The severity of these proceedings struck an immediate panic throughout the disaffected. The inhabitants of the town of Belfont arrayed themselves in black. A long and mournful silence succeeded; and few there were who penetrated, under the veil of submissive acquiescence, the spirit of rebellion and vengeance, which was preparing to burst forth. Gerald Mac Allain, forgetful of his wrongs, appeared at the castle; Lady St. Clare wrote the most penitent letter to Sir Everard; and with her two daughters Jessica and Laura, entreated permission to return. Every one of the tradesmen and farmers of any respectability took their names from the new club, opposite Sir Everard’s house; and a sort of mournful tranquillity and terror seemed to reign throughout.
A few days after this melancholy transaction, Linden’s mother died; and as Calantha was returning from Belfont, she met the crowd who had followed her to the grave. They all passed her in silence, nor gave her one salutation, or smile of acknowledgment, as on other occasions; yet they were her father’s own tenants, and most of their countenances she remembered from childhood. When she mentioned this circumstance at the castle, she was informed that Lord Avondale’s having taken an active part against the party who had come forward to save the deserters, was the cause of this.
To such heights, at this time, was the spirit of party carried. The whole kingdom, indeed, was in a state of ferment and disorder. Complaints were made, redress was claimed, and the people were everywhere mutinous and discontented. Even the few of their own countrymen, who possessed the power, refused to attend to the grievances and burthens of which the nation generally complained, and sold themselves for hire, to the English government. Numerous absentees had drawn great part of the money out of the country; oppressive taxes were continued; land was let and sub-let to bankers and stewards of estates, to the utter ruin of the tenants; and all this caused the greatest discontent.
Some concessions were now granted in haste—some assurances of relief made; but the popular spirit of indignation, once excited, was not to be allayed by the same means which had, perhaps, prevented its first rise. The time for conciliation was past. A foreign enemy lost no opportunity of adding to the increasing inward discontent. The friends of government had the power of the sword and the weight of influence on their side; but the enemies were more numerous, more desperate, more enthusiastic. The institution of political clubs, the combination of the United Irishmen, for the purpose of forwarding a brotherhood of affection, a communion of rights, amongst those of every different persuasion, even a military force was now attempted; and the constant cry of all the inhabitants of either town or country was a total repeal of the penal statutes, the elective franchise, reform of parliament, and commutation of tythes.
Whilst, however, the more moderate with sincerity imagined, that they were upholding the cause of liberty and religion; the more violent, who had emancipated their minds from every restraint of prejudice or principle, did not conceal that the equalization of property, and the destruction of rank and titles was their real object. The revolutionary spirit was fast spreading, and since the appearance of Lord Glenarvon, at Belfont, the whole of the county around was in a state of actual rebellion.
CHAPTER VIII.
Glenarvon seemed, however, to differ in practice from his principles; for whilst many of those who had adopted the same language had voluntarily thrown off their titles, and divided their property amongst their partizans, he made a formal claim for the titles his grandfather had forfeited; and though he had received no positive assurance that his claim would be considered, he called himself by that name alone, and insisted upon his followers addressing him in no other manner. This singular personage, of whom so many, for a long period, had heard the strangest reports, whom many imagined to be dead, and who seemed, whenever he appeared, to make no light impression upon all those with whom he conversed, had passed his youth in a foreign country, and had only twice visited the abode of his ancestors until the present year.
It was amidst the ruins of ancient architecture, and the wild beauties of Italian scenery, that his splendid genius and uncommon faculties were first developed. Melancholy, unsocial, without a guide, he had centered upon himself every strong interest, and every aspiring hope. Dwelling ever in the brilliant regions of fancy, his soul turned with antipathy from the ordinary cares of life. He deeply felt the stigma that had been cast upon his family in the person of his grandfather, who, from the favourite of a changing prince, had become the secret accomplice of a bloody conspiracy. The proofs of his guilt were clear; his death was a death of shame; and the name of traitor was handed down with the coronet to which his only surviving heir so eagerly aspired.
By his nearest friends he was now called Glenarvon; and so jealous did he appear of his rank, that he preferred disguise, straits and difficulties, to a return to his own country without those titles, and that fortune, which he considered as his due. One object of interest succeeded another; a life of suspense was preferred to apathy; and the dark counsels of unprincipled associates, soon led one, already disloyal in heart, to the very brink of destruction. Flushed with the glow of intemperate heat, or pale with the weariness of secret woe, he vainly sought in a career of pleasure, for that happiness which his restless mind prevented him from enjoying.
Glenarvon had embraced his father’s profession, wherein he had distinguished himself by his courage and talent; but to obey another was irksome; and the length of time which must elapse before he could obtain the command of a ship, soon disgusted him with the service. He plunged, therefore, into all the tumults of dissipation, to which a return to Rome and Florence invited him.