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Japhet, In Search Of A Father by Frederick Marryat

F >> Frederick Marryat >> Japhet, In Search Of A Father

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"And now, Mr Masterton," said I, "as apologies appear to be the order of
the day, I bring you one from the general, who has requested me to make
one to you for having called you an old thief of a lawyer, of which he
was totally ignorant until I reminded him of it to-day."

Harcourt burst into a laugh.

"Well, Japhet, you may tell your old tiger, that I did not feel
particularly affronted, as I took his expression professionally and not
personally, and if he meant it in that sense, he was not far wrong.
Japhet, to-morrow is Sunday; do you go to meeting or to church?"

"I believe, sir, that I shall go to church."

"Well, then, come with me:--be here at half-past two--we will go to
evening service at St James's."

"I have received many invitations, but I never yet received an
invitation to go to church," replied I.

"You will hear an extra lesson of the day--a portion of Susannah and
the Elders."

I took the equivoque, which was incomprehensible to Harcourt: I hardly
need say, that the latter and I were on the best terms. When we
separated, Harcourt requested leave to call upon me the next morning,
and Mr Masterton said that he should also pay his respects to the tiger,
as he invariably called my most honoured parent.

Harcourt was with me very soon after breakfast, and after I had
introduced him to my "Governor," we retired to talk without interruption.

"I have much to say to you, De Benyon," commenced Harcourt: "first let
me tell you, that after I rose from my bed, and discovered that you had
disappeared, I resolved, if possible, to find you out and induce you to
come back. Timothy, who looked very sly at me, would tell me nothing, but
that the last that was heard of you was at Lady de Clare's, at Richmond.
Having no other clue, I went down there, introduced myself, and, as they
will tell you, candidly acknowledged that I had treated you ill. I then
requested that they would give me any clue by which you might be found,
for I had an opportunity of offering to you a situation which was at my
father's disposal, and which any gentleman might have accepted, although
it was not very lucrative."

"It was very kind of you, Harcourt."

"Do not say that, I beg. It was thus that I formed an acquaintance with
Lady de Clare and her daughter, whose early history, as Fleta, I had
obtained from you, but who I little imagined to be the little girl that
you had so generously protected; for it was not until after I had
deserted you, that you had discovered her parentage. The extreme interest
relative to you evinced by both the mother and the daughter surprised me.
They had heard of my name from you, but not of our quarrel. They urged
me, and thanked me for proposing, to follow you and find you out: I did
make every attempt. I went to Brentford, inquired at all the
public-houses, and of all the coachmen who went down the road, but could
obtain no information, except that at one public-house, a gentleman
stopped with a portmanteau, and soon afterwards went away with it on his
shoulders. I returned to Richmond with the tidings of my ill-success
about a week after I had first called there. Cecilia was much affected
and cried very bitterly. I could not help asking Lady de Clare why she
took such a strong interest in your fortunes. 'Who ought,' replied
Cecilia, 'if his poor Fleta does not?' 'Good Heavens! Miss de Clare, are
you the little Fleta whom he found with the gipsies, and talked to me so
much about?' 'Did you not know it?' said Lady de Clare. I then explained
to her all that had latterly passed between us, and they in return
communicated your events and dangers in Ireland. Thus was an intimacy
formed, and ever since I have been constantly welcome at their house. I
did not, however, abandon my enquiries for many months, when I thought
it was useless, and I had to console poor Cecilia, who constantly mourned
for you. And now, Japhet, I must make my story short: I could not help
admiring a young person who showed so much attachment and gratitude
joined to such personal attractions, but she was an heiress and I was
a younger brother. Still Lady de Clare insisted upon my coming to the
house, and I was undecided how to act when the unfortunate death of my
elder brother put me in a situation to aspire to her hand. After that my
visits were more frequent, and I was tacitly received as a suitor by
Lady de Clare, and had no reason to complain of the treatment I received
from Cecilia. Such was the position of affairs until the day on which you
broke in upon us so unexpectedly, and at the very moment that you came
in, I had, with the sanction of her mother, made an offer to Cecilia, and
was anxiously awaiting an answer from her own dear lips. Can you therefore
be surprised, Japhet, at there being a degree of constraint on all sides
at the interruption occasioned by the presence of one who had long been
considered lost to us? Or that a young person just deciding upon the most
important step of her life should feel confused and agitated at the
entrance of a third party, however dear he might be to her as a brother
and benefactor?"

