CHAPTER IX.
DIFFERENT VIEWS OF YOUTH AND AGE.
There was a shadow on his face, that spake
Of passion long since hardened into thought.
He had a smile, a cold and scornful smile;
Not gaiety, not sweetness, but the sign
Of feelings moulded at their master's will.
A weary world was hidden at that heart;
Sorrow and strife were there, and it had learnt
The weary lessons time and sorrow teach:
And deeply felt itself the vanity
Of love and hope, and now could only feel
Distrust in them, and mockery for those
Who could believe in what he knew was vain.
It was with a natural touch of pride that Norbourne Courtenaye paced his paternal hall, while waiting for his uncle, with whom he was going to ride. It was one of those fine specimens of Norman architecture which yet attest the taste of that stately race. It was lined with oak, long since black with age, richly carved in all the quaint devices of art, then in its childhood: but the arms of the family, the crest, and the motto, were conspicuous every where. Around were those memorials to which time gives such value—several complete suits of armour, each belonging to some honourable name, whose deeds were the theme of legendary story. The dark plumes yet waved over each helmet, the slight feather outlasting the stalwart warrior on whose head it had once danced: a fragile thing, yet more enduring than its master. There were stands, too, of curious arms—some strange and foreign-looking eastern cimiters, whose crooked steel had been brought from Palestine: others, of a more recent date, had equally their history. There were the short heavy carbines, and the richly mounted pistols, which had done their duty in the parliamentary wars, when the Courtenayes followed the fortunes of the ill-fated Charles. The gallant history came down to the present time; for there were the colours which his father had taken from a French battery with his own hands, at the battle of Blenheim, and for which he received the thanks of Marlborough.
The Gothic windows of painted glass
"Taught light to counterfeit a gloom;"
and the rich purple and yellow dyes fell, in gorgeous confusion, on the relics around. A magnificent prospect lay beyond. On one side, you could see only the vast extent of park, whose oaks might have served as temples to the Druids: deer were feeding on the sunny slopes; and on a noble lake you saw the glittering of the morning light on the white wings of the swans. On the south side, the view was more varied: fields and orchards were obviously in a state of high cultivation; and a church, built by his grandfather, crowned the hill. Below, cottages peeped from among the trees, realising all the painter could have wished of quiet and cheerfulness. The view stretched away like a panorama, lost in the gray and misty tints which mingle with the sunshine of an October morning. Far as the eye could reach all was his own: his forefathers had built those cottages, had planted those trees. He could not look around without the consciousness of power.
I frankly confess that I have a respect for family pride. If it be a prejudice, it is prejudice in its most picturesque shape; but I hold that it is connected with some of the noblest feelings in our nature. Is it nothing to be connected with the history of one's country, and to feel
The name of every noble ancestor
A bond upon your soul against disgrace?
No one who admits the rule, can deny its exceptions; but I believe the pride of blood to have a beneficial influence. It is much to feel, that the high and the honourable belong to a name that is pledged to the present by recollections of the past.
It would have been difficult to find a finer specimen of the English aristocracy than the handsome and intelligent young man on whom his uncle's eye had fixed on entering. There was something peculiar in that gaze. It was obviously one of pride in its object; but there was also sadness, which gradually changed into an expression of harsh determination. There was something, however, contagious in the glad, frank greeting of his nephew; something, too, in the soft clear morning air, that Lord Norbourne could not quite resist. He sprang on horseback with a feeling of vague enjoyment, which he was as little as any man in the habit of experiencing.
"Whither shall we ride," said he, after they had cantered a little distance over the soft grass of the park. The influence of custom, that second nature, stronger even than the first, was upon him; he had enjoyed himself quite enough—he now wanted an object.
"There is a splendid view from those hills, or"
Here Norbourne was interrupted by his uncle laughing much louder than he often permitted himself to do.
"Why, my dear boy," exclaimed he, "what have you ever seen in me to imagine I cared for any prospect that did not terminate in Whitehall? Green trees and blue skies are very well in their way; I believe indispensable to painters, and useful to poets: I was not aware that I figured in either department."
"No one ever suspected, or even accused you of such proceedings," replied Norbourne, smiling at the idea of his lordship in either capacity; "but can you not understand enjoying the country for its own sake?"
"No, I cannot," replied his companion, drily.
"Is it possible?" cried his nephew, eagerly. "I cannot ride along, this lovely morning, without a thrill of delight. My whole frame seems lighter; a thousand subtle influences excite my spirits; I catch beauties I never saw before, and long for some one to admire with me."
"All this," replied the other, "only proves what a good constitution you have, and that you are very young. I dare say you will grow more rational in time."
"More rational!" cried Norbourne: "nay, now, I have all the high authorities. Is not this delicious quiet, this serenity of rural enjoyment, the one admitted happiness of human existence: that which the statesman craves, and the philosopher holds forth, as the golden secret of life?"
"Statesmen and philosophers too," replied Lord Norbourne, "often talk a great deal of nonsense. Half of what are called our finest sentiments originate in the necessity of rounding a sentence. Lord Bolingbroke writes, with an eloquence which would make an enthusiast rave, about the dignity and delight of retirement: I do not find that he intrigues with one atom less of activity to obtain a place in the ministry."
"Do you know him?" asked Norbourne, eagerly.
"Ah! he is one of your idols, I suppose," said Lord Norbourne, with a slight approach to a sneer. "Youth is prone to admire; but it is odd how, in a few years, we discover the defects of our demigods. At first we look only to the head of the image, which is of gold: we soon find the necessity of looking down to earth, were it but to find out our path; and then we discover that our idol has feet of clay!"
"Is there no such thing as excellence?" exclaimed his listener.
"Very far from it. I admit that there are a great many excellent things in this world; Sir Robert's last measures, for example," returned his uncle, half smiling. "I would only warn you against youth's usual error of believing and expecting too much—not that I expect you to take my warning. I do not often give advice: first, because it is a bad habit that of giving any thing; and, secondly, because I always think of the ambassador's answer to Oliver's declaration, 'that if the court of Spain cut off his head, he would send them the heads of every Spaniard in his dominions.' 'Yes, please your highness,' returned the diplomatist, 'but among them all there may not be one to fit my shoulders.' In like manner, with all our choice of other people's experience, there is never any that suits us but our own."
"In the meantime," said Norbourne, "we have arrived at the park-gate, and have not determined whither we shall ride."
'Crowded cities please me then,
And the busy scenes of men.'
"For 'then,' substitute 'always,' and Milton has just expressed my sentiments," replied his uncle. The 'crowded cities' are unattainable, but there are still 'the busy haunts of men.' Let us go and call on some of our neighbours. After all, the country may be interesting when there is a rumour of a general election."