Basil | Page 8

to make Ralph comprehend and appreciate his
position, as he was desired to comprehend and appreciate it. The
steward gave up in despair all attempts to enlighten him about the
extent, value, and management of the estates he was to inherit. A
vigorous effort was made to inspire him with ambition; to get him to go
into parliament. He laughed at the idea. A commission in the Guards
was next offered to him. He refused it, because he would never be
buttoned up in a red coat; because he would submit to no restraints,
fashionable or military; because in short, he was determined to be his
own master. My father talked to him by the hour together, about his
duties and his prospects, the cultivation of his mind, and the example of
his ancestors; and talked in vain. He yawned and fidgetted over the
emblazoned pages of his own family pedigree, whenever they were
opened before him.
In the country, he cared for nothing but hunting and shooting--it was as
difficult to make him go to a grand county dinner-party, as to make him

go to church. In town, he haunted the theatres, behind the scenes as
well as before; entertained actors and actresses at Richmond; ascended
in balloons at Vauxhall; went about with detective policemen, seeing
life among pickpockets and housebreakers; belonged to a whist club, a
supper club, a catch club, a boxing club, a picnic club, an amateur
theatrical club; and, in short, lived such a careless, convivial life, that
my father, outraged in every one of his family prejudices and family
refinements, almost ceased to speak to him, and saw him as rarely as
possible. Occasionally, my sister's interference reconciled them again
for a short time; her influence, gentle as it was, was always powerfully
felt for good, but she could not change my brother's nature. Persuade
and entreat as anxiously as she might, he was always sure to forfeit the
paternal favour again, a few days after he had been restored to it.
At last, matters were brought to their climax by an awkward love
adventure of Ralph's with one of our tenants' daughters. My father
acted with his usual decision on the occasion. He determined to apply a
desperate remedy: to let the refractory eldest son run through his career
in freedom, abroad, until he had well wearied himself, and could return
home a sobered man. Accordingly, he procured for my brother an
attache's place in a foreign embassy, and insisted on his leaving
England forthwith. For once in a way, Ralph was docile. He knew and
cared nothing about diplomacy; but he liked the idea of living on the
continent, so he took his leave of home with his best grace. My father
saw him depart, with ill-concealed agitation and apprehension;
although he affected to feel satisfied that, flighty and idle as Ralph was,
he was incapable of voluntarily dishonouring his family, even in his
most reckless moods.
After this, we heard little from my brother. His letters were few and
short, and generally ended with petitions for money. The only
important news of him that reached us, reached us through public
channels.
He was making quite a continental reputation--a reputation, the bare
mention of which made my father wince. He had fought a duel; he had
imported a new dance from Hungary; he had contrived to get the

smallest groom that ever was seen behind a cabriolet; he had carried off
the reigning beauty among the opera-dancers of the day from all
competitors; a great French cook had composed a great French dish,
and christened it by his name; he was understood to be the "unknown
friend," to whom a literary Polish countess had dedicated her "Letters
against the restraint of the Marriage Tie;" a female German
metaphysician, sixty years old, had fallen (Platonically) in love with
him, and had taken to writing erotic romances in her old age. Such were
some of the rumours that reached my father's ears on the subject of his
son and heir!
After a long absence, he came home on a visit. How well I remember
the astonishment he produced in the whole household! He had become
a foreigner in manners and appearance. his mustachios were
magnificent; miniature toys in gold and jewellery hung in clusters from
his watch-chain; his shirt-front was a perfect filigree of lace and
cambric. He brought with him his own boxes of choice liqueurs and
perfumes; his own smart, impudent, French valet; his own travelling
bookcase of French novels, which he opened with his own golden key.
He drank nothing but chocolate in the morning; he had long interviews
with the cook, and revolutionized our dinner table. All the French
newspapers were sent to him by a London agent. He altered the
arrangements