"I am perfectly satisfied, Harcourt," replied I: "and I will go there,
and make my peace as soon as I can."

"Indeed, Japhet, if you knew the distress of Cecilia you would pity and
love her more than ever. Her mother is also much annoyed. As soon as you
were gone, they desired me to hasten after you and bring you back.
Cecilia had not yet given her answer: I requested it before my departure,
but, I presume to stimulate me, she declared that she would give me no
answer, until I re-appeared with you. This is now three weeks ago, and
I have not dared to go there. I have been trying all I can to see you
again since you repulsed me at the Piazza, but without success, until I
went to Mr Masterton, and begged him to procure me an interview. I thank
God it has succeeded."

"Well, Harcourt, you shall see Cecilia to-morrow morning, if you please."

"Japhet, what obligations I am under to you! Had it not been for you I
never should have known Cecilia; and more, were it not for your kindness,
I might perhaps lose her for ever."

"Not so, Harcourt; it was your own good feeling prompting you to find me
out, which introduced you to Cecilia, and I wish you joy with all my
heart. This is a strange world--who would have imagined that, in little
Fleta, I was picking up a wife for a man whose life I nearly took away?
I will ask my governor for his carriage to-morrow, and will call and take
you up at your lodgings at two o'clock, if that hour will suit you. I will
tell you all that has passed since I absconded, when we are at Lady de
Clare's; one story will do for all."

Harcourt then took his leave, and I returned to my father, with whom I
found Lord Windermear.

"De Benyon, I am happy to see you again," said his lordship. "I have just
been giving a very good character of you to the general; I hope you will
continue to deserve it."

"I hope so too, my lord; I should be ungrateful indeed, if I did not,
after my father's kindness to me."

Mr Masterton was then introduced: Lord Windermear shook hands with him,
and after a short conversation took his leave.

"Japhet," said Mr Masterton aside, "I have a little business with your
father; get out of the room any way you think best."

"There are but two ways, my dear sir," replied I, "the door or the
windows: with your permission, I will select the former, as most
agreeable;" so saying, I went to my own room. What passed between the
general and Mr Masterton I did not know until afterwards, but they were
closeted upwards of an hour, when I was sent for by Mr Masterton.

"Japhet, you said you would go with me to hear the new preacher; we have
no time to lose: so, general, I shall take my leave and run away with
your son."

I followed Mr Masterton into his carriage, and we drove to the lodging
of Mr Cophagus. Susannah was all ready, and Mr Masterton went up stairs
and brought her down. A blush and a sweet smile illumined her features
when she perceived me stowed away in the corner of the chariot. We drove
off, and somehow or another our hands again met and did not separate
until we arrived at the church door. Susannah had the same dress on as
when she had accompanied me in my father's carriage. I went through the
responses with her, reading out of the same book, and I never felt more
inclined to be devout, for I was happy, and grateful to Heaven for my
happiness. When the service was over, we were about to enter the
carriage, when who should accost us but Harcourt.

"You are surprised to see me here," said he to Mr Masterton, "but I
thought there must be something very attractive, that you should make
an appointment with Japhet to go to this church, and as I am very fond
of a good sermon, I determined to come and hear it."

Harcourt's ironical look told me all he would say.

"Well," replied Mr Masterton, "I hope you have been edified--now get out
of the way, and let us go into the carriage."

"To-morrow at two, De Benyon," said Harcourt, taking another peep at
Susannah.

"Yes, punctually," replied I, as the carriage drove off.

"And now, my dear child," said Mr Masterton to Susannah, as the carriage
rolled along, "Tell me, have you been disappointed, or do you agree with
me? You have attended a meeting of your own persuasion this morning--you
have now, for the first time, listened to the ritual of the Established
Church. To which do you give the preference?"

"I will not deny, sir, that I think, in departing from the forms of
worship, those of my persuasion did not do wisely. I would not venture
thus much to say, but you support me in my judgment."

