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diff --git a/old/32693-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/32693-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ddfea81 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32693-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,10014 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + That Boy of Norcott's, by Charles James Lever + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of That Boy Of Norcott's, by Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: That Boy Of Norcott's + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: W. Cubitt Cooke + +Release Date: June 4, 2010 [EBook #32693] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h1> +THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S +</h1> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By W. Cubitt Cooke. +</h3> +<h4> +BOSTON: <br /><br /> LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. <br /><br /> 1904. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/nor0009.jpg" alt="nor0009" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/nor0012.jpg" alt="nor0012" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> TO BARON EMILE ERLANGER +</p> +<p> +My dear Erlanger,—Through the many anxieties which beset me while I +was writing this story, your name was continually recurring, and always +with some act of kindness, or some proof of affection. Let me, then, in +simple gratitude dedicate to you a volume of which, in a measure, you +stand sponsor, and say to the world at large what I have so often said to +my own, +</p> +<p> +How sincerely and heartily I am +</p> +<p> +Your friend, +</p> +<p> +CHARLES LEVER. Trieste, February 20th, 1869. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S.</b> </a><br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> THE TRIAL <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> WITH MY MOTHER +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> WITH MY +FATHER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE +VILLA MALIBRAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> A +FIRST DINNER-PARTY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> HOW +THE DAYS WENT OYER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> A +PRIVATE AUDIENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> A +DARK-ROOM PICTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> MADAME +CLEREMONT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> PLANNING +PLEASURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> A +BIRTHDAY DINNER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE +BALL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> A +NEXT MORNING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> A +GOOD-BYE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> A +TERRIBLE SHOCK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> FIUME +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> HANSERL +OF THE YARD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> THE +SAIL ACROSS THE BAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. +</a> AT THE FÊTE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER +XX. </a> OUR INNER LIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> +CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE OFFICE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> UNWISHED-FOR +PROMOTION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> THE +MAN WHO TRAVELLED FOR OUR HOUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> +CHAPTER XXIV. </a> MY INSTRUCTIONS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> "ON THE ROAD” IN +CROATIA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> IN +HUNGARY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> SCHLOSS +HUNYADI <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> THE +SALON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> AN +UNLOOKED-FOR MEETING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. +</a> HASTY TIDINGS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> +CHAPTER XXXI. </a> IN SORROW <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> THE END <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h1> +THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. THE TRIAL +</h2> +<p> +Some years ago there was a trial in Dublin, which, partly because the +parties in the cause were in a well-to-do condition of life, and partly +because the case in some measure involved the interests of the two +conflicting Churches, excited considerable sensation and much comment. +</p> +<p> +The contention was the right to the guardianship of a boy whose father and +mother had ceased to live together. On their separation they had come to a +sort of amicable arrangement that the child—then seven years old—should +live alternate years with each; and though the mother's friends warmly +urged her not to consent to a plan so full of danger to her child, and so +certain to result in the worst effects on his character, the poor woman, +whose rank in life was far inferior to her husband's, yielded, partly from +habit of deference to his wishes, and more still because she believed, in +refusing these terms, she might have found herself reduced to accept even +worse ones. The marriage had been unfortunate in every way. Sir Roger +Norcott had accompanied his regiment, the—th Dragoons, to Ireland, +where some violent disturbances in the south had called for an increase of +military force. When the riots had been suppressed, the troops, broken up +into small detachments, were quartered through the counties, as +opportunity and convenience served; Norcott s troop—for he was a +captain—being stationed in that very miserable and poverty-stricken +town called Macroom. Here the dashing soldier, who for years had been a +Guardsman, mixing in all the gayeties of a London life, passed days and +weeks of dreary despondency. His two subs, who happened to be sons of men +in trade, he treated with a cold and distant politeness, but never entered +into their projects, nor accepted their companionship; and though they +messed together each day, no other intimacy passed between them than the +courtesies of the table. +</p> +<p> +It chanced that while thus hipped, and out of sorts, sick of the place and +the service that had condemned him to it, he made acquaintance with a +watchmaker, when paying for some slight service, and subsequently with his +daughter, a very pretty, modest-looking, gentle girl of eighteen. The +utter vacuity of his life, the tiresome hours of barrack-room solitude, +the want of some one to talk to him, but, still more, of some one to +listen,—for he liked to talk, and talked almost well,—led him +to pass more than half his days and all his evenings at their house. Nor +was the fact that his visits had become a sort of town scandal without its +charm for a man who actually pined for a sensation, even though painful; +and there was, too, an impertinence that, while declining the society of +the supposed upper classes of the neighborhood, he found congenial +companionship with these humble people, had a marvellous attraction for a +man who had no small share of resentfulness in his nature, and was seldom +so near being happy as when flouting some prejudice or outraging some +popular opinion. +</p> +<p> +It had been his passion through life to be ever doing or saying something +that no one could have anticipated. For the pleasure of astonishing the +world, no sacrifice was too costly; and whether he rode, or shot, or +played, or yachted, his first thought was notoriety. An ample fortune lent +considerable aid to this tendency; but every year's extravagance was now +telling on his resources, and he was forced to draw on his ingenuity where +before he needed but to draw on his banker. +</p> +<p> +There was nothing that his friends thought less likely than that he would +marry, except that, if he should, his wife would not be a woman of family: +to bowl over both of these beliefs together, he married the watchmaker's +daughter, and Mary Owen became a baronet's bride. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps—I 'm not very sure of even that—her marriage gave her +one entire day of unbroken happiness,—I do not believe it gave her a +week, and I know it did not a month. Whether it was that his friends were +less shocked than he had hoped for, or that the shock wore out sooner, he +was frantic at the failure of his grand coup, and immediately set about +revenging on his unhappy wife all the disappointment she had caused him. +After a series of cruelties—some of which savored of madness—but +which she bore without complaint, or even murmur, he bethought him that +her religious belief offered a groundwork for torment which he had +hitherto neglected. He accordingly determined to make his profession to +the Church of Rome, and to call on her to follow. This she stoutly +refused; and he declared that they should separate. The menace had no +longer a terror for her. She accepted whatever terms he was pleased to +dictate; she only stipulated as to the child, and for him but to the +extent we have already seen. The first year after the separation the boy +passed with his father; the second he spent with his mother. At the end of +the third year, when her turn again came round, Sir Roger refused to part +with him; and when reminded of his promise, coarsely replied that his boy, +above all things, must be “a gentleman,” and that he was now arrived at an +age when association with low and vulgar people would attach a tone to his +mind and a fashion to his thoughts that all the education in the world +would not eradicate; and that rather than yield to such a desecration, he +would litigate the matter to the last shilling of his estate. Such was the +cause before the Barons of the Exchequer: the mother pleading that her +child should be restored to her; the father opposing the demand that the +mother's habits and associates were not in accordance with the prospects +of one who should inherit title and fortune; and, last of all, that the +boy was devotedly attached to him, and bore scarcely a trace of affection +for his mother. +</p> +<p> +So painful were the disclosures that came out during the trial, so +subversive of every feeling that pertains to the sanctity of the family, +and so certain to work injuriously on the character of the child whose +interests were at stake, that the Judge, made more than one attempt to +arrest the proceedings and refer the case to arbitration, but Sir Roger +would not agree to this. He was once more in his element, he was before +the world,—the newspapers were full of him, and, better than all, in +attack and reprobation. He had demanded to be put on the table as a +witness, and they who saw, it is said, never forgot the insolent defiance +of public opinion that he on that day displayed; how boldly he paraded +opinions in opposition to every sense of right and justice, and how openly +he avowed his principle of education to be—to strip off from youth +every delusion as to the existence of truth and honor in life, and to +teach a child, from his earliest years, that trickery and falsehood were +the daily weapons of mankind, and that he who would not consent to be the +dupe of his fellow-men must be their despot and their persecutor. If he +had the satisfaction of outraging the feelings of all in court, and +insulting every sense of propriety and decorum, he paid heavily for the +brief triumph. The judge delivered a most stern denunciation of his +doctrines, and declared that no case had ever come before the court where +so little hesitation existed as to the judgment to be pronounced. The +sentence was that, up to the age of twelve, the child was to be confided +to the mother's charge; after which period the court would, on +application, deliberate and determine on the future guardianship. +</p> +<p> +“Will you leave me, Digby?” asked the father; and his lips trembled, and +his cheek blanched as he uttered the words. The boy sprang into his arms, +and kissed him wildly and passionately; and the two clung to each other in +close embrace, and their mingled sobs echoed through the now silent court. +“You see, my Lord, you see—” cried the father; but the boy's +struggles were choking him, and, with his own emotions, would not suffer +him to continue. His sufferings were now real, and a murmur ran through +the court that showed how public feeling was trembling in the balance. The +bustle of a new cause that was coming on soon closed the scene. The child +was handed over to an officer of the court, while the mother's friends +concerted together, and all was over. +</p> +<p> +Over as regarded the first act of a life-long drama; and ere the curtain +rises, it only remains to say that the cause which that day decided was +mine, and that I, who write this, was the boy “Digby Norcott.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. WITH MY MOTHER +</h2> +<p> +My mother lived in a little cottage at a place called the Green Lanes, +about three miles from Dublin. The name was happily given, for on every +side there were narrow roads overshadowed by leafy trees, which met above +and gave only glimpses of sky and cloud through their feathery foliage. +The close hedgerows of white or pink thorn limited the view on either +side, and imparted a something of gloom to a spot whose silence was rarely +broken, for it was not a rich man's neighborhood. They who frequented it +were persons of small fortune, retired subalterns in the army, or clerks +in public offices, and such like petty respectabilities who preferred to +herd together, and make no contrasts of their humble means with larger, +greater incomes. +</p> +<p> +Amongst the sensations I shall never forget—and which, while I +write, are as fresh as the moment I first felt them—were my feelings +when the car stopped opposite a low wicket, and Mr. McBride, the attorney, +helped me down and said, “This is your home, Digby; your mother lives +here.” The next moment a pale but very handsome young woman came rushing +down the little path and clasped me in her arms. She had dropped on her +knees to bring her face to mine, and she kissed me madly and wildly, so +that my cap fell off. “See how my frill is all rumpled,” said I, unused as +I was to such disconcerting warmth, and caring far more for my smart +appearance than for demonstrations of affection. “Oh, darling, never mind +it,” sobbed she. “You shall have another and a nicer. I will make it +myself, for my own boy,—for you are mine, Digby. You are mine, +dearest, ain't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I am papa's boy,” said I, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“But you will love mamma too, Digby, won't you?—poor mamma, that has +no one to love her, or care for her if you do not; and who will so love +you in return, and do everything for you,—everything to make you +happy,—happy and good, Digby.” + </p> +<p> +“Then let us go back to Earls Court. It's far prettier than this, and +there are great lions over the gateway, and wide steps up to the door. I +don't like this. It looks so dark and dreary,—it makes me cry.” And +to prove it, I burst out into a full torrent of weeping, and my mother +hung over me and sobbed too; and long after the car had driven away, we +sat there on the grass weeping bitterly together, though there was no +concert in our sorrow, nor any soul to our grief. +</p> +<p> +That whole afternoon was passed in attempts to comfort and caress me by my +mother, and in petulant demands on my part for this or that luxury I had +left behind me. I wanted my nice bed with the pink curtains, and my little +tool-case. I wanted my little punt, my pony, my fishing-rod. I wanted the +obsequious servants, who ran at my bidding, and whose respectful manner +was a homage I loved to exact. Not one of these was forthcoming, and how +could I believe her who soothingly told me that her love would replace +them, and that her heart's affection would soon be dearer to roe than all +my toys and all the glittering presents that littered my room? “But I want +my pony,” I cried; “I want my little dog Fan, and I want to sit beside +papa, and see him drive four horses, and he lets me whip them too, and <i>you</i> +won't.” And so I cried hysterically again, and in these fretful paroxysms +I passed my evening. +</p> +<p> +The first week of my life there was to me—it still is to me—like +a dream,—a sad, monotonous dream. Repulsed in every form, my mother +still persisted in trying to amuse or interest me, and I either sat in +moody silence, refusing all attention, or went off into passionate grief, +sobbing as if my heart would break. “Let him cry his fill,” said old Biddy +the maid,—“let him cry his fill, and it will do him good.” And I +could have killed her on the spot as she said it. +</p> +<p> +If Biddy Cassidy really opined that a hearty fit of crying would have been +a good alterative for me, she ought not to have expressed the opinion in +my presence, for there was that much of my father in me that quickly +suggested resistance, and I at once resolved that, no matter what it might +cost me, or by what other means I might find a vent for my grief, I 'd cry +no more. All my poor mother's caresses, all her tenderness, and all her +watchful care never acted on my character with half the force or one-tenth +of the rapidity that did this old hag's attempt to thwart and oppose me. +Her system was, by a continual comparison between my present life and my +past, to show how much better off I was now than in my former high estate, +and by a travesty of all I had been used to, to pretend that anything like +complaint from me would be sheer ingratitude. “Here's the pony, darlin', +waitin' for you to ride him,” she would say, as she would lay an old +walking-stick beside my door; and though the blood would rush to my head +at the insult, and something very nigh choking rise to my throat, I would +master my passion and make no reply. This demeanor was set down to +sulkiness, and Biddy warmly entreated my mother to suppress the temper it +indicated, and, as she mildly suggested, “cut it out of me when I was +young”—a counsel, I must own, she did not follow. +</p> +<p> +Too straitened in her means to keep a governess for me, and unwilling to +send me to a school, my mother became my teacher herself; and, not having +had any but the very commonest education, she was obliged to acquire in +advance what she desired to impart. Many a night would she pore over the +Latin Grammar, that she might be even one stage before me in the morning. +Over and over did she get up the bit of geography that was to test my +knowledge the next day; and in this way, while leading <i>me</i> on, she +acquired, almost without being aware of it, a considerable amount of +information. Her faculties were above the common, and her zeal could not +be surpassed; so that, while I was stumbling and blundering over “Swaine's +Sentences,” she had read all Sallust's “Catiline,” and most of the “Odes” + of Horace; and long before I had mastered my German declensions, she was +reading “Grimm's Stories” and Auerbach's “Village Sketches.” Year after +year went over quietly, uneventfully. I had long ceased to remember my +former life of splendor, or, if it recurred to me, it came with no more of +reality than the events of a dream. One day, indeed,—I shall never +forget it,—the past revealed itself before me with the vivid +distinctness of a picture, and, I shame to say, rendered me unhappy and +discontented for several days after. I was returning one afternoon from a +favorite haunt, where I used to spend hours,—the old churchyard of +Killester, a long-unused cemetery, with a ruined church beside it,—when +four spanking chestnuts came to the foot of the little rise on which the +ruin stood, and the servants, jumping down, undid the bearing-reins, to +breathe the cattle up the ascent. It was my father was on the box; and as +he skilfully brushed the flies from his horses with his whip, gently +soothing the hot-mettled creatures with his voice, I bethought me of the +proud time when I sat beside him, and when he talked to me of the +different tempers of each horse in the team, instilling into me that +interest and that love for them, as thinking sentient creatures, which +gives the horse a distinct character to all who have learned thus to think +of him from childhood. He never looked at me as he passed. How should he +recognize the little boy in the gray linen blouse he was wont to see in +black velvet with silver buttons? Perhaps I was not sorry he did not know +me. Perhaps I felt it easier to fight my own shame alone than if it had +been confessed and witnessed. At all events, the sight sent me home sad +and depressed, no longer able to take pleasure in my usual pursuits, and +turning from my toys and books with actual aversion. +</p> +<p> +Remembering how all mention of my father used to affect my mother long +ago, seeing how painfully his mere name acted upon her, I forbore to speak +of this incident, and buried it in my heart, to think and ruminate over +when alone. +</p> +<p> +Time went on and on till I wanted but a few months of twelve, and my +lessons were all but dropped, as my mother's mornings were passed either +in letter-writing or in interviews with her lawyer. It was on the +conclusion of one of these councils that Mr. McBride led me into the +garden, and, seating me beside him on a bench, said, “I have something to +say to you, Digby; and I don't know that I 'd venture to say it, if I had +not seen that you are a thoughtful boy, and an affectionate son of the +best mother that ever lived. You are old enough, besides, to have a right +to know something about yourself and your future prospects, and it is for +that I have come out to-day.” And with this brief preface he told me the +whole story of my father's and mother's marriage and separation; and how +it came to pass that I had been taken from one to live with the other; and +how the time was now drawing nigh—it wanted but two months and ten +days—when I should be once more under my father's guidance, and +totally removed from the influence of that mother who loved me so dearly. +</p> +<p> +“We might fight the matter in the courts, it is true,” said he. “There are +circumstances which might weigh with a judge whether he 'd remove you from +a position of safety and advantage to one of danger and difficulty; but it +would be the fight of a weak purse against a strong one, not to say that +it would also be the struggle of a poor mother's heart against the law of +the land; and I have at last persuaded her it would be wiser and safer not +to embitter the relations with your father,—to submit to the +inevitable; and not improbably you may be permitted to see her from time +to time, and, at all events, to write to her.” It took a long time for him +to go through what I have so briefly set down here; for there were many +pros and cons, and he omitted none of them; and while he studiously +abstained from applying to my father any expression of censure or +reprobation, he could not conceal from me that he regarded him as a very +cold-hearted, unfeeling man, from whom little kindness could be expected, +and to whom entreaty or petition would be lost time. I will not dwell on +the impression this revelation produced on me, nor will I linger on the +time that followed on it,—the very saddest of my life. Our lessons +were stopped,—all the occupations that once filled the day ceased,—a +mournful silence fell upon us, as though there was a death in the house; +and there was, indeed, the death of that peaceful existence in which we +had glided along for years, and we sat grieving over a time that was to +return no more. My mother tried to employ herself in setting my clothes in +order, getting my books decently bound, and enabling me in every way to +make a respectable appearance in that new life I was about to enter on; +but her grief usually overcame her in these attempts, and she would hang +in tears over the little trunk that recalled every memory she was so soon +to regard as the last traces of her child. Biddy, who had long, for years +back, ceased to torment or annoy me, came back with an arrear of +bitterness to her mockeries and sneers. “I was going to be a lord, and I'd +not know the mother that nursed me if I saw her in the street! Fine +clothes and fine treatment was more to me than love and affection; signs +on it, I was turning my back on my own mother, and going to live with the +blackguard”—she did n't mince the word—“that left her to +starve.” These neatly turned compliments met me at every moment, and by +good fortune served to arm me with a sort of indignant courage that +carried me well through all my perils. +</p> +<p> +To spare my poor mother the pain of parting, Mr. McBride—I cannot +say how judiciously—contrived that I should be taken out for a drive +and put on board the packet bound for Holyhead, under the charge of a +courier, whom my father had sent to fetch me, to Brussels, where he was +then living. Of how I left Ireland, and journeyed on afterwards, I know +nothing; it was all confusion and turmoil. The frequent changes from place +to place, the noise, the new people, the intense haste that seemed to +pervade all that went on, addled me to that degree that I had few +collected thoughts at the time, and no memory of them afterwards. +</p> +<p> +From certain droppings of the courier, however, and his heartily expressed +joy as Brussels came in sight, I gathered that I had been a very +troublesome charge, and refractory to the very limit of actual rebellion. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. WITH MY FATHER. +</h2> +<p> +At the time I speak of, my father dwelt in a villa near Brussels, which +had been built by or for Madame Malibran. It was a strange though somewhat +incongruous edifice, and more resembled a public building than a private +gentleman's residence. It stood in a vast garden, or rather park, where +fruit and forest trees abounded, and patches of flowers came suddenly into +view in most unexpected places. There were carriage drives, too, so +ingeniously managed that the visitor could be led to believe the space ten +times greater than it was in reality. The whole inside and out savored +strongly of the theatre, and every device of good or bad taste—the +latter largely predominating—had its inspiration in the stage. +</p> +<p> +As we drove under the arched entrance gate, over which a crowned leopard—the +Norcott crest—was proudly rampant, I felt a strange throb at my +heart that proved the old leaven was still alive within me, and that the +feeling of being the son of a man of rank and fortune had a strong root in +my heart. +</p> +<p> +From the deep reverence of the gorgeous porter, who wore an embroidered +leather belt over his shoulder, to the trim propriety and order of the +noiseless avenue, all bespoke an amount of state and grandeur that +appealed very powerfully to me, and I can still recall how the bronze +lamps that served to light the approach struck me as something wonderfully +fine, as the morning's sun glanced on their crested tops. +</p> +<p> +The carriage drew up at the foot of a large flight of marble steps, which +led to a terrace covered by a long veranda. +</p> +<p> +Under, the shade of this two gentlemen sat at breakfast, both unknown to +me. “Whom have we here?” cried the elder, a fat, middle-aged man of coarse +features and stern expression,—“whom have we here?” + </p> +<p> +The younger—conspicuous by a dressing-gown and cap that glittered +with gold embroidery—looked lazily over the top of his newspaper, +and said, “That boy of Norcott's, I take it; he was to arrive to-day.” + </p> +<p> +This was the first time I heard an expression that my ears were soon to be +well familiar to, and I cannot tell how bitterly the words insulted me. +“Who were they,” I asked myself, “who, under my father's roof, could dare +so to call me! and why was I not styled Sir Roger Norcott's son, and not +thus disparagingly, 'that boy of Norcott's'?” + </p> +<p> +I walked slowly up the steps among these men as defiantly as though there +was a declared enmity between us, and was proceeding straight towards the +door, when the elder called out, “Holloa, youngster, come here and report +yourself! You 've just come, have n't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I have just come,” said I, slowly; “but when I report myself it shall be +to my father, Sir Roger Norcott.” + </p> +<p> +“You got that, Hotham, and I must say you deserved it too,” said the +younger in a low tone, which my quick hearing, however, caught. +</p> +<p> +“Will you have some breakfast with us?” said the elder, with a faint +laugh, as though he enjoyed the encounter. +</p> +<p> +“No, I thank you, sir,” said I, stiffly, and passed on into the house. +</p> +<p> +“Master Digby,” said a smart little man in black, who for a moment or two +puzzled me whether he was a guest or a servant, “may I show you to your +room, sir? Sir Roger is not up; he seldom rings for his bath before one +o'clock; but he said he would have it earlier to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is your name, pray?” + </p> +<p> +“Nixon, sir. Mr. Nixon, Sir Roger is pleased to call me for distinction' +sake; the lower servants require it.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me then, Mr. Nixon, who are the two gentlemen I saw at breakfast +outside?” + </p> +<p> +“The stoutish gentleman, sir, is Captain Hotham, of the Royal Navy; the +other, with the Turkish pipe, is Mr. Cleremont, Secretary to the Legation +here. Great friends of Sir Roger's, sir. Dine here three or four times a +week, and have their rooms always kept for them.” + </p> +<p> +The appearance of my room, into which Nixon now ushered me, went far to +restore me to a condition of satisfaction. It was the most perfect little +bedroom it is possible to imagine, and Nixon never wearied in doing the +honors of displaying it. +</p> +<p> +“Here's your library, sir. You've only to slide this mirror into the wall; +and here are all your books. This press is your armory. Sir Roger gave the +order himself for that breech-loader at Liège. This small closet has your +bath,—always ready, as you see, sir,—hot and cold; and that +knob yonder commands the shower-bath. It smells fresh of paint here just +now, sir, for it was only finished on Saturday; and the men are coming +to-day to fix a small iron staircase from your balcony down to the garden. +Sir Roger said he was sure you would like it.” + </p> +<p> +I was silent for a moment,—a moment of exquisite revery,—and +then I asked if there were always people visitors at the Villa. +</p> +<p> +“I may say, sir, indeed, next to always. We haven't dined alone since +March last.” + </p> +<p> +“How many usually come to dinner?” + </p> +<p> +“Five or seven, sir; always an odd number. Seldom more than seven, and +never above eleven, except a state dinner to some great swell going +through.” + </p> +<p> +“No ladies, of course?” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me, sir. The Countess Vander Neeve dined here yesterday; Madam Van +Straaten, and Mrs. Cleremont—Excuse me, sir, there's Sir Roger's +bell. I must go and tell him you've arrived.” + </p> +<p> +When Nixon left me, I sat for full twenty minutes, like one walking out of +a trance, and asking myself how much was real, and how much fiction, of +all around me? +</p> +<p> +My eyes wandered over the room, and from the beautiful little Gothic clock +on the mantelpiece to the gilded pineapple from which my bed-curtains +descended,—everything seemed of matchless beauty to me. Could I ever +weary of admiring them? Would they seem to me every morning as I awoke as +tasteful and as elegant as now they appeared to me? Oh, if dear mamma +could but see them! If she but knew with what honor I was received, would +not the thought go far to assuage the grief our separation cost her? And, +last of all, came the thought, if she herself were here to live with me, +to read with me, to be my companion as she used to be,—could life +offer anything to compare with such happiness? And why should not this be? +If papa really should love me, why might I not lead him to see to whom I +owed all that made me worthy of his love? +</p> +<p> +“Breakfast is served, sir, in the small breakfast-room,” said a servant, +respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“You must show me where that is,” said I, rising to follow him. +</p> +<p> +And now we walked along a spacious corridor, and descended a splendid +stair of white marble, with gilded banisters, and across an octagon hall, +with a pyramid of flowering plants in the centre, and into a large gallery +with armor on the walls, that I wished greatly to linger over and examine, +and then into a billiard-room, and at last into the small +breakfast-parlor, where a little table was laid out, and another servant +stood in readiness to serve me. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Eccles, sir, will be down in a moment, if you 'll be pleased to wait +for him,” said the man. +</p> +<p> +“And who is Mr. Eccles?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“The gentleman as is to be your tutor, sir, I believe,” replied he, +timidly; “and he said perhaps you 'd make the tea, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said I, opening the caddy, and proceeding to make myself at +home at once. “What is here?” + </p> +<p> +“Devilled kidneys, sir; and this is fried mackerel. Mr. Eccles takes +oysters; but he won't have them opened till he's down. Here he is, sir.” + </p> +<p> +The door was now flung open, and a good-looking young man, with a glass +stuck in one eye, entered, and with a cheery but somewhat affected voice, +called out,— +</p> +<p> +“Glad to see you, Digby, my boy; hope I have not starved you out waiting +for me?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm very hungry, sir, but not quite starved out,” said I, half amazed at +the style of man selected to be my guide, and whose age at most could not +be above three or four and twenty. +</p> +<p> +“You haven't seen your father yet, of course, nor won't these two hours. +Yes, Gilbert, let us have the oysters. I always begin with oysters and a +glass of sauterne; and, let me tell you, your father's sauterne is +excellent Not that I counsel <i>you</i>, however, to start with wine at +breakfast. I have n't told you that I 'm to be your tutor,” said he, +filling his glass; “and here's to our future fellowship.” + </p> +<p> +I smiled and sipped my tea to acknowledge the toast, and he went on,— +</p> +<p> +“You mustn't be afraid that I 'll lean too heavily on you, Digby,—at +least, at first. My system is, never make education a punishment. There's +nothing that a gentleman—mind, I say a gentleman—ought to know +that he cannot acquire as easily and as pleasantly as he does +field-sports. If a man has to live by his wits, he must drudge; there's no +help for it. And—But here come the oysters. Ain't they magnificent? +Let me give you one piece of instruction while the occasion serves; let no +one ever persuade you that Colchester oysters equal the Ostend. They have +neither the plumpness nor the juiciness, and still less have they that +fresh odor of the sea that gives such zest to appetite. One of these days +I shall ask you what Horace says of oysters, and where. You never heard of +Horace, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I was reading the 'Odes' when I came away.” + </p> +<p> +“And with whom, pray?” + </p> +<p> +“With mamma, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you mean to say mamma knew Latin?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; she learned it to teach me. She worked far harder than I did, +and I could never come up with her.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, yes, I see; but all that sort of learning—that irregular study—is +a thing to be grubbed up. If I were to be frank with you, Digby, I 'd say +I 'd rather have you in total ignorance than with that smattering of +knowledge a mamma's teaching is sure to imply. What had you read before +Horace?” + </p> +<p> +“'Caesar's Commentaries,' sir, an 'Æneid' of Virgil, two plays of Terence—” + </p> +<p> +“Any Greek?—anything of Euripedes or Aristophanes, eh?” asked he, +mockingly. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; we were to begin the New Testament after the holidays; for I had +just gone over the grammar twice.” + </p> +<p> +“With mamma, of course?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +He helped himself to a cutlet, and as he poured the Harvey's sauce over +it, it was plain to see that he was not thinking of what was before him, +but employed in another and different direction. After a considerable +pause he turned his eyes full upon me, and with a tone of far more serious +import than he had yet used, said, “We 're not very long acquainted, +Digby; but I have a trick of reading people through their faces, and I +feel I can trust you.” He waited for some remark from me, but I made none, +and he went on: “With an ordinary boy of your age,—indeed, I might +go farther, and say with any other boy—I 'd not venture on the +confidence I am now about to make; but a certain instinct tells me I run +no danger in trusting <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it a secret, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, in one sense it <i>is</i> a secret; but why do you ask?” + </p> +<p> +“Because mamma told me to avoid secrets; to have none of my own, and know +as little as I could of other people's.” + </p> +<p> +“An excellent rule in general, but there are cases where it will not +apply: this is one of them, for here the secret touches your own family. +You are aware that papa and mamma do not live together? Don't flush up, +Digby; I 'm not going to say one word that could hurt you. It is for your +benefit—I might say for your absolute safety—that I speak now. +Your father has one of the noblest natures a man ever possessed; he is a +prince in generosity, and the very soul of honor, and, except pride, I +don't believe he has a fault. This same pride, however, leads him to fancy +he can never do wrong; indeed, he does not admit that he ever made a +mistake in his life, and, consequently, he does not readily forgive those +to whom he imputes any disasters that befall him. Your mother's family are +included in this condemned list,—I can't exactly say why; and for +the same reason, or no reason, your mother herself. You must, therefore, +take especial care that you never speak of one of these people.” + </p> +<p> +“And mamma?” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Her</i> name least of all. There may come a time—indeed, it is +sure to come—when this difficulty can be got over; but any +imprudence now—the smallest mistake—would destroy this chance. +Of course it's very hard on you, my poor fellow, to be debarred from the +very theme you 'd like best to dwell on; but when you know the danger—not +merely danger, but the positive certainty of mischief—a chance word +might bring about, I read you very ill, or you 'll profit by my warning.” + </p> +<p> +I bent my head to mean assent, but I could not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Papa will question you whether you have been to school, and what books +you are reading, and your answer will be, 'Never at school; had all my +lessons at home.' Not a word more, mind that, Digby. Say it now after me, +that I may see if you can be exact to a syllable.” + </p> +<p> +I repeated the words correctly, and he patted me affectionately on the +shoulder, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“You and I are sure to get on well together. When I meet with a boy, who, +besides being intelligent, is a born gentleman, I never hesitate about +treating him as my equal, save in that knowledge of life I 'm quite ready +to share with him. I don't want to be a Pope with my pupil, and say, 'You +are not to do this, or think that,' and give no reason why. You 'll always +find me ready to discuss with you, and talk over anything that puzzles +you. I was not treated in that fashion myself, and I know well what the +repressive system has cost me. You follow me, don't you, in what I say?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I think I understand it all.” + </p> +<p> +Whether I looked as if my words had more meaning than they expressed, or +that some sort of misgiving was working within him that he had been hasty +in his confidence, I know not; but he arose suddenly, and said, “I must go +and get a cigarette.” And with that he left me. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. THE VILLA MALIBRAN +</h2> +<p> +For some hours I wandered over the house, admiring the pictures and the +bronzes and the statuettes, and the hundreds of odd knick-knacks of taste +or curiosity that filled the <i>salons</i>. The treasures of art were all +new to me, and I thought I could never weary of gazing on some grand +landscape by Both, or one of those little interiors of Dutch life by +Ostade or Mieris. It seemed to me the very summit of luxury, that all +these glorious objects should be there, awaiting as it were the eye of him +who owned them, patient slaves of his pleasure, to be rewarded by, +perhaps, a hurried glance as he passed. The tempered light, the noiseless +footsteps, as one trod the triple-piled carpet, the odor of rich flowers +everywhere, imparted a dreaminess to the sense of enjoyment that, after +long, long years, I can recall and almost revive by an effort of memory. +</p> +<p> +I met no one as I loitered through the rooms, for I was in a part of the +house only opened on great occasions or for large receptions; and so I +strayed on, lost in wonderment at the extent and splendor of a scene +which, to my untutored senses, seemed of an actually royal magnificence. +Having reached what I believed to be the limit of the suite of rooms, I +was about to retrace my steps, when I saw that a small octagon tower +opened from an angle of the room, though no apparent doorway led into it. +This puzzle interested me at once, and I set about to resolve it, if I +might. I opened one of the windows to inspect the tower on the outside, +and saw that no stairs led up to it, nor any apparent communication +existed with the rest of the house. I bethought me of the sliding mirror +which in my own room concealed the bookcase, and set to work to see if +some similar contrivance had not been employed here; but I searched in +vain. Defeated and disappointed, I was turning away when, passing my hand +along the margin of a massive picture-frame, I touched a small button; and +as I did so, with a faint sound like a wail, the picture moved slowly, +like an opening door, and disclosed the interior of the tower. I entered +at once, my curiosity now raised to a point of intensity to know what had +been so carefully and cunningly guarded from public view. What a blank +disappointment was mine! The little room, about nine or ten feet in +diameter, contained but a few straw-bottomed chairs, and a painted table +on which a tea-service of common blue-ware stood. A Dutch clock was on a +bracket at one side of the window, and a stuffed bird—a grouse, I +believe—occupied another. A straight-backed old sofa, covered with a +vulgar chintz, stood against the wall; an open book, with a broken fan in +the leaves, to mark the place, lay on the sofa. The book was “Paul and +Virginia”. A common sheet almanac was nailed against the wall, but over +the printed columns of the months a piece of white paper was pasted, on +which, in large letters, was written “June 11, 18—. Dies infausta.” + </p> +<p> +I started. I had read that date once before in my mother's prayer-book, +and had learned it was her marriage-day. As a ray of sunlight displays in +an instant every object within its beam, I at once saw the meaning of +every detail around me. These were the humble accessories of that modest +home from which my dear mother was taken; these were the grim reminders of +the time my father desired to perpetuate as an undying sorrow. I trembled +to think what a nature I should soon be confronted with, and how terrible +must be the temper of a man whose resentments asked for such aliment to +maintain them! I stole away abashed at my own intrusiveness, and feeling +that I was rightfully punished by the misery that overwhelmed me. How +differently now did all the splendor appear to me as I retraced my steps! +how defiantly I gazed on that magnificence which seemed to insult the +poverty I had just quitted! What a contrast to the nurtured spitefulness +of his conduct was my poor mother's careful preservation of a picture +representing my father in his uniform. A badly painted thing it was; but +with enough of likeness to recall him. And as such, in defiance of neglect +and ill-usage and insult, she preserved it,—a memorial, not of +happier days, but of a time when she dreamed of happiness to come. While I +was thus thinking, seeking in my mind comparisons between them, which +certainly redounded but little to his credit, Nixon came up to me, saying, +“Oh, Master Digby, we 've been looking for you in every direction. Sir +Roger has asked over and over why you have not been to see him; and I 'm +afraid you 'll find him displeased at your delay.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm ready now,” said I, drily, and followed him. +</p> +<p> +My father was in his study, lying on a sofa, and cutting the leaves of a +new book as I entered; and he did not interrupt the operation to offer me +his hand. +</p> +<p> +“So, sir,” said he, calmly and coldly, “you have taken your time to +present yourself to me? Apparently you preferred making acquaintance with +the house and the grounds.” + </p> +<p> +“I am very sorry, sir,” I began; “but I did not know you had risen. Nixon +told me about one or two—” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! I was not aware that you and Mr. Nixon had been discussing my +habits. Come nearer; nearer still. What sort of dress is this? Is it a +smock-frock you have on?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir. It's a blouse to keep my jacket clean. I have got but one.” + </p> +<p> +“And these shoes; are they of your own making?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir. I could n't make even as good as these.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a very poor-looking object, I must say. What was Antoine about +that he did n't, at least, make you look like a gentleman, eh? Can you +answer me that?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, I cannot” + </p> +<p> +“Nor I, either,” said he, sighing. “Have you been equally neglected inside +as out? Have you learned to read?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And to write?