Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

Davenport Dunn’s opinion was that the case was precisely that of a new colony, where the first settlers, too busy about their material interests to care for mere speculative questions, would attach themselves heartily to any existing government, giving their adhesion to whatever afforded protection to their property and safety to their lives. “Take this new colony,” said he, “into your especial care, and their sons and grandsons will be yours after-wards. A new regiment is being raised; write your own legends on their colors, and they are your own.” He sketched out a system by which this new squirearchy was to be dealt with, – how courted, flattered, and rewarded. He showed how, in attaching them to the State, the government of the country might be rendered more easy, and the dreaded influence of the priest be antagonized most effectually; and, finally, demonstrated that Ireland, which had been the stereotyped difficulty of every administration, might now be turned into a stronghold against opposition.

To replace the great proprietary whose estates were now in the market by a new constituency in accordance with his views was, therefore, his general scheme, and he addressed himself to this task with all his peculiar energy. He organized the registry of all the encumbered estates of Ireland, with every detail which could illustrate the various advantages; he established an immense correspondence with English capitalists eager for new investments; he possessed himself of intimate knowledge of all the variations and fluctuations which attend the money market at certain periods, so that he knew the most favorable moments to suggest speculation; and, lastly, he had craft enough to carry his system into operation without any suspicion being attached to it; and was able to say to a Viceroy, “Look and judge for yourself, my Lord, whose influence is now paramount in Ireland.”

Truly, it was not easy for a government to ignore him; his name turned up at every moment. From the stirring incident of a great county election to the small contest for a poor-law guardianship, he figured everywhere, until every question of policy became coupled with the inevitable demand, “What does Dunn think of it?”

Like all men of strong ambition, he encouraged few or no intimacies; he had actually no friendships. He wanted no counsels; nor would he have stooped to have laid a case for advice before any one. Partly in consequence of this, he was spoken of generally in terms of depreciation and discredit. Some called him lucky, – a happy phrase that adapts itself to any fancy; some said he was a commonplace, vulgar fellow, with certain business aptitudes, but quite incapable of any wide or extended views; some, again, went further, and said he was the mere tool of certain clever heads that did not care to figure in the foreground; and not a few wondered that “a man of this kind” should have ever attained to any eminence or station in the land.

“You ‘ll see how his Excellency will turn him to account; he knows how to deal with fellows of this stamp,” said a private secretary in the Castle.

“I have no doubt, sir, Mr. Davenport Dunn would agree with you,” said the Attorney-General, with a sneer; “but the opinion would be bad in law!”

“He ‘s not very much of a churchman, I suspect,” whispered a bishop; “but we find him occasionally useful.”

“He serves our purpose!” pompously spoke a country gentleman, who really, in the sentiment, represented a class.

Such was the man who now sat alone, communing with himself, in his room at the Villa d’Este. Let us believe that he had enough to think of.

CHAPTER IX. A DAY ON THE LAKE OF COMO

We fully sympathize with Lord Lackington, who preferred the picnic and the society of Miss Molly O’Reilly to the cares of business and an interview with Davenport Dunn. The Lake of Como, on a fine day of summer or early autumn, and with a heart moderately free from the anxieties and sorrows of life, is a very enjoyable locality, and essentially so to a man of the world like the noble Viscount, who liked to have the more romantic features of the scene blended with associations of ease and pleasure, and be able to turn from the contemplation of Alpine ruggedness to the sight of some terraced garden, glowing in the luxuriance of its vegetation. Never, perhaps, was there ever a spot so calculated to appeal successfully to the feelings of men of his stamp. There was mountain grandeur and desolation, snow-peak and precipice; but all in the back distance, not near enough to suggest even the fear of cold, or the disagreeable idea of a sledge journey. There were innumerable villas of every style and class, – some spacious and splendid enough for royal residences; others coquettish little chalets, where lovers might pass the honeymoon. There were tasteful pavilions over the very lake; snug spots where solitude might love to ponder, a student read, or an idler enjoy his cigar, in the most enviable of scenes. Trellised vine-walks zigzagged up the hills to some picturesque shrine whose modest little spire rose above the olive-trees, or some rude steps in the rock led down to a little nook, whole white sands glistened beneath the crystal waters, – such a bath as no Sybarite, in all his most glowing fancy, ever imagined. And amid all and through all there was that air of wealth – that assurance of affluence and abundance – which comes so home to the hearts of men whose sense of enjoyment can only be gratified where there is to be no sacrifice to their love of ease. In the noble Viscount’s estimation, the place was perfect It was even associated with the solitary bit of romance of his whole life. It was here that he passed the first few weeks after his wedding; and though he had preserved very little of those feelings which imparted happiness to that period, though her Ladyship did not recall to his mind the attractions which once had fascinated him, – new glazed and new lacquered over and over again as was the vase, “the scent of the roses had clung to it still,” The distance that lends enchantment to the material has also its influence on the moral picture. Memory softens and subdues many a harsh tint, mellows many an incongruity, and blends into a pleasant harmony many things which in their proximity were the reverse of agreeable. Not that we would be understood to say that Lord Lackington’s honeymoon was not like yours, an elysium of happiness and bliss; we would simply imply that, in recalling it, he only remembered the rose-tints, and never brought up one of the shadows. He had, in his own fashion, poetized that little episode of his life, when, dressed in a fancy and becoming costume, he played gondolier to his young bride, scaled the mountain to fetch her Alp-roses, and read aloud “Childe Harold,” as he interpolated Harrow recollections of its author. Not one of these did he now remember; he’d as soon have dreamed of being marker at a billiard table as of playing the barcarole; and as to mountain excursions he ‘d not have bargained for any success that required the exertion of a steep staircase.

