________________________________________________
_ BOOK I CHAPTER XVII
By this chapter it appeareth that he who sets out on a career can
scarcely expect to walk in perfect comfort, if he exchanges his own
thick-soled shoes for dress-boots which were made for another man's
measure, and that the said boots may not the less pinch for being
brilliantly varnished.--It also showeth, for the instruction of Men
and States, the connection between democratic opinion and wounded
self-love; so that, if some Liberal statesman desire to rouse
against an aristocracy the class just below it, he has only to
persuade a fine lady to be exceedingly civil "to that sort of
people."
Vance, returning late at night, found his friend still up in the little
parlour, the windows open, pacing the floor with restless strides,
stopping now and then to look at the moon upon the river.
"Such a day as I have had! and twelve shillings for the fly, 'pikes not
included," said Vance, much out of humour--
"'I fly from plate, I fly from pomp,
I fly from falsehood's specious grin;' I forget the third line. I know
the last is--"
'To find my welcome at an inn.'
You are silent: I annoyed you by going--could not help it--pity me, and
lock up your pride."
"No, my dear Vance, I was hurt for a moment, but that's long since
over!"
"Still you seem to have something on your mind," said Vance, who had now
finished reading his letters, lighted his cigar, and was leaning against
the window as the boy continued to walk to and fro.
"That is true: I have. I should like your advice. Read that letter.
Ought I to go? Would it look mercenary, grasping? You know what I mean."
Vance approached the candles and took the letter. He glanced first at
the signature. "Darrell," he exclaimed. "Oh, it is so, then!" He read
with great attention, put down the letter, and shook Lionel by the hand.
"I congratulate you: all is settled as it should be. Go? of course: you
would be an ill-mannered lout if you did not. Is it far from hence must
you return to town first?"
LIONEL.--"No, I find I can get across the country,--two hours by the
railway. There is a station at the town which bears the post-mark of the
letter. I shall make for that, if you advise it."
"You knew I should advise it, or you would not have tortured your
intellect by those researches into Bradshaw."
"Shrewdly said," answered Lionel, laughing; "but I wished for your
sanction of my crude impressions."
"You never told me your cousin's name was Darrell: not that I should
have been much wiser if you had; but, thunder and lightning, Lionel! do
you know that your cousin Darrell is a famous man?"
LIONEL.--"Famous!--Nonsense. I suppose he was a good lawyer, for I have
heard my mother say, with a sort of contempt, that he had made a great
fortune at the bar."
VANCE.--"But he was in Parliament."
LIONEL.--"Was he? I did not know."
VANCE.--"And this is senatorial fame! You never heard your schoolfellows
talk of Mr. Darrell?--they would not have known his name if you had
boasted of it?"
LIONEL.--"Certainly not."
VANCE.--"Would your schoolfellows have known the names of Wilkie, of
Landseer, of Turner, Maclise? I speak of painters."
LIONEL.--"I should think so, indeed."
VANCE (soliloquizing).--"And yet Her Serene Sublimity-ship, Lady Selina
Vipont, says to me with divine compassion, 'Not in the way of your
delightful art to know such men as Mr. Darrell!' Oh, as if I did not see
through it, too, when she said, _a propos_ of my jean cap and velveteen
jacket, 'What matters how you dress? Every one knows who you are!'
Would she have said that to the earl of Dunder, or even to Sir Gregory
Stollhead? No. I am the painter Frank Vance,--nothing more nor less; and
if I stood on my head in a check shirt and a sky-coloured apron, Lady
Selina Vipont would kindly murmur, 'Only Frank Vance the painter: what
does it signify?' Aha!--and they think to put me to use, puppets and lay
figures! it is I who put them to use! Hark ye, Lionel, you are nearer
akin to these fine folks than I knew of. Promise me one thing: you may
become of their set, by right of your famous Mr. Darrell; if ever you
hear an artist, musician, scribbler, no matter what, ridiculed as a
tuft-hunter,--seeking the great, and so forth,--before you join in the
laugh, ask some great man's son, with a pedigree that dates from the
Ark, 'Are you not a toad-eater too? Do you want political influence; do
you stand contested elections; do you curry and fawn upon greasy Sam
the butcher and grimy Tom the blacksmith for a vote? Why? useful to your
career, necessary to your ambition? Aha! is it meaner to curry and fawn
upon white-handed women and elegant coxcombs? Tut, tut! useful to
a career, necessary to ambition!'" Vance paused, out of breath. The
spoiled darling of the circles,--he, to talk such republican rubbish!
Certainly he must have taken his two guineas' worth out of those light
wines. Nothing so treacherous! they inflame the brain like fire, while
melting on the palate like ice. All inhabitants of lightwine countries
are quarrelsome and democratic.
LIONEL (astounded).--"No one, I am sure, could have meant to call you a
tuft-hunter; of course, every one knows that a great painter--"
VANCE.--"Dates from Michael Angelo, if not from Zeuxis! Common
individuals trace their pedigree from their own fathers! the children of
Art from Art's founders!"
Oh, Vance, Vance, you are certainly drunk! If that comes from dining
with fine people at the Star and Garter, you would be a happier man and
as good a painter if your toddy were never sipped save in honeysuckle
arbours.
"But," said Lionel, bewildered, and striving to turn his friend's
thoughts, "what has all this to do with Mr. Darrell?"
VANCE.--"Mr. Darrell might have been one of the first men in the
kingdom. Lady Selina Vipout says so, and she is related, I believe, to
every member in the Cabinet. Mr. Darrell can push you in life, and make
your fortune, without any great trouble on your own part. Bless your
stars, and rejoice that you are not a painter!"
Lionel flung his arm round the artist's broad breast. "Vance, you are
cruel!" It was his turn to console the painter, as the painter had three
nights before _a propos_ of the same Mr. Darrell consoled him. Vance
gradually sobered down, and the young men walked forth in the moonlight.
And the eternal stars had the same kind looks for Vance as they had
vouchsafed to Lionel.
"When do you start?" asked the painter, as they mounted the stairs to
bed.
"To-morrow evening. I miss the early train, for I must call first and
take leave of Sophy. I hope I may see her again in after life."
"And I hope, for your sake, that if so, she may not be in the same
coloured print, with Lady Selina Vipont's eyeglass upon her!"
"What!" said Lionel, laughing; "is Lady Selina Vipont so formidably
rude?"
"Rude! nobody is rude in that delightful set. Lady Selina Vipont is
excruciatingly--civil." _
Read next: Book 1: Chapter 18
Read previous: Book 1: Chapter 16
Table of content of What Will He Do With It
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