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Write my name, then, there, on that piece of paper, and let me see it.” + </p> +<p> +I drew nigh, and wrote in a fall, bold hand, Roger Norcott. +</p> +<p> +“Why not Sir Roger Norcott, boy? Why not give me my name and title too?” + </p> +<p> +“You said your name, sir, and I thought—” + </p> +<p> +“No matter what you thought. This literalism comes of home breeding,” + muttered he to himself; “they are made truthful at the price of being +vulgar. What do you know besides reading and writing?” + </p> +<p> +“A little Latin, sir, and some French, and some German, and three books of +Euclid, and the Greek grammar—” + </p> +<p> +“There, there, that's more than enough. It will tax your tutor's ingenuity +to stub up all this rubbish, and prepare the soil for real acquirement. I +was hoping I should see you a savage: a fresh, strong-natured impulsive +savage! What I 'm to do with you, with your little peddling knowledge of a +score of things, I can't imagine. I 'd swear you can neither ride, row, +nor fence, never handled a cricket-ball or a single-stick?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true, sir; but I 'd like to do every one of them.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course you have been taught music?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; the piano, and a little singing.” + </p> +<p> +“That completes it,” cried he, flinging his book from him. “They 've been +preparing you for a travelling circus, while I wanted to make you a +gentleman. Mind me now, sir, and don't expect that I ever repeat my orders +to any one. What I say once I mean to be observed. Let your past life be +entirely forgotten by you,—a thing that had no reality; begin from +this day—from this very room—a new existence, which is to have +neither link nor tie to what has gone before it. The persons you will see +here, their ways, their manners, their tone, will be examples for your +imitation; copy them, not servilely nor indiscriminately, but as you will +find how their traits will blend with your own nature. Never tell an +untruth, never accept an insult without redress, be slow about forming +friendships, and where you hate, hate thoroughly. That's enough for the +present. Ask Mr. Eccles to have the kindness to take you to his tailor and +order some clothes. You must dine alone till you are suitably dressed. +After that you shall come to my table. One thing more and you may go: +don't ever approach me with tales or complaints of any one; right yourself +where you can, and where you cannot, bear your grievance silently. You can +change nothing, alter nothing, here; you are a guest, but a guest over +whom I exercise full control. If you please me, it will be well for you; +if not, you understand—it will cost me little to tell you so. Go. Go +now.” He motioned me to leave him, and I went. Straight to my room I went, +and sat down at once to write it all to mother. My heart swelled with +indignation at the way I had been received, and a hundred times over did I +say to myself that there was no poverty, no hardship I would not face +rather than buy a life of splendor on such ignominious terms. Oh, if I +could but get back again to the little home I had quitted, how I would +bless the hour that restored me to peace of mind and self-respect! As I +wrote, my indignation warmed with every line. I found that my passion was +actually mastering my reason. Better to finish this, later on,—when +I shall be cooler, thought I; and I walked to my window and opened it. +There were voices of people speaking in the paddock below, and I leaned +over the balcony and saw the two men I had seen at breakfast, seated on +rustic chairs, watching a young horse being broken to the saddle. The +well-worn ring in the grass showed that this spot was reserved for such +purposes, nor was I displeased to know that such a source of interest lay +so near to me. +</p> +<p> +“Isn't he one of your Mexicans, George?” asked Captain Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, he's a Hungarian-bred 'un. Master calls him a Jucker, whatever +that is.” + </p> +<p> +“Plenty of action, anyhow.” + </p> +<p> +“A little too much, sir; that's his fault. He's a-comin' now, and it's all +they can do to keep him going over the park paling. Take this one back,” + said he to the groom, who was ringing a heavy-shouldered, ungainly colt in +the ring. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll not gain much credit by that animal, George,” said Cleremont, as +he lighted a cigar. +</p> +<p> +“He ain't a beauty, sir; he 's low before, and he's cow-hocked behind; but +Sir Roger says he's the best blood in Norfolk. Take care, take care, sir! +the skittish devil never knows where he 'll send his hind-legs. Steady, +Tom, don't check him: why, he's sweating as if he had been round the +two-mile course.” + </p> +<p> +The animal that called for this criticism was a dark chestnut, but so +bathed in sweat as to appear almost black. He was one of those cross +breeds between the Arab and the western blood, that gain all the beauty of +head and crest and straightly formed croup, and yet have length of body +and depth of rib denied to the pure Arab. To my thinking he was the most +perfect creature I had ever seen, and as he bounded and plunged, there was +a supple grace and pliancy about him indescribably beautiful. +</p> +<p> +George now unloosened the long reins which were attached to the heavy +surcingle, and after walking the animal two or three times round the +circle, suffered him to go free. As if astonished at his liberty, the +young creature stood still for a minute or two, and sniffed the air, and +then gave one wild bound and headlong plunge, as though he were going +straight into the earth; after which he looked timidly about him, and then +walked slowly along in the track worn by the others. +</p> +<p> +“He's far quieter than the last time I saw him,” said Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“He's gettin' more sense every day, sir,” replied George; “he don't +scratch his head with his hind-leg now, sir, and he don't throw hisself +down neither.” + </p> +<p> +“He has n't given up biting, I see,” said Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; and they tell me them breed never does; but it's only play, +sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll give you six months before you can call him fit to ride, George.” + </p> +<p> +“My name ain't Spunner, sir, if the young gent as come yesterday don't +back him in six weeks' time.” + </p> +<p> +“And is it for the boy Norcott intends him?” asked Cleremont of Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“So he told me yesterday; and though I warned him that he hadn't another +boy if that fellow should come to grief, he only said, 'If he's got <i>my</i> +blood in him, he 'll keep his saddle; and if he has n't, he had better +make room for another.'” + </p> +<p> +“Ain't he a-going beautiful now?” cried George, as the animal swung slowly +along at a gentle trot, every step of which was as measured as clockwork. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll have to teach the youngster also, George,” said Hotham. “I 'm +sure he never backed a horse in his life.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, sir, he rode very pretty indeed when he was six years old. I didn't +put him on a Shelty, or one of the hard-mouthed 'uns, but a nice little +lively French mare, that reared up the moment he bore hard on her bit; so +that he learned to sit on his beast without holdin' on by the bridle.” + </p> +<p> +“He's a loutish boy,” said Cleremont to the Captain. “I 'll wager what you +like they'll not make a horseman of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Ecoles says he's a confounded pedant,” said the other; “that he wanted to +cap Horace with him at breakfast.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Bob! that was n't exactly his line; but he 'd hold his own in Balzac +or Fred Soulié.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, now I see what Norcott was driving at when he said, 'I wanted the +stuff to make a gentleman, and they 've sent me the germ of a +school-usher.' I said, 'Send him to sea with me. I shall be afloat in +March, and I 'll take him.'” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what answer did he make you?” + </p> +<p> +“It was n't a civil one,” said the other, gruffly. “He said, 'You +misapprehend me, Hotham. A sea-captain is only a boatswain in epaulettes. +I mean the boy to be a gentleman.'” + </p> +<p> +“And you bore that?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. Just as well as you bore his telling you at dinner on Sunday last +that a Legation secretary was a cross between an old lady and a clerk in +the Customs.” + </p> +<p> +“A man who scatters impertinences broadcast is only known for the merits +of his cook or his cellar.” + </p> +<p> +“Both of which are excellent.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I send him in, sir?” asked George, as he patted the young horse and +caressed him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Eccles,” cried Hotham, as the tutor lounged lazily tip, “what do +you say to the mount they 're going to put your pupil on?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish they 'd wait a bit I shall not be ready for orders till next +spring, and I 'd rather they 'd not break his neck before February or +March.” + </p> +<p> +“Has Norcott promised you the presentation, Bob?” + </p> +<p> +“No. He can't make up his mind whether he 'll give it to me or to a +Plymouth Brother, or to that fellow that was taken up at Salford for +blasphemy, and who happens to be in full orders.” + </p> +<p> +“With all his enmity to the Established Church, I think he might be +satisfied with you,” said Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +“Very neat, and very polite too,” said Eccles; “but that this is the +Palace of Truth, I might feel nettled.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it, by Jove?” cried Hotham. “Then it must be in the summer months, +when the house is shut up. Who has got a strong cigar? These Cubans of +Norcott's have no flavor. It must be close on luncheon-time.” + </p> +<p> +“I can't join you, for I 've to go into town, and get my young bear +trimmed, and his nails cut. 'Make him presentable,' Norcott said, and I +'ve had easier tasks to do.” + </p> +<p> +So saying, Eccles moved off in one direction, while Hotham and Cleremont +strolled away in another; and I was left to my own reflections, which were +not few. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. A FIRST DINNER-PARTY +</h2> +<p> +I was made “presentable” in due time, and on the fifth day after my +arrival made my appearance at the dinner-table. “Sit there, sir,” said my +father, “opposite me.” And I was not sorry to perceive that an enormous +vase with flowers effectually screened me from his sight. The post of +honor thus accorded me was a sufficient intimation to my father's guests +how he intended me to be treated by them; and as they were without an +exception all hangers-on and dependants,—men who dined badly or not +at all when uninvited to his table,—they were marvellously quick in +understanding that I was to be accepted as his heir, and, after himself, +the person of most consideration there. +</p> +<p> +Besides the three individuals I have already mentioned, our party included +two foreigners,—Baron Steinmetz, an aide-de-camp of the King, and an +Italian duke, San Giovanni. The Duke sat on my father's right, the Baron +on mine. The conversation during dinner was in French, which I followed +imperfectly, and was considerably relieved on discovering that the German +spoke French with difficulty, and blundered over his genders as hopelessly +as I should have done had I attempted to talk. “Ach Gott,” muttered he to +himself in German, “when people were seeking for a common language, why +did n't they take one that all humanity could pronounce?” + </p> +<p> +“So meine ich auch, Herr Baron,” cried I; “I quite agree with you.” + </p> +<p> +He turned towards me with a look of-positive affection, on seeing I knew +German, and we both began to talk together at once with freedom. +</p> +<p> +“What's the boy saying?” cried my father, as he caught the sounds of some +glib speech of mine. “Don't let him bore you with his bad French, +Steinmetz.” + </p> +<p> +“He is charming me with his admirable German,” said the Baron. “I can't +tell when I have met a more agreeable companion.” + </p> +<p> +This was, of course, a double flattery, for my German was very bad, and my +knowledge on any subject no better; but the fact did not diminish the +delight the praise afforded me. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know German, Digby?” asked my father. +</p> +<p> +“A little,—a very little, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“The fellow would say he knew Sanscrit if you asked him,” whispered Hotham +to Eccles; but my sharp ears overheard him. +</p> +<p> +“Come, that's better than I looked for,” said my father. “What do you say, +Eccles? Is there stuff there?” + </p> +<p> +“Plenty, Sir Roger; enough and to spare. I count on Digby to do me great +credit yet.” + </p> +<p> +“What career do you mean your son to follow?” asked the Italian, while he +nodded to me over his wine-glass in most civil recognition. +</p> +<p> +“I'll not make a sailor of him, like that sea-wolf yonder; nor a +diplomatist, like my silent friend in the corner. Neither shall he be a +soldier till British armies begin to do something better than hunt out +illicit stills and protect process-servers.” + </p> +<p> +“A politician, perhaps?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not, sir. There 's no credit in belonging to a Parliament +brought down to the meridian of soap-boilers and bankrupt bill-brokers.” + </p> +<p> +“There's the Church, Sir Roger,” chimed in Eccles. +</p> +<p> +“There's the Pope's Church, with some good prizes in the wheel; but your +branch, Master Bob, is a small concern, and it is trembling, besides. No. +I 'll make him none of these. It is in our vulgar passion for +money-getting we throw our boys into this or that career in life, and we +narrow to the stupid formula of some profession abilities that were meant +for mankind. I mean Digby to deal with the world; and to fit him for the +task, he shall learn as much of human nature as I can afford to teach +him.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, there's great truth in that, very great truth; very wise and very +original too,” were the comments that ran round the board. +</p> +<p> +Excited by this theme, and elated by his success, my father went on:— +</p> +<p> +“If you want a boy to ride, you don't limit him to the quiet hackney that +neither pulls nor shies, neither bolts nor plunges; and so, if you wish +your son to know his fellow-men, you don't keep him in a charmed circle of +deans and archdeacons, but you throw him fearlessly into contact with old +debauchees like Hotham, or abandoned scamps of the style of Cleremont,”—and +here he had to wait till the laughter subsided to add, “and, last of all, +you take care to provide him with a finishing tutor like Eccles.” + </p> +<p> +“I knew your turn was coming, Bob,” whispered Hotham; but still all +laughed heartily, well satisfied to stand ridicule themselves if others +were only pilloried with them. +</p> +<p> +When dinner was over, we sat about a quarter of an hour, not more, and +then adjourned to coffee in a small room that seemed half boudoir, half +conservatory. As I loitered about, having no one to speak to, I found +myself at last in a little shrubbery, through which a sort of labyrinth +meandered. It was a taste of the day revived from olden times, and amazed +me much by its novelty. While I was puzzling myself to find out the path +that led out of the entanglement, I heard a voice I knew at once to be +Hotham's, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Look at that boy of Norcott's: he's not satisfied with the imbroglio +within doors, but he must go out to mystify himself with another.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't much fancy that young gentleman,” said Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +“And I only half. Bob Eccles says we have all made a precious mistake in +advising Norcott to bring him back.” + </p> +<p> +“Yet it was our only chance to prevent it. Had we opposed the plan, he was +sure to have determined on it. There's nothing for it but your notion, +Hotham; let him send the brat to sea with you.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I think that would do it.” And now they had walked out of earshot, +and I heard no more. +</p> +<p> +If I was not much reassured by these droppings, I was far more moved by +the way in which I came to hear them. Over and over had my dear mother +cautioned me against listening to what was not meant for me; and here, +simply because I found myself the topic, I could not resist the temptation +to learn how men would speak of me. I remembered well the illustration by +which my mother warned me as to the utter uselessness of the sort of +knowledge thus gained. She told me of a theft some visitor had made at +Abbotsford,—the object stolen being a signet-ring Lord Byron had +given to Sir Walter. The man who stole this could never display the +treasure without avowing himself a thief. He had, therefore, taken what +from the very moment of the fraud became valueless. He might gaze on it in +secret with such pleasure as his self-accusings would permit. He might hug +himself with the thought of possession; but how could that give pleasure, +or how drown the everlasting shame the mere sight of the object must +revive? So would it be, my mother said, with him who unlawfully possessed +himself of certain intelligence which he could not employ without being +convicted of the way he gained it The lesson thus illustrated had not +ceased to be remembered by me; and though I tried all my casuistry to +prove that I listened without intention, almost without being aware of it, +I was shocked and grieved to find how soon I was forgetting the precepts +she had labored so hard to impress upon me. +</p> +<p> +She had also said, “By the same rule which would compel you to restore to +its owner what you had become possessed of wrongfully, you are bound to +let him you have accidentally overheard know to what extent you are aware +of his thoughts.” + </p> +<p> +“This much, at least, I can do,” said I: “I can tell these gentlemen that +I heard a part of their conversation.” + </p> +<p> +I walked about for nigh an hour revolving these things in my head, and at +last returned to the house. As I entered the drawing-room, I was struck by +the silence. My father, Cleremont, and the two foreigners were playing +whist at one end of the room, Hotham and Eccles were seated at chess at +another. Not a word was uttered save some brief demand of the game, or a +murmured “check,” by the chess-players. Taking my place noiselessly beside +these latter, I watched the board eagerly, to try and acquire the moves. +</p> +<p> +“Do you understand the game?” whispered Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” said I, in the same cautious tone. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll show you the moves, when this party is over.” And I muttered my +thanks for the courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“This is intolerable!” cried out my father. “That confounded whispering is +far more distracting than any noise. I have lost all count of my game. I +say, Eccles, why is not that boy in bed?” + </p> +<p> +“I thought you said he might sup, Sir Roger.” + </p> +<p> +“If I did, it was because I thought he knew how to conduct himself. Take +him away at once.” + </p> +<p> +And Eccles rose, and with more kindness than I had expected from him, +said, “Come, Digby, I 'll go too, for we have both to be early risers +to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +Thus ended my first day in public, and I have no need to say what a +strange conflict filled my head that night as I dropped off to sleep. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. HOW THE DAYS WENT OYER +</h2> +<p> +If I give one day of my life, I give, with very nearly exactness, the +unbroken course of my existence. I rose very early—hours ere the +rest of the household was stirring—to work at my lessons, which Mr. +Eccles apportioned for me with a liberality that showed he had the highest +opinion of my abilities, or—as I discovered later on to be the truth—a +profound indifference about them. Thus, a hundred lines of Virgil, thirty +of Xenophon, three propositions of Euclid, with a sufficient amount of +history, geography, and logic, would be an ordinary day's work. It is fair +I should own that when the time of examination came, I found him usually +imbibing seltzer and curacoa, with a wet towel round his head; or, in his +robuster moments, practising the dumbbells to develop his muscles. So that +the interrogatories-were generally in this wise:— +</p> +<p> +“How goes it, Digby? What of the Homer, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“'It 's Xenophon, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“'To be sure it is. I was forgetting, as a man might who had my headache. +And, by the way, Digby, why will your father give Burgundy at supper +instead of Bordeaux? Some one must surely have told him accidentally it +was a deadly poison, for he adheres to it with desperate fidelity.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe I know my Greek, sir,” would I say, modestly, to recall him to +the theme. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you do; you'd cut a sorry figure here this morning if you did +not know it. No, sir; I 'm not the man to enjoy your father's confidence, +and take his money, and betray my trust His words to me were, 'Make him a +gentleman, Eccles. I could find scores of fellows to cram him with Greek +particles and double equations, but I want the man who can turn out the +perfect article,—the gentleman.' Come now, what relations subsisted +between Cyrus and Xenophon?” + </p> +<p> +“Xenophon coached him, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“So he did. Just strike a light for me. My head is splitting for want of a +cigar. You may have a cigarette too. I don't object Virgil we'll keep till +to-morrow. Virgil was a muff, after all. Virgil was a decentish sort of +Martin Tupper, Digby. He had no wit, no repartee, no smartness; he prosed +about ploughs and shepherds, like a maudlin old squire; or he told a very +shady sort of anecdote about Dido, which I always doubted should be put +into the hands of youth. Horace is free, too, a thought too free; but he +could n't help it. Horace lived the same kind of life we do here, a +species of roast-partridge and pretty woman sort of life; but then he was +the gentleman always. If old Flaccus had lived now, he'd have been pretty +much like Bob Eccles, and putting in his divinity lectures perhaps. By the +way, I hope your father won't go and give away that small rectory in Kent. +'We who live to preach, must preach to live.' That is n't exactly the +line, but it will do. Pulvis et umbra sumus, Digby; and take what care we +may of ourselves, we must go back, as the judges say, to the place from +whence we came. There, now, you 've had classical criticism, sound +morality, worldly wisdom, and the rest of it; and, with your permission, +we'll pack up the books, and stand prorogued till—let me see—Saturday +next.” + </p> +<p> +Of course I moved no amendment, and went my way rejoicing. +</p> +<p> +From that hour I was free to follow my own inclinations, which usually +took a horsey turn; and as the stable offered several mounts, I very often +rode six hours a day. Hotham was always to be found in the pistol-gallery +about four of an afternoon, and I usually joined him there, and speedily +became more than his match. +</p> +<p> +“Well, youngster,” he would say, when beaten and irritable, “I can beat +your head off at billiards, anyhow.” + </p> +<p> +But I was not long in robbing him of even this boast, and in less than +three months I could defy the best player in the house. The fact was, I +had in a remarkable degree that small talent for games of every kind which +is a speciality with certain persons. I could not only learn a game +quickly, but almost always attain considerable skill in it. +</p> +<p> +“So, sir,” said my father to me one day at dinner,—and nothing was +more rare than for him to address a word to me, and I was startled as he +did so,—“so, sir, you are going to turn out an Admirable Crichton on +my hands, it seems. I hear of nothing but your billiard-playing, your +horsemanship, and your cricketing, while Mr. Eccles tells me that your +progress with him is equally remarkable.” + </p> +<p> +He stopped and seemed to expect me to make some rejoinder; but I could not +utter a word, and felt overwhelmed at the observation and notice his +speech had drawn upon me. +</p> +<p> +“It's better I should tell you at once,” resumed my father, “that I +dislike prodigies. I dislike because I distrust them. The fellow who knows +at fourteen what he might reasonably have known at thirty is not unlikely +to stop short at fifteen and grow no more. I don't wish to be personal, +but I have heard it said Cleremont was a very clever boy.” + </p> +<p> +The impertinence of this speech, and the laughter it at once excited, +served to turn attention away from me; but, through the buzz and murmur +around, I overheard Cleremont say to Hotham, “I shall pull him up short +one of these days, and you 'll see an end of all this.” + </p> +<p> +“Now,” continued my father, “if Eccles had told me that the boy was a +skilful hand at sherry-cobbler, or a rare judge of a Cuban cigar, I 'd +have reposed more faith in the assurance than when he spoke of his +classics.” + </p> +<p> +“He ain't bad at a gin-sling with bitters, that I must say,” said Eccles, +whose self-control or good-humor, or mayhap some less worthy trait, always +carried him successfully over a difficulty. +</p> +<p> +“So, sir,” said my father, turning again on me, “the range of your +accomplishments is complete. You might be a tapster or a jockey. When the +nobility of France came to ruin in the Revolution, the best blood of the +kingdom became barbers and dancing-masters: so that when some fine morning +that gay gentleman yonder will discover that he is a beggar, he 'll have +no difficulty in finding a calling to suit his tastes, and square with his +abilities. What's Hotham grumbling about? Will any one interpret him for +me?” + </p> +<p> +“Hotham is saying that this claret is corked,” said the sea-captain, with +a hoarse loud voice. +</p> +<p> +“Bottled at home!” said my father, “and, like your own education, Hotham, +spoiled for a beggarly economy.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm glad you 've got it,” muttered Cleremont, whose eyes glistened with +malignant spite. “I have had enough of this; I 'm for coffee,” and he +arose as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Has Cleremont left us?” asked my father. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; that last bottle has finished him. I told you before, Nixon knows +nothing about wine. I saw that hogshead lying bung up for eight weeks +before it was drawn off for bottling.” + </p> +<p> +“Why didn't you speak to him about it, then?” + </p> +<p> +“And be told that I'm not his master, eh? You don't seem to know, Norcott, +that you 've got a houseful of the most insolent servants in Christendom. +Cleremont's wife wanted the chestnuts yesterday in the phaeton, and George +refused her: she might take the cobs, or nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true,” chimed in Eccles; “and the fellow said, 'I 'm a-taking the +young horses out in the break, and if the missis wants to see the +chestnuts, she'd better come with <i>me</i>.'** +</p> +<p> +“And as to a late breakfast now, it's quite impossible; they delay and +delay till they run you into luncheon,” growled Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“They serve me my chocolate pretty regularly,” said my father, +negligently, and he arose and strolled out of the room. As he went, he +slipped his arm within mine, and said, in a half-whisper, “I suppose it +will come to this,—I shall have to change my friends or my +household. Which would you advise?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd say the friends, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“So should I, but that they would not easily find another place. There, go +and see is the billiard-room lighted. I want to see you play a game with +Cleremont.” + </p> +<p> +Cleremont was evidently sulking under the sarcasm passed on him, and took +up his cue to play with a bad grace. +</p> +<p> +“Who will have five francs on the party?” said my father. “I 'm going to +back the boy.” + </p> +<p> +“Make it pounds, Norcott,” said Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“I'll give you six to five, in tens,” said Cleremont to my father. “Will +you take it?” + </p> +<p> +I was growing white and red by turns all this time. I was terrified at the +thought that money was to be staked on my play, and frightened by the mere +presence of my father at the table. +</p> +<p> +“The youngster is too nervous to play. Don't let him, Norcott,” said +Hotham, with a kindness I had not given him credit for. +</p> +<p> +“Give me the cue, Digby; I 'll take your place,” said my father; and +Cleremont and Hotham both drew nigh, and talked to him in a low tone. +</p> +<p> +“Eight and the stroke then be it,” said my father, “and the bet in +fifties.” The others nodded, and Cleremont began the game. +</p> +<p> +I could not have believed I could have suffered the amount of intense +anxiety that game cost me. Had my life been on the issue, I do not think I +could have gone through greater alternations of hope and fear than now +succeeded in my heart Cleremont started with eight points odds, and made +thirty-two off the balls before my father began to play. He now took his +place, and by the first stroke displayed a perfect mastery of the game. +There was a sort of languid grace, an indolent elegance about all he did, +that when the stroke required vigor or power made me tremble for the +result; but somehow he imparted the exact amount of force needed, and the +balls moved about here and there as though obedient to some subtle +instinct of which the cue gave a mere sign. He scored forty-two points in +a few minutes, and then drawing himself up, said, “There 's an +eight-stroke now on the table. I 'll give any one three hundred Naps to +two that I do it.” + </p> +<p> +None spoke. “Or I 'll tell you what I 'll do. I 'll take fifty from each +of you and draw the game!” Another as complete silence ensued. “Or here 's +a third proposition, Give me fifty between you, and I 'll hand over the +cue to the boy; he shall finish the game.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, no, sir! I beg you—I entreat—” I began; but already, +“Done,” had been loudly uttered by both together, and the bet was +ratified. +</p> +<p> +“Don't be nervous, boy,” said my father, handing me his cue. “You see +what's on the balls. You cannon and hold the white, and land the red in +the middle pocket. If you can't do the brilliant thing, and finish the +game with an eight stroke, do the safe one,—the cannon or the +hazard. But, above all, don't lose your stroke, sir. Mind that, for I've a +pot of money on the game.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think you ought to counsel him, Norcott,” said Cleremont. “If +he's a player, he's fit to devise his own game.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, hang it, no,” broke in Hotham; “Norcott has a perfect right to tell +him what's on the table.” + </p> +<p> +“If you object seriously, sir,” said my father proudly, “the party is at +an end.” + </p> +<p> +“I put it to yourself,” began Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +“You shall not appeal to me against myself, sir. You either withdraw your +objection, or you maintain it.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course he withdraws it,” said Hotham, whose eyes never wandered from +my father's face. +</p> +<p> +Cleremont nodded a half-unwilling assent. +</p> +<p> +“You will do me the courtesy to speak, perhaps,” said my father; and every +word came from him with a tremulous roll. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, I agree. There was really nothing in my remark,” said +Cleremont, whose self-control seemed taxed to its last limit. +</p> +<p> +“There, go on, boy, and finish this stupid affair,” said my father, and he +turned to the chimney to light his cigar. +</p> +<p> +I leaned over the table, and a mist seemed to rise before me. I saw +volumes of cloud rolling swiftly across, and meteors, or billiard-balls, I +knew not which, shooting through them. I played and missed; I did not even +strike a ball. A wild roar of laughter, a cry of joy, and a confused +blending of several voices in various tones followed, and I stood there +like one stunned into immobility. Meanwhile Cleremont finished the game, +and, clapping me gayly on the shoulder, cried, “I 'm more grateful to you +than your father is, my lad. That shaking hands of yours has made a +difference of two hundred Naps to me.” I turned towards the fire; my +father had left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. A PRIVATE AUDIENCE +</h2> +<p> +I had but reached my room when Eccles followed me to say my father wished +to see me at once. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Digby,” said Eccles, good-naturedly, “don't be frightened. +Even if he should be angry with you, his passion passes soon over; and, if +uncontradicted, he is never disposed to bear a grudge long. Go +immediately, however, and don't keep him waiting.” + </p> +<p> +I cannot tell with what a sense of abasement I entered my father's +dressing-room; for, after all, it was the abject condition of my own mind +that weighed me down. +</p> +<p> +“So, sir,” said he, as I closed the door, “this is something I was not +prepared for. You might be forty things, but I certainly did not suspect +that a son of mine should be a coward.” + </p> +<p> +Had my father ransacked his whole vocabulary for a term of insult, he +could pot have found one to pain me like this. +</p> +<p> +“I am not a coward, sir,” said I, reddening till I felt my face in a +perfect glow. +</p> +<p> +“What!” cried he, passionately; “are you going to give me a proof of +courage by daring to outrage <i>me?</i> Is it by sending back my words in +my teeth you assume to be brave?” + </p> +<p> +“I ask pardon, sir,” said I, humbly, “if I have replied rudely; but you +called me by a name that made me forget myself. I hope you will forgive +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Sit down, there, sir; no, there.” And he pointed to a more distant chair. +“There are various sorts and shades of cowardice, and I would not have you +tarnished with any one of them. The creature whose first thought, and +indeed only one, in an emergency is his personal safety, and who, till +that condition is secured, abstains from all action, is below contempt; +him I will not even consider. But next to him—of course with a long +interval—comes the fellow who is so afraid of a responsibility that +the very thought of it unmans him. How did the fact of my wager come to +influence you at all, sir? Why should you have had any thought but for the +game you were playing, and how it behoved you to play it? How came I and +these gentlemen to stand between you and your real object, if it were not +that a craven dread of consequences had got the ascendancy in your mind? +If men were to be beset by these calculations, if every fellow carried +about him an armor of sophistry like this, he 'd have no hand free to +wield a weapon, and the world would see neither men who storm a breach nor +board an enemy. Till a man can so isolate and concentrate his faculties on +what he has to do that all extraneous conditions cease to affect him, he +will never be well served by his own powers; and he who is but half served +is only half brave. There are times when the unreasoners are worth all the +men of logic, remember that. And now go and sleep over it.” + </p> +<p> +He motioned me to withdraw, but I could not bear to go till he had +withdrawn the slur he had cast on me in the word coward. He looked at me +steadfastly, but not harshly, for a moment or two, and then said,— +</p> +<p> +“You are not to think that it is out of regret for a lost sum of money I +have read you this lecture. As to the wager itself, I am as well pleased +that it ended as it did. These gentlemen are not rich, either of them. I +can afford the loss. What I cannot afford is the way I lost it.” + </p> +<p> +“But will you not say, sir, that I am no coward?” said I, faltering. +</p> +<p> +“I will withdraw the word,” said he, slowly, “the very first time I shall +see you deal with a difficulty without a thought for what it may cost you. +There; good-night; leave me now. I mean to have a ride with you in the +morning.” + </p> +<p> +And he nodded twice, and smiled, and dismissed me. +</p> +<p> +There was nothing, certainly, very flattering to me in this reception. It +cost me dearly while it lasted, and yet—I cannot explain why—I +came away with a feeling of affection for my father, and a desire to stand +well in his esteem, such as I had not experienced till that moment. It was +his utter indifference up to this that had chilled and repelled me. Any +show of interest, anything that might evidence that he cared what I was or +what I might become, was so much better than this apathy that I welcomed +the change with delight. Accustomed to the tender solicitude of a loving +mother, no niggard of her praise, and more given to sympathize than blame, +the stern reserve of my father's manner had been a terrible reverse, and +over and over had I asked myself why he took me from where I was loved and +cherished, to live this life of ceremonious observance and cold deference. +</p> +<p> +To know that he felt even such interest in me as this, was to restore me +to self-esteem at once. He would not have his son a coward, he said; and +as I felt in my heart that I was not a coward, as I knew I was ready then +and there to confront any peril he could propose to me, all that the +speech left in my memory was a sense of self-satisfaction. +</p> +<p> +In each of the letters I had received from my mother she impressed on me +how important it was that I should win my father's affection, and now a +hope flashed across me that I might do this. I sat down to tell her all +that had passed between us; but somehow, in recounting the incident of the +billiard-room, I wandered away into a description of the house, its +splendors and luxury, and of the life of costly pleasure that we were +living. “You will ask, dearest mamma,” I wrote, “how and when I find time +to study amidst all these dissipations? and I grieve to own that I do very +little. Mr. Eccles says he is satisfied with me; but I fear it is more +because I obtrude little on his notice than that I am making any progress. +We are still in the same scene of the Adrian that I began with you; and as +to the Greek, we leave it over for Saturdays, and the Saturdays get +skipped. I have become a good shot with the rifle; and George says I have +the finest, lightest hand he knows on a horse, and that he 'll make me yet +a regular steeple-chase horseman. I have a passion for riding, and +sometimes get four mounts on a day. Indeed, papa takes no interest in the +stable, and I give all the orders, and can have a team harnessed for me—which +I do—when I am tired with the saddle. They have not quite given up +calling me 'that boy of Norcott's;' only now, when they do so, it is to +say how well he rides, and what a taste he shows for driving and shooting. +</p> +<p> +“Don't be afraid that I am neglecting my music. I play every day, and take +singing lessons with an Italian: they call him the Count Guastalla; but I +believe he is the tenor of the opera here, and only teaches me out of +compliment to papa. He dines here nearly every day, and plays piquet with +papa all the evening. +</p> +<p> +“There is a very beautiful lady comes here,—Madame Cleremont. She is +the wife of the Secretary to the Legation. She is French, and has such +pleasing ways, and is so gay, and so good-natured, and so fond of +gratifying me in every way, that I delight in being with her; and we ride +out together constantly, and I am now teaching her to drive the ponies, +and she enjoys it just as I used myself. I don't think papa likes her, for +he seldom speaks to her, and never takes her in to dinner if there is +another lady in the room; and I suspect she feels this, for she is often +very sad. I dislike Mr. Cleremont; he is always saying snappish things, +and is never happy, no matter how merry we are. But papa seems to like him +best of all the people here. Old Captain Hotham and I are great friends, +though he's always saying, 'You ought to be at sea, youngster. This sort +of life will only make a blackleg of you.' But I can't make out why, +because I am very happy and have so much to interest and amuse me, I must +become a scamp. Mdme. Cleremont says, too, it is not true; that papa is +bringing me up exactly as he ought, that I will enter life as a gentleman, +and not be passing the best years of my existence in learning the habits +of the well-bred world. They fight bitterly over this every day; but she +always gets the victory, and then kisses me, and says, 'Mon cher petit +Digby, I 'll not have you spoiled, to please any vulgar prejudice of a +tiresome old sea-captain,' This she whispers, for she would not offend him +for anything. Dear mamma, how you would love her if you knew her! I +believe I 'm to go to Rugby to school; but I hope not, for how I shall +live like a schoolboy after all this happiness I don't know; and Mdme. +Cleremont says she will never permit it; but she has no influence over +papa, and how could she prevent it? Captain Hotham is always saying, 'If +Norcott does not send that boy to Harrow or Rugby, or some of these +places, he 'll graduate in the Marshalsea—that's a prison—before +he's twenty.' I am so glad when a day passes without my being brought up +for the subject of a discussion, which papa always ends with, 'After all I +was neither an Etonian nor Rugbeian, and I suspect I can hold my own with +most men; and if that boy doesn't belie his breeding, perhaps he may do so +too.' +</p> +<p> +“Nobody likes contradicting papa, especially when he says anything in a +certain tone of voice, and whenever he uses this, the conversation turns +away to something else. +</p> +<p> +“I forgot to say in my last, that your letters always come regularly. They +arrive with papa's, and he sends them up to me at once, by his valet, +Mons. Durand, who is always so nicely dressed, and has a handsomer +watch-chain than papa. +</p> +<p> +“Mdme. Cleremont said yesterday: 'I'm so sorry not to know your dear +mamma, Digby: but if I dared, I'd send her so many caresses, <i>de ma part</i>.' +I said nothing at the time, but I send them now, and am your loving son, +</p> +<p> +“Digby Norcott.” + </p> +<p> +This letter was much longer than it appears here. It filled several sides +of note-paper, and occupied me till daybreak. Indeed, I heard the bell +ringing for the workmen as I closed it, and shortly after a gentle tap +came to my door, and George Spunner, our head groom, entered. +</p> +<p> +“I saw you at the window, Master Digby,” said he, “and I thought I'd step +up and tell you not to ride in spurs this morning. Sir Roger wants to see +you on May Blossom, and you know she's a hot 'un, sir, and don't want the +steel. Indeed, if she feels the boot, she's as much as a man can do to +sit.” + </p> +<p> +“You 're a good fellow, George, to think of this,” said I. “Do you know +where we 're going?” + </p> +<p> +“That's what I was going to tell you, sir. We are going to the Bois de +Cambre, and there's two of our men gone on with hurdles, to set them up in +the cross alleys of the wood, and we 're to come on 'em unawares, you +see.” + </p> +<p> +“Then why don't you give me Father Tom or Hunger-ford?” + </p> +<p> +“The master would n't have either. He said, 'A child of five years old +could ride the Irish horse;' and as for Hungerford, he calls him a circus +horse.” + </p> +<p> +“But who knows if Blossom will take a fence?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll warrant she'll go high enough; how she'll come down, and where, is +another matter. Only don't you go a-pullin' at her, ride her in the +snaffle, and as light as you can. Face her straight at what she's got to +go over, and let her choose her own pace.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I don't see how this is a fair trial of my riding, George. Do +you?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, it is, and it isn't,” said he, scratching his head. “You might have +a very tidy hand and a nice seat, and not be able to ride the mare; but +then, sir, you see, if you have the judgment to manage her coolly, and not +rouse her temper too far, if you can bring her to a fence, and make her +take off at a proper distance, and fly it, never changing her stride nor +balk, why then he'll see you can ride.” + </p> +<p> +“And if she rushes, or comes with her chest to a bank, or if—as I +think she will—she refuses her fence, rears, and falls back, what +then?” + </p> +<p> +“Then I think the mornin's sport will be pretty nigh over,” growled he; as +though I had suggested something personally offensive to him. +</p> +<p> +“What time do we go, George?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Roger said seven, sir, but that will be eight or half-past. He's to +drive over to the wood, and the horses are to meet him there.” + </p> +<p> +“All right. I'll take a short sleep and be sharp to time.” + </p> +<p> +As he left the room, I tore open my letter, to add a few words. I thought +I'd say something that, if mischance befell me, might be a comfort to my +dear mother to read over and dwell on, but for the life of me I did not +know how to do it, without exciting alarm or awakening her to the dread of +some impending calamity. Were I to say, I 'm off for a ride with papa, it +meant nothing; and if I said, I 'm going to show him how I can manage a +very hot horse, it might keep her in an agony of suspense till I wrote +again. +</p> +<p> +So I merely added, “I intend to write to you very soon again, and hope I +may do so within the week.” These few commonplace words had a great +meaning to my mind, however little they might convey to her I wrote them +to; and as I read them over, I stored them with details supplied by +imagination,—details so full of incident and catastrophe that they +made a perfect story. After this I lay down and slept heavily. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. A DARK-ROOM PICTURE. +</h2> +<h3> +Mr next letter to my mother was very short, and ran thus:— +</h3> +<p> +“Dearest Mamma,—Don't be shocked at my bad writing, for I had a fall +on Tuesday last, and hurt my arm a little; nothing broken, but bruised and +sore to move, so that I lie on my bed and read novels. Madame never leaves +me, but sits here to put ice on my shoulder and play chess with me. She +reads out Balzac for me, and I don't know when I had such a jolly life. It +was a rather big hurdle, and the mare took it sideways, and caught her +hind leg,—at least they say so,—but we came down together, and +she rolled over me. Papa cried out well done, for I did not lose my +saddle, and he has given me a gold watch and a seal with the Norcott +crest. Every one is so kind; and Captain Hotham comes up after dinner and +tells me all the talk of the table, and we smoke and have our coffee very +nicely. +</p> +<p> +“Papa comes every night before supper, and is very good to me. He says +that Blossom is now my own, but I must teach her to come cooler to her +fences. I can't write more, for my pain comes back when I stir my arm. You +shall hear of me constantly, if I cannot write myself. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dearest mamma, when papa is kind there is no one like him,—so +gentle, so thoughtful, so soft in manner, and so dignified all the while. +I wish you could see him as he stood here. A thousand loves from your own +boy, +</p> +<p> +“DIGBY.” + </p> +<p> +Madame Cleremont wrote by the same post. I did not see her letter; but +when mamma's answer came I knew it must have been a serious version of my +accident, and told how, besides a dislocated shoulder, I had got a broken +collar-bone, and two ribs fractured. With all this, however, there was no +danger to life; for the doctor said everything had gone luckily, and no +internal parts were wounded. +</p> +<p> +Poor mamma had added a postscript that puzzled Madame greatly, and she +came and showed it to me, and asked what I thought she could do about it. +It was an entreaty that she might be permitted to come and see me. There +was a touching humility in the request that almost choked me with emotion +as I read it. “I could come and go unknown and unnoticed,” wrote she. +“None of Sir Roger's household have ever seen me, and my visit might pass +for the devotion of some old follower of the family, and I will promise +not to repeat it.” She urged her plea in the most beseeching terms, and +said that she would submit to any conditions if her prayer were only +complied with. +</p> +<p> +“I really do not know what to do here,” said Madame to me. “Without your +father's concurrence this cannot be done; and who is to ask him for +permission?” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no,” cried she, rapidly. “Such a step on your part would be ruin; +a certain refusal, and ruin to yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Could Mr. Eccles do it?” + </p> +<p> +“He has no influence whatever.” + </p> +<p> +“Has Captain Hotham?” + </p> +<p> +“Less, if less be possible.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Cleremont, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, yes, he might, and with a better chance of success; but—” She +stopped, and though I waited patiently, she did not finish her sentence. +</p> +<p> +“But what?” asked I at last. +</p> +<p> +“Gaston hates doing a hazardous thing,” said she; and I remarked that her +expression changed, and her face assumed a hard, stern look as she spoke. +“His theory is, do nothing without three to one in your favor. He says you +'ll always gets these odds, if you only wait.” + </p> +<p> +“But you don't believe that,” cried I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Sometimes—very seldom, that is, I do not whenever I can help it.” + There was a long pause now, in which neither of us spoke. At last she +said, “I can't aid your mother in this project. She must give it up. There +is no saying how your father would resent it.” + </p> +<p> +“And how will you tell her that?” faltered I out. +</p> +<p> +“I can't tell. I'll try and show her the mischief it might bring upon you; +and that now, standing high, as you do, in your father's favor, she would +never forgive herself, if she were the cause of a change towards you. This +consideration will have more weight with her than any that could touch +herself personally.” + </p> +<p> +“But it shall not,” cried I, passionately. “Nothing in <i>my</i> fortune +shall stand between my mother and her love for me.” + </p> +<p> +She bent down and looked at me with an intensity in her stare that I +cannot describe; it was as if, by actual steadfastness, she was able to +fix me, and read me in my inmost heart. +</p> +<p> +“From which of your parents, Digby,” said she, slowly, “do you derive this +nature?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not know; papa always says I am very like him.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you believe that papa is capable of great self-sacrifice? I mean, +would he let his affections lead him against his interests?” + </p> +<p> +“That he would! He has told me over and over the head is as often wrong as +right,—the heart only errs about once in five times.” She fell on my +neck and kissed me as I said this, with a sort of rapturous delight. “Your +heart will be always right, dear boy,” said she; once more she bent down +and kissed me, and then hurried away. +</p> +<p> +This scene must have worked more powerfully on my nerves than I felt, or +was aware of, while it was passing; at all events, it brought back my +fever, and before night I was in wild delirium. Of the seven long weeks +that followed, with all their alternations, I know nothing. My first +consciousness was to know myself, as very weak and propped by pillows, in +a half-darkened room, in which an old nurse-tender sat and mingled her +heavy snorings with the ticking of the clock on the chimney. Thus drowsily +pondering, with a debilitated brain, I used to fancy that I had passed +away into another form of existence, in which no sights or sounds should +come but these dreary breathings, and that remorseless ticking that seemed +to be spelling out “eternity.” + </p> +<p> +Sometimes one, sometimes two or three persons would enter the room, +approach the bed, and talk together in whispers, and I would languidly +lift up my eyes and look at them, and though I thought they were not +altogether unknown to me, the attempt at recognition would have been an +effort so full of pain that I would, rather than make it, fall back again +into apathy. The first moment of perfect consciousness—when I could +easily follow all that I heard, and remember it afterwards—was one +evening, when a faint but delicious air came in through the open window, +and the rich fragrance of the garden filled the room. Captain Hotham and +the doctor were seated on the balcony smoking and chatting. +</p> +<p> +“You 're sure the tobacco won't be bad for him?” asked Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing will be bad or good now,” was the answer. “Effusion has set in.” + </p> +<p> +“Which means, that it's all over, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“About one in a thousand, perhaps, rub through. My own experience records +no instance of recovery.” + </p> +<p> +“And you certainly did not take such a gloomy view of his case at first. +You told me that there were no vital parts touched?” + </p> +<p> +“Neither were there; the ribs had suffered no displacement, and as for a +broken clavicle, I 've known a fellow get up and finish his race after it +This boy was doing famously. I don't know that I ever saw a case going on +better, when some of them here—it's not easy to say whom—sent +off for his mother to come and see him. Of course, without Norcott's +knowledge. It was a rash thing to do, and not well done either; for when +the woman arrived, there was no preparation made, either with the boy or +herself, for their meeting; and the result was that when she crossed the +threshold and saw him she fainted away. The youngster tried to get to her +and fainted too; a great hubbub and noise followed; and Norcott himself +appeared. The scene that ensued must have been, from what I heard, +terrific. He either ordered the woman out of the house, or he dragged her +away,—it's not easy to say which; but it is quite clear that he went +absolutely mad with passion: some say that he told them to pack off the +boy along with her, but, of course, this was sheer impossibility; the boy +was insensible, and has been so ever since.” + </p> +<p> +“I was at Namur that day, but they told me when I came back that +Cleremont's wife had behaved so well; that she had the courage to face +Norcott; and though I don't believe she did much by her bravery, she drove +him off the field to his own room, and when his wife did leave the house +for the railroad, it was in one of Norcott's carriages, and Madame herself +accompanied her.” + </p> +<p> +“Is she his wife? that's the question.” + </p> +<p> +“There's not a doubt of it. Blenkworth of the Grays was at the wedding. +</p> +<p> +“If I were to be examined before a commission of lunacy to-morrow,” said +the doctor, solemnly, “I 'd call that man insane.” + </p> +<p> +“And you'd shut him up?” + </p> +<p> +“I'd shut him up!” + </p> +<p> +“Then I 'm precious glad you are not called on to give an opinion, for you +'d shut up the best house in this quarter of Europe.” + </p> +<p> +“And what security have you any moment that he won't make a clean sweep of +it, and turn you all into the streets?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; that's on the cards any day.” + </p> +<p> +“He must have got through almost everything he had; besides, I never heard +his property called six thousand a year, and I 'll swear twelve wouldn't +pay his way here.” + </p> +<p> +“What does he care! His father and he agreed to cut off the entail; and +seeing the sort of marriage he made, he 'll not fret much at leaving the +boy a beggar.” + </p> +<p> +“But he likes him; if there's anything in the world he cares for, it's +that boy!” + </p> +<p> +The other must have made some gesture of doubt or dissent, for the doctor +quickly added, “No, no, I 'm right about that. It was only yesterday +morning he said to me with a shake in the voice there's no mistaking, 'If +you can come and tell me, doctor, that he's out of danger, I 'll give you +a thousand pounds.'” + </p> +<p> +“Egad, I think I 'd have done it, even though I might have made a +blunder.” + </p> +<p> +“Ye 're no a doctor, sir, that's plain;” and in the emotion of the moment +he spoke the words with a strong Scotch accent. +</p> +<p> +There was a silence of some minutes, and Hotham said, “That little +Frenchwoman and I have no love lost between us, but I 'm glad she cut up +so well.” + </p> +<p> +“They 're strange natures, there 's no denying it They 'll do less from +duty and more from impulse than any people in the world, and they 're +never thoroughly proud of themselves except when they 're all wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a neat character for Frenchwomen,” said Hotham, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I think Norcott will be looking out for his whist by this time,” said the +other; and they both arose, and passing noiselessly through the room, +moved away. +</p> +<p> +I had enough left me to think over, and I did think over it till I fell +asleep. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. MADAME CLEREMONT +</h2> +<p> +From that day forth I received no tidings of my mother. Whether my own +letters reached her or not, I could not tell; and though I entreated +Madame Cleremont, who was now my confidante in everything, to aid me in +learning where my mother was, she declared that the task was beyond her; +and at last, as time went over, my anxieties became blunted and my +affections dulled. The life I was leading grew to have such a hold upon +me, and was so full of its own varied interests, that—with shame I +say it—I actually forgot the very existence of her to whom I owed +any trace of good or honest or truthful that was in me. +</p> +<p> +The house in which I was living was a finishing school for every sort of +dissipation, and all who frequented it were people who only lived for +pleasure. Play of the highest kind went on unceasingly, and large sums +were bandied about from hand to hand as carelessly as if all were men of +fortune and indifferent to heavy losses. +</p> +<p> +A splendid mode of living, sumptuous dinners, a great retinue, and perfect +liberty to the guests, drew around us that class who, knowing well that +they have no other occupation than self-indulgence, throw an air of +languid elegance over vice, which your vulgar sinner, who has only +intervals of wickedness, knows nothing of; and this, be it said passingly, +is, of all sections of society, the most seductive and dangerous to the +young: for there are no outrages to taste amongst these people, they +violate no decencies, they shock no principles. If they smash the tables +of the law, it is in kid-gloves, and with a delicious odor of Ess bouquet +about them. The Cleremonts lived at the Villa. Cleremont managed the +household, and gave the orders for everything. Madame received the +company, and did the honors; my father lounging about like an unoccupied +guest, and actually amused, as it seemed, by his own unimportance. Hotham +had gone to sea; but Eccles remained, in name, as my tutor; but we rarely +met, save at meal-times, and his manner to me was almost slavish in +subserviency, and with a habit of flattery that, even young as I was, +revolted me. +</p> +<p> +“Isn't that your charge, Eccles?” I once heard an old gentleman ask him; +and he replied, “Yes, my Lord; but Madame Cleremont has succeeded me. It +is <i>she</i> is finishing him.” + </p> +<p> +And they both laughed heartily at the joke. There was, however, this much +of truth in the speech, that I lived almost entirely in her society. We +sang together; she called me Cherubino, and taught me all the page's songs +in Mozart or Rossini; and we rode out together, or read or walked in +company. Nor was her influence over me such as might effeminate me. On the +contrary, it was ever her aim to give me manly tastes and ambitions. She +laid great stress on my being a perfect swordsman and a pistol-shot, over +and over telling me that a conscious skill in arms gives a man immense +coolness in every question of difference with other men; and she would +add, “Don't fall into that John Bull blunder of believing that duelling is +gone out because they dislike the practice in England. The world is +happily larger than the British Islands.” + </p> +<p> +Little sneers like this at England, sarcasms on English prudery, English +reserve, or English distrustfulness, were constantly dropping from her, +and I grew up to believe that while genuine sentiment and unselfish +devotion lived on one side of the Channel, a decorous hypocrisy had its +home on the other. +</p> +<p> +Now she would contrast the women 'of Balzac's novels with the colder +nonentities of English fiction; and now she would dwell on traits of +fascination in the sex which our writers either did not know of or were +afraid to touch on. “It is entirely the fault of your Englishwomen,” she +would say, “that the men invariably fall victims to foreign seductions. +Circe always sings with a bronchitis in the North;” and though I but dimly +saw what she pointed at then, I lived to perceive her meaning more fully. +</p> +<p> +As for my father, I saw little of him, but in that little he was always +kind and good-natured with me. He would quiz me about my lessons, as +though I were the tutor, and Ecoles the pupil; and ask me how he got on +with his Aristophanes or his Homer? He talked to me freely about the +people who came to the house, and treated me almost as an equal. All this +time he behaved to Madame with a reserve that was perfectly chilling, so +that it was the rarest thing in the world for the three of us to be +together. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think you like papa,” said I once to her, in an effusion of +confidence. “I am sure you don't like him!” + </p> +<p> +“And why do you think so?” asked she, with the faintest imaginable flush +on her pale cheek. +</p> +<p> +While I was puzzling myself what to answer, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“Come now, Cherubino, what you really meant to say was, I don't think papa +likes <i>you!</i>” + </p> +<p> +Though I never could have made so rude a speech, its truth and force +struck me so palpably that I could not answer. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” cried she, with a little laugh, “he is very fond of Monsieur +Cleremont, and that ought always to be enough for Madame Cleremont. Do you +know, Cherubino, it's the rarest thing in life for a husband and wife to +be liked by the same people? There is in conjugal life some beautiful +little ingredient of discord that sets the two partners to the compact at +opposite poles, and gives them separate followings. I must n't distract +you with the theory, I only want you to see why liking my husband is +sufficient reason for not caring for me.” + </p> +<p> +Now, as I liked her exceedingly, and felt something very near to hatred +for Monsieur Cleremont, I accepted all she said as incontestable truth. +Still I grieved over the fact that papa was not of my own mind, and did +not see her and all her fascinations as I did. +</p> +<p> +There is something indescribably touching in the gentle sadness of certain +buoyant bright natures. Like the low notes in a treble voice, there is +that that seems to vibrate in our hearts at a most susceptible moment, and +with the force of an unforeseen contrast; and it was thus that, in her +graver times, she won over me an ascendancy, and inspired an interest +which, had I been other than a mere boy, had certainly been love. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps I should not have been even conscious, as I was of this sentiment, +if it were not for the indignation I felt at Cleremont's treatment of her. +Over and over again my temper was pushed to its last limit by his +brutality and coarseness. His tone was a perpetual sneer, and his wife +seldom spoke before him without his directing towards her a sarcasm or an +impertinence. This was especially remarkable if she uttered any sentiment +at all elevated, when his banter would be ushered in with a burst of +derisive laughter. +</p> +<p> +Nothing could be more perfect than the way she bore these trials. There +was no assumed martyrdom, no covert appeal for sympathy, no air of +suffering asking for protection. No! whether it came as ridicule or +rebuke, she accepted it gently and good-humoredly; trying, when she could, +to turn it off with a laugh, or when too grave for that, bearing it with +quiet forbearance. +</p> +<p> +I often wondered why my father did not check these persecutions, for they +were such, and very cruel ones too; but he scarcely seemed to notice them, +or if he did, it would be by a smile, far more like enjoyment of +Cleremont's coarse wit than reprehending or reproving it. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder how that woman stands it?” I once overheard Hotham say to +Eccles; and the other replied,— +</p> +<p> +“I don't think she <i>does</i> stand it. I mistake her much if she is as +forgiving as she looks.” + </p> +<p> +Why do I recall these things? Why do I dwell on incidents and passages +which had no actual bearing on my own destiny? Only because they serve to +show the terrible school in which I was brought up; the mingled +dissipation, splendor, indolence, and passion in which my boyhood was +passed. Surrounded by men of reckless habits, and women but a mere shade +better, life presented itself to me as one series of costly pleasures, +dashed only with such disappointments as loss at play inflicted, or some +project of intrigue baffled or averted. +</p> +<p> +“If that boy of Norcott's isn't a scamp, he must be a most unteachable +young rascal,” said an old colonel once to Eccles on the croquet ground. +</p> +<p> +“He has had great opportunities,” said Eccles, as he sent off his ball, +“and, so far as I see, neglected none of them.” + </p> +<p> +“You were his tutor, I think?” said the other, with a laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, till Madame Cleremont took my place.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll not say it was the worst thing could have happened him. I wish it +had been a woman had spoiled <i>me</i>. Eh, Eccles, possibly you may have +some such misgivings yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“I was never corrupted,” said the other, with a sententious gravity whose +hypocrisy was palpable. +</p> +<p> +I meditated many and many a time over these few words, and they suggested +to me the first attempt I ever made to know something about myself and my +own nature. +</p> +<p> +Those stories of Balzac's, those wonderful pictures of passionate life, +acquired an immense hold upon me, from the very character of my own +existence. That terrific game of temper against temper, mind against mind, +and heart against heart, of which I read in these novels, I was daily +witnessing in what went on around me, and I amused myself by giving the +names of the characters in these fictions to the various persons of our +society. +</p> +<p> +“It is a very naughty little world we live in at this house, Digby,” said +Madame to me one day; “but you'd be surprised to find what a very vulgar +thing is the life of people in general, and that if you want the +sensational, or even the pictorial in existence, you 'll have to pay for +it in some compromise of principle.” + </p> +<p> +“I know mamma wouldn't like to live here,” said I, half sullenly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, mamma!” cried she, with a laugh, and then suddenly checking herself: +“No, Digby, you are quite right. Mamma would be shocked at our doings; not +that they are so very wicked in themselves as that, to one of her quiet +ways, they would seem so.” + </p> +<p> +“Mamma is very good. I never knew any one like her,” stammered I out. +</p> +<p> +“That's quite true, my dear boy. She is all that you say, but one may be +too good, just as he may be too generous or too confiding; and it is well +to remember that there are a number of excellent things one would like to +be if they could afford them; but the truth is, Digby, the most costly of +all things are virtues.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, do not say that!” cried I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, I must say it. Monsieur Cleremont and I have always been very +poor, and we never permitted ourselves these luxuries, any more than we +kept a great house and a fine equipage, and so we economize in our morals, +as in our means, doing what rich folk might call little shabbinesses; but, +on the whole, managing to live, and not unhappily either.” + </p> +<p> +“And papa?” + </p> +<p> +“Papa has a fine estate, wants for nothing, and can give himself every +good quality he has a fancy for.” + </p> +<p> +“By this theory, then, it is only rich people are good?” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly. I would rather state it thus,—the rich are as good as +they like to be; the poor are as good as they 're able.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you say, then, to Mr. Eccles: he 's not rich, And I 'm sure he's +good?” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Mr. Eccles!” said she, with a merry laughter, in which a something +scornful mingled, and she hurried away. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. PLANNING PLEASURE. +</h2> +<p> +It was my father's pleasure to celebrate my sixteenth birthday with great +splendor. The whole house was to be thrown open; and not only the house, +but the conservatory and the grounds were to be illuminated. The +festivities were to comprise a grand dinner and a reception afterwards, +which was to become a ball, as if by an impromptu. +</p> +<p> +As the society of the Villa habitually was made up of a certain number of +intimates, relieved, from time to time, by such strangers as were +presented, and as my father never dined out, or went into the fashionable +world of the place, it was somewhat of a bold step at once to invite a +number of persons with whom we had no more than bowing acquaintance, and +to ask to his table ministers, envoys, court officials, and grand +chamberlains for the first time. It was said, I know not how truthfully, +that Cleremont did his utmost to dissuade him from the project at first, +by disparaging the people for whom he was putting himself to such cost, +and, finding this line of no avail, by openly saying that what between the +refusals of some, the excuses of others, and the actual absence of many +whose presence he was led to expect, my father was storing up for himself +an amount of disappointment and outrage that would drive him half +desperate. It was not, of course, very easy to convey this to my father. +It could only be done by a dropping word or a half-expressed doubt. And +when the time came to make out the lists and issue the invitations, no +real step had been taken to turn him from his plan. +</p> +<p> +The same rumor which ascribed to Cleremont the repute of attempting to +dissuade my father from his project, attributed to Madame Cleremont a most +eager and warm advocacy of the intended <i>fête</i>. From the marked +coldness and reserve, however, which subsisted between my father and her, +it was too difficult to imagine in what way her influence could be +exercised. +</p> +<p> +And for my own part, though I heard the list of the company canvassed +every day at luncheon, and discussed at dinner, I don't remember an +occasion where Madame ever uttered a word of remark, or even a suggestion +in the matter. Hotham, who had come back on a short leave, was full of the +scheme. With all a sailor's love of movement and bustle, he mixed himself +up with every detail of it. He wrote to Paris and London for all the +delicacies of the “comestible” shops. He established “estafettes” on every +side to bring in fresh flowers and fruit; with his own hands he rigged out +tents and marquees for the regimental bands, which were to be stationed in +different parts of the grounds; and all the devices of Bengal lights and +fireworks he took into his especial charge. +</p> +<p> +Indeed, Nixon told me that his functions did not stop here, but that he +had charged himself with the care of Madame Cleremont's toilette, for whom +he had ordered the most splendid ball-dress Paris could produce. +“Naturally, Master Digby, it is Sir Roger pays,” added he; “and perhaps +one of these days he'll be surprised to find that diamond loops and +diamond bouquets should figure in a milliner's bill. But as she is to +receive the company, of course it's all right.” + </p> +<p> +“And why does Mr. Cleremont seem to dislike it all so much?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Chiefly, I believe, because <i>she</i> likes it.” And then, as though he +had said more than he intended, he added: “Oh, it's easy to see he likes +to keep this house as much his own as he can. He does n't want Sir Roger +to have other people about him. He's almost the master here now; but if +your father begins to mix with the world, and have strangers here, +Cleremont's reign would soon be over.” + </p> +<p> +Though there was much in this speech to suggest thought and speculation, +nothing in it struck me so forcibly as the impertinence of calling Mr. +Cleremont Cleremont, and it was all I could do to suppress the rebuke that +was on my lips. +</p> +<p> +“If your father comes through for a thousand pounds, sir,” continued he, +“I 'll say he's lucky. If Sir Roger would leave it to one person to give +the orders,—I don't mean myself,—though by right it is my +business; instead of that, there's the Captain sending for this, and +Cleremont for the other, and you 'll see there will be enough for three +entertainments when it's all over. Could you just say a word to him, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Not for the world, Nixon. Papa is very kind to me and good-natured, but I +'ll not risk any liberty with him; and what's more, I 'd be right sorry to +call Mr. Cleremont Cleremont before him, as you have done twice within the +last five minutes.” + </p> +<p> +“Lord bless you, Master Digby! I 've known him these fifteen years. I knew +him when he came out, just a boy like, to Lord Colthorpe's embassy. He and +I is like pals.” + </p> +<p> +“You have known <i>me</i> also as a boy, Nixon,” said I, haughtily; “and +yet, I promise you, I 'll not permit you to speak of me as Norcott, when I +am a man.” + </p> +<p> +“No fear of that, sir, you may depend on 't,” said he, with humility; but +there was a malicious twinkle in his eye, and a firm compression of the +lip as he withdrew, that did not leave my mind the whole day after. +Indeed, I recognized that his face had assumed the selfsame look of +insolent familiarity it wore when he spoke of Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +The evening of that day was passed filling up the cards of invitation,—a +process which amused me greatly, affording, as it did, a sort of current +critique on the persons whose names came up for notice, and certainly, if +I were to judge of their eligibility only by what I heard of their +characters, I might well feel amazed why they were singled out for +attentions. They were marquises and counts, however, chevaliers of various +orders, grand cordons and “hautes charges,” so that their trespasses or +their shortcomings had all been enacted in the world of good society, and +with each other as accomplices or victims. There were a number of +contingencies, too, attached to almost every name. There must be high play +for the Russian envoy, flirting for the French minister's wife, iced +drinks for the Americans, and scandal and Ostend oysters for everybody. +There was scarcely a good word for any one, and yet the most eager anxiety +was expressed that they would all come. Immense precautions had been taken +to fix a day when there was nothing going on at court or in the court +circle. It was difficult to believe that pleasure could be planned with +such heart-burning and bitterness. There was scarcely a detail that did +not come associated with something that reflected on the morals or the +manners of the dear friends we were entreating to honor us; and for the +life of me I did not know why such pains were taken to secure the presence +of people for whom none had a good wish nor a single kindly thought. +</p> +<p> +My father took very little part in the discussion; he sat there with a +sort of proud indifference, as though the matter had little interest for +him, and if a doubt were expressed as to the likelihood of this or that +person's acceptance, he would superciliously break in with, “He 'll come, +sir: I 'll answer for that. I have never yet played to empty benches.” + </p> +<p> +This vain and haughty speech dwelt in my mind for many a day, and showed +me how my father deemed that it was not his splendid style of living, his +exquisite dinners, and his choice wines that drew guests around him, but +his own especial qualities as host and entertainer. +</p> +<p> +“But that it involves the bore of an audience, I'd ask the king; I could +give him some Château d'Yquem very unlike his own, and such as, I'll +venture to say, he never tasted,” said he, affectedly. +</p> +<p> +“So you are going to bring out the purple seal?” cried Cleremont. +</p> +<p> +“I might for royalty, sir; but not for such people as I read of in that +list there.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, here are two Dukes with their Duchesses, Marquises and Counts by the +score, half-a-dozen ministers plenipotentiary, and a perfect cloud of +chamberlains and court swells.” + </p> +<p> +“They 'd cut a great figure, I 've no doubt, Hotham, on the quarter-deck +of the 'Thunder Bomb,' where you eke out the defects of a bad band with a +salute from your big guns, and give your guests the national anthem when +they want champagne. Oh dear, there's no snob like a sailor!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if they 're not good enough for you, why the devil do you ask +them?” cried Hotham, sturdily. +</p> +<p> +“Sir, if I were to put such a question to myself, I might shut up my house +to-morrow!” And with this very uncourteous speech he arose and left the +room. +</p> +<p> +We continued, however, to fill in the cards of invitation and address the +envelopes, but with little inclination to converse, and none whatever to +refer to what had passed. +</p> +<p> +“There,” cried Cleremont, as he checked off the list. “That makes very +close on seven hundred. I take it I may order supper for six hundred.” + Then turning half fiercely to me, he added: “Do you know, youngster, that +all this tomfoolery is got up for <i>you?</i> It is by way of celebrating +your birthday we're going to turn the house out of the windows!” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose my father has that right, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course he has, just as he would have the right to make a ruin of the +place to-morrow if he liked it; but I don't fancy his friends would be the +better pleased with him for his amiable eccentricity: your father pushes +our regard for him very far sometimes.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell him to be more cautious, sir, in future,” said I, moving +towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Do so,” said he. “Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +I had scarcely taken my bedroom candle when I felt a hand on my shoulder: +I turned and saw Madame Cleremont standing very pale and in great +agitation at my side. “Oh, Digby,” said she, “don't make that man your +enemy whatever you do; he is more than a match for you, poor child!” She +was about to say more when we heard voices in the corridor, and she +hurried away and left me. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. A BIRTHDAY DINNER +</h2> +<p> +The eventful day arrived at last, and now, as I write, I can bring up +before me the whole of that morning, so full of exciting sensations and of +pleasurable surprises. I wandered about from room to room, never sated +with the splendors around me. Till then I had not seen the gorgeous +furniture uncovered, nor had I the faintest idea of the beauty and +richness of the silk hangings, or the glittering elegance of those lustres +of pure Venetian glass. Perhaps nothing, however, astonished me so much as +the array of gold and silver plate in the dining-room. Our every-day +dinners had been laid out with what had seemed to me a most costly +elegance; but what were they to this display of splendid centrepieces and +massive cups and salvers large as shields! Of flowers, the richest and +rarest, wagon-loads poured in; and at last I saw the horses taken out, and +carts full of carnations and geraniums left unloaded in the stable-yard. +Ice, too, came in the same profusion: those squarely cut blocks, bright as +crystal, and hollowed out to serve as wine-coolers, and take their place +amidst the costlier splendors of gold and silver. +</p> +<p> +It is rare to hear the servant class reprove profusion; but here I +overheard many a comment on the reckless profligacy of outlay which had +provided for this occasion enough for a dozen such. It was easy to see, +they said, that Mr. Clere-mont did not pay; and this sneer sunk deep into +my mind, increasing the dislike I already felt for him. +</p> +<p> +Nor was it the house alone was thus splendidly prepared for reception; but +kiosks and tents were scattered through the grounds, in each of which, as +if by magic, supper could be served on the instant. Upwards of thirty +additional servants were engaged, all of whom were dressed in our state +livery, white, with silver epaulettes, and the Norcott crest embroidered +on the arm. These had been duly drilled by Mr. Cleremont, and were not, he +said, to be distinguished by the most critical eye from the rest of the +household. +</p> +<p> +Though there was movement everywhere, and everywhere activity, there was +little or no confusion. Cleremont was an adept in organization, and +already his skill and cleverness had spread discipline through the mass. +He was a despot, however, would not permit the slightest interference with +his functions, nor accept a suggestion from any one. “Captain Hotham gives +no orders here,” I heard him say; and when standing under my window, and I +am almost sure seeing me, he said, “Master Digby has nothing to do with, +the arrangements any more than yourself.” + </p> +<p> +I had determined that day to let nothing irritate or vex me; that I would +give myself up to unmixed enjoyment, and make this birthday a memorable +spot in life, to look back on with undiluted delight. I could have been +more-certain to carry out this resolve if I could only have seen and +spoken with Madame Cleremont; but she did not leave her room the whole +day. A distinguished hairdresser had arrived with a mysterious box early +in the morning, and after passing two hours engaged with her, had returned +for more toilet requirements. In fact, from the coming and going of maids +and dressmakers, it was evident that the preparations of beauty were fully +equal to those that were being made by cooks and confectioners. +</p> +<p> +My father, too, was invisible; his breakfast was served in his own room; +and when Cleremont wished to communicate with him, he had to do so in +writing: and these little notes passed unceasingly between them till late +in the afternoon. +</p> +<p> +“What's up now?” I heard Hotham say, as Cleremont tore up a note in pieces +and flung the fragments from him with impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Just like him. I knew exactly how it would be,” cried the other. “He sent +a card of invitation to the Duc de Bredar without first making a visit; +and here comes the Duc's chasseur to say that his Excellency has not the +honor of knowing the gentleman who has been so gracious as to ask him to +dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“Norcott will have him out for the impertinence,” said Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“And what will that do? Will the shooting him or the being shot make this +dinner go off as we meant it, eh? Is that for me, Nixon? Give it here.” He +took a note as he spoke, and tore it open. 'La Marquise de Carnac is +engaged,' not a word more. The world is certainly progressing in +politeness. Three cards came back this day with the words 'Sent by +mistake' written on them. Norcott does not know it yet, nor shall he till +to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it true that the old Countess de Joievillars begged to know who was to +receive the ladies invited?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, it is true; and I told her a piece of her own early history in +return, to assure her that no accident of choice should be any bar to the +hope of seeing her.” + </p> +<p> +“What was the story?” + </p> +<p> +“I'd tell it if that boy of Norcott's was not listening there at that +window.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” cried I; “I have heard every word, and mean to repeat it to my +father when I see him.” “Tell him at the same time, then, that his grand +dinner of twenty-eight has now come down to seventeen, and I 'm not fully +sure of three of these.” + </p> +<p> +I went down into the dining-room, and saw that places had been laid for +twenty-eight, and as yet no alteration had been made in the table, so that +it at once occurred to me this speech of Cleremont's was a mere +impertinence,—one of those insolent sallies he was so fond of. +Nixon, too, had placed the name of each guest on his napkin, and he, at +least, had not heard of any apologies. +</p> +<p> +Given in my honor, as this dinner was, I felt a most intense interest in +its success. I was standing, as it were, on the threshold of life, and +regarded the mode in which I should be received as an augury of good or +evil. My father's supremacy at home, the despotism he wielded, and the +respect and deference he exacted, led me to infer that he exercised the +same influence on the world at large; and that, as I had often heard, the +only complaint against him in society was his exclusiveness. I canvassed +these thoughts with myself for hours, as I sat alone in my room waiting +till it was time to dress. +</p> +<p> +At last eight o'clock struck, and I went down into the drawing-room. +Hotham was there, in a window recess, conversing in whispers with an +Italian count,—one of our intimates, but of whom I knew nothing. +They took no notice of me, so that I took up a paper and began to read. +Cleremont came in soon after with a bundle of notes in his hand. “Has your +father come down?” asked he, hastily; and then, without waiting for my +reply, he turned and left the room. Madame next appeared. I have no words +for my admiration of her, as, splendidly dressed and glittering with +diamonds, she swept proudly in. That her beauty could have been so +heightened by mere toilette seemed incredible, and as she read my +wonderment in my face she smiled, and said:— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Digby, I am looking my very best to <i>fête</i> your birthday.” + </p> +<p> +I would have liked to have told her how lovely she appeared to me, but I +could only blush and gaze wonder-ingly on her. +</p> +<p> +“Button this glove, dear,” said she, handing to me her wrist all weighted +and jingling with costly bracelets; and while, with trembling fingers, I +was trying to obey her, my father entered and came towards us. He made her +a low but very distant bow, tapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and then +moved across to an arm-chair and sat down. +</p> +<p> +Cleremont now came in, and, drawing a chair beside my father's, leaned +over and said something in a whisper. Not seeming to attend to what he was +saying, my father snatched, rather than took, the bundle of letters he +held in his hand, ran his eyes eagerly over some of them, and then, +crushing the mass in his grasp, he threw it into the fire. +</p> +<p> +“It is forty minutes past eight,” said he, calmly, but with a deadly +pallor in his face. “Can any one tell me if that clock be right?” + </p> +<p> +“It is eight or ten minutes slow,” said Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“Whom do we wait for, Cleremont?” asked my father again. +</p> +<p> +“Steinmetz was <i>de service</i> with the King, but would come if he got +free; and there's Rochegude, the French Secretary, was to replace his +chief. I 'm not quite sure about the Walronds, but Craydon told me +positively to expect <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Do me the favor to ring the bell and order dinner,” said my father; and +he spoke with measured calm. +</p> +<p> +“Won't you wait a few minutes?” whispered Cleremont. “The Duke de +Frialmont, I'm sure, will be here.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; we live in a society that understands and observes punctuality. +No breach of it is accidental. Dinner, Nixon!” added he as the servant +appeared. +</p> +<p> +The folding-doors were thrown wide almost at once, and dinner announced. +My father gave his arm to Madame Cleremont, who actually tottered as she +walked beside him, and as she sat down seemed on the verge of fainting. +Just as we took our places, three young men, somewhat overdressed, entered +hurriedly, and were proceeding to make their apologies for being late; but +my father, with a chilling distance, assured them they were in excellent +time, and motioned them to be seated. +</p> +<p> +Of the table laid for twenty-eight guests, nine places were occupied; and +these, by some mischance, were scattered here and there with wide +intervals. Madame Cleremont sat on my father's right, and three empty +places flanked his left hand. +</p> +<p> +I sat opposite my father, with two vacant seats on either side of me; +Hotham nearest to me, and one of the strangers beside him. They conversed +in a very low tone, but short snatches and half sentences reached me; and +I heard the stranger say, “It was too bold a step; women are sure to +resent such attempts.” Madame Cleremont's name, too, came up three or four +times; and the stranger said, “It's my first dinner here, and the Bredars +will not forgive me for coming.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, there's none of them has such a cook as Norcott,” said Hotham. +</p> +<p> +“I quite agree with you; but I 'd put up with a worse dinner for better +company.” + </p> +<p> +I looked round at this to show I had heard the remark, and from that time +they conversed in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +My father never uttered a word during the dinner. I do not know if he ate, +but he helped himself and affected to eat. As for Madame, how she sat out +those long two hours, weak and fainting as she was, I cannot tell. I saw +her once try to lift her glass to her lips, but her hand trembled so, she +set it down untasted, and lay back in her chair, like one dying out of +exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +A few words and a faint attempt to laugh once or twice broke the dead +silence of the entertainment, which proceeded, however, in all its stately +detail, course after course, till the dessert was handed round, and Tokay, +in small gilt glasses, was served; then my father rose slowly, and, +drawing himself up to his full height, looked haughtily around him. “May I +ask my illustrious friends,” said he, “who have this day so graciously +honored me with their presence, to drink the health of my son, whose +birthday we celebrate. There is no happier augury on entering life than to +possess the friendship and good-will of those who stand foremost in the +world's honor. It is his great privilege to be surrounded this day by +beauty and by distinction. The great in the arts of peace and war, and +that loveliness which surpasses in its fascination all other rewards, are +around me, and I call upon these to drink to the health of Digby Norcott.” + </p> +<p> +All rose and drank; Hotham lifted his glass high in air and tried a cheer, +but none joined him; his voice died away, and he sat down; and for several +minutes an unbroken silence prevailed. +</p> +<p> +My father at last leaned over towards Madame, and I. heard the word +“coffee.” She arose and took his arm, and we all followed them to the +drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm right glad it's over,” said Hotham, as he poured his brandy over his +coffee. “I've sat out a court-martial that wasn't slower than that +dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“But what's the meaning of it all?” asked another. “Why and how came all +these apologies?” + </p> +<p> +“You 'd better ask Cleremont, or rather his wife,” muttered Hotham, and +moved away. +</p> +<p> +“You ought to get into the open air; that's the best thing for you,” I +heard Cleremont say to his wife; but there was such a thorough +indifference in the tone, it sounded less like a kindness than a sarcasm. +She, however, drew a shawl around her, and moved down the steps into the +garden. My father soon after retired to his own room, and Cleremont +laughingly said, “There are no women here, and we may have a cigar;” and +he threw his case across the table. The whole party were soon immersed in +smoke. +</p> +<p> +I saw that my presence imposed some restraint on the conversation, and +soon sought my room with a much sadder spirit and a heavier heart than I +had left it two hours before. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. THE BALL +</h2> +<p> +Musing and thinking and fretting together, I had fallen asleep on my sofa, +and was awakened by Mr. Nixon lighting my candles, and asking me, in a +very mild voice, if I felt unwell. +</p> +<p> +“No, nothing of the kind.” + </p> +<p> +“Won't you go down, sir, then? It's past eleven now, and there 's a good +many people below.” + </p> +<p> +“Who have come?” asked I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir,” said he, with a certain degree of hesitation, “they 're not +much to talk about There's eight or nine young gentlemen of the embassies—attachés +like—and there's fifteen or twenty officers of the Guides, and +there's some more that look like travellers out of the hotels; they ain't +in evening-dress.” + </p> +<p> +“Are there no ladies?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I suppose we must call them ladies, sir. There's Madame Rigault and +her two daughters.” + </p> +<p> +“The pastrycook?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; and there are the Demoiselles Janson, of the cigar-shop, and +stunningly dressed they are too! Amber satin with black lace, and Spanish +veils on their heads. And there's that little Swedish girl—I believe +she's a Swede—that sells the iced drinks.” + </p> +<p> +“But what do you mean? These people have not been invited. How have they +come here?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, I must n't tell you a lie; but I hope you 'll not betray me if +I speak in confidence to you. Here's how it all has happened. The swells +all refused: they agreed together that they 'd not come to dinner, nor +come in the evening. Mr. Cleremont knows why; but it ain't for me to say +it.” + </p> +<p> +“But <i>I</i> don't know, and I desire to know!” cried I, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Well, indeed, sir, it's more than I can tell you. There 'a people here +not a bit correcter than herself that won't meet her.” + </p> +<p> +“Meet whom?” + </p> +<p> +“Madame, sir,—Madame Cleremont.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't dare to say another word,” cried I, passionately. “If you utter a +syllable of disrespect to that name, I 'll fling you out of the window.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't be afraid, Master Digby, I know my station, and I never forget it, +sir. I was only telling you what you asked me, not a word more. The swells +sent back your father's cards, and there's more than three hundred of them +returned.” + </p> +<p> +“And where's papa now?' * +</p> +<p> +“In bed, sir. He told his valet he was n't to be disturbed, except the +house took fire.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Madame Cleremont below?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; she's very ill. The doctor has been with her, and he's coming +again to-night.” + </p> +<p> +“And are these people—this rabble that you talk of—received as +my papa's guests?” + </p> +<p> +“Only in a sort of a way, sir,” said he, smiling. “You see that when Mr. +Cleremont perceived that there was nothing but excuses and apologies +pouring in, he told me to close the house, and that we 'd let all the +bourgeois people into the grounds, and give them a jolly supper and plenty +of champagne; and he sent word to a many of the young officers to come up +and have a lark; and certainly, as the supper was there, they might as +well eat it. The only puzzle is now, won't there be too many, for he sent +round to all Sir Roger's tradespeople,—all at least that has +good-looking daughters,—and they're pourin' in by tens and fifteens, +and right well dressed and well got up too.” + </p> +<p> +“And what will papa say to all this to-morrow?” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you know, sir, that Sir Roger seldom looks back,” said he, with a +cunning look; “he'll not be disturbed to-night, for the house is shut up, +and the bands are playing, one at the lake, the other at the end of the +long walk, and the suppers will be served here and there, where they can +cheer and drink toasts without annoying any one.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a downright infamy!” cried I. +</p> +<p> +“It ain't the correct thing, sure enough, sir, there's none of us could +say that, but it will be rare fun; and, as Captain Hotham said, 'the women +are a precious sight better looking than the countesses.'” + </p> +<p> +“Where is Mr. Eccles?” + </p> +<p> +“I saw him waltzing, sir, or maybe it was the polka, with Madame Robineau +just as I was coming up to you.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll go down and tell Mr. Cleremont to dismiss his friends,” cried I, +boiling over with anger. “Papa meant this <i>fête</i> to celebrate my +birthday. I 'll not accept such rabble congratulations. If Mr. Cleremont +must have an orgie, let him seek for another place to give it in.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't go, master, don't, I entreat you,” cried he, imploringly. “You 'll +only make a row, sir, and bring down Sir Roger, and then who's to say what +will happen? He 'll have a dozen duels on his hands in half as many +minutes. The officers won't stand being called to account, and Sir Roger +is not the man to be sweet-tempered with them.” + </p> +<p> +“And am I to see my father's name insulted, and his house dishonored by +such a canaille crew as this?” + </p> +<p> +“Just come down and see them, Master Digby; prettier, nicer girls you +never saw in your life, and pretty behaved, too. Ask Mr. Eccles if he ever +mixed with a nicer company. There, now, sir, slip on your velvet jacket,—it +looks nicer than that tail-coat,—and come down. They 'll be all +proud and glad to see you, and won't she hold her head high that you ask +to take a turn of a waltz with you!” + </p> +<p> +“And how should I face my father to-morrow?” said I, blushing deeply. +</p> +<p> +“Might I tell you a secret, Master Digby?” said he, leaning over the +table, and speaking almost in my ear. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said I, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“I know well, sir, you 'll never throw me over, and what I 'm going to +tell you is worth gold to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Go on,” cried I, for he had ceased to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Here it is, then,” said he, with an effort “The greatest sorrow your +father has, Master Digby, is that he thinks you have no spirit in you,—that +you 're a mollyoot. As he said one day to Mr. Cleremont, 'You must teach +him everything, he has no “go” in himself; there 's nothing in his nature +but what somebody else put into it.'” + </p> +<p> +“He never said that!” + </p> +<p> +“I pledge you my oath he did.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if he did, he meant it very differently from what you do.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no two meanings to it. There's a cheer!” cried he, running over +to the window and flinging it wide. “I wonder who's come now? Oh, it's the +fireworks are beginning.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll go down,” said I; but out of what process of reasoning came that +resolve I am unable to tell. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe they won't be glad to see you!” cried he, as he helped me on with +my jacket and arranged the heron's feathers in my velvet cap. I was half +faltering in my resolution, when I bethought me of that charge of +feebleness of character Nixon had reported to me, and I determined, come +what might, I would show that I had a will and could follow it. In less +than five minutes after, I was standing under the trees in the garden, +shaking hands with scores of people I never saw before, and receiving the +very politest of compliments and good wishes from very pretty lips, aided +by very expressive eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Here's Mademoiselle Pauline Delorme refuses to dance with me,” cried +Eccles, “since she has seen the head of the house. Digby, let me present +you.” And with this he led me up to a very beautiful girl, who, though +only the daughter of a celebrated restaurateur of Brussels, might have +been a princess, so far as look and breeding and elegance were concerned. +</p> +<p> +“This is to be the correct thing,” cried Cleremont “We open with a +quadrille; take your partners, gentlemen, and to your places.” + </p> +<p> +Nothing could be more perfectly proper and decorous than this dance. It is +possible, perhaps, that we exceeded a little on the score of reverential +observances: we bowed and courtesied at every imaginable opportunity, and +with an air of homage that smacked of a court; and if we did raise our +eyes to each other, as we recovered from the obeisance, it was with a look +of the softest and most subdued deference. I really began to think that +the only hoydenish people I had ever seen were ladies and gentlemen. As +for Eccles, he wore an air of almost reverential gravity, and Hotham was +sternly composed. At last, however, we came to the finish, and Cleremont, +clapping his hands thrice, called out “<i>grand rond</i>,” and, taking his +partner's arm within his own, led off at a galop; the music striking up +one of Strauss's wildest, quickest strains. Away he went down an alley, +and we all after him, stamping and laughing like mad. The sudden revulsion +from the quiet of the moment before was electric; no longer arm-in-arm, +but with arms close clasped around the waist, away we went over the smooth +turf with a wild delight to which the music imparted a thrilling ecstasy. +Now through the dense shade we broke into a blaze of light, where a great +buffet stood; and round this we all swarmed at once, and glasses were +filled with champagne, and vivas shouted again and again, and I heard that +my health was toasted, and a very sweet voice—the lips were on my +ear—whispered I know not what, but it sounded very like wishing me +joy and love, while others were deafening me about long life and +happiness. +</p> +<p> +I do not remember—I do not want to remember—all the nonsense I +talked, and with a volubility quite new to me; my brain felt on fire with +a sort of wild ecstasy, and as homage and deference met me at every step, +my every wish acceded to, and each fancy that struck me hailed at once as +bright inspiration, no wonder was it if I lost myself in a perfect ocean +of bliss. I told Pauline she should be the queen of the <i>fête</i>, and +ordered a splendid wreath of flowers to be brought, which I placed upon +her brow, and saluted her with her title, amidst the cheering shouts of +willing toasters. Except to make a tour of a waltz or a polka with some +one I knew, I would not permit her to dance with any but myself; and she, +I must say, most graciously submitted to the tyranny, and seemed to +delight in the extravagant expressions of my admiration for her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/nor0526.jpg" alt="nor0526" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +If I was madly jealous of her, I felt the most overwhelming delight in the +praises bestowed upon her beauty and her gracefulness. Perhaps the +consciousness that I was a mere boy, and that thus a freedom might be used +towards me that would have been reprehensible with one older, led her to +treat me with a degree of intimacy that was positively captivating; and +before our third waltz was over, I was calling her Pauline, and she +calling me Digby, like old friends. +</p> +<p> +“Isn't that boy of Norcott's going it to-night?” I heard a man say as I +swung past in a polka, and I turned fiercely to catch the speaker's eye, +and show him I meant to call him to book. +</p> +<p> +“Eccles, your pupil is a credit to you!” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“I'm a Dutchman if that fellow does n't rival his father.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll be far and away beyond him,” muttered another; “for he has none of +Norcott's crotchets,—he's a scamp 'ur et simple.'” + </p> +<p> +“Where are you breaking away from me, Digby?” said Pauline, as I tried to +shake myself free of her. +</p> +<p> +“I want to follow those men. I have a word to say to them.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall do no such thing, dearest,” muttered she. “You have just told +me I am to be your little wife, and I 'm not going to see my husband +rushing into a stupid quarrel.” + </p> +<p> +“And you are mine, then,” cried I, “and you will wear this ring as a +betrothal? Come, let me take off your glove.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do, Digby; that's quite enough for courtesy and a little too +much for deference,” whispered Eccles in my ear; for I was kissing her +hand about a hundred times over, and she laughing at my raptures as an +excellent joke. “I think you 'd better lead the way to supper.” + </p> +<p> +Secretly resolving that I would soon make very short work of Mr. Eccles +and his admonitions, I gave him a haughty glance and moved on. I remember +very little more than that I walked to the head of the table and placed +Pauline on my right I know I made some absurd speech in return for their +drinking my health, and spoke of us and what <i>we</i>—Pauline and +myself—felt, and with what pleasure we should see our friends often +around us, and a deal of that tawdry trash that conies into a brain addled +with noise and heated with wine. I was frequently interrupted; uproarious +cheers at one moment would break forth, but still louder laughter would +ring out and convulse the whole assembly. Even addled and confused as I +was, I could see that some were my partisans and friends, who approved of +all I said, and wished me to give a free course to my feelings; and there +were others—two or three—who tried to stop me; and one +actually said aloud, “If that boy of Nor-cott's is not suppressed, we +shall have no supper.” + </p> +<p> +Recalled to my dignity as a host by this impertinence, I believe I put +some restraint on my eloquence, and I now addressed myself to do the +honors of the table. Alas, my attentions seldom strayed beyond my lovely +neighbor, and I firmly believed that none could remark the rapture with +which I gazed on her, or as much as suspected that I had never quitted the +grasp of her hand from the moment we sat down. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect you 'd better let Mademoiselle dance the cotillon with the +Count Vauglas,” whispered Eccles in my ear. +</p> +<p> +“And why, sir?” rejoined I, half fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“I think you might guess,” said he, with a smile; “at least, you could if +you were to get up.” + </p> +<p> +“And would she—would Pauline—I mean, would Mademoiselle +Delorme—approve of this arrangement?” + </p> +<p> +“No, Monsieur Digby, not if it did not come from you. We shall sit in the +shade yonder for half an hour or so, and then, when you are rested, we 'll +join the cotillon.” + </p> +<p> +“Get that boy off to bed, Eccles,” said Cleremont, who did not scruple to +utter the words aloud. +</p> +<p> +I started up to make an indignant rejoinder; some fierce insult was on my +lips; but passion and excitement and wine mastered me, and I sank back on +my seat overcome and senseless. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. A NEXT MORNING +</h2> +<p> +I could not awake on the day after the <i>fête</i>, I was conscious that +Nixon was making a considerable noise,—that he shut and opened doors +and windows, splashed the water into my bath, and threw down my boots with +an unwonted energy; but through all this consciousness of disturbance I +slept on, and was determined to sleep, let him make what uproar he +pleased. +</p> +<p> +“It 's nigh two o'clock, sir!” whispered he in my ear, and I replied by a +snort. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm very sorry to be troublesome, sir; but the master is very impatient: +he was getting angry when I went in last time.” + </p> +<p> +These words served to dispel my drowsiness at once, and the mere thought +of my father's displeasure acted on me like a strong stimulant. +</p> +<p> +“Does papa want me?” cried I, sitting up in bed; “did you say papa wanted +me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said a deep voice; and my father entered the room, dressed for +the street, and with his hat on. +</p> +<p> +“You may leave us,” said he to Nixon; and as the man withdrew, my father +took a chair and sat down close to my bedside. +</p> +<p> +“I have sent three messages to you this morning,” said he, gravely, “and +am forced at last to come myself.” + </p> +<p> +I was beginning my apologies, when he stopped me, and said, “That will do; +I have no wish to be told why you overslept yourself; indeed, I have +already heard more on that score than I care for.” + </p> +<p> +He paused, and though perhaps he expected me to say something, I was too +much terrified to speak. +</p> +<p> +“I perceive.” said he, “you understand me; you apprehend that I know of +your doings of last night, and that any attempt at excuse is hopeless. I +have not come here to reproach you for your misconduct; I reproach myself +for a mistaken estimate of you; I ought to have known—and if you had +been a horse I would have known—that your crossbreeding would tell +on you. The bad drop was sure to betray itself. I will not dwell on this, +nor have I time. Your conduct last night makes my continued residence here +impossible. I cannot continue in a city where my tradespeople have become +my guests, and where the honors of my house have been extended to my +tailor and my butcher. I shall leave this, therefore, as soon as I can +conclude my arrangements to sell this place: you must quit it at once. +Eccles will be ready to start with you this evening for the Rhine, and +then for the interior of Germany,—I suspect Weimar will do. He will +be paymaster, and you will conform to his wishes strictly as regards +expense. Whether you study or not, whether you employ your time profitably +and creditably, or whether you pass it in indolence, is a matter that +completely regards yourself. As for me, my conscience is acquitted when I +provide you with the means of acquirement, and I no more engage you to +benefit by these advantages than I do to see you eat the food that is +placed before you. The compact that unites us enjoins distinct duties from +each. You need not write to me till I desire you to do so; and when I +think it proper we should meet, I will tell you.” + </p> +<p> +If, while he spoke these harsh words to me, the slightest touch of feeling—had +one trace of even sorrow crossed his face, my whole heart would have +melted at once, and I would have thrown myself at his feet for +forgiveness. There was, however, a something so pitiless in his tone, and +a look so full of scorn in his steadfast eye, that every sentiment of +pride within me—that same pride I inherited from himself—stimulated +me to answer him, and I said boldly: “If the people I saw here last night +were not as well born as your habitual guests, sir, I 'll venture to say +there was nothing in their manner or deportment to be ashamed of.” + </p> +<p> +“I am told that Mademoiselle Pauline Delorme was charming,” said he; and +the sarcasm of his glance covered me with shame and confusion. He had no +need to say more: I could not utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“This is a topic I will not discuss with you, sir,” said he, after a +pause. “I intended you to be a gentleman, and to live with gentlemen. <i>Your</i> +tastes incline differently, and I make no opposition to them. As I have +told you already, I was willing to launch you into life; I 'll not engage +to be your pilot. Any interest I take or could take in you must be the +result of your own qualities. These have not impressed me strongly up to +this; and were I to judge by what I have seen, I should send you back to +those you came from.” + </p> +<p> +“Do so, then, if it will only give me back the nature I brought away with +me!” cried I, passionately; and my throat swelled till I felt almost +choked with emotion. +</p> +<p> +“That nature,” said he, with a sneer on the word, “was costumed, if I +remember right, in a linen blouse and a pair of patched shoes; and I +believe they have been preserved along with some other family relics.” + </p> +<p> +I bethought me at once of the tower and its humble furniture, and a sense +of terror overcame me, that I was in presence of one who could cherish +hate with such persistence. +</p> +<p> +“The fumes of your last night's debauch are some excuse for your bad +manners, sir,” said he, rising. “I leave you to sleep them off; only +remember that the train starts at eight this evening, and it is my desire +you do not miss it.” + </p> +<p> +With this he left me. I arose at once and began to dress. It was a slow +proceeding, for I would often stop, and sit down to think what course +would best befit me to take at this moment. At one instant it seemed to me +I ought to follow him, and declare that the splendid slavery in which I +lived had no charm for me,—that the faintest glimmering of +self-respect and independence was more my ambition than all the luxuries +that surrounded me; and when I had resolved I would do this, a sudden +dread of his presence,—his eye that I could never face without +shrinking,—the tones of his voice that smote me like a lash,—so +abashed me that I gave up the effort with despair. +</p> +<p> +Might he not consent to give me some pittance—enough to save her +from the burden of my support—and send me back to my mother? Oh, if +I could summon courage to ask this! This assistance need be continued only +for a few years, for I hoped and believed I should not always have to live +as a dependant What if I were to write him a few lines to this purport? I +could do this even better than speak it. +</p> +<p> +I sat down at once and began:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear papa,”—he would never permit me to use a more endearing word. +“Dear papa, I hope you will forgive me troubling you about myself and my +future. I would like to fit myself for some career or calling by which I +might become independent. I could work very hard and study very closely if +I were back with my mother.” + </p> +<p> +As I reached this far, the door opened, and Eccles appeared. +</p> +<p> +“All right!” cried he; “I was afraid I should catch you in bed still, and +I 'm glad you 're up and preparing for the road. Are you nearly ready?” + </p> +<p> +“Not quite; I wanted to write a letter before I go. I was just at it.” + </p> +<p> +“Write from Verviers or Bonn; you'll have lots of time on the road.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but my letter might save me from the journey if I sent it off now.” + </p> +<p> +He looked amazed at this, and I at once told him my plan and showed him +what I had written. +</p> +<p> +“You don't mean to say you 'd have courage to send this to your father?” + </p> +<p> +“And why not?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, all I have to say is, don't do it till I 'm off the premises; for I +'d not be here when he reads it for a trifle. My dear Digby,” said he, +with a changed tone, “you don't know Sir Roger; you don't know the +violence of his temper if he imagines himself what he calls outraged, +which sometimes means questioned. Take your hat and stick, and go seek +your fortune, in Heaven's name, if you must; but don't set out on your +life's journey with a curse or a kick, or possibly both. If I preach +patience, my dear boy, I have had to practise it too. Put up your traps in +your portmanteau; come down and take some dinner: we 'll start with the +night-train; and take my word for it, we 'll have a jolly ramble and enjoy +ourselves heartily. If I know anything of life, it is that there's no such +mistake in the world as hunting up annoyances. Let them find us if they +can, but let us never run after them.” + </p> +<p> +“My heart is too heavy for such enjoyment as you talk of.” + </p> +<p> +“It won't be so to-morrow, or, at all events, the day after. Come, stir +yourself now with your packing; a thought has just struck me that you 'll +be very grateful to me for, when I tell it you.” + </p> +<p> +“What is it?” asked I, half carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“You must ask with another guess-look in your eye if you expect me to tell +you.” + </p> +<p> +“You could tell me nothing that would gladden me.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor propose anything that you'd like?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Nor that, either,” said I, despondingly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if that be the case, I give up my project; not that it was much of a +project, after all. What I was going to suggest was that instead of dining +here we should put our traps into a cab, and drive down to Delorme's and +have a pleasant little dinner there, in the garden; it's quite close to +the railroad, so that we could start at the last whistle.” + </p> +<p> +“That does sound pleasantly,” said I; “there's nothing more irksome in its +way than hanging about a station waiting for departure.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, you agree?” cried he, with a malicious twinkle in his eye that +I affected not to understand. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, indolently; “I see little against it; and if nothing else, +it saves me a leave-taking with Captain Hotham and Cleremont.” + </p> +<p> +“By the way, you are not to ask to see Madame; your father reminded me to +tell you this. The doctors say she is not to be disturbed on any account. +What a chance that I did not forget this!” + </p> +<p> +Whether it was that I was too much concerned for my own misfortunes to +have a thought that was not selfish, or that another leave-taking that +loomed in the distance was uppermost in my thoughts, certain it is, I felt +this privation far less acutely than I might. +</p> +<p> +“She's a nice little woman, and deserves a better lot than she has met +with.” + </p> +<p> +“What sort of dinner will Delorme give us?” said I, affecting the air of a +man about town, but in reality throwing out the bait to lead the talk in +that direction. +</p> +<p> +“First-rate, if we let him; that is, if we only say, 'Order dinner for us, +Monsieur Pierre.' There's no man understands such a mandate more +thoroughly.” + </p> +<p> +“Then that's what I shall say,” cried I, “as I cross his threshold.” + </p> +<p> +“He'll serve you Madeira with your soup, and Stein-berger with your fish, +thirty francs a bottle, each of them.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so. We shall drink to our pleasant journey,” said I; and I actually +thought my voice had caught the tone and cadence of my father's as I +spoke. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. A GOOD-BYE +</h2> +<p> +While I strolled into the garden to select a table for our dinner, Eccles +went in search of Mr. Delorme; and though he had affected to say that the +important duty of devising the feast should be confided to the host, I +could plainly see that my respected tutor accepted his share in that high +responsibility. +</p> +<p> +I will only say of the feast in question, that, though I was daily +accustomed to the admirable dinners of my father's table, I had no +conception of what exquisite devices in cookery could be produced by the +skill of an accomplished restaurateur, left free to his own fancy, and +without limitation as to the bill. +</p> +<p> +One thing alone detracted from the perfect enjoyment of the banquet It was +the appearance of Mr. Delorme himself, white-cravated and gloved, carrying +in the soup. It was an attention that he usually reserved for great +personages, royalties, or high dignitaries of the court; and I was shocked +that he should have selected me for the honor, not the less as it was only +a few hours before he and I had been drinking champagne with much clinking +of glasses together, and interchanging the most affectionate vows of +eternal friendship. +</p> +<p> +I arose from my chair to salute him; but, as he deposited the tureen upon +the table, he stepped back and bowed low, and retreated in this fashion, +with the same humble reverence at every step, till he was lost in the +distance. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down,” said Eccles, with a peculiar look, as though to warn me that I +was forgetting my dignity; and then, to divert my attention, he added, +“That green seal is an attention Delorme offers you,—a very rare +favor, too,—a bottle of his own peculiar Johannisberg. Let us drink +his health. Now, Digby, I call this something very nigh perfection.” + </p> +<p> +It was a theme my tutor understood thoroughly, and there was not a dish +nor a wine that he did not criticise. +</p> +<p> +“I was always begging your father to take this cook, Digby,” said he, with +half sigh. “Even with a first-rate artist you need change, otherwise your +dinners become manneristic, as ours have become of late.” + </p> +<p> +He then went on to show me that the domestic cook, always appealing to the +small public of the family, gets narrowed in his views and bounded in his +resources. He compared them, I remember, to the writers in certain +religious newspapers, who must always go on spicing higher and higher as +the palates of their clients grow more jaded. How he worked out his theme +afterwards I cannot tell, for I was watching the windows of the house, and +stealing glances down the alleys in the garden, longing for one look, ever +so fleeting, of my lovely partner of the night before. +</p> +<p> +“I see, young gentleman,” said he, evidently nettled at my inattention, +“your thoughts are not with me.” + </p> +<p> +“How long have we to stay, sir?” said I, reverting to the respect I +tendered him at my lessons. +</p> +<p> +“You have thirty-eight minutes,” said he, examining his watch: “which I +purpose to apportion in this wise,—eight for the douceur, five for +the cheese, fifteen for the dessert, five for coffee and a glass of +curaçoa. The bill and our parting compliments will take the rest, giving +us three minutes to walk across to the station.” + </p> +<p> +These sort of pedantries were a passion with him, and I did not interpose +a word as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“What a pineapple!” cried a young fellow from an adjoining table, as a +waiter deposited a magnificent pine in the midst of the bouquet that +adorned our table. +</p> +<p> +“Monsieur Delorme begs to say, sir, this has just arrived from Laeken.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you know who that is?” said a companion, in a low voice; but my +hearing, ever acute, caught the words, “He's that boy of Norcott's.” I +started as if I had received a blow. It was time to resent these +insolences, and make an end of them forever. +</p> +<p> +“You heard what that man yonder has called me?” said I to Eccles. +</p> +<p> +“No; I was not minding him.” + </p> +<p> +“The old impertinence,—'That boy of Norcott's.'” + </p> +<p> +I arose, and took the cane I had laid against a chair. What I was about to +do I knew not. I felt I should launch some insolent provocation. As for +what should follow, the event might decide <i>that</i>. +</p> +<p> +“I'd not mind him, Digby,” said Eccles, carelessly, as he lit his +cigarette, and stretched his legs on a vacant chair. I took no notice of +his words, but walked on. Before, however, I had made three steps my eyes +caught the flutter of a dress at the end of the alley. It was merely the +last folds of some floating muslin, but it was enough to rout all other +thoughts from my head, and I flew down the walk with lightning speed. I +was right; it was Pauline. In an instant I was beside her. +</p> +<p> +“Dearest, darling Pauline,” I cried, seizing her round the waist and +kissing her cheek, before she well knew, “how happy it makes me to see you +even for a few seconds.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, milord, I did not expect to see you here,” said she, half distantly. +</p> +<p> +“I am not milord; I am your own Digby—Digby Nor-cott, who loves you, +and will make you his wife.” + </p> +<p> +“Ma foi! children don't marry,—at least demoiselles don't marry +them,” said she, with a saucy laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I am no more an 'enfant,'” said I, with a passionate stress on the word, +“than I was last night, when you never left my arm except to sit at my +side at supper.” + </p> +<p> +“But you are going away,” said she, pouting; “else why that +travelling-dress, and that sack strapped at your side?” + </p> +<p> +“Only for a few weeks. A short tour up the Rhine, Pauline, to see the +world, and complete my education; and then I will come back and marry you, +and you shall be mistress of a beautiful house, and have everything you +can think of.” + </p> +<p> +“Vrai?” asked she, with a little laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I swear it by this kiss.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardie, Monsieur? you are very adventurous,” said she, repulsing me; “you +will make me not regret that you are going so soon.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Pauline! when you know that I adore you, that I only value wealth to +share it with you; that all I ask of life is to devote it to you.” + </p> +<p> +“And that you have n't got full thirty seconds left for that admirable +object,” broke in Eccles. “We must run for it like fury, boy, or we shall +be late.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not go.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I 'll be shot if I stay here and meet your father,” said he, turning +away. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Pauline, dearest, dearest of my heart!” I sobbed out, as I fell upon +her neck; and the vile bell of the railway rang out with its infernal +discord as I clasped her to my heart. +</p> +<p> +“Come along, and confound you,” cried Eccles; and with a porter on one +side and Eccles on the other, I was hurried along down the garden, across +a road, and along a platform, where the station-master, wild with passion, +stamped and swore in a very different mood from that in which he smiled at +me across the supper-table the night before. +</p> +<p> +“We're waiting for that boy of Norcott's, I vow,” said an old fellow with +a gray moustache; and I marked him out for future recognition. +</p> +<p> +Unlike my first journey, where all seemed confusion, trouble, and +annoyance, I now saw only pleasant faces, and people bent on enjoyment. We +were on the great tourist road of Europe, and it seemed as though every +one was bound on some errand of amusement. Eccles, too, was a pleasant +contrast to the courier who took charge of me on my first journey. Nothing +could be more genial than his manner. He treated me with a perfect +equality, and by that greatest of all flatteries to one of my age, induced +me to believe that I was actually companionable to himself. +</p> +<p> +I will not pretend that he was an instructive companion. +</p> +<p> +He had neither knowledge of history nor feeling for art, and rather amused +himself with sneering at both, and quizzing such of our fellow-travellers +as the practice was safe with. But he was always gay, always in excellent +spirits, ready to make light of the passing annoyances of the road, and, +as he said himself, he always carried a quart-bottle of condensed sunshine +with him against a rainy day; and, of my own knowledge, I can say his +supply seemed inexhaustible. +</p> +<p> +His cheery manner, his bright good looks, and his invariable good-humor +won upon every one, and the sourest and least genial people thawed into +some show of warmth under his contagious pleasantry. +</p> +<p> +He did not care in what direction we went, and would have left it entirely +to me to decide, had I been able to determine. All he stipulated for was: +“No barbarism, no Oberland or glacier humbug. No Saxon Switzerland +abominations. So long as we travel in a crowd, and meet good cookery every +day, you 'll find me charming.” + </p> +<p> +Into this philosophy he inducted me. “Make life pleasant, Digby; never go +in search of annoyances. Duns and disagreeables will come of themselves, +and it's no bad fun dodging them. It's only a fool ever keeps their +company.” + </p> +<p> +A more shameless immorality might have revolted me, but this peddling sort +of wickedness, this half-jesting with right and wrong,—giving to +morals the aspect of a game in which a certain kind of address was +practicable,—was very seductive to one of my age and temper. I +fancied, too, that I was becoming a consummate man of the world, and his +praises of my proficiency were unsparingly bestowed. +</p> +<p> +Attaching ourselves to this or that party of travellers, we would go off +here or there, in any direction, for four or five days; and though I +usually found myself growing fond of those I became more intimate with, +and sorry to part from them, Eccles invariably wearied of the pleasant-est +people after a day or two. Incessant change seemed essential to him, and +his nature and his spirits flagged when denied it. +</p> +<p> +What I least liked about him, however, was a habit he had of “trotting” me +out—his own name for it—before strangers. My knowledge of +languages, my skill at games, my little musical talents, he would parade +in a way that I found positively offensive. Nor was this all, for I found +he represented me as the son of a man of immense wealth and of a rank +commensurate with his fortune. +</p> +<p> +One must have gone through the ordeal of such a representation to +understand its vexations, to know all the impertinences it can evoke from +some, all the slavish attentions from others. I feel a hot flush of shame +on my cheek now, after long years, as I think of the mortifications I went +through, as Eccles would suggest that I should buy some princely chateau +that we saw in passing, or some lordly park alongside of which our road +was lying. +</p> +<p> +As to remonstrating with him on this score, or, indeed, on any other, it +was utterly hopeless; not to say that it was just as likely he would amuse +the first group of travellers we met by a ludicrous version of my attempt +to coerce him into good behavior. +</p> +<p> +One day he pushed my patience beyond all limit, and I grew downright angry +with him. I had been indulging in that harmless sort of half-flirtation +with a young lady, a fellow-traveller; which, not transgressing the bounds +of small attentions, does not even excite remark or rebuke. +</p> +<p> +“Don't listen to that young gentleman's blandishments,” said he, laughing; +“for, young as he looks, he is already engaged. Come, come, don't look as +though you'd strike me, Digby, but deny it if you can.” + </p> +<p> +We were, fortunately for me, coming into a station as he spoke. I sprang +out, and travelled third-class the rest of the day to avoid him, and when +we met at night, I declared that with one such liberty more I 'd part +company with him forever. +</p> +<p> +The hearty good-humor with which he assured me I should not be offended +again almost made me ashamed of my complaint. We shook hands over our +reconciliation, and vowed we were better friends than ever. +</p> +<p> +What it cost him to abandon this habit of exalting me before strangers, +how nearly it touched one of the chief pleasures of his life, I was, as I +thought, soon to see in the altered tone of his manner. In fact, it +totally destroyed the easy flippancy he used to wield, and a facility with +strangers that once seemed like a special gift with him. I tried in vain +to rally him out of this half depression; but it was clear he was not a +man of many resources, and that I had already sapped a principal one. +</p> +<p> +While we thus journeyed, he said to me one day, “I find, Digby, our money +is running short; we must make for Zurich: it is the nearest of the places +on our letter of credit.” + </p> +<p> +I assented, of course, and we bade adieu to a pleasant family with whom we +had been travelling, and who were bound for Dresden, assuring them we +should meet them on the Elbe. +</p> +<p> +Eccles had grown of late more and more serious: not alone had his gayety +deserted him, but he grew absent and forgetful to an absurd extent; and it +was evident some great preoccupation had hold of him. During the entire of +the last day before we reached Zurich he scarcely spoke a word, and as I +saw that he had received some letters at Schaffhausen, I attributed his +gloom to their tidings. As he had not spoken to me of bad news, I felt +ashamed to obtrude myself on his confidence and kept silent, and not a +word passed between us as we went. He had telegraphed to the banker, a +certain Mr. Heinfetter, to order rooms for us at the hotel; and as we +alighted at the door, the gentleman himself was there to meet us. +</p> +<p> +“Herr Eccles?” said he, eagerly, lifting his hat as we descended; and +Eccles moved towards him, and, taking his arm, walked away to some +distance, leaving me alone and unnoticed. For several minutes they +appeared in closest confab, their heads bent close together, and at last I +saw Eccles shake himself free from the other's arm, and throw up both his +hands in the air with a gesture of wild despair. I began to suspect some +disaster had befallen our remittances, that they were lost or suppressed, +and that Eccles was overwhelmed by the misfortune. I own I could not +participate in the full measure of the misery it seemed to cause him, and +I lighted a cigar and sat down on a stone bench to wait patiently his +return. +</p> +<p> +“I believe you are right; it is the best way, after all,” said Ecoles, +hurriedly. “You say you'll look after the boy, and I 'll start by the ten +o'clock train.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I'll take the boy,” said the other; “but you'll have to look sharp +and lose no time. They will be sequestering the moment they hear of it, +and I half suspect old Engler will be before you.” + </p> +<p> +“But my personal effects? I have things of value.” + </p> +<p> +“Hush, hush! he 'll overhear you. Come, young gentleman,” said he to me,—“come +home and sup with me. The hotel is so full, they 've no quarters for you. +I 'll try if I can't put you up.” + </p> +<p> +Eccles stood with his head bent down as we moved away, then lifted his +eyes, waved his hand a couple of times, and said, “By-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Isn't he coming with us?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Not just yet: he has some business to detain him,” said the banker; and +we moved on. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. A TERRIBLE SHOCK +</h2> +<p> +Herb Heinfetter was a bachelor, and lived in a very modest fashion over +his banking-house; and as he was employed from morning to night, I saw +next to nothing of him. Eccles, he said, had been called away, and though +I eagerly asked where, by whom, and for how long, I got no other answer +than “He is called away,” in very German English, and with a stolidity of +look fully as Teutonic. +</p> +<p> +The banker was not talkative: he smoked all the evening, and drank beer, +and except an occasional monosyllabic comment on its excellence, said +little. +</p> +<p> +“Ach, ja!” he would say, looking at me fixedly, as though assenting to +some not exactly satisfactory conclusion his mind had come to about me,—“ach, +ja!” And I would have given a good deal at the time to know to what +peculiar feature of my fortune or my fate this half-compassionate +exclamation extended. +</p> +<p> +“Is Eccles never coming back?” cried I, one day, as the post came in, and +no tidings of him appeared; “is he never coming at all?” + </p> +<p> +“Never, no more.” + </p> +<p> +“Not coming back?” cried I. +</p> +<p> +“No; not come back no more.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what am I staying here for? Why do I wait for him?” + </p> +<p> +“Because you have no money to go elsewhere,” said he; and for once he gave +way to something he thought was a laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I don't understand you, Herr Heinfetter,” said I; “our letter of credit, +Mr. Eccles told me, was on your house here. Is it exhausted, and must I +wait for a remittance?” + </p> +<p> +“It is exhaust; Mr. Eccles exhaust it.” + </p> +<p> +“So that I must write for money; is that so?” + </p> +<p> +“You may write and write, mien lieber, but it won't come.” + </p> +<p> +Herr Heinfetter drained his tall glass, and, leaning his arms on the +table, said: “I will tell you in German, you know it well enough.” And +forthwith he began a story, which lost nothing of the pain and misery it +caused me by the unsympathizing tone and stolid look of the narrator. For +my reader's sake, as for my own, I will condense it into the fewest words +I can, and omit all that Herr Heinfetter inserted either as comment or +censure. My father had eloped with Madame Cleremont! They had fled to +Inn-spruck, from which my father returned to the neighborhood of Belgium, +to offer Cleremont a meeting. Cleremont, however, possessed in his hands a +reparation he liked better,—my father's check-book, with a number of +signed but unfilled checks. These he at once filled up to the last +shilling of his credit, and drew out the money, so that my father's first +draft on London was returned dishonored. The villa and all its splendid +contents were sequestrated, and an action for divorce, with ten thousand +pounds laid as damages, already commenced. Of three thousand francs, which +our letter assured us at Zurich, Eccles had drawn two thousand: he would +have taken all, but Heinfetter, who prudently foresaw I must be got rid of +some day, retained one thousand to pay my way. Eccles had gone, promising +to return when he had saved his own effects, or what he called his own, +from the wreck; but a few lines had come from him to say the smash was +complete, the “huissiers” in possession, seals on everything, and “not +even the horses watered without a gendarme present in full uniform.