"You have answered like a good, sensible girl, and have proved that you
can think for yourself; but observe, my child, I have persuaded you for
once, and once only, to enter our place of worship, that you might compare
and judge for yourself; it now remains for you to decide as you please."
"I would that some better qualified would decide for me," replied
Susannah, gravely.

"Your husband, Susannah," whispered I, "must take that responsibility
upon himself. Is he not the proper person?"

Susannah slightly pressed my hand, which held hers, and said nothing. As
soon as we had conveyed her home, Mr Masterton offered to do me the same
kindness, which I accepted.

"Now, Japhet, I dare say that you would like to know what it was I had so
particular to say to the old general this morning."

"Of course I would, sir, if it concerned me."

"It did concern you, for we had not been two minutes in conversation,
before you were brought on the tapis; he spoke of you with tears in his
eyes--of what a comfort you had been to him, and how happy you had made
him; and that he could not bear you to be away from him for half an hour.
On that hint I spake, and observed, that he must not expect you to
continue in retirement long, neither must he blame you, that when he had
set up his establishment, you would be as great a favourite as you were
before, and be unable, without giving offence, to refuse the numerous
invitations which you would receive. In short, that it was nothing but
right you should resume your position in society, and it was his duty to
submit to it. The old governor did not appear to like my observations,
and said he expected otherwise from you. I replied 'that it was
impossible to change our natures, and the other sex would naturally
have attractions which you would not be able to resist, and that they
would occupy a large portion of your time. The only way to ensure his
company, my dear sir, is to marry him to a steady, amiable young woman,
who, not having been thrown into the vortex of fashion, will find
pleasure in domestic life. Then her husband will become equally domestic,
and you will be all very happy together.' Your father agreed with me, and
appeared very anxious that it should take place. I then very carefully
introduced Miss Temple, saying, that I knew you had a slight partiality
in that quarter, highly commending her beauty, prudence, &c. I stated,
that feeling an interest about you, I had gone down into the country
where she resided, and had made her acquaintance, and had been much
pleased with her; that since she had come up to town with her relations,
I had seen a great deal, and had formed so high an opinion of, and so
strong an attachment to her, and had felt so convinced that she was the
very person who would make you happy and domestic, that having no family
myself, I had some idea of adopting her. At all events, that if she
married you, I was determined to give her something very handsome on
the day of the wedding."

"But, my dear sir, why should you not have said that Susannah Temple was
left an orphan at seven years old, and her fortune has accumulated ever
since? it is by no means despicable, I understand, from Mr Cophagus; and
moreover, Mr Cophagus intends to leave her all his property."

"I am very glad to hear it, Japhet, and will not fail to communicate all
this to your father; but there is no reason why I may not do as I please
with my own money--and I love that girl dearly. By-the-bye, have you ever
said anything to her?"

"O yes, sir, we are pledged to each other."

"That's all right; I thought so, when I saw your fingers hooked together
in the carriage. But now, Japhet, I should recommend a little
indifference--not exactly opposition, when your father proposes the
subject to you. It will make him more anxious, and when you consent more
obliged to you. I have promised to call upon him to-morrow, on that and
other business, and you had better be out of the way."

"I shall be out of the way, sir; I mean to go with Harcourt to Lady de
Clare's. I shall ask for the carriage."

"He will certainly lend it to you, as he wishes to get rid of you; but
here we are. God bless you, my boy."




Chapter LXXVIII

The Bengal tiger taken in the toils, which promise a speedy end
to mine--I kindly permit my father to insist upon the marriage
that I have set my heart upon.


I found my father, who had now completely recovered from his accident,
walking up and down the room in a brown study. He did not speak to me
until after dinner, when he commenced with asking some questions relative
to Cecilia de Clare. I replied, "that I intended, if he did not want the
carriage, to call there to-morrow with Mr Harcourt."

"Is she very handsome?" inquired he.

"Very much so, sir. I do not think I ever saw a handsomer young person.
Yes, I do recollect one."

"Who was that?"

"A young lady with whom I was slightly acquainted, when living in the
country."

"I have been thinking, my dear boy, that with the competence which you
will have, it is right that you should marry early; in so doing you will
oblige your father, who is anxious to see his grandchildren before he
dies. My health is not very good."