“There ‘s a little villa in a bay somewhere hereabouts,” said he, as the boat glided smoothly along; “I should like much to show it to you.” This was addressed to Molly O’Reilly, who sat beside him. “Do you happen to know La Pace?” asked he of one of the boatmen.

“To be sure I do, Eccellenza. Who doesn’t? My own father was barcarole there to a great Milordo, I can’t say how many years back. Ah,” added he, laughing, “what stories he used to have of that same Milordo, who was always dressing himself up to be as a gondolier or a chamois-hunter.”

“We have n’t asked for your father’s memoirs, my good fellow; we only wanted you to show us where La Pace lies,” said the Viscount, testily.

“There it is, then, Eccellenza,” said the man, as they rounded a little promontory of rock, and came in full view of a small cove, in the centre of which stood the villa.

Untenanted and neglected as it was, there was yet about it that glorious luxuriance of vegetation, that rare growth of vines and olive and oleander and cactus which seems to more than compensate all the care and supervision of men. The overloaded orange-trees dipped their weary branches in the lake, where the golden balls rose and fell as the water surged about them. The tangled vines sprawled over the ground, staining the deep grass with their purple blood. Olive berries lay deep around, and a thousand perfumes loaded the air as the faint breeze stirred it.

“Let me show you a true Italian villa,” said the Viscount, as the boat glided up to the steps cut in the marble rock. “I once passed a few weeks here; a caprice seized me to know what kind of life it would be to loiter amidst olive groves, and have no other company than the cicala and the green lizard.”

“Faith, my Lord,” said O’Reilly, “if you could live upon figs and lemons, you ‘d have nothing to complain of; but I ‘m thinking you found it lonely.”

“I scarcely remember, but my impression is, I liked it,” said he, with a slight hesitation. “I used to lie under the great cedar yonder, and read Petrarch.”

“Capital fun – excellent – live here for two hundred a year, or even less – plenty of fish in the lake – keep the servants on watermelons,” said Twining, slapping his legs, as he made this domestic calculation to himself.

“With people one liked about one,” said Miss O’Reilly, “I don’t see why this should n’t be a delicious spot.”

“There’s not a hundred yards of background. You could n’t give a horse walking exercise here if your life was on it,” said Spicer, contemptuously.

“Splendid grapes, wonderful oranges, finest melons I ever saw, – all going to waste too,” said Twining, laughing, as if such utter neglect was a very droll thing. “Get this place a bargain, – might have it for a mere nothing.”

“So you might, O’Reilly,” said the Viscount; “it is one of those deserted spots that are picked up for a tenth of their value; buy it, fit it up handsomely, and we’ll come and spend the autumn with you, – won’t we, Twining?”

“Upon my life we will, I ‘ll swear it; be here 1st September to the day, and stay till – as long as you please. Great fun!”

“Delicious spot to come and repose in from the cares and worries of life,” said Lord Lackington, as he stretched upon a bench and began peeling an orange.

“I ‘d get the blue devils in a week; I ‘d be found hanging some fine morning – ”

“For shame, papa,” broke in Molly. “My Lord says he ‘d come on a visit to us, and you know we ‘d only be here in the autumn.”

“Just so – come here for the wine season – get in your olives and look after your oil – great fun,” chimed in Twining, merrily.

“I declare, I ‘d like it of all things, would not you?” said the elder girl to Spicer, who had now begun to reflect that there was a kind of straw-yard season for men as well as for hunters, – when the great object was to live cheap and husband your resources; and as he ruminated over the lazy quietness of an existence that would cost nothing, when even his “Bell’s Life” should be inserted amongst the family extraordinaires, he vouchsafed to approve the scheme; and in his mumbling tone, in imitation of Heaven knows what celebrated sporting character, he grumbled out, “Make the governor go in for it by all means!”

