Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. II (of 3) (Illustrated)
The season commenced in London much as usual. New faces were prepared, and old ones repaired, for exhibition. All the world was weary of the country; the ocean was monotonous; and the game all killed. Equipages came in one after another. Saloons were lighted up; and every successive night the noise of wheels and brilliancy of town-mansions increased. Cards were handed about; and in the distribution our queer friend, old John Martindale, was not forgotten. Many a saucy, lace-bedizened lacquey sneered at the humble-looking residence of a man whom nobility of the first rank condescended to notice. The report was quickly spread abroad, that old Mr. Martindale had discovered a daughter of the days of his imprudence. Many romantic tales were told of the discovery; and many a wonder-exciting paragraph was inserted in the newspapers, but nobody knew their authors. Brigland may be a famous place for gossip, but London is infamous. Country-made lies and wonders are nothing to be compared with those manufactured, swallowed, printed, and circulated in London.
Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved, however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:
"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same question ten times. Lady D.—I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson! Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that was his wife's doing."
This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta, the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of the Abbey in the first instance,
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Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved, however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:
"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same question ten times. Lady D.—I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson! Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that was his wife's doing."
This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta, the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of the Abbey in the first instance,
Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. II (of 3) (Illustrated)
The season commenced in London much as usual. New faces were prepared, and old ones repaired, for exhibition. All the world was weary of the country; the ocean was monotonous; and the game all killed. Equipages came in one after another. Saloons were lighted up; and every successive night the noise of wheels and brilliancy of town-mansions increased. Cards were handed about; and in the distribution our queer friend, old John Martindale, was not forgotten. Many a saucy, lace-bedizened lacquey sneered at the humble-looking residence of a man whom nobility of the first rank condescended to notice. The report was quickly spread abroad, that old Mr. Martindale had discovered a daughter of the days of his imprudence. Many romantic tales were told of the discovery; and many a wonder-exciting paragraph was inserted in the newspapers, but nobody knew their authors. Brigland may be a famous place for gossip, but London is infamous. Country-made lies and wonders are nothing to be compared with those manufactured, swallowed, printed, and circulated in London.
Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved, however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:
"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same question ten times. Lady D.—I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson! Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that was his wife's doing."
This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta, the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of the Abbey in the first instance,
Old Mr. Martindale was overwhelmed with astonishment at the numbers who paid their respects and congratulations personally. He had not read the paragraphs in the newspapers. He had not heard that all the world was talking of Signora Rivolta as the finest woman living, and of Clara as the brightest jewel of a beauty. He did not know that Colonel Rivolta was supposed to have been in the confidence of Napoleon Bonaparte, and to be intimately acquainted with the secret history of most of the courts of Europe. All these reports brought together a multitude of curious and inquiring geniuses to pay their respects to Mr. Martindale, who was ungrateful enough to call them a set of simpletons for their pains. In the course of one week, Mr. Martindale and his family received invitations to upwards of twenty parties of one kind or another. The old gentleman himself could not tolerate any species of visit except a snug quiet dinner-party. He resolved, however, in order to gratify his daughter by the exhibition of what might be to her a curiosity, to take her to some evening-party. With this view he looked over the cards of invitation, in order to select one which might be the least intolerable. The inviters would not have been much flattered had they heard the old gentleman's comments on their respective characters, and on the characters of their parties. He took up the cards one after another, and looked them all over, giving a cynical sneer as he surveyed them, and talking rather to himself than to his daughter, who did not know the parties, he muttered:
"Lady B. is a great simpleton. I wonder how she contrives to fill her rooms. Shan't let my daughter be seen in such company. Countess of C.! Never saw such a vulgar woman. Talks one to death; asks the same question ten times. Lady D.—I don't like Lady D. Very impertinent woman: only invites my family to make a show of them. She'll stare poor little Clara quite out of countenance. Stay, stop, Sampson, Sampson! Oh, let me see! the soap-boiler; ay, he is a quiet sensible man; gives a good dinner now and then: great fool though to be knighted; but that was his wife's doing."
This grumbling, muttering soliloquy was carried to a much greater length than we have thought it necessary to relate; and it at length terminated in the resolution that, passing by the parties of those of higher rank, he would take his family to be amused at the expense of Sir Gilbert Sampson, and his over-decorated daughter. Philip Martindale was, of course, ordered to attend them. It would have better suited his inclinations had his unaccountable cousin fixed upon some one of higher rank; but as it might yet be convenient for the honorable gentleman to use the earnings of Sir Gilbert Sampson for the liquidation of claims on the Martindale estate, he yielded with a tolerably good grace. In good truth he could not help himself; his rank must be supported by some means or other, and at present he had not any other than the liberality, such as it was, of old John Martindale. That ingenious old gentleman was cunning enough to know that the best mode of insuring gratitude is to engage it prospectively: for he had lived long enough in the world to see that men are more thankful for favors that are to be, than for those that have been. He therefore kept his cousin in a state of humble dependence by keeping him in a state of expectation. He knew that he had him thoroughly in his power when the offer of Brigland Abbey was accepted, and when the young gentleman relinquished his legal studies, and took to living like a lord. When, however, a new interest and a new set of favorites sprung up in the family of Colonel Rivolta, the old gentleman cared less for his honorable cousin, and very readily accepted his resignation of the great house. But the very acceptance of the Abbey in the first instance,
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Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. II (of 3) (Illustrated)
Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. II (of 3) (Illustrated)
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940148178170 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Lost Leaf Publications |
| Publication date: | 02/24/2014 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 309 KB |
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