I could not help smiling at this pathetic touch of the old governor's,
who, if one could judge from appearances, was as strong as a lion, and
likely to last almost as long as his dutiful son. Moreover, his appetite
was enormous, and he invariably finished his bottle every day. I did not
therefore feel any serious alarm as to his health, but I nevertheless
replied, "Matrimony is a subject upon which I have never thought"--(ahem!
a De Benyon never tells an untruth!), "I am very young yet, and am too
happy to remain with you."

"But, my dear boy, I propose that you shall remain with me--we will all
live together. I do not intend that we shall part. I really wish, Japhet,
you would think seriously of it."

"My dear father, allow me to observe, that at present I am not in a
situation to support a wife, and I should be sorry to be a tax upon you,
at your age; you require many comforts and luxuries, and I presume that
you live up to your income."

"Then, my dear fellow, you are under a great mistake. I can lay down one
hundred thousand pounds on the day of your marriage, with any lady whom I
approve of, and still not spend half my remaining income."

"That, sir," replied I, "certainly removes one difficulty, at the same
time that it proves what a generous and indulgent father I am blessed
with; but, sir, with such a fortune, I have a right to expect that the
lady will also bring a handsome addition. Miss De Clare is engaged, I
believe, to Mr Harcourt, or I might have made strong interest in that
quarter."

"Something, my dear boy; but a moderate fortune now-a-days is all that
we expect with wives, and the best wives are those who are not born to
too much wealth; still she should bring something; but tell me, Japhet,
who is that young lady whom you thought handsomer than Miss De Clare?"

"A Miss Temple, sir."

"Temple--it is a very good name. I think girls brought up in the country
make the best wives."

"They do, sir, most certainly; they are more domestic, and make their
husbands more content and happy at home."

"Well, my dear boy, I have mentioned the subject, and wish you would
think of it. You will please me much."

"My dear father, I shall be most happy to obey in everything else, but
in so serious a point as uniting myself for life, I think you must allow
that a little discretionary power should be given to a son. All I can
say is this, show me a young person who is eligible, and if I find that
I can love her, I will not refuse to obey your wishes."

"Well, sir, do as you please," replied my father, very angrily; "but I
think, sir, when I desire you to fall in love, it is your duty to obey."

"Suppose I was to fall in love with a person you did not like, would you
allow me to marry her?"

"Most certainly not, sir."

"Then, sir, is it reasonable to expect me to marry without being in love?"

"I did not marry for love, sir."

"No," replied I, forgetting myself a little; "and a pretty mess you made
of it."

"I did," rejoined my father in a rage, "by begetting an undutiful,
good-for-nothing, graceless, insolent, ungrateful son."

"My dear father, I was not aware that I had a brother."

"I mean you, sir."

"To prove to you how unjust you are, sir, and how little I deserve what
you have called me, I now promise you to marry as soon as you wish."

"Thank you, my boy, that's kind of you; but I will say that you are a
comfort and a treasure to me, and I bless the day that brought you to my
arms. Well, then, look about you."

"No, sir, I leave it all to you; select the party, and I am willing to
obey you."

"My dear boy! Well, then, I'll talk the matter over with Mr Masterton
to-morrow," and the general shook me warmly by the hand.

The next day I picked up Harcourt, and proceeded to Park Street. A note
from him had informed them of our intended visit, and other visitors had
been denied. "All has been explained, Cecilia," said I, after the first
greeting: "I was very wrong, and very foolish."

"And made me very miserable. I little thought that you, Japhet, would
have made me cry so much; but I forgive you for it, as I would a thousand
times as much more. Now sit down and tell us all that has happened
since you left us."

"Not yet, my dear Cecilia. You, as well as I, owe a reparation to poor
Harcourt, whom, I think, you have treated cruelly. You were about to
answer a question of vital moment when I broke in upon you, and you have
since kept him in a state of cruel suspense for more than three weeks,
refusing him an answer until he brought me into your presence. An hour
of such suspense must be dreadful, and before we sit down, I wish
everyone should feel comfortable and happy."