Twining had entered into the project most eagerly. One of the most marked traits of his singular mind was not merely to enjoy his own pre-eminence in wealth over so many others, but to chuckle over all the possible mistakes which he had escaped and they had fallen into. To know that there was a speculation whose temptation he had resisted and which had engulfed all who engaged in it; to see the bank fail whose directorship he had refused, or the railroad smashed whose preference shares he had rejected, – this was an intense delight to him; and on such occasions was it that he slapped his lean legs most enthusiastically, and exclaimed, “What fun!” with the true zest of enjoyment.

To plant a man of O’Reilly’s stamp in such a soil seemed, therefore, about the best practical joke he had ever heard of; and so he walked him over the villa, discoursing eloquently on all the advantages of the project, – the great social position it would confer, the place he would occupy in the country, the soundness of the investment, the certainty of securing great matches for the girls. What a view that window opened of the Splugen Alps! What a delicious spot, this little room, to sip one’s claret of an autumn evening! Think of the dessert growing almost into the very dining-room, and your trout leaping within a yard of the breakfast-table! Austrians charmed to have you – make you a count – a Hof something or other, at once – give you a cross – great fun, eh? – Graf O’Reilly – sound admirably – do it, by all means!

While Twining’s attack was being conducted in this fashion, Lord Lackington was not less industriously pursuing his plan of campaign elsewhere. He had sauntered with Molly into the garden and a little pavilion at the end of it, where the lake was seen in one of its most picturesque aspects. It was a well-known spot to him; he had passed many an evening on that low window-seat, half dreamingly forgetting himself in the peaceful scene, half consciously recalling pleasant nights at Brookes’s and gay dinners at Carlton House. Here was it that he first grew hipped with matrimony, and so sated with its happiness that he actually began to long for any little disaster that might dash the smooth monotony of his life; and yet now, by one of those strange tricks memory plays us, he fancied that the moments he had once passed here had never been equalled in all his after-life.

“I’m certain, though you won’t confess,” said she, after one of his most eloquent bursts of remembered enjoyment, – “I ‘m certain you were very much in love those days.”

“An ideal passion, perhaps, a poetized vision of that bright creature who should, one day or other, sway this poor heart;” and he flattened the creases of his spotless white waistcoat; “but if you mean that I knew of any, had ever seen any, until now, this very moment – ”

“Stop! remember your promise,” said she, laughing.

“But, charmante Molly, I ‘m only mortal,” said he, with an air of such superb humility that made her at once remember it was a peer who said it.

“Mortals must keep their words,” said she, pertly. “The condition on which I consented to accept your companionship was – But I need n’t remind you.”

“No, do not, dear Molly, for I shall be delighted to forget it. You are aware that no law ever obliged a man to do what was impossible; and that to exact any pledge from him to such an end is in itself an illegality. You little suspected, therefore, that it was you, not I, was the delinquent.”

“‘All I know is, that you assured me you ‘d not – you ‘d not talk nonsense,” said she, blushing deeply, half angry, half ashamed.

“Oh! never guessed you were here,” broke in Twining, as he peeped through the window. “Sweet spot – so quiet and secluded – capital fun!”

“There is such a view from this, papa,” said Molly, in some confusion at Twining’s bantering look; “come round and see it.”

“I have just been telling this dear girl of yours, O’Reilly, that you ought to make this place your own,” said Lord Lackington. “Don’t fancy you ‘d be out of the world here. Why, there ‘s the Villa d’Este, a European celebrity at once; it will be thronged next year to suffocation. The ‘Galignani,’ I see, has already mentioned myself and Lady Lackington as among the visitors. These things have their effect The press in our day is an estate.”

“Indeed, I ‘m sure of it. There was a cousin of my wife’s drew his two hundred a year out of the ‘Tyrawley Express,’ – a daily little paper, that, maybe, your Lordship never seen.”

“When I said an estate, sir, I rather alluded to a recognized condition of power and influence than to mere wealth. Not, I will add, that I am one of those who approve of this consummation; nor can I see how men of my order can ever so regard it.”

“Well,” said O’Reilly, sighing, as though the confession cost something, “there ‘s nothing equal to a newspaper. I ‘m reading ‘Saunders’ this eight-and-forty years, and I own to you I never found one I liked so much. For you see, my Lord, it’s the same with a paper as with your house, – you ought to know where to lay your hand on what you want. Now, you might as well put me in Buckingham Palace, and tell me to find my bedroom, as give me the ‘Times’ and bid me discover the Viceregal Court. If they mention it at all, it ‘s among the accidents and offences.”

“Castle festivities – Patrick’s Hall – great fun!” said Twining, laughing pleasantly, for he cherished some merry recollections of these hospitalities.

“Have you – But of course you were too young for presentation,” said his Lordship to Molly.

“We were n’t out; but, in any case, I ‘m sure we ‘d not have been there,” said Molly.

“The pleasure of that presentation may perhaps be reserved for me, who knows?” said the Viscount, graciously. “If our people come in, it is the post they ‘d offer me.”