfully similar—wonderfully. Well,
well, I have arranged an idle trap for him yonder. He
must see it, and I will question him. Folly! folly! but
what is life, but a tissue of folly?”
And Lord Fairfax slowly left the apartment.