"It was not altogether to stimulate Mr Harcourt to bring you back, which
induced me to refuse to answer his question, Japhet. I considered that
your return had rendered it necessary that it should be deferred until I
saw you. I have not forgotten, Japhet, and never shall forget, what I was
when you rescued me; and when I think what I might have been had you not
saved me, I shudder at the bare idea. I have not forgotten how you risked,
and nearly lost your life in Ireland for my sake--neither has my mother.
We are beholden to you for all our present happiness, and I am eternally
indebted to you for rescuing me from ignorance, poverty, and, perhaps,
vice. You have been more, much more than a father to me--more, much more
than a brother. I am, as it were, a creature of your own fashioning, and
I owe to you that which I never can repay. When, then, you returned so
unexpectedly, Japhet, I felt that you had a paramount right in my
disposal, and I was glad that I had not replied to Mr Harcourt, as I
wished first for your sanction and approval. I know all that has passed
between you, but I know not your real feelings towards Mr Harcourt; he
acknowledges that he treated you very ill, and it was his sincere
repentance of having so done, and his praise of you, which first won my
favour. And now, Japhet, if you have still animosity against Mr
Harcourt--if you--"

"Stop, my dear Fleta, I will answer all your questions at once." I took
Harcourt's hand, and placed it in her's. "May God bless you both, and
may you be happy!"

Cecilia threw her arms round me and wept; so did everybody else, I
believe. It was lucky for Harcourt that I was in love with Susannah
Temple. As soon as Cecilia had recovered a little, I kissed her, and
passed her over to her right owner, who led her to the sofa. Lady de
Clare and I went out of the room on important business, and did not
return for a quarter of an hour. When we returned, Cecilia went to her
mother and embraced her, while Harcourt silently squeezed my hand. We
then all sat down, and I gave them an account of all that had passed
during my second excursion--how I had nearly been hanged--how I had gone
mad--how I had turned Quaker and apothecary--which they all agreed, with
what had happened to me before, made up a very eventful history.

"And, Japhet, if it be a fair question about one so fair, was that Miss
Temple who was at church with you yesterday?"

"It was."

"Then, Cecilia, if ever she appears in the same circle, except in my
eyes, your beauty will stand in some danger of being eclipsed."

"How can you say, except in your eyes, Mr Harcourt," replied Cecilia,
"the very observation proves that it is eclipsed in your eyes, whatever
it may be in those of others. Now, as a punishment, I have a great mind
to order you away again, until you bring her face to face, that I may
judge myself."

"If I am again banished," replied Harcourt, "I shall have a second time
to appeal to De Benyon to be able to come back again. He can produce
her, I have no doubt."

"And perhaps may, some of these days, Cecilia."

"Oh! do, Japhet. I will love her so."

"You must wait a little first. I am not quite so far advanced as you and
Harcourt. I have not received the consent of all parties, as you have
to-day. But I must now leave you. Harcourt, I presume you will dine here.
I must dine with my governor."

On my return, I found that the table was laid for three, and that the
general had asked Mr Masterton, from which I augured well. Masterton
could not speak to me when he arrived, but he gave me a wink and a smile,
and I was satisfied. "Japhet," said my father, "you have no engagement
to-morrow, I hope, because I shall call at Mr Masterton's on business,
and wish you to accompany me."

I replied, that "I should be most happy," and the conversation became
general.

I accompanied my father the next day to Lincoln's Inn, and when we went
up, we found Mr Masterton at the table with Mr Cophagus, and Susannah
sitting apart near the window. "The plot thickens," thought I. The fact
was, as I was afterwards told by Mr Masterton, he had prevailed upon
Cophagus to pretend business, and to bring Susannah with him, and
appointed them a quarter of an hour before our time. This he had
arranged, that the general might see Miss Temple, as if by accident;
and also allow me, who, my father supposed, was not aware of Miss Temple
being in town, to meet with her. What a deal of humbug there is in this
world! Nothing but plot and counterplot! I shook hands with Cophagus,
who, I perceived, had, notwithstanding his wife's veto, put on his blue
cotton net pantaloons and Hessian boots, and he appeared to be so tight
in both, that he could hardly move. As far as I could judge, his legs
had not improved since I had last seen them in this his favourite dress.

"Mr De Benyon, I believe that you have met Miss Temple before," said Mr
Masterton, winking at me. "In Berkshire, was it not? Miss Temple, allow
me to introduce General De Benyon."

I went up to Susannah, who coloured and trembled at the sight of my
father, as I expressed my hope that she had been well since we last met.
She perceived that there was some planned scheme, and was so puzzled
that she said nothing. My father then spoke to her, and after a short
time took a chair, and seated himself close to her. I never knew her make
herself so agreeable. He asked her where she was staying, and when he
heard that it was with Mr Cophagus, he said that he should have the
pleasure of calling upon Mr Cophagus, and thank him for his kind
information relative to me. Shortly afterwards Cophagus took his leave,
and Susannah rose to accompany him, when my father, hearing that they
had walked, insisted upon putting Miss Temple down in his carriage. So
that Mr Cophagus had to walk home one way, and I the other.

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Resounding Guardian first book award victory for The Rest Is Noise
Articles published by guardian.co.uk Books

Site of the Week: The International Literary Quarterly

An intricate, kaleidoscopic, all-embracing history of 20th-century music from Mahler to La Monte Young is the winner of this year's Guardian first book award. Alex Ross's The Rest Is Noise was the clear and undisputed winner of the £10,000 prize, which has been presented at a ceremony in central London tonight.

The chair of the judging panel, Guardian literary editor Claire Armitstead, said: "In some quarters this book has been seen as not having a popular appeal. Our prize – which, uniquely, relies on readers' groups in the early stages of judging – proves that, on the contrary, there is a huge appetite among readers for clear, serious but accessible books."

According to one judge: "Where Ross lifts his book above the 'expert' and impressive to the 'good read' category is in the way he wears his learning lightly, never clutches for false or contrived ways of explaining music, and never dumbs down in order to explain."

One of the members of the Waterstone's reading groups, who helped in the judging process, said: "Every time I felt overwhelmed by the technicalities, along came a sublime metaphor or simile that would light up the prose."

Ross, who is the music critic of the New Yorker, has distilled a lifetime's enthusiasm and learning into a rich narrative of musical history, setting the works of Mahler, Schoenberg, John Cage and the rest into their cultural and political contexts – but also giving a vivid sense of what the music he describes actually sounds and feels like.

Of all the artforms, modern and contemporary classical music is often seen as the most rebarbative. Ross brushes aside the mythology of 20th-century music's "inaccessibility" as he charts its meandering histories. Along the way, fascinating connections are made: hip-hop has more in common with Janacek than you might think; Arnold Schoenberg and George Gershwin were tennis partners; Gershwin, in turn, was an ardent fan of Alban Berg and kept an autographed photo of the composer of Lulu in his apartment. If there is an overarching idea to the book, it is perhaps contained in Berg's pronouncement to Gershwin: "Mr Gershwin, music is music."

Ross, 40, was born in Washington DC, and studied English and history at Harvard. An enthusiastic teenage musician and student broadcaster, he began writing music criticism after university and in 1996 was appointed music critic of the New Yorker. His blog – also called The Rest Is Noise – has been a trailblazer in harnessing the internet as a way of amplifying (often literally) his writing on music.

The New York Review of Books described The Rest Is Noise as "by far the liveliest and smartest popular introduction yet written to a century of diverse music". The Economist noted: "No other critic writing in English can so effectively explain why you like a piece, or beguile you to reconsider it, or prompt you to hurry online and buy a recording."

Nicholas Kenyon, managing director of the Barbican and a former Observer music critic, said: "At a time when people are still talking about 20th-century music as if it were a problem, here is a lucid and entertaining book about what I regard as some of the greatest music ever written. It's a wonderful way to advance the cause of 20th-century music to an ordinary, intelligent general reader. It's the ideal mix of enthusiasm and information."

This year's judging panel comprised novelist Roddy Doyle; broadcaster and novelist Francine Stock; poet Daljit Nagra; the historian David Kynaston; novelist Kate Mosse and Guardian deputy editor, Katharine Viner. Stuart Broom of Waterstone's also joined the deliberations, speaking as the representative of the readers' groups.

The other books on the shortlist were Mohammed Hanif's A Case of Exploding Mangoes; Ross Raisin's God's Own Country; Steve Toltz's A Fraction of the Whole (which was also shortlisted for the Man Booker prize) and Owen Matthews's Stalin's Children.

Previous winners of the prize have included Stuart: A Life Backwards by Alexander Masters (2005) and Zadie Smith's White Teeth (2000).

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