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell Digby, if we travel together again, he 'll not have to complain of +my puffing him off for a man of fortune; and, above all, advise him to +avoid Brussels in his journey-ings. He 'll find his father's creditors, I +'m afraid, far more attached to him than Mademoiselle Pauline.” + </p> +<p> +His letter wound up with a complaint over his own blighted prospects, for, +of course, his chance of the presentation was now next to hopeless, and he +did not know what line of life he might be driven to. +</p> +<p> +And now, shall I own that, ruined and deserted as I was, overwhelmed with +sorrow and shame, there was no part of all the misery I felt more bitterly +than the fate of her who had been so kindly affectionate to me,—who +had nursed me so tenderly in sickness, and been the charming companion of +my happiest hours? At first it seemed incredible. My father's manner to +her had ever been coldness itself, and I could only lead myself to believe +the story by imagining how the continued cruelty of Cleremont had actually +driven the unhappy woman to entreat protection against his barbarity. It +was as well I should think so, and it served to soften the grief and +assuage the intensity of the sorrow the event caused me. I cried over it +two entire days and part of a third; and so engrossed was I with this +affliction that not a thought of myself, or of my own destitution, ever +crossed me. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know where my father is?” asked I of the banker. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“May I have his address? I wish to write to him.” + </p> +<p> +“This is what he send for message,” said he, producing a telegram, the +address of which he had carefully torn off. “It is of you he speak: 'Do +what you like with him except bother me. Let him have whatever money is in +your hands to my credit, and let him understand he has no more to expect +from Roger Norcott.'” + </p> +<p> +“May I keep this paper, sir?” asked I, in a humble tone. +</p> +<p> +“I see no reason against it. Yes,” muttered he. “As to the moneys, Eccles +have drawn eighty pound; there is forty remain to you.” + </p> +<p> +I sat down and covered my face with my hands. It was a habit with me when +I wanted to apply myself fully to thought; but Herr Heinfetter suspected +that I had given way to grief, and began to cheer me up. I at once +undeceived him, and said, “No, I was not crying, sir; I was only thinking +what I had best do. If you allow me, I will go up to my room, and think it +over by myself. I shall be calmer, even if I hit on nothing profitable.” + </p> +<p> +I passed twelve hours alone, occasionally dropping off to sleep out of +sheer weariness, for my brain worked hard, travelling over a wide space, +and taking in every contingency and every accident I could think of. I +might go back and seek out my mother; but to what end, if I should only +become a dependant on her? No; far better that I should try and obtain +some means of earning a livelihood, ever so humble, abroad, than spread +the disgrace of my family at home. Perhaps Herr Heinfetter might accept my +services in some shape; I could be anything but a servant. +</p> +<p> +When I told him I wished to earn my bread, he looked doubtingly at me in +silence, shaking his head, and muttering, “Nein, niemals, nein,” in every +cadence of despair. +</p> +<p> +“Could you not try me, sir?” pleaded I, earnestly; but his head moved +sadly in refusal. +</p> +<p> +“I will think of it,” he said at last, and he left me. +</p> +<p> +He was as good as his word; he thought of it for two whole days, and then +said that he had a correspondent on the shore of the Adriatic, in a +little-visited town, where no news of my father's history was like to +reach, and that he would write to him to take me into his counting-house +in some capacity: a clerk, or possibly a messenger, till I should prove +myself worthy of being advanced to the desk. It would be hard work, +however, he said; Herr Oppovich was a Slavic, and they were people who +gave themselves few indulgences, and their dependants still fewer. +</p> +<p> +He went on to tell me that the house of Hodnig and Oppovich had been a +wealthy firm formerly, but that Hodnig had over-speculated, and died of a +broken heart; that now, after years of patient toil and thrift, Oppovich +had restored the credit of the house, and was in good repute in the world +of trade. Some time back he had written to Heinfetter to send him a young +fellow who knew languages and was willing to work. +</p> +<p> +“That's all,” he said; “shall I venture to tell him that I recommend you +for these?” + </p> +<p> +“Let me have a trial,” said I, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“I will write your letter to-night, then, and you shall set out to-morrow +for Vienna; thence you'll take the rail to Trieste, and by sea you 'll +reach Fiume, where Herr Oppovich lives.” + </p> +<p> +I thanked him heartily, and went to my room. +</p> +<p> +On the morning that followed began my new life. I was no longer to be the +pampered and spoiled child of fortune, surrounded with every appliance of +luxury, and waited on by obsequious servants. I was now to travel +modestly, to fare humbly, and to ponder over the smallest outlay, lest it +should limit me in some other quarter of greater need. But of all the +changes in my condition, none struck me so painfully at first as the loss +of consideration from strangers that immediately followed my fallen state. +People who had no concern with my well-to-do condition, who could take no +possible interest in my prosperity, had been courteous to me hitherto, +simply because I was prosperous, and were now become something almost the +reverse for no other reason, that I could see, than that I was poor. +</p> +<p> +Where before I had met willingness to make my acquaintance, and an almost +cordial acceptance, I was now to find distance and reserve. Above all, I +discovered that there was a general distrust of the poor man, as though he +were one more especially exposed to rash influences, and more likely to +yield to them. +</p> +<p> +I got some sharp lessons in these things the first few days of my journey, +but I dropped down at last into the third-class train, and found myself at +ease. My fellow-travellers were not very polished or very cultivated, but +in one respect their good breeding had the superiority over that of finer +folk. They never questioned my right to be saving, nor seemed to think the +worse of me for being poor. +</p> +<p> +Herr Heinfetter had counselled me to stay a few days at Vienna, and +provide myself with clothes more suitable to my new condition than those I +was wearing. +</p> +<p> +“If old Ignaz Oppovich saw a silk-lined coat, he 'd soon send you about +your business,” said he; “and as to that fine watch-chain and its gay +trinkets, you have only to appear with it once to get your dismissal.” + </p> +<p> +It was not easy, with my little experience of life, to see how these +things should enter into an estimate of me, or why Herr Ignaz should +concern him with other attributes of mine than such as touched my +clerkship; but as I was entering on a world where all was new, where not +only the people, but their prejudices and their likings, were all strange +to me, I resolved to approach them in an honest spirit, and with a desire +to conform to them as well as I was able. +</p> +<p> +Lest the name Norcott appearing in the newspapers in my father's case +should connect me with his story, Hein-fetter advised me to call myself +after my mother's family, which sounded, besides, less highly born; and I +had my passport made out in the name of Digby Owen. +</p> +<p> +“Mind, lad,” said the banker, as he parted with me, “give yourself no airs +with Ignaz Oppovich; do not turn up your nose at his homely fare, or +handle his coarse napkin as if it hurt your skin, as I have seen you do +here. From his door to destitution there is only a step, and bethink +yourself twice before you take it. I have done all I mean to do by you, +more than I shall ever be paid for. And now, goodbye.” + </p> +<p> +This sort of language grated very harshly on my ears at first; but I had +resolved to bear my lot courageously, and conform, where I could, to the +tone of those I had come down to. +</p> +<p> +I thanked him, then, respectfully and calmly, for his hospitality to me, +and went my way. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. FIUME +</h2> +<p> +“I saw a young fellow, so like that boy of Norcott's in a third-class +carriage,” I overheard a traveller say to his companion, as we stopped to +sup at Gratz. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll have scarcely come to that, I fancy,” said the other, “though +Norcott must have run through nearly everything by this time.” + </p> +<p> +It was about the last time I was to hear myself called in this fashion. +They who were to know me thenceforward were to know me by another name, +and in a rank that had no traditions; and I own I accepted this humble +fortune with a more contented spirit and with less chagrin than it cost me +to hear myself spoken of in this half-contemptuous fashion. +</p> +<p> +I was now very plainly, simply dressed. I made no display of studs or +watch-chain; I even gave up the ring I used to wear, and took care that my +gloves—in which I once was almost puppyish—should be the +commonest and the cheapest. +</p> +<p> +If there was something that at moments fell very heavily on my heart in +the utter destitution of my lot, there was, on the other hand, what nerved +my heart and stimulated me in the thought that there was some heroism in +what I was doing. I was, so to say, about to seek my fortune; and what to +a young mind could be more full of interest and anticipation than such a +thought? To be entirely self-dependent; to be thrown into situations of +difficulty, with nothing but one's own resources to rely on; to be obliged +to trust to one's head for counsel, and one's heart for courage; to see +oneself, as it were, alone against the world,—is intensely exciting. +</p> +<p> +In the days of romance there were personal perils to confront, and +appalling dangers to be surmounted; but now it was a game of life, to be +played, not merely with a stout heart and a ready hand, but with a cool +head and a steady eye. Young as I was, I had seen a great deal. In that +strange comedy of which my father's guests were the performers, there was +great insight into character to be gained, and a marvellous knowledge of +that skill by which they who live by their wits cultivate these same wits +to live. +</p> +<p> +If I was not totally corrupted by the habits and ways of that life, I owe +it wholly to those teachings of my dear mother which, through all the +turmoil and confusion of this ill-regulated existence, still held a place +in my heart, and led me again and again to ask myself how <i>she</i> would +think of this, or what judgment she would pass on that; and even in this +remnant of a conscience there was some safety. I tried to persuade myself +that it was well for me that all this was now over, and that an honest +existence was now about to open to me,—an existence in which my good +mother's lessons would avail me more, stimulate me to the right and save +me from the wrong, and give to the humblest cares of daily labor a halo +that had never shone on my life of splendor. +</p> +<p> +It was late at night when I reached Trieste, and I left it at daybreak. +The small steamer in which I had taken my passage followed the coast line, +calling at even the most insignificant little towns and villages, and +winding its track through that myriad of islands which lie scattered along +this strange shore. The quiet, old-world look of these quaint towns, the +simple articles they dealt in, the strange dress, and the stranger sounds +of the language of these people, all told me into what a new life I had +just set foot, and how essential it was to leave all my former habits +behind me as I entered here. +</p> +<p> +The sun had just gone below the sea, as we rounded the great promontory of +the north and entered the bay of Fiume. Scarcely had we passed in than the +channel seemed to close behind us, and we were moving along over what +looked like a magnificent lake bounded on every side by lofty mountains,—for +the islands of the bay are so placed that they conceal the openings to the +Adriatic. If the base of the great mountains was steeped in a blue, deep +and mellow as the sea itself, their summits glowed in the carbuncle tints +of the setting sun, and over these again long lines of cloud, golden and +azure streaks marked the sky, almost on fire, as it were, with the last +parting salute of the glorious orb that was setting. It was not merely +that I had never seen, but I could not have imagined such beauty of +landscape, and as we swept quietly along nearer the shore, and I could +mark the villas shrouded in the deep woods of chestnut and oak, and saw +the olive and the cactus, with the orange and the oleander, bending their +leafy branches over the blue water, I thought to myself, would not a life +there be nearer Paradise than anything wealth and fortune could buy +elsewhere? +</p> +<p> +“There, yonder,” said the captain, pointing to the ornamented chimneys of +a house surrounded by a deep oak-wood, and the terrace of which overhung +the sea, “that's the villa of old Ignaz Oppovich. They say the Emperor +tempted him with half a million of florins to sell it, but, miser as he +was and is, the old fellow refused it.” + </p> +<p> +“Is that Oppovich of the firm of Hodnig and Oppovich?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; the house is all Oppovich's now, and half Fiume too, I believe.” + </p> +<p> +“There are worse fellows than old Ignaz,” said another, gravely. “I wonder +what would become of the hospital, or the poor-house, or the asylum for +the orphans here, but for him.” + </p> +<p> +“He 's a Jew,” said another, spitting out with contempt. +</p> +<p> +“A Jew that could teach many a Christian the virtues of his own faith,” + cried the former. “A Jew that never refused an alms to the poor, no matter +of what belief, and that never spoke ill of his neighbor.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard as much good of him before, and I have been a member of the +town council with him these thirty years.” + </p> +<p> +The other touched his hat respectfully in recognition of the speaker's +rank, and said no more. +</p> +<p> +I took my little portmanteau in my hand as we landed, and made for a small +hotel which faced the sea. I had determined not to present myself to the +Herr Oppovich till morning, and to take that evening to see the town and +its-neighborhood. +</p> +<p> +As I strolled about, gazing with a stranger's curiosity at all that was +new and odd to me in this quiet spot, I felt coming over me that deep +depression which almost invariably falls upon him who, alone and +friendless, makes first acquaintance with the scene wherein he is to live. +How hard it is for him to believe that the objects he sees can ever become +of interest to him; how impossible it seems that he will live to look on +this as home; that he will walk that narrow street as a familiar spot; +giving back the kindly greetings that he gets, and feeling that strange, +mysterious sense of brotherhood that grows out of daily intercourse with +the same people! +</p> +<p> +I was curious to see where the Herr Oppovich lived, and found the place +after some search. The public garden of the town, a prettily planted spot, +lies between two mountain streams, flanked by tall mountains, and is +rather shunned by the inhabitants from its suspicion of damp. Through this +deserted spot—for I saw not one being as I went—I passed on to +a dark copse at the extreme end, and beyond which a small wooden bridge +led over to a garden wildly overgrown with evergreens and shrubs, and so +neglected that it was not easy at first to select the right path amongst +the many that led through the tangled brushwood. Following one of these, I +came out on a little lawn in front of a long low house of two stories. The +roof was high-pitched, and the windows narrow and defended by strong iron +shutters, which lay open on the outside wall, displaying many a bolt and +bar, indicative of strength and resistance. No smoke issued from a +chimney, not a sound broke the stillness, nor was there a trace of any +living thing around,—desolation like it I had never seen. At last, a +mean, half-starved dog crept coweringly across the lawn, and, drawing nigh +the door, stood and whined plaintively. After a brief pause the door +opened, the animal stole in; the door then closed with a bang, and all was +still as before. I turned back towards the town with a heavy heart; a +gloomy dread of those I was to be associated with on the morrow was over +me, and I went to the inn and locked myself into my room, and fell upon my +bed with a sense of desolation that found vent at last in a torrent of +tears. +</p> +<p> +As I look back on the night that followed, it seems to me one of the +saddest passages of my life. If I fell asleep, it was to dream of the +past, with all its exciting pleasures and delights, and then, awaking +suddenly, I found myself in this wretched, poverty-stricken room, where +every object spoke of misery, and recalled me to the thought of a +condition as ignoble and as lowly. +</p> +<p> +I remember well how I longed for day-dawn, that I might get up and wander +along the shore, and taste the fresh breeze, and hear the plash of the +sea, and seek in that greater, wider, and more beautiful world of nature a +peace that my own despairing thoughts would not suffer me to enjoy. And, +at the first gleam of light, I did steal down, and issue forth, to walk +for hours along the bay in a sort of enchantment from the beauty of the +scene, that filled me at last with a sense of almost happiness. I thought +of Pauline, too, and wondered would <i>she</i> partake of the delight this +lovely spot imparted to <i>me?</i> Would <i>she</i> see these leafy woods, +that bold mountain, that crystal sea, with its glittering sands many a +fathom deep, as I saw them? And if so, what a stimulus to labor and grow +rich was in the thought. +</p> +<p> +In pleasant reveries, that dashed the future with much that had delighted +me in the past, the hours rolled on till it was time to present myself at +Herr Oppovich's. Armed with my letter of introduction, I soon found myself +at the door of a large warehouse, over which his name stood in big +letters. A narrow wooden stair ascended steeply from the entrance to a +long low room, in which fully twenty clerks were busily engaged at their +desks. At the end of this, in a smaller room, I was told Herr Ignaz—for +he was always so called—held his private office. +</p> +<p> +Before I was well conscious of it, I was standing in this room before a +short, thick-set old man, with heavy eyebrows and beard, and whose long +coat of coarse cloth reached to his feet. +</p> +<p> +He sat and examined me as he read the note, pausing at times in the +reading as if to compare me with the indications before him. +</p> +<p> +“Digby Owen,—is that the name?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Native of Ireland, and never before employed in commercial pursuits?” + </p> +<p> +I nodded to this interrogatory. +</p> +<p> +“Ikam not in love with Ireland, nor do I feel a great liking for +ignorance, Herr Owen,” said he, slowly; and there was a deep +impressiveness in his tone, though the words came with the thick +accentuation of the Jew. “My old friend and correspondent should have +remembered these prejudices of mine. Herr Jacob Heinfetter should not have +sent you here.” + </p> +<p> +I knew not what reply to make to this, and was silent +</p> +<p> +“He should not have sent you here;” and he repeated the words with +increased solemnity. “What do you want me to do with you?” said he, +sharply, after a brief pause. +</p> +<p> +“Anything that will serve to let me earn my bread,” said I, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“But I can get scores like you, young man, for the wages we give servants +here; and would you be content with that?” + </p> +<p> +“I must take what you are pleased to give me.” + </p> +<p> +He rang a little bell beside him, and cried out, “Send Harasch here.” And, +at the word, a short, beetle-browed, ill-favored young fellow appeared at +the door, pen in hand. +</p> +<p> +“Bring me your ledger,” said the old man. “Look here now,” said he to me, +as he turned over the beautifully clean and neatly kept volume: “this is +the work of one who earns six hundred florins a year. You began with four, +Harasch?” + </p> +<p> +“Three hundred, Herr Ignaz,” said the lad, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“Can you live and wear such clothes as these,” said the old man, touching +my tweed coat, “for three hundred florins a year,—paper florins, +mind, which in your money would make about twenty-five pounds?” + </p> +<p> +“I will do my best with it,” said I, determined he should not deter me by +mere words. +</p> +<p> +“Take him with you, Harasch; let him copy into the waste-book. We shall +see in a few days what he's fit for.” + </p> +<p> +At a sign from the youth I followed him out, and soon found myself in the +outer room, where a considerable number of the younger clerks were waiting +to acknowledge me. +</p> +<p> +Nothing could well be less like the manners and habits I was used to than +the coarse familiarity and easy impertinence of these young fellows. They +questioned me about my birth, my education, my means, what circumstance +had driven me to my present step, and why none of my friends had done +anything to save me from it Not content with a number of very searching +inquiries, they began to assure me that Herr Ignaz would not put up with +my incapacity for a week. “He 'll send you into the yard,” cried one; and +the sentence was chorused at once. “Ja! ja! he'll be sent into the yard.” + And though I was dying to know what that might mean, my pride restrained +my curiosity, and I would not condescend to ask. +</p> +<p> +“Won't he be fine in the yard!” I heard one whisper to another, and they +both began laughing at the conceit; and I now sat down on a bench and lost +myself in thought. +</p> +<p> +“Come; we are going to dinner, Englander,” said Harasch to me at last; and +I arose and followed him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. HANSERL OF THE YARD +</h2> +<p> +I was soon to learn what being “sent into the yard” meant. Within a week +that destiny was mine. Being so sent was the phrase for being charged to +count the staves as they arrived in wagon-loads from Hungary,—oaken +staves being the chief “industry” of Fiume, and the principal source of +Herr Oppovich's fortune. +</p> +<p> +My companion, and, indeed, my instructor in this intellectual employment, +was a strange-looking, dwarfish creature, who, whatever the season, wore a +suit of dark yellow leather, the jerkin being fastened round the waist by +a broad belt with a heavy brass buckle. He had been in the yard +three-and-forty years, and though his assistants had been uniformly +promoted to the office, he had met no advancement in life, but was still +in the same walk and the same grade in which he had started. +</p> +<p> +Hans Sponer was, however, a philosopher, and went on his road +uncomplainingly. He said that the open air and the freedom were better +than the closeness and confinement within-doors, and if his pay was +smaller, his healthier appetite made him able to relish plainer food; and +this mode of reconciling things—striking the balance between good +and ill—went through all he said or did, and his favorite phrase, +“Es ist fast einerley,” or “It comes to about the same,” comprised his +whole system of worldly knowledge. +</p> +<p> +If at first I felt the occupation assigned to me as an insult and a +degradation, Hanserl's companionship soon reconciled me to submit to it +with patience. It was not merely that he displayed an invariable +good-humor and pleasantry, but there was a forbearance about him, and a +delicacy in his dealing with me, actually gentlemanlike. Thus, he never +questioned me as to my former condition, nor asked by what accident I had +fallen to my present lot; and, while showing in many ways that he saw I +was unused to hardship, he rather treated my inexperience as a mere +fortuitous circumstance than as a thing to comment or dwell on. Han-serl, +besides this, taught me how to live on my humble pay of a florin and ten +kreutzers—about two shillings—daily. I had a small room that +led out into the yard, and could consequently devote my modest salary to +my maintenance. The straitened economy of Hans himself had enabled him to +lay by about eight hundred florins, and he strongly advised me to arrange +my mode of life on a plan that would admit of such a prudent saving. +</p> +<p> +Less for this purpose than to give my friend a strong proof of the full +confidence I reposed in his judgment and his honor, I confided to his care +all my earnings, and only begged he would provide for me as for himself; +and thus Hans and I became inseparable. We took our coffee together at +daybreak, our little soup and boiled beef at noon, and our potato-salad, +with perhaps a sardine or such like, at night for supper; the +“Viertelwein”—the fourth of a bottle—being equitably divided +between us to cheer our hearts and cement good-fellowship on certainly as +acrid a liquor as ever served two such excellent ends. +</p> +<p> +None of the clerks would condescend to know us. Herr Fripper, the cashier, +would nod to us in the street, but the younger men never recognized us at +all, save in some expansive moment of freedom by a wink or a jerk of the +head. We were in a most subordinate condition, and they made us feel it. +</p> +<p> +From Hans I learned that Herr Oppovich was a widower with two children, a +son and a daughter. The former was an irreclaimable scamp and vagabond, +whose debts had been paid over and over again, and who had been turned out +of the army with disgrace, and was now wandering about Europe, living on +his father's friends, and trading for small loans on his family name. This +was Adolph Oppovich. The girl—Sara she was called—was, in +Hanserl's judgment, not much more to be liked than her brother. She was +proud and insolent to a degree that would have been remarkable in a +princess of a reigning house. From the clerks she exacted a homage that +was positively absurd. It was not alone that they should always stand +uncovered as she passed, but that if any had occasion to address her he +should prelude what he had to say by kissing her hand, an act of vassalage +that in Austria is limited to persons of the humblest kind. +</p> +<p> +“She regards me as a wild beast, and I am therefore spared this piece of +servitude,” said Hans; and he laughed his noiseless uncouth laugh as he +thought of his immunity. +</p> +<p> +“Is she handsome?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“How can she be handsome when she is so overbearing?” said he. “Is not +beauty gentleness, mildness, softness? How can it agree with eyes that +flash disdain, and a mouth that seems to curl with insolence? The old +proverb says, 'Schönheit ist Sanftheit;' and that's why Our Lady is always +so lovely.” + </p> +<p> +Hanserl was a devout Catholic; and not impossibly this sentiment made his +judgment of the young Jewess all the more severe. Of Herr Oppovich himself +he would say little. Perhaps he deemed it was not loyal to discuss him +whose bread he ate; perhaps he had not sufficient experience of me to +trust me with his opinion; at all events, he went no further than an +admission that he was wise and keen in business,—one who made few +mistakes himself, nor forgave them easily in another. +</p> +<p> +“Never do more than he tells you to do, younker,” said Hans to me one day; +“and he 'll trust you, if you do that well.” And this was not the least +valuable hint he gave me. +</p> +<p> +Hans had a great deal of small worldly wisdom, the fruit rather of a long +experience than of any remarkable gift of observation. As he said himself, +it took him four years to learn the business of the yard; and as I +acquired the knowledge in about a week, he regarded me as a perfect +genius. +</p> +<p> +We soon became fast and firm friends. The way in which I had surrendered +myself to his guidance—giving him up the management of my money, and +actually submitting to his authority as though I were his son—had +won upon the old man immensely; while I, on my side,—friendless and +companionless, save with himself,—drew close to the only one who +seemed to take an interest in me. At first,—I must own it,—as +we wended our way at noon towards the little eating-house where we dined, +and I saw the friends with whom Hans exchanged greetings, and felt the +class and condition he belonged to reflected in the coarse looks and +coarser ways of his associates, I was ashamed to think to what I had +fallen. I had, indeed, no respect nor any liking for the young fellows of +the counting-house. They were intensely, offensively vulgar; but they had +the outward semblance, the dress, and the gait of their betters, and they +were privileged by appearance to stroll into a <i>café</i> and sit down, +from which I and my companion would speedily have been ejected. I confess +I envied them that mere right of admission into the well-dressed world, +and sorrowed over my own exclusion as though it had been inflicted on me +as a punishment. +</p> +<p> +This jealous feeling met no encouragement from Hans. The old man had no +rancour of any kind in his nature. He had no sense of discontent with his +condition, nor any desire to change it. Counting staves seemed to him a +very fitting way to occupy existence; and he knew of many occupations that +were less pleasant and less wholesome. Rags, for instance, for the +paper-mill, or hides, in both of which Herr Ignaz dealt, Hans would have +seriously disliked; but staves were cleanly, and smelt fresh and sweetly +of the oak-wood they came from; and there was something noble in their +destiny—to form casks and hogsheads for the rich wines of France and +Spain—which he was fond of recalling; and so would he say, “Without +you and me, boy, or those like us, they 'd have no vats nor barrels for +the red grape-juice.” + </p> +<p> +While he thus talked to me, trying to invest our humble calling with what +might elevate it in my eyes, I struggled often with myself whether I +should not tell him the story of my life,—in what rank I had lived, +to what hopes of fortune I had been reared. Would this knowledge have +raised me in the old man's esteem, or would it have estranged him from me? +that was the question. How should I come through the ordeal of his +judgment,—higher or lower? A mere chance decided for me what all my +pondering could not resolve. Hans came home one night with a little book +in his hand, a present for me. It was a French grammar, and, as he told +me, the key to all knowledge. +</p> +<p> +“The French are the great people of the world,” said he, “and till you +know their tongue, you can have no real insight into learning.” There was +a “younker,” once under him in the yard, who, just because he could read +and write French, was now a cashier, with six hundred florins' salary. +“When you have worked hard for three months, we 'll look out for a master, +Owen.” + </p> +<p> +“But I know it already, Hanserl,” said I, proudly. “I speak it even better +than I speak German, and Italian too! Ay, stare at me, but it's true. I +had masters for these, and for Greek and Latin; and I was taught to draw, +and to sing, and to play the piano, and I learned how to ride and to +dance.” + </p> +<p> +“Just like a born gentleman,” broke in Hans. +</p> +<p> +“I was, and I am, a born gentleman; don't shake your head, or wring your +hands, Hanserl. I 'm not going mad! These are not ravings! I 'll soon +convince you what I say is true.” And I hurried to my room, and, opening +my trunk, took out my watch and some trinkets, some studs of value, and a +costly chain my father gave me. “These are all mine! I used to wear them +once, as commonly as I now wear these bone buttons. There were more +servants in my father's house than there are clerks in Herr Oppovich's +counting-house. Let me tell you who I was, and how I came to be what I +am.” + </p> +<p> +I told him my whole story, the old man listening with an eagerness quite +intense, but never more deeply interested than when I told of the +splendors and magnificence of my father's house. He never wearied hearing +of costly entertainments and great banqueta, where troops of servants +waited, and every wish of the guests was at once ministered to. +</p> +<p> +“And all this,” cried he, at last, “all this, day after day, night after +night, and not once a year only, as we see it here, on the Fraulein Sara's +birthday!” And now the poor old man, as if to compensate himself for +listening so long, broke out into a description of the festivities by +which Herr Oppovich celebrated his daughter's birthday; an occasion on +which he invited all in his employment to pass the day at his villa, on +the side of the bay, and when, by Hanserl's account, a most unbounded +hospitality held sway. “There are no portions, no measured quantities, but +each is free to eat and drink as he likes,” cried Hans, who, with this +praise, described a banquet of millennial magnificence. “But you will see +for yourself,” added he; “for even the 'yard' is invited.” + </p> +<p> +I cautioned him strictly not to divulge what I had told him of myself; nor +was it necessary, after all, for he well knew how Herr Ignaz resented the +thought of any one in his service having other pretensions than such as +grew out of his own favor towards them. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“You'd be sent away to-morrow, younker,” said he, “if he but knew what +you were. There's an old proverb shows how they think of people of +quality:— + +'Die Joden nicht dulden +Ben Herrechaft mit Schulden.' +</pre> +<p> +The Jews cannot abide the great folk, with their indebtedness; and to deem +these inseparable is a creed. +</p> +<p> +“On the 31st of August falls the Fraulein's birthday, lad, and you shall +tell me the next morning if your father gave a grander <i>fête</i> than +that!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. THE SAIL ACROSS THE BAY +</h2> +<p> +The 31st of August dawned at last, and with the promise of a lovely +autumnal day. It was the one holiday of the year at Herr Oppovich's: for +Sunday was only externally observed in deference to the feelings of the +Christian world, and clerks sat at their desks inside, and within the +barred shutters the whole work of life went on as though a week-day. As +for us in the yard, it was our day of most rigorous discipline; for Iguaz +himself was wont to come down on a tour of inspection, and his quick +glances were sure to detect at once the slightest irregularity or neglect. +He seldom noticed me on these occasions. A word addressed to Hanserl as to +how the “younker” was doing, would be all the recognition vouchsafed me, +or, at most, a short nod of the head would convey that he had seen me. +Hanserl's reports were, however, always favorable; and I had so far good +reason to believe that my master was content with me. +</p> +<p> +From Hans, who had talked of nothing but this fête for three or four +weeks, I had learned that a beautiful villa which Herr Ignaz owned on the +west side of the bay was always opened. It was considered much too grand a +place to live in, being of princely proportions and splendidly furnished; +indeed, it had come into Herr Oppovich's possession on a mortgage, and the +thought of using it as a residence never occurred to him. To have kept the +grounds alone in order would have cost a moderate fortune; and as there +was no natural supply of water on the spot, a steam-pump was kept in +constant use to direct streams in different directions. This, which its +former owner freely paid for, was an outlay that Herr Oppovich regarded as +most wasteful, and reduced at once to the very narrowest limits consistent +with the life of the plants and shrubs around. The ornamental fountains +were, of course, left unfed; <i>jets-d'eau</i> ceased to play; and the +various tanks in which water-nymphs of white marble disported, were dried +up; ivy and the wild vine draping the statues, and hiding the sculptured +urns in leafy embrace. +</p> +<p> +Of the rare plants and flowers, hundreds, of course, died; indeed, none +but those of hardy nature could survive this stinted aliment. Greenhouses +and conservatories, too, fell into disrepair and neglect; but such was the +marvellous wealth of vegetation that, fast as walls would crumble and +architraves give way, foliage and blossom would spread over the rain, and +the rare plants within, mingling with the stronger vegetation without, +would form a tangled mass of leafy beauty of surpassing loveliness; and +thus the rarest orchids were seen stretching their delicate tendrils over +forest-trees, and the cactus and the mimosa mingled with common +field-flowers. If I linger amongst these things, it is because they +contrasted so strikingly to me with the trim propriety and fastidious +neatness of the Malibran Villa, where no leaf littered a walk, nor a +single tarnished blossom was suffered to remain on its stalk. Yet was the +Abazzia Villa a thousand times more beautiful. In the one, the uppermost +thought was the endless care and skill of the gardeners, and the wealth +that had provided them. The clink of gold seemed to rise from the crushed +gravel as you walked; the fountains glittered with gold; the +conservatories exhaled it. Here, however, it seemed as though Nature, rich +in her own unbounded resources, was showing how little she needed of man +or his appliances. It was the very exuberance of growth on every side; and +all this backed by a bold mountain lofty as an Alp, and washed by a sea in +front, and that sea the blue Adriatic. +</p> +<p> +I had often heard of the thrift and parsimony of Herr Oppovich's +household. Even in the humble eating-house I frequented, sneers at its +economies were frequent. No trace of such a saving spirit displayed itself +on this occasion. Not merely were guests largely and freely invited, but +carriages were stationed at appointed spots to convey them to the villa, +and a number of boats awaited at the mole for those who preferred to go by +water. This latter mode of conveyance was adopted by the clerks and +officials of the house, as savoring less of pretension; and so was it that +just as the morning was ripening into warmth, I found myself one of a +large company in a wide eight-oared boat, calmly skimming along towards +Abazzia. By some accident I got separated from Hanserl; and when I waved +my hand to him to join me, he delayed to return my salutation, for, as he +said afterwards, I was <i>gar schon</i>,—quite fine,—and he +did not recognize me. +</p> +<p> +It was true I had dressed myself in the velvet jacket and vest I had worn +on the night of our own fête, and wore my velvet cap, without, however, +the heron feather, any more than I put on any of my trinkets, or even my +watch. +</p> +<p> +This studied simplicity on my part was not rewarded as I hoped for; since, +scarcely were we under way, than my dress and “get-up” became the subject +of an animated debate among my companions, who discussed me with a freedom +and a candor that showed they regarded me simply as a sort of lay figure +for the display of so much drapery. +</p> +<p> +“That's how they dress in the yard,” cried one; “and we who have three +times the pay, can scarcely afford broadcloth. Will any one explain that +to me?” + </p> +<p> +“There must be rare perquisites down there,” chimed in another; “for they +say that the old dwarf Hanserl has laid by two thousand gulden.” + </p> +<p> +“They tell <i>me</i> five thousand,” said another. +</p> +<p> +“Two or twenty-two would make no difference. No fellow on his pay could +honestly do more than keep life in his body, not to speak of wearing +velvet like the younker there.” + </p> +<p> +A short digression now intervened, one of the party having suggested that +in England velvet was the cheapest wear known, that all the laborers on +canals and railroads wore it from economy, and that, in fact, it was the +badge of a very humble condition. The assertion encountered some +disbelief, and it was ultimately suggested to refer the matter to me for +decision, this being the first evidence they had given of their +recognition of me as a sentient being. +</p> +<p> +“What would <i>he</i> know?” broke in an elderly clerk; “he must have come +away from England a mere child, seeing how he speaks German now.” + </p> +<p> +“Or if he did know, is it likely he'd tell?” observed another. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, let us ask him what it costs. I say, Knabe, come here and +let us see your fine clothes; we are all proud of having so grand a +colleague.” + </p> +<p> +“You might show your pride, then, more suitably than by insulting him,” + said I, with perfect calm. +</p> +<p> +Had I discharged a loaded pistol in the midst of them, the dismay and +astonishment could not have been greater. +</p> +<p> +That any one “aus dem Hof”—“out of the yard”—should presume to +think he had feelings that could be outraged, seemed a degree of arrogance +beyond belief, and my word “insult” was repeated from mouth to mouth with +amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, Knabe,” said the cashier, in a voice of blended gentleness and +command,— “come here, and let us talk to you.” + </p> +<p> +I arose and made my way from the bow to the stern of the boat. Short as +the distance was, it gave me time to bethink me that I must repress all +anger or irritation if I desired to keep my secret; so that when I reached +my place, my mind was made up. +</p> +<p> +“Silk-velvet as I live!” said one who passed his hand along my sleeve as I +went. +</p> +<p> +“No one wishes to offend you, youngster,” said the cashier to me, as he +placed me beside him; “nor when we talk freely to each other, as is our +wont, are any of us offended.” + </p> +<p> +“But you forget, sir,” said I, “that I have no share in these freedoms, +and that were I to attempt them, you'd resent the liberty pretty soon.” + </p> +<p> +“The Knabe is right,” “He says what's true,” “He speaks sensibly,” were +muttered all around. +</p> +<p> +“You have been well educated, I suspect?” said the cashier, in a gentle +voice; and now the thought that by a word—a mere word—I might +compromise myself beyond recall flashed across me, and I answered, “I have +learned some things.” + </p> +<p> +“One of which was caution,” broke in another; and a roar of laughter +welcomed his joke. +</p> +<p> +Many a severer sarcasm would not have cut so deeply into me. The +imputation of a reserve based on cunning was too much for my temper, and +in a moment I forgot all prudence, And hotly said, “If I am such an object +of interest to you, gentlemen, that you must know even the details of my +education, the only way I see to satisfy this curiosity of yours is to say +that, if you will question me as to what I know And what I do not, I will +do my best to answer you.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a challenge,” cried one; “he thinks we are too illiterate to +examine him.” + </p> +<p> +“We see that you speak German fluently,” said the cashier; “do you know +French?” + </p> +<p> +I nodded assent +</p> +<p> +“And Italian and English?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; English is my native language.” + </p> +<p> +“What about Greek and Latin, boy?” + </p> +<p> +“Very little Greek; some half-dozen Latin authors.” + </p> +<p> +“Any Hebrew?” chimed in one, with a smile of half mockery. +</p> +<p> +“Not a syllable.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a pity, for you could have chatted with Herr Ignaz in it.” + </p> +<p> +“Or the Fraulein,” muttered another. “She knows no Hebrew,” “She does; she +reads it well,” “Nothing of the kind,” were quickly spoken from many +quarters; and a very hot discussion ensued, in which the Fraulein Sara's +accomplishments and acquirements took the place of mine in public +interest. +</p> +<p> +While the debate went on with no small warmth on either side,—for it +involved a personal question that stimulated each of the combatants; +namely, the amount of intimacy they enjoyed in the family and household of +their master: a point on which they seemed to feel the most acute +sensibility,—while this, therefore, continued, the cashier patted me +good-humoredly on the arm, and asked me how I liked Fiume; if I had made +any pleasant acquaintances; and how I usually passed my evenings? And +while thus chatting pleasantly, we glided into the little bay of the +villa, and landed. +</p> +<p> +As boat after boat came alongside the jetty, numbers rushed down to meet +and welcome their friends. All seemed half wild with delight; and the +adventures they had had on the road, the loveliness of the villa, and the +courtesy they had been met with, resounded on every side. All had friends, +eager to talk or to listen,—all but myself. I alone had no +companionship; for in the crowd and confusion I could not find Hanserl, +and to ask after him was but to risk the danger of an impertinence. +</p> +<p> +I sat myself down on a rustic bench at last, thinking that if I remained +fixed in one spot I might have the best chance to discover him. And now I +could mark the strange company, which, of every age, and almost of every +condition, appeared to be present. If the marked features of the Hebrew +abounded, there were types of the race that I had never seen before: +fair-haired and olive-eyed, with a certain softness of expression, united +with great decision about the mouth and chin. The red Jew, too, was there: +the fierce-eyed, dark-browed, hollow-cheeked fellow, of piercing +acute-ness in expression, and an almost reckless look of purpose about +him. There was greed, craft, determination, at times even violence, to be +read in the faces; but never weakness, never imbecility; and so striking +was this that the Christian physiognomy seemed actually vulgar when +contrasted with those faces so full of vigorous meaning and concentration. +</p> +<p> +Nothing could be less like my father's guests than these people. It was +not in dress and demeanor and general carriage that they differed,—in +their gestures as they met, in their briefest greetings,—but the +whole character of their habite, as expressed by their faces, seemed so +unlike that I could not imagine any clew to their several ranks, and how +this one was higher or greater than that. All the nationalities of Eastern +Europe were there,—Hungarian, Styrian, Dalmatian, and Albanian. +Traders all: this one bond of traffic and gain blending into a sort of +family races and creeds the most discordant, and types whose forefathers +had been warring with each other for centuries. Plenty of coarseness there +was, unculture and roughness everywhere; but, strangely enough, little +vulgarity and no weakness, no deficient energy anywhere. They were the +warriors of commerce; and they brought to the battle of trade resolution +and boldness and persistence and daring not a whit inferior to what their +ancestors had carried into personal conflict. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. AT THE FÊTE +</h2> +<p> +If, seated on my rustic bench under a spreading ilex, I was not joining in +the pleasures and amusements of those around me, I was tasting an amount +of enjoyment to the full as great It was my first holiday after many +months of monotonous labor. It was the first moment in which I felt myself +free to look about me without the irksome thought of a teasing duty,—that +everlasting song of score and tally, which Hans and I sang duet fashion, +and which at last seemed to enter into my very veins and circulate with my +blood. +</p> +<p> +The scene itself was of rare beauty. Seated as I was, the bay appeared a +vast lake, for the outlet that led seaward was backed by an island, and +thus the coast-line seemed unbroken throughout. Over this wide expanse now +hundreds of fishing-boats were moving in every direction, for the wind was +blowing fresh from the land, and permitted them to tack and beat as they +pleased. If thus in the crisply curling waves, the flitting boats, and the +fast-flying clouds above, there was motion and life, there was, in the +high peaked-mountain that frowned above me, and in the dark rocks that +lined the shore, a stern, impassive grandeur that became all the more +striking from contrast. The plashing water, the fishermen's cries, the +merry laughter of the revellers as they strayed through brake and copse, +seemed all but whispering sounds in that vast amphitheatre of mountain, so +solemn was the influence of those towering crags that rose towards heaven. +</p> +<p> +“Have you been sitting there ever since?” asked the cashier, as he passed +me with a string of friends. +</p> +<p> +“Ever since.” + </p> +<p> +“Not had any breakfast?” + </p> +<p> +“None.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor paid your compliments to Herr Ignaz and the Fraulein?” + </p> +<p> +I shook my bead in dissent. +</p> +<p> +“Worst of all,” said he, half rebukingly, and passed on. I now bethought +me how remiss I had been. It is true it was through a sense of my own +insignificant station that I had not presented myself to my host; but I +ought to have remembered that this excuse could have no force outside the +limits of my own heart; and so, as I despaired of finding Hanserl, whose +advice might have aided me, I set out at once to make my respects. +</p> +<p> +A long, straight avenue, flanked by tall lime-trees, led from the sea to +the house; and as I passed up this, crowded now like the chief promenade +of a city, I heard many comments as I went on my dress and appearance. +“What have we here?” said one. “Is this a prince or a mountebank?” “What +boy, with a much-braid-bedizened velvet coat is this?” muttered an old +German, as he pointed at me with his pipe-stick.. +</p> +<p> +One pronounced me a fencing-master; but public reprobation found its limit +at last by calling me a Frenchman. Shall I own that I heard all these with +something much more akin to pride than to shame? The mere fact that they +recognized me as unlike one of themselves—that they saw in me what +was not “Fiumano “—was in itself a flattery; and as to the +depreciation, it was pure ignorance! I am afraid that I even showed how +defiantly I took this criticism,—showed it in my look, and showed it +in my gait; for as I ascended the steps to the terrace of the villa, I +heard more than one comment on my pretentious demeanor. Perhaps some rumor +of the approach of a distinguished guest had reached Herr Oppovich where +he sat, at a table with some of the magnates of Fiume, for be hastily +arose and came forward to meet me. Just as I gained the last terrace, the +old man stood bareheaded and bowing before me, a semicircle of wondering +guests at either side of him. +</p> +<p> +“Whom have I the distinguished honor to receive?” said Herr Ignaz, with a +profound show of deference. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you know me, sir? Owen,—Digby Owen.” + </p> +<p> +“What!—how?—Eh—in heaven's name—sure it can't be! +Why, I protest it is,” cried he, laying his hand on my shoulder, as if to +test my reality. “This passes all belief. Who ever saw the like! Come +here, Knabe, come here.” And slipping his hand within my arm, he led me +towards the table he had just quitted. “Sara,” cried he, “here is a guest +you have not noticed; a high and wellborn stranger, who claims all your +attention. Let him have the place of honor at your side. This, ladies and +gentlemen, is Herr Digby Owen, the stave-counter of my timber-yard!” And +he burst, with this, into a roar of laughter, that, long pent up by an +effort, now seemed to threaten him with a fit Nor was the company slow in +chorusing him; round after round shook the table, and it seemed as if the +joke could never be exhausted. +</p> +<p> +All this time I stood with my eyes fixed on the Fraulein, whose glance was +directed as steadfastly on me. It was a haughty look she bent on me, but +it became her well, and I forgave all the scorn it conveyed in the +pleasure her beauty gave me. My face, which at first was in a flame, +became suddenly cold, and a faintish sickness was creeping over me, so +that, to steady myself, I had to lay my hand on a chair. “Won't you sit +down?” said she, in a voice fully as much command as invitation. She +pointed to a chair a little distance from her own, and I obeyed. +</p> +<p> +The company appeared now somewhat ashamed of its rude display of +merriment, and seeing how quietly and calmly I bore myself,—unresentingly +too,—there seemed something like a reaction in my favor. Foreigners, +it must be said, are generally sorry when betrayed into any exhibition of +ill-breeding, and hastily seek to make amends for it Perhaps Herr Oppovich +himself was the least ready in this movement, for he continued to look on +me with a strange blending of displeasure and amusement. +</p> +<p> +The business of breakfast was now resumed, and the servants passed round +with the dishes, helping me amongst the rest. While I was eating, I heard—what, +of course, was not meant for my ears—an explanation given by one of +the company of my singular appearance. He had lived in England, and said +that the English of every condition had a passion for appearing to belong +to some rank above their own; that to accomplish this there was no +sacrifice they would not make, for these assumptions imposed upon those +who made them fully as much as on the public they were made for. “You 'll +see,” added he, “that the youth there, so long as he figures in that fine +dress, will act up to it, so far as he knows how. He talked with a degree +of assurance and fluency that gained conviction, and I saw that his +hearers went along with him, and there soon began—very cautiously +and very guardedly, indeed—a sort of examination of me and my +pretensions, for which, fortunately for me, I was so far prepared. +</p> +<p> +“And do all English boys of your rank in life speak and read four +languages?” asked Herr Ignaz, after listening some time to my answers. +</p> +<p> +“You are assuming to know his rank, papa,” whispered Sara, who watched me +closely during the whole interrogatory. +</p> +<p> +“Let him answer my question,” rejoined the old man, roughly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not all,” said I, half amused at the puzzle I was becoming to +them. +</p> +<p> +“Then how came it your fortune to know them,—that is, if you <i>do</i> +know them?” + </p> +<p> +Slipping out of his question, I replied, “Nothing can be easier than to +test that point. There are gentlemen here whose acquirements go far beyond +mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Your German is very good,” said Sara. “Let me hear you speak French.” + </p> +<p> +“It is too much honor for me,” said I, bowing, “to address you at all.” + </p> +<p> +“Is your Italian as neat in accent as that?” asked a lady near. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I am best in Italian,—of course, after English,—for +I always talked it with my music-master, as well as with my teacher.” + </p> +<p> +“Music-master!” cried Herr Ignaz; “what phoenix have we here?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think we are quite fair to this boy,” said a stern-featured, +middle-aged man. “He has shown us that there is no imposition in his +pretensions, and we have no right to question him further. If Herr Ignaz +thinks you too highly gifted for his service, young man, come over to Carl +Bettmeyer's counting-house to-morrow at noon.” + </p> +<p> +“I thank you, sir,” said I, “and am very grateful; but if Herr Oppovich +will bear with me, I will not leave him.” + </p> +<p> +Sara's eyes met mine as I spoke, and I cannot tell what a flood of rapture +her look sent into my heart. +</p> +<p> +“The boy will do well enough,” muttered Herr Ignaz. “Let us have a ramble +through the grounds, and see how the skittle-players go on.” + </p> +<p> +And thus passed off the little incident of my appearance: an incident of +no moment to any but myself, as I was soon to feel; for the company, +descending the steps, strayed away in broken twos or threes through the +grounds, as caprice or will inclined them. +</p> +<p> +If I were going to chronicle the fête itself, I might, perhaps, say there +was a striking contrast between the picturesque beauty of the spot, and +the pastime of those who occupied it The scene recalled nothing so much as +a village fair. All the simple out-of-door amusements of popular taste +were there. There were conjurors and saltimbanques and fortune-tellers, +lottery-booths and ninepin alleys and restaurants, only differing from +their prototypes in that there was nothing to pay. If a considerable +number of the guests were well pleased with the pleasures provided for +them, there were others no less amused as spectators of these enjoyments, +and the result was an amount of mirth and good humor almost unbounded. +There were representatives of almost every class and condition, from the +prosperous merchant or rich banker down to the humblest clerk, or even the +porter of the warehouse; and yet a certain tone of equality pervaded all, +and I observed that they mixed with each other on terms of friendliness +and familiarity that never recalled any difference of condition; and this +feature alone was an ample counterpoise to any vulgarity observable in +their manners. If there was any “snobbery,” it was of a species quite +unlike what we have at home, and I could not detect it. +</p> +<p> +While I strolled about, amusing myself with the strange sights and scenes +around me, I suddenly came upon a sort of merry-go-round, where the +performers, seated on small hobby-horses, tilted with a lance at a ring as +they spun round, their successes or failures being hailed with cheers or +with laughter from the spectators. To my intense astonishment, I might +almost say shame, Hanserl was there! Mounted on a fiery little gray, with +bloodshot eyes and a flowing tail, the old fellow seemed to have caught +the spirit of his steed, for he stood up in his stirrups, and leaned +forward with an eagerness that showed how he enjoyed the sport. Why was it +that the spectacle so shocked me? Why was it that I shrunk back into the +crowd, fearful that he might recognize me? Was it not well if the poor +fellow could throw off, even for a passing moment, the weary drudgery of +his daily life, and play the fool just for distraction' sake? All this I +could have believed and accepted a short time before, and yet now a +strange revulsion of feeling had come over me and I went away, well +pleased that Hans had not seen nor claimed me. “These vulgar games don't +amuse you,” said a voice at my side; and I turned and saw the merchant +who, at the breakfast-table, invited me to his counting-house. +</p> +<p> +“Not that,” said I; “but they seem strange and odd at a private +entertainment I was scarce prepared to see them here.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect that is not exactly the reason,” said he, laughing. “I know +something of your English tone of exclusiveness, and how each class of +your people has its appropriate pleasures. You scorn to be amused in low +company.” + </p> +<p> +“You seem to forget my own condition, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said he, with a knowing look, “I am not so easily imposed +upon, as I told you awhile back. I know England. Your ways and notions are +all known to me. It is not in the place you occupy here young lads are +found who speak three or four languages, and have hands that show as few +signs of labor as yours. Mind,” said he, quickly, “I don't want to know +your secret.” + </p> +<p> +“If I had a secret, it is scarcely likely I 'd tell it to a stranger,” + said I, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; you 'd know your man before you trusted him. Well, I 'm more +generous, and I 'm going to trust you, whom I never saw till half an hour +ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Trust <i>me!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Trust you,” repeated he, slowly. “And first of all, what age would you +give that young lady whose birthday we are celebrating?” + </p> +<p> +“Seventeen—eighteen—perhaps nineteen.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought you'd say so; she looks nineteen. Well, I can tell you her age +to an hour. She is fifteen to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Fifteen!” + </p> +<p> +“Not a day older, and yet she is the most finished coquette in Europe. +Having given Fiume to understand that there is not a man here whose +pretensions she would listen to, her whole aim and object is to surround +herself with admirers,—I might say worshippers. Young fellows are +fools enough to believe they have a chance of winning her favor, while +each sees how contemptuously she treats the other. They do not perceive it +is the number of adorers she cares for.” + </p> +<p> +“But what is all this to me?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply that you 'll be enlisted in that corps to-morrow,” said he, with a +malicious laugh; “and I thought I 'd do you a good turn to warn you as to +what is in store for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Me? <i>I</i> enlisted! Why, just bethink you, sir, who and what I am: the +very lowest creature in her father's employment.” + </p> +<p> +“What does that signify? There's a mystery about you. You are not—at +least you were not—what you seem now. You have as good looks and +better manners than the people usually about her. She can amuse herself +with you, and so far harmlessly that she can dismiss you when she's tired +of you, and if she can only persuade you to believe yourself in love with +her, and can store up a reasonable share of misery for you in consequence, +you 'll make her nearer being happy than she has felt this many a day.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't understand all this,” said I, doubtingly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, you will one of these days; that is, unless you have the good sense +to take my warning in good part, and avoid her altogether.” + </p> +<p> +“It will be quite enough for me to bear in mind who she is, and what <i>I</i> +am!” said I, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“You think so? Well, I don't agree with you. At all events, keep what I +have said to yourself, even if you don't mean to profit by it” And with +this he left me. +</p> +<p> +That strange education of mine, in which M. de Balzac figured as a chief +instructor, made me reflect on what I had heard in a spirit little like +that of an ordinary lad of sixteen years of age. Those wonderful stories, +in which passion and emotion represent action, and where the great game of +life is played out at a fireside or in a window recess, and where feeling +and sentiment war and fight and win or lose,—these same tales +supplied me with wherewithal to understand this man's warnings, and at the +same time to suspect his motives; and from that moment my life became +invested with new interests and new anxieties, and to my own heart I felt +myself a hero of romance. +</p> +<p> +As I sauntered on, revolving very pleasant thoughts to myself, I came upon +a party who were picnicking under a tree. Some of them graciously made a +place for me, and I sat down and ate my dinner with them. They were very +humble people, all of them, but courteous and civil to my quality of +stranger in a remarkable degree. Nor was I less struck by the delicate +forbearance they showed towards the host; for, while the servant pressed +them to drink Bordeaux and champagne, they merely took the little wines of +the country, perfectly content with simple fare and the courtesy that +offered them better. +</p> +<p> +When one of them asked me if I had ever seen a fête of such magnificence +in my own country, my mind went back to that costly entertainment of our +villa, and Pauline came up before me, with her long dark eyelashes, and +those lustrous eyes beaming with expression, and flashing with a light +that dazzled while it charmed. Coquetry has no such votaries as the young. +Its artifices, its studied graces, its thousand rogueries, to them seem +all that is most natural and most “naïve;” and thus every toss of her dark +curls, every little mock resentment of her beautiful mouth, every bend and +motion of her supple figure, rose to my mind, till I pictured her image +before me, and thought I saw her. +</p> +<p> +“What a hunt I have had after you, Herr Englander!” said a servant, who +came up to me all flushed and heated. “I have been over the whole park in +search of you.” + </p> +<p> +“In search of <i>me?</i> Surely you mistake.” + </p> +<p> +“No; it is no mistake. I see no one here in a velvet jacket but yourself; +and Herr Ignaz told me to find you and tell you that there is a place kept +for you at his table, and they are at dinner now in the large tent before +the terrace.” + </p> +<p> +I took leave of my friends, who rose respectfully to make their adieux to +the honored guest of the host, and I followed the servant to the house. I +was not without my misgivings that the scene of the morning, with its +unpleasant cross-examination of me, might be repeated, and I even +canvassed myself how far I ought to submit to such liberties; but the +event was not to put my dignity to the test I was received on terms of +perfect equality with those about me; and though the dinner had made some +progress before I arrived, it was with much difficulty I could avoid being +served with soup and all the earlier delicacies of the entertainment. +</p> +<p> +I will not dwell on the day that to recall seems more to me like a page +out of a fairy tale than a little incident of daily life. I was, indeed, +to all intents, the enchanted prince of a story, who went about with the +lovely princess on his arm, for I danced the mazurka with the Fraulein +Sara, and was her partner several times during the evening, and finished +the fête with her in the cotillon; she declaring, in that calm quiet voice +that did not seek to be unheard around, that I alone could dance the waltz +à deux temps, and that I slid gently, and did not spring like a Fiumano, +or bound like a French bagman,—a praise that brought on me some very +menacing looks from certain commis-voyageurs near me, and which I, +confident in my “skill of fence,” as insolently returned. +</p> +<p> +“You are not to return to the Hof, Herr von Owen, tomorrow,” said she, as +we parted. “You are to wait on papa at his office at eleven o'clock.” And +there was a staid dignity in her words that spoke command; but in styling +me “von” there was a whole world of recognition, and I kissed her hand as +I said good-night with all the deference of her slave, and all the +devotion of one who already felt her power and delighted in it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. OUR INNER LIFE +</h2> +<p> +Let me open this chapter with an apology, and I mean it not only to extend +to errors of the past, but to whatever similar blunders I may commit +hereafter. What I desire to ask pardon for is this: I find in this attempt +of mine to jot down a portion of my life, that I have laid a most +disproportionate stress on some passages the most insignificant and +unimportant. Thus, in my last chapter I have dwelt unreasonably on the +narrative of one day's pleasure, while it may be that a month, or several +months, shall pass over with scarcely mention. For this fault—and I +do not attempt to deny it is a fault—I have but one excuse. It is +this: my desire has been to place before my reader the events, small as +they might be, that influenced my life and decided my destiny. Had I not +gone to this fêtey for instance,—had I taken my holiday in some +quiet ramble into the hills alone, or had I passed it, as I have passed +scores of happy hours, in the solitude of my own room,—how different +might have been my fate! +</p> +<p> +We all of us know how small and apparently insignificant are the events by +which the course of our lives is shapen. A look we catch at parting, a +word spoken that might have passed unheard, a pressure of the hand that +might or might not have been felt, and straightway all our sailing orders +are revoked, and instead of north we go south. Bearing this in mind, my +reader will perhaps forgive me, and at least bethink him that these things +are not done by me through inadvertence, but of intention and with +forethought. +</p> +<p> +“So we are about to part,” said Hanserl to me, as I awoke and found my old +companion at my bedside. “You 're the twenty-fifth that has left me,” said +he, mournfully. “But look to it, Knabe, change is not always betterment.” + </p> +<p> +“It was none of <i>my</i> doing, Hanserl; none of <i>my</i> seeking.” + </p> +<p> +“If you had worn the gray jacket you wear on Sundays, there would have +been none of this, lad! I have seen double as many years in the yard as +you have been in the world, and none have ever seen me at the master's +table or waltzing with the master's daughter.” + </p> +<p> +I could not help smiling, in spite of myself, at the thought of such a +spectacle. +</p> +<p> +“Nor is there need to laugh because I speak of dancing,” said he, quickly. +“They could tell you up in Kleptowitz there are worse performers than Hans +Spouer; and if he is not an Englishman, he is an honest Austrian!” + </p> +<p> +This he said with a sort of defiance, and as if he expected a reply. +</p> +<p> +“I have told you already, Hans,” said I, soothingly, “that it was none of +my seeking if I am to be transferred from the yard. I was very happy +there,—very happy to be with you. We were good comrades in the past, +as I hope we may be good friends in the future.” + </p> +<p> +“That can scarcely be,” said he, sorrowfully. “I can have no friend in the +man I must say 'sir' to. It's Herr Ignaz's order,” went he on, “he sent +for me this morning, and said, 'Hanserl, when you address Herr von Owen,'—aye, +he said Herr <i>von</i> Owen,—'never forget he is your superior; and +though he once worked with you here in the yard, that was his caprice, and +he will do so no more.” + </p> +<p> +“But, Hans, my dear old friend.” + </p> +<p> +“Ja, ja,” said he, waving his hand. “Jetzt ist aus! It is all over now. +Here's your reckoning,” and he laid a slip of paper on the bed: “Twelve +gulden for the dinners, three-fifty for wine and beer, two gulden for the +wash. There were four kreutzers for the girl with the guitar; you bade me +give her ten, but four was plenty,—that makes +seventeen-six-and-sixty: and you've twenty-three gulden and thirty-four +kreutzers in that packet, and so Lebwohl.” + </p> +<p> +And, with a short wave of his hand, he turned away; and as he left the +room, I saw that the other hand had been drawn over his eyes, for Hanserl +was crying; but I buried my face in the clothes, and sobbed bitterly. +</p> +<p> +My orders were to present myself at Herr Ignaz's private office by noon. +Careful not to presume on what seemed at least a happy turn in my destiny, +I dressed in my everyday clothes, studious only that they should be clean +and well-brushed. +</p> +<p> +“I had forgotten you altogether, boy,” said Herr Ignaz, as I entered the +office, and he went on closing his desk and his iron safe before leaving +for dinner. “What was it I had to say to you? Can you help me to it, lad?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm afraid not, sir; I only know that you told me to be here at this +hour.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me see,” said he, thoughtfully. “There was no complaint against you?” + </p> +<p> +“None, sir, that I know of.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor have you any to make against old Hanserl?” + </p> +<p> +“Far from it, sir. I have met only kindness from him.” + </p> +<p> +“Wait, wait, wait,” said he. “I believe I am coming to it. It was Sara's +doing. Yes, I have it now. Sara said you should not be in the yard; that +you had been well brought up and cared for. A young girl's fancy, perhaps. +Your hands were white. But there is more bad than good in this. Men should +be in the station they 're fit for; neither above nor below it. And you +did well in the yard; ay, and you liked it?” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly was very happy there, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And that's all one strives for,” said he, with a faint sigh; “to be at +rest,—to be at rest: and why would you change, boy?” + </p> +<p> +“I am not seeking a change, sir. I am here because you bade me.” + </p> +<p> +“That's true. Come in and eat your soup with us, and we 'll see what the +girl says, for I have forgotten all about it.” + </p> +<p> +He opened a small door which led by a narrow stair into a back street, +and, shuffling along, with his hat drawn over his eyes, made for the +little garden over the wooden bridge, and to his door. This he unlocked, +and then bidding me follow, he ascended the stairs. +</p> +<p> +The room into which we entered was furnished in the most plain and simple +fashion. A small table, with a coarse cloth and some common ware, stood +ready for dinner, and a large loaf on a wooden platter, occupied the +middle. There were but two places prepared; but the old man speedily +arranged a third place, muttering to himself the while, but what I could +not catch. +</p> +<p> +As he was thus engaged, the Fraulein entered. She was dressed in a sort of +brown serge, which, though of the humblest tissue, showed her figure to +great advantage, for it fitted to perfection, and designed the graceful +lines' of her shoulders, and her taper waist to great advantage. She +saluted me with the faintest possible smile, and said: “You are come to +dine with us?” + </p> +<p> +“If there be enough to give him to eat,” said the old man, gruffly. “I +have brought him here, however, with other thoughts. There was something +said last night,—what was it, girl?—something about this lad,—do +you remember it?” + </p> +<p> +“Here is the soup, father,” said she, calmly. “We'll bethink us of these +things by and by.” There was a strange air of half-command in what she +said, the tone of one who asserted a certain supremacy, as I was soon to +see she did in the household. “Sit here, Herr von Owen,” said she, +pointing to my place, and her words were uttered like an order. +</p> +<p> +In perfect silence the meal went on; a woman-servant entering to replace +the soup by a dish of boiled meat, but not otherwise waiting on us, for +Sara rose and removed our plates and served us with fresh ones,—an +office I would gladly have taken from her, and indeed essayed to do, but +at a gesture, and a look that there was no mistaking, I sat down again, +and, unmindful of my presence, they soon began to talk of business +matters, in which, to my astonishment, the young girl seemed thoroughly +versed. Cargoes of grain for Athens consigned to one house, were now to be +transferred to some other. There were large orders from France for staves, +to meet which some one should be promptly despatched into Hungary. Hemp, +too, was wanted for England. There was a troublesome litigation with an +Insurance Company at Marseilles, which was evidently going against the +House of Oppovich. So unlike was all this the tone of dinner conversation +I was used to that I listened in wonderment how they could devote the hour +of social enjoyment and relaxation to details so perplexing and so vulgar. +</p> +<p> +“There is that affair of the leakage, too,” cried Herr Ignaz, setting down +his glass before drinking; “I had nigh forgotten it.” + </p> +<p> +“I answered the letter this morning,” said the girl, gravely. “It is +better it should be settled at once, while the exchanges are in our +favor.” + </p> +<p> +“And pay—pay the whole amount,” cried he, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Pay it all,” replied she, calmly. “We must not let them call us +litigious, father. You have <i>friends</i> here,” and she laid emphasis on +the word, “that would not be grieved to see you get the name.” + </p> +<p> +“Twenty-seven thousand gulden!” exclaimed he, with a quivering lip. “And +how am I to save money for your dowry, girl, with losses like these?” + </p> +<p> +“You forget, sir, we are not alone,” said she, proudly. “This young +Englishman can scarcely feel interested in these details.” She arose as +she spoke, and placed a few dishes of fruit on the table, and then served +us with coffee; the whole done so unobtrusively and in such quiet fashion +as to make her services appear a routine that could not call for remark. +</p> +<p> +“The 'Dalmat' will not take our freight,” said he, suddenly. “There is +some combination against us there.” + </p> +<p> +“I will look to it,” said she, coldly. “Will you try these figs, Herr von +Owen? Fiume, they say, rivals Smyrna in purple figs.” + </p> +<p> +“I will have no more to do with figs or olives either,” cried out Herr +Ignaz. “The English beat you down to the lowest price, and then refuse +your cargo for one damaged crate. I have had no luck with England.” + </p> +<p> +Unconsciously, I know it was, his eyes turned fully on me as he spoke, and +there was a defiance in his look that seemed like a personal challenge. +</p> +<p> +“He does not mean it for you,” said the Fräulein, gently in my ear, and +her voice gained a softness I did not know it possessed. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps the old man's thoughts had taken a very gloomy turn, for he leaned +his head on his hand, and seemed sunk in revery. The Fräulein rose +quietly, and, beckoning me to follow her, moved noiselessly into an +adjoining room. This chamber, furnished a little more tastefully, had a +piano, and some books and prints lay about on the tables. +</p> +<p> +“My father likes to be left alone at times,” said she, gravely; “and when +you know us better, you will learn to see what these times are.” She took +up some needlework she had been engaged on, and sat down on a sofa. I did +not well know whether to take my leave or keep her company; and while I +hesitated she appeared to read my difficulty, and said, “You are free, +Herr von Owen, if you have any engagement.” + </p> +<p> +“I have none,” said I; then remembering that the speech might mean to +dismiss me, I added hastily, “but it is time to go.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, then,” said she, making me a slight bow; and I went. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. THE OFFICE +</h2> +<p> +On the following day the cashier sent for me to say it was Herr Oppovich's +wish that I should be attached to some department in the office, till I +had fully mastered its details, and then be transferred to another, and so +on, till I had gradually acquainted myself with the whole business of the +house. “It's an old caprice of Herr Ignaz's,” said he, “which repeated +failures have not yet discouraged him with. You 're the fifth he has tried +to make a supervisor of, and you'll follow the rest.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it so very difficult to learn?” asked I, modestly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps to one of your acquirements it might not,” said he, with quiet +irony, “but, for a slight example: here, in this office, we correspond +with five countries in their own languages; yonder, in that room, they +talk modern Greek and Albanian and Servian; there's the Hungarian group, +next that bow window, and that takes in the Lower Danube; and in what we +call the Expeditions department there are; fellows who speak seventeen +dialects, and can write ten or twelve. So much for languages. Then what do +you say to mastering—since that's the word they have for it—the +grain trade from Russia, rags from Transylvania, staves from Hungary, +fruit from the Levant, cotton from Egypt, minerals from Lower Austria, and +woollen fabrics from Bohemia? We do something in all of these, besides a +fair share in oak bark and hemp.” + </p> +<p> +“Stop, for mercy's sake!” I cried out “It would take a lifetime to gain a +mere current knowledge of these.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, there's the finance department,” said he; “watching the rise and +fall of the exchanges, buying and selling gold. Herr Ulrich, in that +office with the blue door, could tell you it's not to be picked up of an +afternoon. Perhaps you might as well begin with him; his is not a bad +school to take the fine edge off you.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall do whatever you advise me.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll speak to Herr Ulrich, then,” said he; and he left me, to return +almost immediately, and conduct me within the precincts of the blue door. +</p> +<p> +Herr Ulrich was a tall, thin, ascetic-looking man, with his hair brushed +rigidly back from the narrowest head I ever saw. His whole idea of life +was the office, which he arrived at by daybreak, and never left, except to +visit the Bourse, till late at night. He disliked, of all things, new +faces about him; and it was a piece of malice on the cashier's part to +bring me before him. +</p> +<p> +“I believed I had explained to Herr Ignaz already,” said he to the +cashier, “that I am not a schoolmaster.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well,” broke in the other, in a muffled voice, “try the lad. He may +not be so incompetent. They tell me he has had some education.” + </p> +<p> +Herr Ulrich raised his spectacles, and surveyed me from head to foot for +some seconds. “You have been in the yard?” said he, in question. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And is counting oaken staves the first step to learning foreign +exchanges, think you?” + </p> +<p> +“I should say not, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I know whose scheme this is, well enough,” muttered he. “I see it all. +That will do. You may leave us to talk together alone,” said he to the +cashier. “Sit down there, lad; there 's your own famous newspaper, the +'Times.' Make me a <i>précis</i> of the money article as it touches +Austrian securities and Austrian enterprises; contrast the report there +given with what that French paper contains; and don't leave till it be +finished.” He returned to his high stool as he spoke, and resumed his +work. On the table before me lay a mass of newspapers in different +languages; and I sat down to examine them with the very vaguest notion of +what was expected of me. +</p> +<p> +Determined to do something,—whatever that something might be,—I +opened the “Times” to find out the money article; but, little versed in +journalism, I turned from page to page without discovering it. At last I +thought I should find it by carefully scanning the columns; and so I began +at the top and read the various headings, which happened to be those of +the trials then going on. There was a cause of salvage on the part of the +owners of the “Lively Jane;” there was a disputed ownership of certain +dock warrants for indigo, a breach of promise case, and a suit for damages +for injuries incurred on the rail. None of these, certainly, were +financial articles. At the head of the next column I read: “Court of +Probate and Divorce,—Mr. Spanks moved that the decree <i>nisi</i>, +in the suit of Cleremont v. Cleremont, be made absolute. Motion allowed. +The damages in this suit against Sir Roger Norcott have been fixed at +eight thousand five hundred pounds.” + </p> +<p> +From these lines I could not turn my eyes. They revealed nothing, it is +true, but what I knew well must happen; but there is that in a +confirmation of a fact brought suddenly before us, that always awakens +deep reflection: and now I brought up before my mind my poor mother, +deserted and forsaken, and my father, ruined in character, and perhaps in +fortune. +</p> +<p> +I had made repeated attempts to find out my mother's address, but all my +letters had failed to reach her. Could there be any chance of discovering +her through this suit? Was it possible that she might have intervened in +any way in it? And, last of all, would this lawyer, whose name appeared in +the proceedings, take compassion on my unhappy condition, and aid me to +discover where my mother was? I meditated long over all this, and I ended +by convincing myself that there are few people in the world who are not +well pleased to do a kind thing which costs little in the doing; and so I +resolved I would write to Mr. Spanks, and address him at the court he +practised in. I could not help feeling that it was at a mere straw I was +grasping; but nothing more tangible lay within my «reach. I wrote thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Sir,—I am the son and only child of Sir Roger and Lady Norcott; and +seeing that you have lately conducted a suit against my father, I ask you, +as a great favor, to let me know where my mother is now living, that I may +write to her. I know that I am taking a great liberty in obtruding this +request upon you; but I am very friendless, and very little versed in +worldly knowledge. Will you let both these deficiencies plead for me? and +let me sign myself +</p> +<p> +“Your grateful servant, +</p> +<p> +“Digby Norcott. +</p> +<p> +“You can address me at the house of Hodnig and Oppovich, Fiume, Austria, +where I am living as a clerk, and under the name of Digby Owen,—Owen +being the name of my mother's family.” + </p> +<p> +I was not very well pleased with the composition of this letter; but it +had one recommendation, which I chiefly sought for,—it was short, +and for this reason I hoped it might be favorably received. I read it over +and over, each time seeing some new fault, or some omission to correct; +and then I would turn again to the newspaper, and ponder over the few +words that meant so much and yet revealed so little. How my mother's +position would be affected—if at all—by this decision I could +not tell. Indeed, it was the mere accident of hearing divorce discussed at +my father's table that enabled me to know what the terms of the law +implied. And thus I turned from my letter to the newspaper, and back again +from the newspaper to my letter, so engrossed by the theme that I forgot +where I was, and utterly forgot all about that difficult task Herr Ulrich +had set me. Intense thought and weariness of mind, aided by the unbroken +stillness of the place, made me heavy and drowsy. From poring over the +paper, I gradually bent down till my head rested on it, and I fell sound +asleep. +</p> +<p> +I must have passed hours thus, for it was already evening when I awoke. +Herr Ulrich was about to leave the office, and had his hat on, as he +aroused me. +</p> +<p> +“It is supper-time, youngster,” said he, laying his hand on my shoulder. +“Yes, you may well wonder where you are. What are you looking for?” + </p> +<p> +“I thought, sir, I had written a letter Just before I fell asleep. I was +writing here.” And I turned over the papers and shook them, tossing them +wildly about, to discover the letter, but in vain. It was not there. Could +it have been that I had merely composed it in my mind, and never have +committed it to paper? But that could scarcely be, seeing how fresh in my +memory were all the doubts and hesitations that had beset me. +</p> +<p> +“I am sure I wrote a letter here,” said I, trying to recall each +circumstance to my mind. +</p> +<p> +“When you have finished dreaming, lad, I will lock the door,” said he, +waiting to see me pass out. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me one moment, sir, only one,” cried I, wildly, scattering the +papers over the table. “It is of consequence to me—what I have +written.” + </p> +<p> +“That is, if you have written anything,” said he, dryly. +</p> +<p> +The grave tone of this doubt determined the conflict in my mind. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you are right,” said I; “it was a dream.” And I arose and +followed him out. +</p> +<p> +As I reached the foot of the stairs, I came suddenly on Herr Ignaz and his +daughter. It was a common thing for her to come and accompany him home at +the end of the day's work; and as latterly he had become much broken and +very feeble, she scarcely missed a day in this attention. “Oh, here he +is!” I heard her say as I came up. What he replied I could not catch, but +it was with some earnestness he rejoined,— +</p> +<p> +“Herr von Owen, my father wishes to say that they have mistaken his +instructions regarding you in the office. He never expected you could at +once possess yourself of all the details of a varied business; he meant +that you should go about and see what branch you would like to attach +yourself to, and to do this he will give you ample time. Take a week; take +two; a month, if you like.” And she made a little gesture of friendly +adieu with her hand, and passed on. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. UNWISHED-FOR PROMOTION +</h2> +<p> +The morning after this brief intimation I attached myself to that +department of the house whose business was to receive and reply to +telegraphic messages. I took that group of countries whose languages I +knew, and addressed myself to my task in right earnest. An occupation +whose chief feature is emergency will always possess a certain interest, +but beyond this there was not anything attractive in my present pursuit. A +peremptory message to sell this or buy that, to push on vigorously with a +certain enterprise or to suspend all action in another, would perhaps form +the staple of a day's work. When disasters occurred, too, it was their +monetary feature alone was recorded. The fire that consumed a warehouse +was told with reference to the amount insured; the shipwreck was related +by incidents that bore on the lost cargo, and the damage incurred. Still +it was less monotonous than the work of the office, and I had a certain +pride in converting the messages—sometimes partly, sometimes totally +unintelligible—into language that could be understood, that imparted +a fair share of ambition to my labor. +</p> +<p> +My duty was to present myself, with my book in which I had entered the +despatches, each evening, at supper-time, at Herr Ignaz's house. He would +be at table with his daughter when I arrived, and the interview would pass +somewhat in this wise: Herr Oppovich would take the book from my hands +without a word or even a look at me, and the Fraulein, with a gentle bend +of the head, but without the faintest show of more intimate greeting, +would acknowledge mc. She would continue to eat as I stood there, as +unmindful of me as though I were a servant. Having scanned the book over, +he would hand it across to his daughter, and then would ensue a few words +in whisper, after which the Fräulein would write opposite each message +some word of reply or of comment such as, “Already provided for,” “Further +details wanted,” “Too late,” or such like, but never more than a few +words, and these she would write freely, and only consulting herself. The +old man—whose memory failed him more and more every day, and whose +general debility grew rapidly—did no more than glance at the answers +and nod an acceptance of them. In giving the book back to me, she rarely +looked up, but if she did so, and if her eyes met mine, their expression +was cold and almost defiant; and thus, with a slight bend of the head, I +would be dismissed. +</p> +<p> +Nor was this reception the less chilling that, before I had well closed +the door, they would be in full conversation again, showing that my +presence it was which had inspired the constraint and reserve. These, it +might be thought, were not very proud nor blissful moments to me, and yet +they formed the happiest incident of my day, and I actually longed for the +hour, as might a lover to meet his mistress. To gaze at will upon her pale +and beautiful face, to watch the sunlight as it played upon her golden +hair, which she wore—in some fashion, perhaps, peculiar to her race—in +heavy masses of curls, that fell over her back and shoulders; her hand, +too, a model of symmetry, and with the fingers rose-tipped, like the +goddesses of Homer, affected me as a spell; and I have stood there +unconsciously staring at it till warned by a second admonition to retire. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/nor0009.jpg" alt="nor0009" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Perhaps the solitude in which I lived helped to make me dwell more +thoughtfully on this daily-recurring interview; for I went nowhere, I +associated with no one, I dined alone, and my one brisk walk for health +and exercise I took by myself. When evening came, and the other clerks +frequented the theatre, I went home to read, or as often to sit and think. +</p> +<p> +“Sara tells me,” said the old man one day, when some rare chance had +brought him to my office,—“Sara tells me that you are suffering from +over-confinement. She thinks you look pale and worn, and that this +constant work is telling on you.” + </p> +<p> +“Far from it, sir. I am both well and happy; and if I needed to be made +happier, this thoughtful kindness would make me so.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; she is very kind, and very thoughtful too; but, as well as these, +she is despotic,” said he, with a faint laugh; “and so she has decided +that you are to exchange with M. Marsac, who will be here by Saturday, and +who will put you up to all the details of his walk. He buys our timber for +us in Hungary and Transylvania; and he, too, will enjoy a little rest from +constant travel.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't speak Hungarian, sir,” began I, eager to offer an opposition to +the plan. +</p> +<p> +“Sara says you are a quick learner, and will soon acquire it,—at +least, enough for traffic.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a business, too, that I suspect requires much insight into the +people and their ways.” + </p> +<p> +“You can't learn them younger, lad; and as all those we deal with are old +clients of the house, you will not be much exposed to rogueries.” + </p> +<p> +“But if I make mistakes, sir? If I involve you in difficulty and in loss?” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll repay it by zeal, lad, and by devotion, as we have seen you do +here.” + </p> +<p> +He waved his hand in adieu, and left me to my own thoughts. Very sad +thoughts they were, as they told me of separation from her that gave the +whole charm to my life. Sara's manner to me had been so markedly cold and +distant for some time past, so unlike what it had been at first, that I +could not help feeling that, by ordering me away, some evidence of +displeasure was to be detected. The old man I at once exculpated, for +every day showed him less and less alive to the business of “the House;” + though, from habit, he persisted in coming down every morning to the +office, and believed himself the guide and director of all that went on +there. +</p> +<p> +I puzzled myself long to think what I could have done to forfeit her +favor. I had never in the slightest degree passed that boundary of +deference that I was told she liked to exact from all in the service of +the house. I had neglected no duty, nor, having no intimates or +associates, had I given opportunity to report of me that I had said this +or that of my employers. I scrutinized every act of my daily life, and +suggested every possible and impossible cause for this coldness; but +without approaching a reason at all probable. While I thus doubted and +disputed with myself, the evening despatches arrived, and among them a +letter addressed to myself. It bore the post-mark of the town alone, with +this superscription, “Digby Owen, Esq., at Messrs. Oppovich's, Fiume.” I +tore it open and read,— +</p> +<p> +“The address you wish for is, 'Lady Norcott, Sunday's Well, Cork, +Ireland.'” + </p> +<p> +The writing looked an English hand, and the language was English. There +was no date, nor any signature. Could it have been, then, that I had +folded and sealed and sent on my letter—that letter I believed I had +never written—without knowing it, and that the lawyer had sent me +this reply, which, though long delayed, might have been postponed till he +had obtained the tidings it conveyed? At all events, I had got my dear +mother's address,—at least I hoped so. This point I resolved to +ascertain at once, and sat down to write to her. It was a very flurried +note I composed, though I did my very best to be collected. I told her how +and where I was, and by what accident of fortune I had come here; that I +had reasonable hopes of advancement, and even now had a salary which was +larger than I needed. I was afraid to say much of what I wished to tell +her, till I was sure my letter would reach her; and I entreated her to +write to me by return of post, were it but a line. I need not say how many +loves I sent her, nor what longings to be again beside her, to hold her +hand, and hear her voice, and call her by that dearest of all the names +affection cherishes. “I am going from this in a few days into Hungary,” + added I; “but address me here, and it shall be sent after me. +</p> +<p> +When I had finished my letter, I again turned my thoughts to this strange +communication, so abrupt and so short. How came it to Fiume, too? Was it +enclosed in some other letter, and to whom? If posted in Fiume, why not +written there? Ay; but by whom? Who could know that I had wished for my +mother's address? It was a secret buried in my own heart. +</p> +<p> +I suddenly determined I would ask the Fraulein Sara to aid me in +unravelling this mystery, which, of course, I could do without disclosing +the contents of the note. I hurried off to the house, and asked if she +would permit me to speak to her. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. The Fräulein was going out; but if my business was brief, she would +see me.” + </p> +<p> +She was in bonnet and shawl as I entered, and stood with one hand on a +table, looking very calm but somewhat haughty. +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon, M. Owen,” said she, “if I say that I can only give you +a few minutes, and will not ask you even to sit down. If it be a matter of +the office—” + </p> +<p> +“No, Mademoiselle; it is not a matter of the office—-” + </p> +<p> +“Then, if it relate to your change of occupation—” + </p> +<p> +“No, Mademoiselle, not even to that. It is a purely personal question. I +have got a letter, with a Fiume postmark on it, but without the writer's +name; and I am curious to know if you could aid me to discover him. Would +you look at the hand and see if it be known to you?” + </p> +<p> +“Pray excuse me, M. Owen. I am the stupidest of all people in reading +riddles or solving difficulties. All the help I can give you is to say how +I treat anonymous letters myself. If they be simply insults, I burn them. +If they relate what appear to be matters of fact, I wait and watch for +them.” + </p> +<p> +Offended by the whole tone of her manner, I bowed, and moved towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“Have you seen M. Marsac? I hear he has arrived.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Mademoiselle; not yet.” + </p> +<p> +“When you have conferred and consulted with him, your instructions are all +prepared; and I suppose you are ready to start?” + </p> +<p> +“I shall be, Mademoiselle, when called upon.” + </p> +<p> +“I will say good-bye, then,” said she, advancing one step towards me, +evidently intending to offer me her hand; but I replied by a low, very low +bow, and retired. +</p> +<p> +I thought I should choke as I went down the stairs. My throat seemed to +swell, and then to close up; and when I gained the shelter of the thick +trees, I threw myself down on my face in the grass, and sobbed as if my +heart was breaking. How I vowed and swore that I would tear every +recollection of her from my mind, and never think more of her, and how her +image ever came back clearer and brighter and more beautiful before me +after each oath! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. THE MAN WHO TRAVELLED FOR OUR HOUSE +</h2> +<p> +As I sat brooding over my fire that same evening, my door was suddenly +opened, and a large burly man, looming even larger from an immense fur +pelisse that he wore, entered. His first care was to divest himself of a +tall Astracan cap, from which he flung off some snow-flakes, and then to +throw off his pelisse, stamping the snow from his great boots, which +reached half-way up the thigh. +</p> +<p> +“You see,” cried he, at last, with a jovial air,—“you see I come, +like a good comrade, and make myself at home at once.” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly see so much,” said I, dryly; “but whom have I the honor to +receive?” + </p> +<p> +“You have the honor to receive Gustave Maurice de Marsac, young man, a +gentleman of Dauphiné, who now masquerades in the character of first +traveller for the respectable house of Hodnig and Oppovich.” + </p> +<p> +“I am proud to make your acquaintance, M. de Marsac,” said I, offering my +band. +</p> +<p> +“What age are you?” cried he, staring fixedly at me. “You can't be +twenty?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I am not twenty.” + </p> +<p> +“And they purpose to send you down to replace <i>me!</i>” cried he; and he +threw himself back in his chair, and shook with laughter. +</p> +<p> +“I see all the presumption; but I can only say it was none of my doing.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; don't say presumption,” said he, in a half-coaxing tone. “But I +may say it, without vanity, it is not every man's gift to be able to +succeed Gustave de Marsac. May I ask for a cigar? Thanks. A real Cuban, I +verily believe. I finished my tobacco two posts from this, and have been +smoking all the samples—pepper and hemp-seed amongst them—since +then.” + </p> +<p> +“May I offer you something to eat?” + </p> +<p> +“You may, if you accompany it with something to drink. Would you believe +it, Oppovich and his daughter were at supper when I arrived to report +myself; and neither of them as much as said, Chevalier—I mean Mon. +de Marsac—won't you do us the honor to join us? No. Old Ignaz went +on with his meal,—cold veal and a potato salad, I think it was; and +the fair Sara examined my posting-book to see I had made no delay on the +road; but neither offered me even the courtesy of a glass of wine.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't suspect it was from any want of hospitality,” I began. +</p> +<p> +“An utter want of everything, <i>mon cher</i>. Want of decency; want of +delicacy; want of due deference to a man of birth and blood. I see you are +sending your servant out. Now, I beg, don't make a stranger—don't +make what we call a 'Prince Russe' of me. A little quiet supper, and +something to wash it down; good fellowship will do the rest. May I give +your man the orders?” + </p> +<p> +“You will confer a great favor on me,” said I. +</p> +<p> +He took my servant apart, and whispered a few minutes with him at the +window. “Try Kleptomitz first,” said he aloud, as the man was leaving; +“and mind you say M. Marsac sent you. Smart 'bursche' you've got there. If +you don't take him with you, hand him over to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I will do so,” said I; “and am happy to have secured him a good master.” + </p> +<p> +“You'll not know him when you pass through Fiume again. I believe there's +not my equal in Europe to drill a servant. Give me a Chinese, an Esquimau; +give me a Hottentot, and in six months you shall see him announce a +visitor, deliver a letter, wait at table, or serve coffee, with the quiet +dignity and the impassive steadiness of the most accomplished lackey. The +three servants of Fiume were made by me, and their fortunes also. One has +now the chief restaurant at Rome, in the Piazza di Spagna; the other is +manager of the 'Iron Crown Hotel,' at Zurich; he wished to have it called +the 'Arms of Marsac,' but I forbade him. I said, 'No, Pierre, no. The De +Marsacs are now travelling incog.' Like the Tavannes and the Rohans, we +have to wait and bide our time. Louis Napoleon is not immortal. Do you +think he is?” + </p> +<p> +“I have no reason to think so.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, you are too young to take interest in politics; not but that +<i>I</i> did at fourteen: I conspired at fourteen! I will show you a +stiletto Mazzini gave me on my birthday; and the motto on the blade was, +'Au service du. Roi.' Ah! you are surprised at what I tell you. I hear you +say to yourself, 'How the devil did he come to this place? what led him to +Fiume?' A long story that; a story poor old Dumas would give one of his +eyes for. There's more adventure, more scrapes by villany, dangers and +deathblows generally, in the last twenty-two years of my life—I am +now thirty-six—than in all the Monte Cristos that ever were written. +I will take the liberty to put another log on your fire. What do you say +if we lay the cloth? It will expedite matters a little.” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart. Here are all my household goods,” said I, opening a +little press in the wall. +</p> +<p> +“And not to be despised, by any means. Show me what a man drinks out of, +and I'll tell you what he drinks. When a man has got thin glasses like +these,—<i>à la Mousseline</i>, as we say,—his tipple is +Bordeaux.” + </p> +<p> +“I confess the weakness,” said I, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“It is my own infirmity too,” said he, sighing. “My theory is, plurality +of wines is as much a mistake as plurality of wives. Coquette, if you +will, with fifty, but give your affections to one. If I am anything, I am +moral. What can keep your fellow so long? I gave him but two commissions.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps the shops were closed at this hour.” + </p> +<p> +“If they were, sir,” said he, pompously, “at the word 'Marsac' they would +open. Ha! what do I see here?—a piano? Am I at liberty to open it?” + And without waiting for a reply, he sat down, and ran his hands over the +keys with a masterly facility. As he flew over the octaves, and struck +chords of splendid harmony, I could not help feeling an amount of credit +in all his boastful declarations just from this one trait of real power +about him. +</p> +<p> +“I see you are a rare musician,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“And it is what I know least,” said he; “though Flotow said one day, 'If +that rascal De Marsac takes to writing operas, I 'll never compose +another. 'But here comes the supper;” and as he spoke my servant entered +with a small basket with six bottles in it; two waiters following him, +bearing a good-sized tin box, with a charcoal fire beneath. +</p> +<p> +“Well and perfectly done,” exclaimed my guest, as he aided them to place +the soup on the table, and to dispose some <i>hors d'oeuvre</i> of +anchovies, caviare, ham, and fresh butter on the board. “I am sorry we +have no flowers. I love a bouquet A few camellias for color, and some +violets for odor. They relieve the grossness of the material enjoyments; +they poetize the meal; and if you have no women at table, <i>mon cher</i>, +be sure to have flowers: not that I object to both together. There, now, +is our little bill of fare,—a white soup, a devilled mackerel, some +truffles, with butter, and a capon with stewed mushrooms. Oysters there +are none, not even those native shrimps they call scampi; but the wine +will compensate for much: the wine is Roediger; champagne, with a faint +suspicion of dryness. And as he has brought ice, we 'll attack that +Bordeaux you spoke of till the other be cool enough for drinking.” + </p> +<p> +As he rattled on thus, it was not very easy for me to assure myself +whether I was host or guest; but as I saw that this consideration did not +distress <i>him</i>, I resolved it should not weigh heavily on me. +</p> +<p> +“I ordered a <i>compote</i> of peaches with maraschino. Go after them and +say it has been forgotten.” And now, as he dismissed my servant on this +errand, he sat down and served the soup, doing the honors of the board in +all form. “You are called—” + </p> +<p> +“Digby is my Christian name,” interrupted I, “and you can call me by it.” + </p> +<p> +“Digby, I drink to your health; and if the wine had been only a little +warmer, I 'd say I could not wish to do so in a more generous fluid. No +fellow of your age knows how to air his Bordeaux; hot flannels to the +caraffe before decanting are all that is necessary, and let your glasses +also be slightly warmed. To sip such claret as this, and then turn one's +eyes to that champagne yonder in the ice-pail, is like the sensation of a +man who in his honeymoon fancies how happy he will be one of these days, +<i>en secondes noces</i>. Don't you feel a sense of triumphant enjoyment +at this moment? Is there not something at your heart that says, 'Hodnig +and Oppovich, I despise you! To the regions I soar in you cannot come! To +the blue ether I have risen, your very vision cannot reach!' Eh, boy! tell +me this.” + </p> +<p> +“No; I don't think you have rightly measured my feelings. On the whole, I +rather suspect I bear a very good will to these same people who have +enabled me to have these comforts.” + </p> +<p> +“You pretend, then, to what they call gratitude?” + </p> +<p> +“I have that weakness.” + </p> +<p> +“I could as soon believe in the heathen mythology! I like the man who is +kind to me while he is doing the kindness, and I could, if occasion +served, be kind to him in turn; but to say that I could retain such a +memory of the service after years that it would renew in me the first +pleasant sensations it created, and with these sensations the goodwill to +requite them, is downright rubbish. You might as well tell me that I could +get drank simply by remembering the orgie I assisted at ten years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“I protest against your sentiment and your logic too.” + </p> +<p> +“Then we won't dispute the matter. We'll talk of something we can agree +upon. Let us abuse Sara.” + </p> +<p> +“If you do, you'll choose some other place to do it.” + </p> +<p> +“What, do you mean to tell me that you can stand the haughty airs and +proud pretensions of the young Jewess?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean to tell you that I know nothing of the Fräulein Oppovich but what +is amiable and good.” + </p> +<p> +“What do I care for amiable and good? I want a girl to be graceful, +well-mannered, pleasing, lively to talk, and eager to listen. There, now, +don't get purple about the cheeks, and flash at me such fiery looks. +Here's the champagne, and we 'll drink a bumper to her.” + </p> +<p> +“Take some other name for your toast, or I 'll fling your bottle out of +the window.” + </p> +<p> +“You will, will you!” said he, setting down his glass, and measuring me +from head to foot. +</p> +<p> +“I swear it” + </p> +<p> +“I like that spirit, Digby; I'll be shot if I don't,” said he, taking my +hand, which I did not give very willingly. “You are just what I was some +fifteen or twenty years ago,—warm, impulsive, and headstrong. It's +the world—that vile old mill, the world—grinds that generous +nature out of one! I declare I don't believe that a spark of real +trustfulness survives a man's first moustaches,—and yours are very +faint, very faint indeed; there 's a suspicion of smut on the upper lip, +and some small capillary flourishes along your cheek. That wine is too +sweet. I 'll return to the Bordeaux.” + </p> +<p> +“I grieve to say I have no more than that bottle of it. It was some I +bought when I was ill and threatened with ague.” + </p> +<p> +“What profanation! anything would be good enough for ague. It is in a +man's days of vigorous health he merits cherishing. Let us console +ourselves with Rodiger. Now, boy,” said he, as he cleared off a bumper +from a large goblet, “I 'll give you some hints for your future, far more +precious than this wine, good as it is. Gustave de Marsac, like Homer's +hero, can give gold for brass, and instead of wine he will give you +wisdom. First of all for a word of warning: don't fall in love with Sara. +It's the popular error down here to do so, but it's a cruel mistake. That +fellow that has the hemp-trade here,—what's his name,—the +vulgar dog that wears mutton-chop whiskers, and fancies he's English +because he gets his coats from London? I 'll remember his name presently,—he +has all his life been proposing for Sara, and begging off—as matters +go ill or well with the House of Oppovich; and as he is a shrewd fellow in +business, all the young men here think they ought to 'go in' for Sara +too.” + </p> +<p> +I should say here that, however distasteful to me this talk, and however +willingly I would have repressed it, it was totally out of my power to +arrest the flow of words which with the force of a swollen torrent came +from him. He drank freely, too, large goblets of champagne as he talked, +and to this, I am obliged to own, I looked as my last hope of being rid of +him. I placed every bottle I possessed on the table, and, lighting my +cigar, resigned myself, with what patience I could, to the result. +</p> +<p> +“Am I keeping you up, my dear Digby?” cried he, at last, after a burst of +abuse on Fiume and all it contained that lasted about half an hour. +</p> +<p> +“I seldom sit up so late,” was my cautious reply; “but I must own I have +seldom such a good excuse.” + </p> +<p> +“You hit it, boy; that was well and truly spoken. As a talker of the +highest order of talk, I yield to no man in Europe. Do you remember +Duvergier saying in the Chambre, as an apology for being late, 'I dined +with DeMarsac'?” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot say I remember that.” + </p> +<p> +“How could you? You were an infant at the time.” Away he went after this +into reminiscences of political life,—how deep he was in that +Spanish marriage question, and how it caused a breach,—an +irreparable breach between Guizot and himself, when that woman, “you know +whom I mean, let out the secret to Bulwer. Of course I ought not to have +confided it to her. I know all that as well as you can tell it me, but who +is wise, who is guarded, who is self-possessed at all times?” + </p> +<p> +Not entirely trustful of what he was telling me, and little interested in +it besides, I brought him back to Fiume, and to the business that was now +about to be confided to me. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, very true; you want your instructions. You shall have them, not that +you 'll need them long, <i>mon cher</i>. Six months—what am I +saying?—three will see it all up with; Hodnig and Oppovich.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” cried I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Just simply what I say.” + </p> +<p> +It was not very easy for me to follow him here, but I could gather, amidst +a confused mass of self-glorification, prediction, and lamentation over +warnings disregarded, and such like, that the great Jew house of +“Nathanheimer” of Paris was the real head of the firm of Hodnig and +Oppovich. +</p> +<p> +“The Nathanheimers own all Europe and a very considerable share of +America,” burst he out “You hear of a great wine-house at Xeres, or a +great corn-merchant at Odessa, or a great tallow-exporter at Riga. It's +all Nathanheimer! If a man prospers and shows that he has skill in +business, they 'll stand by him, even to millions. If he blunders, they +sweep him away, as I brush away that cork. There must be no failures with +<i>them</i>. That's their creed.” + </p> +<p> +He proceeded to explain how these great potentates of finance and trade +had agencies in every great centre of Europe, who reported to them +everything that went on, who flourished, and who foundered; how, when +enterprises that promised well presented themselves, Nathanheimer would +advance any sum, no matter how great, that was wanted. If a country needed +a railroad, if a city required a boulevard, if a seaport wanted a dock, +they were ready to furnish each and all of them. The conditions, too, were +never unfair, never ungenerous, but still they bargained always for +something besides money. They desired that this man would aid such a +project here, or oppose that other there. Their interests were so various +and widespread that they needed political power everywhere, and they had +it. +</p> +<p> +One offence they never pardoned, never condoned, which was any, the +slightest, insubordination amongst those they supported and maintained. +Marsac ran over a catalogue of those they had ruined in London, Amsterdam, +Paris, Frankfort, and Vienna, simply because they had attempted to +emancipate themselves from the serfdom imposed upon them. Let one of the +subordinate firms branch out into an enterprise unauthorized by the great +house, and straightway their acceptances become dishonored, and their +credit assailed. In one word, he made it appear that from one end of +Europe to the other the whole financial system was in the bands of a few +crafty men of immense wealth, who unthroned dynasties, and controlled the +fate of nations, with a word. +</p> +<p> +He went on to show that Oppovich had somehow fallen into disgrace with +these mighty patrons. “Some say that he is too old and too feeble for +business, and hands over to Sara details that she is quite unequal to deal +with; some aver that he has speculated without sanction, and is intriguing +with Greek democrats; others declare that he has been merely unfortunate; +at all events, his hour has struck. Mind my words, three months hence they +'ll not have Nathanheimer's agency in their house, and I suspect you 'll +see our friend Bettmeyer will succeed to that rich inheritance.” + </p> +<p> +Rambling on, now talking with a vagueness that savored of imbecility, now +speaking with a purpose-like acuteness and power that brought conviction, +he sat till daybreak, drinking freely all the time, and at last so +overwhelming me with 'strange revelations that I was often at a loss to +know whether it was he that was confounding me, or that I myself had lost +all control of right reason and judgment. +</p> +<p> +“You're dead beat, my poor fellow,” said he at last, “and it's your own +fault. You 've been drinking nothing but water these last two hours. Go +off to bed now, and leave me to finish this bottle. After that I 'll have +a plunge off the end of the mole, cold enough it will be, but no ice, and +you 'll find me here at ten o'clock with a breakfast appetite that will +astonish you.” + </p> +<p> +I took him at his word, and said “Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. MY INSTRUCTIONS +</h2> +<p> +My friend did not keep his self-made appointment with me at breakfast, nor +did I see him for two days, when we met in the street. +</p> +<p> +“I have gone over to the enemy,” said he; “I have taken an engagement with +Bettmeyer: six thousand florins and all expenses,—silver florins, <i>mon +cher</i>; and if you're wise,” added he in a whisper, “you 'll follow my +lead. Shall I say a word for you?” + </p> +<p> +I thanked him coldly, and declined the offer. +</p> +<p> +“All right; stick to gratitude, and you'll see where it will land you,” + said he, gayly. “I've sent you half a dozen letters to friends of mine up +yonder;” and he pointed towards the North. “You 'll find Hunyadi an +excellent fellow, and the Countess charming; don't make love to her, +though, for Tassilo is a regular Othello. As for the Erdödis, I only wish +I was going there, instead of you;—such pheasants, such women, such +Tokay, their own vintage! Once you 're down in Transylvania, write me word +whom you 'd like to know. They 're all dear friends of mine. By the way, +don't make any blunder about that Hunyadi contract The people here will +want you to break it,—don't, on any account. It's the finest bargain +ever was made; splendid timber, magnificent bark, and the cuttings alone +worth all the money.” + </p> +<p> +He rattled out this with his own headlong speed, and was gone before I +well knew I had seen him. +</p> +<p> +That evening I was ordered to Herr Oppovich's house to receive my last +instructions. The old man was asleep on a sofa, as I entered, and Sara +seated at a table by the fire, deeply engaged in accounts. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Herr Owen,”—she had ceased to call me Von Owen,—“and +I will speak to you in a minute.” + </p> +<p> +I was not impatient at the delay, for I had time to gaze at her silken +hair, and her faultless profile, and the beautiful outline of her figure, +as, leaning her head on her hand, she bent over the table. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot make this come right,—are you clever at figures?” asked +she. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot say it is my gift, but I will do my best to aid you.” And now we +were seated side by side, poring over the same page; and as she had placed +one taper finger next the column of figures, I did so likewise, thinking +far less of the arithmetic than of the chance of touching her hand with +mine. +</p> +<p> +“These figures are somewhat confusing,” she said. “Let us begin at the +top,—fourteen hundred and six hundred, make two thousand, and twelve +hundred, three thousand two hundred,—now is this a seven or a +three?” + </p> +<p> +“I'd say a three.” + </p> +<p> +“I 've called it a seven, because M. Marsac usually writes his sevens in +this way.” + </p> +<p> +“These are De Marsac's, then?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“And why 'De,' may I ask?” said she, quickly; “why not Marsac, as I called +him?” + </p> +<p> +“I took his name as he gave it me.” + </p> +<p> +“You know him, then? Oh, I had forgotten,—he called on you the night +he came. Have you seen him since?” + </p> +<p> +“Only passingly, in the street” + </p> +<p> +“Had he time to tell you that he has been dismissed?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he said he was now in Mr. Bettmeyer's office.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you why?” She stopped, and her cheek became crimson, while +her eyes sparkled with an angry fire that actually startled me. “But let +us finish this. Where were we?” She now leaned her head down upon her +hands, and seemed overcome by her emotion. When she looked up again, her +face was perfectly pale, and her eyes sad and weariful. “I am afraid we +shall wake him,” said she, looking towards her father; “come into this +room here. So this man has been talking of us?” cried she, as soon as we +had passed into the adjoining room. “Has he told you how he has requited +all my father's kindness? how he has repaid his trustfulness and faith in +him? Speak freely if you wish me to regard you as a friend.” + </p> +<p> +“I would that you might, Fräulein. There is no name I would do so much to +win.” + </p> +<p> +“But you are a gentleman, and with noble blood. Could you stoop to be the +friend of—” Here she hesitated, and, after an effort, added, “A +Jew?” + </p> +<p> +“Try me, prove me,” said I, stooping till my lips touched her hand. +</p> +<p> +She did not withdraw her hand, but left it in mine, as I pressed it again +and again to my lips. +</p> +<p> +“He told you, then,” said she, in a half-whisper, “that our house was on +the brink of ruin; that in a few weeks, or even less, my father would not +face the exchange,—did he not say this?” + </p> +<p> +“I will tell you all,” said I, “for I know you will forgive me when I +repeat what will offend you to hear, but what is safer you should hear.” + And, in the fewest words I could, I related what Marsac had told me of the +house and its difficulties. When I came to that part which represented +Oppovich as the mere agent of the great Parisian banker,—whose name +I was not quite sure of,—I faltered and hesitated. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said she, gently. “He told you that Baron Nathanheimer was about +to withdraw his protection from us?” + </p> +<p> +I slightly bent my head in affirmation. +</p> +<p> +“But did he say why?” + </p> +<p> +“Something there was of rash enterprise, of speculation unauthorized—of—” + </p> +<p> +“Of an old man with failing faculties,” said she, in the same low tone; +“and of a young girl, little versed in business, but self-confident and +presumptuous enough to think herself equal to supply his place. I have no +doubt he was very frank on this head. He wrote to Baron Elias, who sent me +his letter,—the letter he wrote of us while eating our bread. It was +not handsome of him,—was it, sir?” + </p> +<p> +I can give no idea, not the faintest, of the way she said these few words, +nor of the ineffable scorn of her look, while her voice remained calm and +gentle as ever. +</p> +<p> +“No; it was not handsome.” + </p> +<p> +She nodded to me to proceed, and I continued,— +</p> +<p> +“I have told you nearly everything; for of himself and his boastfulness—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! do not tell me of that I am in no laughing mood, and I would not like +to hear of it What did he say of the Hunyadi affair?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing, or next to nothing. He offered me letters of introduction to +Count Hunyadi; but beyond that there was no mention of him.” + </p> +<p> +She arose as I said this, and walked slowly up and down the room. I saw +she was deep in thought, and was careful not to disturb or distract her. +At last she opened a writing-desk, and took out a roll of papers fastened +by a tape. +</p> +<p> +“These,” said she, “you will take with you, and carefully read over. They +are the records of a transaction that is now involving us in great +trouble, and which may prove more than trouble. M. Marsac has been induced—how, +we shall not stop to inquire—to contract for the purchase of an +extensive wood belonging to Graf Hunyadi; the price, half a million of +francs. We delayed to ratify an agreement of such moment, until more fully +assured of the value of the timber; and while we deliberated on the choice +of the person to send down to Hungary, we have received from our +correspondent at Vienna certain bills for acceptance in payment of this +purchase. You follow me, don't you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. As I understand it, the bargain was assumed to be ratified?” + </p> +<p> +“Just so.” + </p> +<p> +She paused; and, after a slight struggle with herself, went on,— +</p> +<p> +“The contract, legally drawn up and complete in every way, <i>was</i> +signed; not, however, by my father, but by my brother. You have heard, +perhaps, that I have a brother. Bad companionship and a yielding +disposition have led him into evil, and for some years we have not seen +him. Much misfortune has befallen him; but none greater, perhaps, than his +meeting with Marsac; for, though Adolf has done many things, he would not +have gone thus far without the promptings of this bad man.” + </p> +<p> +“Was it his own name he wrote?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“No; it was my father's,” and she faltered at the word; and as she spoke +it, her head fell heavily forward, and she covered her face with her +hands. +</p> +<p> +She rallied, however, quickly, and went on. “We now know that the timber +is not worth one-fourth of this large sum. Baron Elias himself has seen +it, and declares that we have been duped or—worse. He insists that +we rescind the contract, or accept all its consequences. The one is +hopeless,—the other ruin. Meanwhile, the Baron suspends farther +relations with us, and heavy acceptances of ours will soon press for +payment. I must not go into this,” said she, hurriedly. “You are very +young to charge with such a mission; but I have great faith in your +loyalty. You will not wrong our trust?” + </p> +<p> +“That I will not.” + </p> +<p> +“You will go to Graf Hunyadi, and speak with him. If he be—as many +of his countrymen are—a man of high and generous feeling, he will +not bring ruin upon us, when our only alternative would be to denounce our +own. You are very young; but you have habits of the world and society. +Nay,—I am not seeking to learn a secret; but you know enough to make +you companionable and acceptable, where any others in our employ would be +inadmissible. At all events, you will soon see the sort of man we have to +deal with, and you will report to me at once.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not to tell him how this signature has been obtained?” asked I, +awaiting the reply. +</p> +<p> +“That would be to denounce the contract at once,” cried she, as though +this thought had for the first time struck her. “You know the penalty of a +forgery here. It is the galleys for life. He must be saved at all events. +Don't you see,” cried she, eagerly, “I can give you no instructions. I +have none to give. When I say I trust you,—I have told you all.” + </p> +<p> +“Has Herr Ignaz not said how he would wish me to act?” + </p> +<p> +“My father knows nothing of it all! Nothing. You have seen him, and you +know how little he is able now to cope with a difficulty. The very sense +that his faculties are not what they were overcomes him, even to tears.” + </p> +<p> +Up to this she had spoken with a calm firmness that had lent a touch of +almost sternness to her manner, but at the mention of her poor father's +condition, her courage gave way, and she turned away and hid her face, but +her convulsed shoulders showed how her emotion was overcoming her. I went +towards her, and took her hand in both my own. She left it to me while I +kissed it again and again. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Sara,” I whispered rather than spoke, “if you knew how devoted I am +to you, if you knew how willingly I would give my very life for you, you +would not think yourself friendless at this hour. Your trust in me has +made me forget how lonely I am, and how humble,—to forget all that +separates us, even to telling that I love you. Give me one word—only +one—of hope; or if not that, let your dear hand but close on mine, +and I am yours forever.” + </p> +<p> +She never spoke, however, and her cold fingers returned no pressure to +mine. +</p> +<p> +“I love you; I love you!” I muttered, as I covered her hand with kisses. +</p> +<p> +“There! Do you not hear?” cried she, suddenly. “My father is calling me.” + </p> +<p> +“Sara, Sara! Where is Sara?” cried the old man, in a weak, reedy voice. +</p> +<p> +“I am coming, dear father,” said she. “Good-bye, Digby; remember that I +trust you!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/nor0612.jpg" alt="nor0612" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +She waved me a farewell, and, with a faint, sad smile, she moved away. As +she reached the door, however, she turned, and, with a look of kindly +meaning, said, “Trust you in all things.” + </p> +<p> +I sprang forward to clasp her to my heart; but the door closed on her, and +I was alone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. “ON THE ROAD” IN CROATIA +</h2> +<p> +I passed half the night that followed in writing to my mother. It was a +very long epistle, but, in my fear lest, like so many others, it should +not ever reach her, it was less expansive and candid than I could have +wished. Sara's name did not occur throughout, and yet it was Sara's image +was before me as I wrote, and to connect my mother in interest for Sara +was my uppermost thought. Without touching on details that might awaken +pain, I told how I had been driven to attempt something for my own +support, and had not failed. +</p> +<p> +“I am still,” I wrote, “where I started, but in so far a different +position that I am now well looked on and trusted, and at this moment +about to set out on a mission of importance. If I should succeed in doing +what I am charged with, it will go far to secure my future, and then, +dearest mother, I will go over to fetch you, for I will no longer live +without you.” + </p> +<p> +I pictured the place I was living in, and its climate, as attractively as +I was able, and said, what I verily believed, that I hoped never to leave +it. Of my father I did not venture to speak; but I invited her, if the +course of our correspondence should prove assured, to tell me freely all +about her present condition, and where and how she was. +</p> +<p> +“You will see, dear mother,” said I, in conclusion, “that I write in all +the constraint of one who is not sure who may read him. Of the accident by +which the address I now give this letter reached me, I will tell when I +write again. Meanwhile, though I shall not be here to receive it at once, +write to me, to the care of Hodnig and Oppovich, and add, 'to be +forwarded.'” + </p> +<p> +I enclosed a little photograph of the town, as seen from the bay, and +though ill done and out of drawing, it still conveyed some notion of the +pretty spot with its mountain framework. +</p> +<p> +I had it in my head to write another letter, and, indeed, made about a +dozen attempts to begin it. It was to Pauline. Nothing but very boyishness +could have ever conceived such a project, but I thought—it was very +simple of me!—I thought I owed it to her, and to my own loyalty, to +declare that my heart had wandered from its first allegiance, and fixed +its devotion on another. I believed—I was young enough to believe it—that +I had won her affections, and I felt it would be dishonorable in me to +deceive her as to my own. I suppose I was essaying a task that would have +puzzled a more consummate tactician than myself, for certainly nothing +could be more palpable than my failures; and though I tried, with all the +ingenuity I possessed, to show that in my altered fortunes I could no +longer presume to retain any hold on her affections, somehow it would +creep out that my heart had opened to a sentiment far deeper and more +enthralling than that love which began in a polka and ended at the +railway. +</p> +<p> +I must own I am now grateful to my stupidity and ineptness, which saved me +from committing this great blunder, though at the time I mourned over my +incapacity, and bewailed the dulness that destroyed every attempt I made +to express myself gracefully. I abandoned the task at length in despair, +and set to work to pack up for my journey. I was to start at daybreak for +Agram, where some business would detain me a couple of days. Thence I was +to proceed to a small frontier town in Hungary, called Ostovich, on the +Drave, where we owned a forest of oak scrub, and which I was empowered to +sell, if an advantageous offer could be had. If such should not be +forthcoming, my instructions were to see what water-power existed in the +neighborhood to work saw-mills, and to report fully on the price of labor, +and the means of conveyance to the coast. If I mention these details, even +passingly, it is but to show the sort of work that was intrusted to me, +and how naturally my pride was touched at feeling how great and important +were the interests confided to my judgment. In my own» esteem, at least, I +was somebody. This sentiment, felt in the freshness of youth, is never +equalled by anything one experiences of triumph in after life, for none of +our later successes come upon hearts joyous in the day-spring of +existence, hopeful of all things, and, above all, hearts that have not +been jarred by envy and made discordant by ungenerous rivalry. +</p> +<p> +There was an especial charm, too, in the thought that my life was no +every-day common-place existence, but a strange series of ups and downs, +changes and vicissitudes, calling for continual watchfulness, and no small +amount of energy; in a word, I was a hero to myself, and it is wonderful +what a degree of interest can be imparted to life simply by that delusion. +My business at Agram was soon despatched. No news of the precarious +condition of our “house” had reached this place, and I was treated with +all the consideration due to the confidential agent of a great firm. I +passed an evening in the society of the town, and was closely questioned +whether Carl Bettmeyer had got over his passion for the Fraulein Sara; or +was she showing any disposition to look more favorably on his addresses. +What fortune Oppovich could give his daughter, and what sort of marriage +he aspired to for her, were all discussed. There was one point, however, +all were agreed upon, that nothing could be done without the consent of +the “Baron,” as they distinctively called the great financier of Paris, +whose sway, it appeared, extended not only to questions of trade and; +money, but to every relation of domestic life. +</p> +<p> +“They say,” cried one, “that the Baron likes Bettmeyer, and has thrown +some good things in his way of late.” + </p> +<p> +“He gave him a share in that new dock contract at Pola.” + </p> +<p> +“And he means to give him the directorship of the Viecovar line, if it +ever be made.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll give him Sara Oppovich for a wife,” said a third, “and that's a +better speculation than them all. Two millions of florins at least.” + </p> +<p> +“She's the richest heiress in Croatia.” + </p> +<p> +“And does n't she know it!” exclaimed another. “The last time I was up at +Fiume, old Ignaz apologized for not presenting me to her, by saying, +'Yesterday was her reception day; if you are here next Wednesday, I 'll +introduce you.'” + </p> +<p> +“I thought it was only the nobles had the custom of reception days?” + </p> +<p> +“Wealth is nobility nowadays; and if Ignaz Oppovich was not a Jew, he +might have the best blood of Austria for a son-in-law.” + </p> +<p> +The discussion soon waxed warm as to whether Jews did or did not aspire to +marriage with Christians of rank, the majority opining to believe that +they placed title and station above even riches, and that no people had +such an intense appreciation of the value of condition as the Hebrew. +</p> +<p> +“That Frenchman who was here the other day, Marsac, told me that the man +who could get the Stephen Cross for old Oppovich, and the title of +Chevalier, would be sure of his daughter's hand in marriage.” + </p> +<p> +“And does old Ignaz really care for such a thing?” + </p> +<p> +“No, but the girl does; she's the haughtiest and the vainest damsel in the +province.” + </p> +<p> +It may be believed that I found it very hard to listen to such words as +these in silence, but it was of the last importance that I should not make +what is called an <i>éclat</i>, or bring the name of Oppovich needlessly +forward for town talk and discussion; I therefore repressed my indignation +and appeared to take little interest in the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“You've seen the Fräulein, of course?” asked one of me. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure he has, and has been permitted to kneel and kiss her hand on +her birthday,” broke in another. +</p> +<p> +And while some declared that this was mere exaggeration and gossip, others +averred that they had been present and witnessed this act of homage +themselves. +</p> +<p> +“What has this young gentleman seen of this hand-kissing?” said a lady of +the party, turning to me. +</p> +<p> +“That it was always an honor conferred even more than a homage rendered, +Madam,” said I, stepping forward and kissing her hand; and a pleasant +laughter greeted this mode of concluding the controversy. +</p> +<p> +“I have got a wager about you,” said a young man to me, “and you alone can +decide it. Are you or are you not from Upper Austria?” + </p> +<p> +“And are you a Jew?” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“If you'll promise to ask me no more questions, I'll answer both of these,—I +am neither Jew nor Austrian.” + </p> +<p> +It was not, however, so easy to escape my questioners; but as their +curiosity seemed curbed by no reserves of delicacy, I was left free to +defend myself as best I might, and that I had not totally failed, I +gathered from hearing an old fellow whisper to another,— +</p> +<p> +“You 'll get nothing out of him: if he 's not a Jew by birth, he has lived +long enough with them to keep his mind to himself.” + </p> +<p> +Having finished all I had to do at Agram, I started for Ostovitz. I could +find no purchaser for our wood; indeed every one had timber to sell, and +forests were offered me on all sides. It was just at that period in +Austria when the nation was first waking to thoughts of industrial +enterprise, and schemes of money-getting were rife everywhere; but such +was the ignorance of the people, so little versed were they in affairs, +that they imagined wealth was to pour down upon them for the wishing, and +that Fortune asked of her votaries neither industry nor thrift. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps I should not have been led into these reflections here if it were +not that I had embodied them, or something very like them, in a despatch I +sent off to Sara,—a despatch on which I had expended all my care to +make it a masterpiece of fine writing and acute observation. I remember +how I expatiated on the disabilities of race, and how I dwelt upon the +vices of those lethargic temperaments of Eastern origin which seemed so +wanting in all that energy and persistence which form the life of +commerce. +</p> +<p> +This laborious essay took me an entire day to write; but when I had posted +it at night, I felt I had done a very grand thing, not only as an +intellectual effort, but as a proof to the Fräulein how well I knew how to +restrict myself within the limits of my duties; for not a sentence, not a +syllable, had escaped me throughout to recall thoughts of anything but +business. I had asked for certain instructions about Hungary, and on the +third day came the following, in Sara's hand:— +</p> +<p> +“Herr Digby,—There is no mention in your esteemed letter of the 4th +November of Kraus's acceptance, nor have you explained to what part of +Heydager's contract Hauser now objects. Freights are still rising here, +and it would be imprudent to engage in any operations that involve +exportation. Gold is also rising, and the Bank discount goes daily higher. +I am obliged to you for your interesting remarks on ethnology, though I am +low-minded enough to own, I could have read with more pleasure whether the +floods in the Drave have interfered with the rafts, and also whether these +late rains have damaged the newly sown crops. +</p> +<p> +“If you choose to see Pesth and Buda, you will have time, for Count +Hunyadi will not be at his chateau till nigh Christmas; but it is +important you should see him immediately on his arrival, for his intendant +writes to say that the Graf has invited a large party of friends to pass +the festival with him, and will not attend to any business matters while +they remain. Promptitude will be therefore needful. I have nothing to add +to your instructions already given. Although I have not been able to +consult my father, whose weakness is daily greater, I may say that you are +empowered to make a compromise, if such should seem advisable, and your +drafts shall be duly honored, if, time pressing, you are not in a position +to acquaint us with details. +</p> +<p> +“The weather here is fine now. I passed yesterday at Abazzia, and the +place was looking well. I believe the Archduke will purchase it, and, +though sorry on some accounts, I shall be glad on the whole. +</p> +<p> +“For Hodnig and Oppovich, +</p> +<p> +“Sara Oppovich. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, if Count Hunyadi will not transact business on his arrival, +you will have to await his convenience. Perhaps the interval could be +profitably passed in Transylvania, where, it is said, the oak-bark is both +cheap and good. See to this, if opportunity serves. Bieli's book and maps +are worth consulting.” + </p> +<p> +If I read this epistle once, I read it fifty times, but I will not pretend +to say with what strange emotions. All the dry reference to business I +could bear well enough, but the little passing sneer at what she called my +ethnology piqued me painfully. Why should she have taken such pains to +tell me that nothing that did not lend itself to gain could have any +interest for her? or was it to say that these topics alone were what +should be discussed between us? Was it to recall me to my station, to make +me remember in what relation I stood to her, she wrote thus? These were +not the nature I had read of in Balzac! the creatures all passion and soul +and sentiment,—women whose atmosphere was positive enchantment, and +whose least glance or word or gesture would inflame the heart to very +madness; and yet was it net in Sara to become all this? Were those deep +lustrous eyes, that looked away into space longingly, dreamfully, +dazingly,—were they meant to pore over wearisome columns of dry +arithmetic, or not rather to give back in recognition what they had got in +rapture, and to look as they were looked into? +</p> +<p> +Was it, as a Jewess, that my speculations about race had offended her? Had +I expressed myself carelessly or ill? I had often been struck by a smile +she would give,—not scornful, nor slighting, but something that +seemed to say, “These thoughts are not <i>our</i> thoughts, nor are these +ways our ways!” but in her silent fashion she would make no remark, but be +satisfied to shadow forth some half dissent by a mere trembling of the +lip. +</p> +<p> +She had passed a day at Abazzia—of course, alone—wandering +about that delicious spot, and doubtless recalling memories for any one of +which I had given my life's blood. And would she not bestow a word—one +word—on these? Why not say she as much as remembered me; that it was +there we first met! Sure, so much might have been said, or at least hinted +at, in all harmlessness! I had done nothing, written nothing, to bring +rebuke upon me. I had taken no liberty; I had tried to make the dry detail +of a business letter less wearisome by a little digression, not wholly out +of <i>apropos</i>; that was all. +</p> +<p> +Was then the Hebrew heart bent sorely on gain? And yet what grand things +did the love of these women inspire in olden times, and what splendid +natures were theirs! How true and devoted, how self-sacrificing! Sara's +beautiful face, in all its calm loveliness, rose before me as I thought +these things, and I felt that I loved her more than ever. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. IN HUNGARY +</h2> +<p> +It still wanted several weeks of Christmas, and so I hastened off to Pesth +and tried to acquire some little knowledge of Hungarian, and some +acquaintance with the habits and ways of Hungarian life. I am not sure +that I made much progress in anything but the <i>csardas</i>—the +national dance,—in which I soon became a proficient. Its stately +solemnity suddenly changing for a lively movement; its warlike gestures +and attitudes; its haughty tramp and defiant tone; and, last of all, its +whirlwind impetuosity and passion,—all emblems of the people who +practise it,—possessed a strange fascination for me; and I never +missed a night of those public balls where it was danced. +</p> +<p> +Towards the middle of December, however, I bethought me of my mission, and +set out for Gross Wardein, which lay a long distance off, near the +Transylvanian frontier. I had provided myself with one of the wicker +carriages of the country, and travelled post, usually having three horses +harnessed abreast; or, where there was much uphill, a team of five. +</p> +<p> +I mention this, for I own that the exhilaration of speeding along at the +stretching gallop of these splendid <i>juckers</i>, tossing their wild +names madly, and ringing out their myriads of bells, was an ecstasy of +delight almost maddening. Over and over, as the excited driver would urge +his beasts to greater speed by a wild shrill cry, have I yelled out in +concert with him, carried away by an intense excitement I could not +master. +</p> +<p> +On the second day of the journey we left the region of roads, and usually +directed our course by some church spire or tower in the distance, or +followed the bank of a river, when not too devious. This headlong swoop +across fields and prairies, dashing madly on in what seemed utter +recklessness, was glorious fun; and when we came to cross the small +bridges which span the streams, without rail or parapet at either side, +and where the deviation of a few inches would have sent us headlong into +the torrent beneath, I felt a degree of blended terror and delight such as +one experiences in the mad excitement of a fox-hunt. +</p> +<p> +On the third morning I discovered, on awaking, that a heavy fall of snow +had occurred during the night, and we were forced to take off our wheels +and place the carriage on sledge-slides. This alone was wanting to make +the enjoyment perfect, and our pace from this hour became positively +steeple-chasing. Lying back in my ample fur mantle, and my hands enclosed +in a fur muff, I accepted the salutations of the villagers as we swept +along, or blandly raised my hand to my cap as some wearied guard would +hurriedly turn out to present arms to a supposed “magnate;” for we were +long out of the beat of usual travel, and rarely any but some high +official of the State was seen to come “extra post,” as it is called, +through these wild regions. +</p> +<p> +Up to Izarous the country had been a plain, slightly, but very slightly, +undulating. Here, however, we got amongst the mountains, and the charm of +scenery was now added to the delight of the pace. On the fifth day I +learned, and not without sincere regret, that we were within seven German +miles—something over thirty of ours—from Gross Wardein, from +which the Hunyadi Schloss only lay about fifty miles. +</p> +<p> +Up to this I had been, to myself at least, a <i>grand seigneur</i> +travelling for his pleasure, careless of cost, and denying himself +nothing; splendid generosity, transmitted from each postilion to his +successor, secured me the utmost speed his beasts could master, and the +impetuous dash with which we spun into the arched doorways of the inns, +routed the whole household, and not unfrequently summoned the guests +themselves to witness the illustrious arrival. A few hours more and the +grand illusion would dissolve! No more the wild stretching gallop, cutting +the snowdrift; no more the clear bells, ringing through the frosty air; no +more the eager landlord bustling to the carriage-side with his flagon of +heated wine; no more that burning delight imparted by speed, a sense of +power that actually intoxicates. Not one of these! A few hours more and I +should be Herr Owen, travelling for the house of Hodnig and Oppovich, +banished to the company of bagmen, and reduced to a status where whatever +life has of picturesque or graceful is made matter for vulgar sarcasm and +ridicule. I know well, ye gentlemen who hold a station fixed and +unassailable will scarcely sympathize with me in all this; but the +castle-builders of this world—and, happily, they are a large class—will +lend me all their pity, well aware that so long as imagination honors the +drafts upon her, the poor man is never bankrupt, and that it is only as +illusions dissolve he sees his insolvency. +</p> +<p> +I reached Gross Wardein to dinner, and passed the night there, essaying, +but with no remarkable success, to learn something of Count Hunyadi, his +habits, age, temper, and general demeanor. As my informants were his +countrymen, I could only gather that his qualities were such as Hungarians +held in esteem. He was proud, brave, costly in his mode of life, +splendidly hospitable, and a thorough spoilsman. As to what he might prove +in matters of business, if he would even stoop to entertain such at all, +none could say; the very thought seemed to provoke a laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I once attempted a deal with him,” said an old farmerlike man at the +fireside. “I wanted to buy a team of <i>juchera</i> he drove into the yard +here, and was rash enough to offer five hundred florins for what he asked +eight. He did not even vouchsafe me an answer, and almost drove over me +the next day as I stood at the side of the gate there.” + </p> +<p> +“That was like Tassilo,” said a Hungarian, with flashing eyes. +</p> +<p> +“He served you right,” cried another. “None but a German would have +offered him such a rudeness.” + </p> +<p> +“Not but he's too ready with his heavy whip,” muttered an old soldier-like +fellow. “He might chance to strike where no words would efface the welt.” + </p> +<p> +Stories of Hunyadi's extravagance and eccentricity now poured in on all +sides. How he had sold an estate to pay the cost of an imperial visit that +lasted a week; how he had driven a team of four across the Danube on the +second day of the frost, when a heavy man could have smashed the ice by a +stamp of his foot; how he had killed a boar in single combat, though it +cost him three fingers of his left hand, and an awful flesh wound in the +side; and numberless other feats of daring and recklessness were recorded +by admiring narrators, who finished by a loud <i>Elyen</i> to his health. +</p> +<p> +I am not sure that I went away to my bed feeling much encouraged at the +success of my mission, or very hopeful of what I should do with this +magnate of Hungary. +</p> +<p> +By daybreak I was again on the road. The journey led through a wild +mountain pass, and was eminently interesting and picturesque; but I was no +longer so open to enjoyment as before, and serious thoughts of my mission +now oppressed me, and I grew more nervous and afraid of failure. If this +haughty Graf were the man they represented him, it was just as likely he +would refuse to listen to me at all; nor was the fact a cheering one that +my client was a Jew, since nowhere is the race less held in honor than in +Hungary. +</p> +<p> +As day began to decline, we issued forth upon a vast plain into which a +mountain spur projected like a bold promontory beside the sea. At the very +extremity of this, a large mass, which might be rock, seemed to stand out +against the sky. “There,—yonder,” said the postilion, pointing +towards it with his whip; “that is Schloss Hunyadi. There's three hours' +good gallop yet before us.” + </p> +<p> +A cold snowdrift borne on a wind that at times brought us to a standstill, +or even drove us to seek shelter by the wayside, now set in, and I was +fain to roll myself in my furs and lie snugly down on the hay in the <i>wagen</i>, +where I soon fell asleep; and though we had a change of horses, and I must +have managed somehow to settle with the postilion and hand him his <i>trink-geld</i>, +I was conscious of nothing till awakened by the clanking sound of a great +bell, when I started up and saw we had driven into a spacious courtyard in +which, at an immense fire, a number of people were seated, while others +bustled about, harnessing or unharnessing horses. “Here we are, Herr +Graf!” cried my postilion, who called me Count in recognition of the +handsome way in which I had treated his predecessor. “This is Schloss +Hunyadi.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. SCHLOSS HUNYADI +</h2> +<p> +When I had made known my rank and quality, I was assigned a room—a +very comfortable one—in one wing of the castle, and no more notice +taken of me than if I had been a guest at an inn. The house was filled +with visitors; but the master, with some six or seven others, was away in +Transylvania boar-shooting. As it was supposed he would not return for +eight or ten days, I had abundant time to look about me, and learn +something of the place and the people. +</p> +<p> +Schloss Hunyadi dated from the fifteenth century, although now a single +square tower was all that remained of the early building. Successive +additions had been made in every imaginable taste and style, till the +whole presented an enormous incongruous mass, in which fortress, +farmhouse, convent, and palace struggled for the mastery, size alone +giving an air of dignity to what numberless faults would have condemned as +an outrage on all architecture. +</p> +<p> +If there was deformity and ugliness without, there was, however, ample +comfort and space within. Above two hundred persons could be accommodated +beneath the roof, and half as many more had been occasionally stowed away +in the out-buildings. I made many attempts, but all unsuccessfully, to +find out what number of servants the household consisted of. Several wore +livery, and many—especially such as waited on guests humble as +myself—were dressed in blouse, with the crest of the house +embroidered on the breast; while a little army of retainers in Jager +costume, or in the picturesque dress of the peasantry, lounged about the +courtyard, lending a hand to unharness or harness a team, to fetch a +bucket of water, or “strap down” a beast, as some weary traveller would +ride in, splashed and wayworn. +</p> +<p> +If there seemed no order or discipline anywhere, there was little +confusion, and no ill humor whatever. All seemed ready to oblige; and the +work of life, so far as I could see from my window, went on cheerfully and +joyfully, if not very regularly or well. +</p> +<p> +If there was none of the trim propriety, or that neatness that rises to +elegance, which I had seen in my father's household, there was a lavish +profusion here, a boundless abundance, that, contrasted with our mode of +life, made us seem almost mean and penurious. Guests came and went +unceasingly, and, to all seeming, not known to any one. An unbounded +hospitality awaited all comers, and of the party who supped and caroused +to-night, none remained on the morrow, nor, perhaps, even a name was +remembered. +</p> +<p> +It took me some days to learn this, and to know that there was nothing +singular or strange in the position I occupied, living where none knew why +or whence I came, or even so much as cared to inquire my name or country. +</p> +<p> +In the great hall, where we dined all together,—the distinguished +guests at one end of the table, the lesser notabilities lower down, and +the menials last of all,—there was ever a place reserved for sudden +arrivals; and it was rare that the meal went over without some such. A +hearty welcome and a cordial greeting were soon over, and the work of +festivity went on as before. +</p> +<p> +I was soon given to understand that, not only I might dispose of my time +how I pleased, but that every appliance to do so agreeably was at my +disposal, and that I might ride or drive or shoot or sledge, just as I +fancied. And though I was cautious to show that my personal pretension +were of the very humblest, this fact seemed no barrier whatever to my +enjoyment of all these courteous civilities. +</p> +<p> +“We 're always glad when any one will ride the <i>juckers</i>,” said a +Jäger to me; “they are ruined for want of exercise, and if you like three +mounts a day, you shall have them.” + </p> +<p> +It was a rare piece of good luck for me that I could both ride and shoot. +No two accomplishments could have stood me in such request as these, and I +rose immensely in the esteem of those amongst whom I sat at table when +they saw that I could sit a back-jumper and shoot a wood-pigeon on the +wing. +</p> +<p> +While I thus won such humble suffrages, there was a higher applause that +my heart craved and longed for. As the company—some five-and-twenty +or thirty persons—who dined at the upper table withdrew after +dinner, they passed into the drawing-rooms, and we saw them no more. Of +the music and dancing, in which they passed the evening, we knew nothing; +and we in our own way had our revels, which certainly amply contented +those who had no pretensions to higher company; but this was precisely +what I could not, do what I might, divest myself of. Like one of the +characters of my old favorite Balzac, I yearned to be once more in the <i>salon</i>, +and amongst <i>ces épaules blanches</i>, where the whole game of life is +finer, where the parries are neater, and the thrusts more deadly. +</p> +<p> +An accident gave me what all my ingenuity could not have effected. A groom +of the chambers came suddenly, one evening, into the hall where we all +sat, to ask if any one there could play the new <i>csardas</i> called the +“Stephan.” It was all the rage at Pesth; but no copy of it had yet reached +the far East. I had learned this while at Pesth, and had the music with +me; and of course, offered my services at once. Scarcely permitted a +moment to make some slight change of dress, I found myself in a handsome +<i>salon</i> with a numerous company. In my first confusion I could mark +little beyond the fact that most of the persons were in the national +costume, the ladies wearing the laced bodies, covered with precious +stones, and the men in velvet coats, with massive turquoise buttons, the +whole effect being something like that of a splendid scene in a theatre. +</p> +<p> +“We are going to avail ourselves of your talent at the piano, sir,” said +the Countess Hunyadi, approaching me with a courteous smile. “But let me +first offer you some tea.” + </p> +<p> +Not knowing if fortune might ever repeat her present favor, I resolved to +profit by the opportunity to the utmost; and while cautiously repressing +all display, contrived to show that I was master of some three or four +languages, and a person of education, generally. +</p> +<p> +“We are puzzled about your nationality, sir,” said the Countess to me. “If +not too great a liberty, may I ask your country?” + </p> +<p> +When I said England, the effect produced was almost magical. A little +murmur of something I might even call applause ran through the room; for I +had mentioned the land of all Europe dearest to the Hungarian heart, and I +heard, “An Englishman! an Englishman!” repeated from mouth to mouth, in +accents of kindest meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Why had I not presented myself before? Why had I not sent my name to the +Countess? Why not have made it known that I was here?” and so on, were +asked eagerly of me, as though my mere nationality had invested me with +some special claim to attention and regard. +</p> +<p> +I had to own that my visit was a purely business one; that I had come to +see and confer with the Count, and had not the very slightest pretension +to expect the courtesies I was then receiving. +</p> +<p> +My performance at the piano crowned my success. I played the <i>csardas</i> +with such spirit as an impassioned dancer alone can give to the measure he +delights in, and two enthusiastic encores rewarded my triumph. “Adolf, you +must play now, for I know the Englishman is dying to have a dance,” said +the gay young Countess Palfi; “and I am quite ready to be his partner.” + And the next moment we were whirling along in all the mad mazes of the <i>csardas</i>. +</p> +<p> +There is that amount of display in the dancing of the <i>csardas</i> that +not merely invites criticism, but actually compels an outspoken admiration +whenever anything like excellence accompanies the performance. My partner +was celebrated for the grace and beauty of her dancing, and for those +innumerable interpolations which, fancy or caprice suggesting, she could +throw into the measure. To meet and respond to these by appropriate +gesture, to catch the spirit of each mood, and be ready for each change, +was the task now assigned me; and I need not say with what passionate +ardor I threw myself into it. At one moment she would advance in proud +defiance; and as I fell back in timid homage, she would turn and fly off +in the wild transport of a waltz movement Then it was mine to pursue and +overtake her; and, clasping her, whirl away, till suddenly with a bound +she would free herself, again to dramatize some passing emotion, some mood +of deep dejection, or of mad and exuberant delight It was clear that she +was bent on trying the resources of my ingenuity to the very last limit; +and the loud plaudits that greeted my successes had evidently put her +pride on the mettle. I saw this, and saw, as I thought, that the contest +had begun to pique; so, taking the next opportunity she gave me to touch +her hand, I dropped on one knee, and, kissing her fingers, declared myself +vanquished. +</p> +<p> +A deafening cheer greeted this finale, and accompanied us as I led my +partner to her seat. +</p> +<p> +It is a fortunate thing for young natures that there is no amount of +praise, no quantity of flattery, ever palls upon them. Their moral +digestion is as great as their physical; and even gluttony does not seem +to hurt them. Of all the flattering speeches made me on my performance, +none were more cordially uttered than by my beautiful partner, who +declared that if I had but the Hungarian costume,—where the clink of +the spur and the jingle of the hussar equipment blend with the time,—my +<i>csardas</i> was perfection. +</p> +<p> +Over and over again were regrets uttered that the Empress, who had seen +the dance at Pesth done by timid and un impassioned dancers, and who had, +in consequence, carried away but a faint idea of its real captivation, +could have witnessed our performance; and some even began to plot how such +a representation could be prepared for her Majesty's next visit to +Hungary. While they thus talked, supper was announced; and as the company +were marshalling themselves into the order to move forward, I took the +opportunity to slip away unnoticed to my room, well remembering that my +presence there was the result of accident, and that nothing but a generous +courtesy could regard me as a guest. +</p> +<p> +I had not been many minutes in my room when I heard a footstep in the +corridor. I turned the key in my lock, and put out my light. +</p> +<p> +“Herr Engländer! Herr Engländer!” cried a servant's voice, as a sharp +knocking shook the door. I made no reply, and he retreated. +</p> +<p> +It was clear to me that an invitation had been sent after me; and this +thought filled the measure of my self-gratulation, and I drew nigh my +fire, to sit and weave the pleasant-est fancies that had crossed my mind +for many a long day. +</p> +<p> +I waited for some time, sitting by the firelight, and then relit my lamp. +I had a long letter to write to Mademoiselle Sara; for up to then I had +said nothing of my arrival, nor given any account of the Schloss Hunyadi. +</p> +<p> +Had my task been simply to record my life and my impressions of those +around me at Hunyadi, nothing could well have been much easier. My few +days there had been actually crammed with those small and pleasant +incidents which tell well in gossiping correspondence. It was all, too, so +strange, so novel, so picturesque, that, to make an effective tableau of +such a life, was merely to draw on memory. +</p> +<p> +There was a barbaric grandeur, on the whole, in the vast building; its +crowds of followers, its hordes of retainers who came and went, apparently +at no bidding but their own; in the ceaseless tide of travellers who, +hospited for the night, went their way on the morrow, no more impressed by +the hospitality, to all seeming, than by a thing they had their own valid +right to. Details there were of neglect and savagery, that even an humble +household might have been ashamed of, but these were lost—submerged, +as it were—in that ocean of boundless extravagance and cost, and +speedily lost sight of. +</p> +<p> +It was now my task to tell Sara all this, colored by the light—a +warm light, too—of my own enjoyment of it. I pictured the place as I +saw it on the night I came, and told how I could not imagine for a while +in what wild' region I found myself; I narrated the way in which I was +assigned my place in this strange world, with Ober-jagers and Unter-jagers +for my friends, who mounted me and often accompanied me in my rides; how I +had seen the vast territories from hill-tops and eminences which pertained +to the great Count, boundless plains that in summer would have been waving +with yellow corn, and far-stretching woods of oak or pine lost in the long +distance; and, last of all, coming down to the very moment I was writing, +I related the incident by which I had been promoted to the society of the +castle, and how I had passed my first evening. +</p> +<p> +My pen ran rapidly along as I told of the splendors and magnificence of +the scene, and of a company whose brilliant costume filled up the measure +of the enchantment. “They pass and repass before me, in all their gorgeous +bravery, as I write; the air vibrates with the music, and unconsciously my +foot keeps time with the measure of that <i>csardas</i>, that spins and +whirls before me till my brain reels with a mad intoxication.” + </p> +<p> +It was only when I read over what I had written, that I became aware of +the questionable taste of recording these things to one who, perhaps, was +to read them after a day of heavy toil or a sleepless night of watching. +What will she think of me, thought I, if it be thus I seem to discharge +the weighty trust confided to me? Was it to mingle in such revelries I +came here, or will she deem that these follies are the fitting prelude to +a grave and difficult negotiation? For a moment I had half determined to +throw my letter in the fire, and limit myself simply to saying that I had +arrived, and was awaiting the Count's return! but my pride, or rather my +vanity, carried the day; I could not repress the delight I felt to be in a +society I clung to by so many interesting ties, and to show that here I +was in my true element,—here breathing the air that was native to +me. +</p> +<p> +“I am not to be supposed to forget,” I wrote, “that it was not for these +pleasures you sent me here, for I bear well in mind why I have come, and +what I have to do. Count Hunyadi is, however, absent, and will not return +before the end of the week, by which time I fully hope that I shall have +assured such a position here as will mainly contribute to my ability to +serve you. I pray you, therefore, to read this letter by the light of the +assurance I now give, and though I may seem to lend myself too easily to +pleasure, to believe that no seductions of amusement, no flatteries of my +self-love, shall turn me from the devotion I owe you, and from the +fidelity to which I pledge my life.” With this I closed my letter and +addressed it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE SALON +</h2> +<p> +The morning after my <i>csardas</i> success, a valet in discreet black +brought me a message from the Countess that she expected to see me at her +table at dinner, and from him I learned the names and rank of the persons +I had met the night before. They were all of that high noblesse which in +Hungary assumes a sort of family prestige, and by frequent intermarriage +really possesses many of the close familiar interests of the family. +Austrians, or indeed Germans from any part, are rarely received in these +intimate gatherings, and I learned with some surprise that the only +strangers were an English “lord” and his countess—so the man styled +them—who were then amongst the guests. “The Lord” was with the Count +on the shooting excursion; my Lady being confined to her room by a heavy +cold she had caught out sledging. +</p> +<p> +Shall I be misunderstood if I own that I was very sorry to hear that an +Englishman and a man of title was amongst the company? Whatever favor +foreigners might extend to any small accomplishments I could lay claim to, +I well knew would not compensate in my countryman's eyes for my want of +station. In my father's house I had often had occasion to remark that +while Englishmen freely admitted the advances of a foreigner, and accepted +his acquaintance with a courteous readiness, with each other they +maintained a cold and studied reserve; as though no difference of place or +circumstance was to obliterate that insular code which defines class, and +limits each man to the exact rank he belongs to. +</p> +<p> +When they shall see, therefore, thought I, how my titled countryman will +treat me,—the distance at which he will hold me, and the measured +firmness with which he will repel, not my familiarities, for I should not +dare them, but simply the ease of my manner,—these foreigners will +be driven to regard me as some ignoble upstart who has no pretension +whatever to be amongst them. I was very unwilling to encounter this +humiliation. It was true I was not sailing under false colors. I had +assumed no pretensions from which I was now to retreat. I had nothing to +disown or disavow; but still I was about to be the willing guest of a +society, to a place in which in my own country I could not have the +faintest pretension; and it was just possible that my countryman might +bring this fact before me. +</p> +<p> +He might do worse,—he might question me as to who and what I was; +nor was I very sure how my tact or my temper might carry me through such +an ordeal. +</p> +<p> +Would it not be wiser and better for me to avoid this peril? Should I not +spare myself much mortification and much needless pain? Thus thinking, I +resolved to wait on the Countess at once, and explain frankly why I felt +obliged to decline the gracious courtesy she had extended to me, and +refuse an honor so full of pleasure and of pride. +</p> +<p> +She was not alone as I entered,—the Countess Palfi was with her,—and +I scarcely knew how to approach my theme in presence of a third person. +With a bold effort, however, I told what I had come for; not very +collectedly, indeed, nor perhaps very intelligibly, but in such a way as +to convey that I had not courage to face what might look at least like a +false position, and was almost sure to entail all the unpleasant relations +of such. “In fact, Madam,” said I, “I am nobody; and in my country men of +rank never associate with nobodies, even by an accident. My Lord would not +forgive you for throwing him into such acquaintanceship, and I should +never forgive myself for having caused you the unpleasantness. I don't +imagine I have made my meaning very clear.” + </p> +<p> +“You have certainly made me very uncomfortable,” broke in Countess +Hunyadi, thoughtfully. “I thought that we Hungarians had rather strict +notions on these subjects, but these of your country leave them miles +behind.” + </p> +<p> +“And are less reasonable, besides,” said the Palfi, “since your nobility +is being continually recruited from so rich a bourgeoisie.” + </p> +<p> +“At all events,” cried the Countess, suddenly, “we are here at Schloss +Hunyadi, and I am its mistress. I invite you to dine with me; it remains +for you to decide how you treat my invitation.” + </p> +<p> +“Put in that way, Madam, I accept with deference;” and I bowed deeply and +moved towards the door. The ladies acknowledged my salute in silence, and +I fancied with coldness, and I retired. +</p> +<p> +I was evidently mistaken in attributing coldness to their manner; the +ladies received me when I appeared at dinner with a marked cordiality, I +sat next Madame Palfi, who talked to me like an old friend, told me who +the various people at table were, and gave me great pleasure by saying +that I was sure to become a favorite with Count Hunyadi, who delighted in +gayety, and cherished all those that promoted it. Seeing what interest I +took in the ways of Hungarian life, she explained many of the customs I +saw around me, which, deriving from a great antiquity, were doubtless soon +destined to give way before the advance of a higher civilization. I asked +what she knew of the English guests. It was nothing, or next to nothing,—Count +Hunyadi had made their acquaintance at Baden that summer, and invited them +to pass their Christmas with him. Countess Palfi had herself arrived since +they came, and had not seen them; for “my Lord,” as he was generally +called, had left at once to join the shooting-party, and my Lady had not +appeared since the day after her arrival. “I only know that she is a great +beauty, and of most charming manners. The men all rave of her, so that we +are half jealous already. We were expecting to see her at dinner to-day, +but we hear that she is less well than yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you know their name?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I believe I heard it,—but I am not familiar with English names, +and it has escaped me; but I will present you by and by to Count Greorge +Szechenyi, who was at Baden when the Hunyadi met them,—he'll tell +you more of them.” + </p> +<p> +I assured her that my curiosity was most amply satisfied already. It was a +class, in which I could not expect to find an acquaintance, far less a +friend. +</p> +<p> +“There is something almost forced in this humility of yours,” cried she. +“Are we to find out some fine morning that you are a prince in disguise?” + She laughed so merrily at her own conceit that Madame Hunyadi asked the +cause of her mirth. +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you later on,” said she. We soon afterwards rose to go into +the drawing-room, and I saw as they laughed together that she had told her +what she said. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know,” said the Countess Hunyadi, approaching me, “I am half of +Madame Palfi's mind, and I shall never rest till you reveal your secret to +us?” + </p> +<p> +I said something laughingly about my <i>incognito</i> being the best coat +in my wardrobe, and the matter dropped. That night I sang several times, +alone, and in duet with the Palfi, and was overwhelmed with flatteries of +my “fresh tenor voice” and my “admirable method.” It was something so new +and strange to me to find myself the centre of polite attentions, and of +those warm praises which consummate good breeding knows how to bestow +without outraging taste, that I found it hard to repress the wild delight +that possessed me. +</p> +<p> +If I had piqued their curiosity to find out who or what I was, I had also +stimulated my own ambition to astonish them. +</p> +<p> +“He says he will ride out with me to-morrow, and does n't care if I give +him a lively mount,” said one, speaking of me. +</p> +<p> +“And you mean to gratify him, George?” asked another. +</p> +<p> +“He shall have the roan that hoisted you out of the saddle with his hind +quarters.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, gentlemen, I'll not have my <i>protégé</i> injured to gratify +your jealousies,” said Madame Hunyadi; “he shall be my escort.” + </p> +<p> +“If he rides as he plays billiards, you need not be much alarmed about +him. The fellow can do what he likes at the cannon game.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd give fifty Naps to know his history,” cried another. +</p> +<p> +I was playing chess as he said this, and, turning my head quietly around, +I said, “The secret is not worth half the money, sir; and if it really +interests you, you shall have it for the asking.” + </p> +<p> +He muttered out a mass of apologies and confused excuses, to all the +embarrassment of which I left him most pitilessly, and the incident ended. +I saw, however, enough to perceive that if I had won the suffrages of the +ladies, the men of the party had conceived an undisguised dislike of me, +and openly resented the favor shown me. +</p> +<p> +“What can you do with the foils, young gentleman?” whispered Szechenyi to +me, as he came near. +</p> +<p> +“Pretty much as I did with you at billiards awhile ago,” said I, +insolently; for my blood was up, and I burned to fix a quarrel somewhere. +</p> +<p> +“Shall we try?” asked he, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“If you say without the buttons, I agree.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, I mean that.” + </p> +<p> +I nodded, and he went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Come down to the riding-school by the first light tomorrow then, and I +'ll have all in readiness.” + </p> +<p> +I gave another nod of assent, and moved away. I had enough on my hands +now; for, besides other engagements, I had promised the Countess Palfi to +arrange a little piece for private theatricals, and have it ready by the +time of Count Hunyadi's return. So far from feeling oppressed or +overwhelmed by the multiplicity of these cares, they stimulated me to a +degree of excitement almost maddening. Failure somewhere seemed +inevitable, and, for the life of me, I could not choose where it should +be. As my spirits rose, I threw off all the reserve I had worn before, and +talked away with an animation and boldness I felt uncontrollable. I made +<i>calembourgs</i>, and dashed off impromptu verses at the piano; and +when, culminating in some impertinence by a witty picture of the persons +around me I had convulsed the whole room with laughter, I sprang up, and, +saying good-night, disappeared. +</p> +<p> +The roars of their laughter followed me down the corridor, nor did they +cease to ring in my ears till I had closed my door. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. AN UNLOOKED-FOR MEETING +</h2> +<p> +I could more easily record my sensations in the paroxysm of a fever than +recall how I passed that night. I am aware that I wrote a long letter to +my mother, and a longer to Sara, both to be despatched in case ill befell +me in my encounter. What I said to either, or how I said it, I know not. +</p> +<p> +No more can I explain why I put all my papers together in such fashion +that they could be thrown into the fire at once, without leaving any, the +slightest, clew to trace me by. That secret, which I had affected to hold +so cheaply, did in reality possess some strange fascination for me, and I +desired to be a puzzle and an enigma even after I was gone. +</p> +<p> +It wanted one short hour of dawn when I had finished; but I was still too +much excited to sleep. I knew how unfavorably I should come to the +encounter before me with jarred nerves and the weariness of a night's +watching; but it was too late now to help that; too late, besides, to +speculate on what men would say of such a causeless duel, brought on, as I +could not conceal from myself, by my hot temper. By the time I had taken +my cold bath my nerves became more braced, and I scarcely felt a trace of +fatigue or exhaustion. The gray morning was just breaking as I stole +quietly downstairs and issued forth into the courtyard. A heavy fall of +snow had occurred in the night, and an unbroken expanse of billowy +whiteness spread ont before me, save where, from a corner of the court, +some foot-tracks led towards the riding-school. I saw, therefore, that I +was not the first at the tryst, and I hastened on in all speed. +</p> +<p> +Six or eight young men, closely muffled in furs, stood at the door as I +came up, and gravely uncovered to me. They made way for me to pass in +without speaking; and while, stamping the snow from my boots, I said +something about the cold of the morning, they muttered what might mean +assent or the reverse in a low half-sulky tone, that certainly little +invited to further remark. +</p> +<p> +For a few seconds they talked together in whispers, and then a tall +ill-favored fellow, with a deep scar from the cheek-bone to the upper lip, +came abruptly up to me. +</p> +<p> +“Look here, young fellow,” said he. “I am to act as your second; and +though, of course, I 'd like to know that the man I handled was a +gentleman, I do not ask you to tell anything about yourself that you +prefer to keep back. I would only say that, if ugly consequences come of +this stupid business, the blame must fall upon you. Your temper provoked +it, is that not true?” + </p> +<p> +I nodded assent, and he went on. +</p> +<p> +“So far, all right. The next point is this. We are all on honor that, +whatever happens, not a word or a syllable shall ever escape us. Do you +agree to this?” + </p> +<p> +“I agree,” said I, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your hand on it.” + </p> +<p> +I gave him my hand; and as he held it in his own, he said, “On the faith +of a gentleman, I will never reveal to my last day what shall pass here +this morning.” + </p> +<p> +I repeated the words after him, and we moved on into the school. +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +I had drawn my sofa in front of the fire, and, stretching myself on it, +fell into a deep dreamless sleep. A night's wakefulness, and the +excitement I had gone through, had so far worked upon me that I did not +hear the opening of my door, nor the tread of a heavy man as he came +forward and seated himself by the fire. It was only the cold touch of hi» +fingers on the wrist as he felt my pulse that at last aroused me. +</p> +<p> +“Don't start, don't flurry yourself,” said he, calmly, to me. “I am the +doctor. I have been to see the other, and I promised to look in on you.” + </p> +<p> +“How is he? Is it serious?” + </p> +<p> +“It will be a slow affair. It was an ugly thrust,—all the dorsal +muscles pierced, but no internal mischief done.” + </p> +<p> +“He will certainly recover then?” + </p> +<p> +“There is no reason why he should not. But where is this scratch of yours? +Let me see it.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a nothing, doctor,—a mere nothing. Pray take no trouble about +it.” + </p> +<p> +“But I must I have pledged myself to examine your wound; and I must keep +my word.” + </p> +<p> +“Surely these gentlemen are scarcely so very anxious about me,” said I, in +some pique. “Not one of them vouchsafed to see me safe home, though I had +lost some blood, and felt very faint!” + </p> +<p> +“I did not say it was these gentlemen sent me here,” said he, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Then who else knew anything about this business?” + </p> +<p> +“If you must know, then,” said he, “it is the English Countess who is +staying here, and whom I have been attending for the last week. How she +came to hear of this affair I cannot tell you, for I know it is a secret +to the rest of the house; but she made me promise to come and see you, and +if there was nothing in your wound to forbid it, to bring you over to her +dressing-room, and present you to her. And now let me look at the injury.” + </p> +<p> +I took off my coat, and, baring my arm, displayed a very ugly thrust, +which, entering above the wrist, came out between the two bones of the +arm. +</p> +<p> +“Now I call this the worst of the two,” said he, examining it “Does it +give you much pain?” + </p> +<p> +“Some uneasiness; nothing more. When may I see the Countess?” asked I; for +an intense curiosity to meet her had now possessed me. +</p> +<p> +“If you like, you may go at once; not that I can accompany you, for I am +off for a distant visit; but her rooms are at the end of this corridor, +and you enter by the conservatory. Meanwhile I must bandage this arm in +somewhat better fashion than you have done.” + </p> +<p> +While he was engaged in dressing my wound, he rambled on about the +reckless habits that made such <i>rencontres</i> possible. “We are in the +middle of the seventeenth century here, with all its barbarisms,” said he. +“These young fellows were vexed at seeing the notice you attracted; and +that was to their thinking cause enough to send you off with a damaged +lung or a maimed limb. It's all well, however, as long as Graf Hunyadi +does not hear of it. But if he should, he'll turn them out, every man of +them, for this treatment of an Englishman.” + </p> +<p> +“Then we must take care, sir, that he does not hear of it,” said I, half +fiercely, and as though addressing my speech especially to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Not from me, certainly,” said he. “My doctor's instincts always save me +from such indiscretions.” + </p> +<p> +“Is our Countess young, doctor?” asked I, half jocularly. +</p> +<p> +“Young and pretty, though one might say, too, she has been younger and +prettier. If you dine below stairs today, drink no wine, and get back to +your sofa as soon as you can after dinner.” With this caution he left me. +</p> +<p> +A heavy packet of letters had arrived from Fiume, containing, I surmised, +some instructions for which I had written; but seeing that the address was +in the cashier's handwriting, I felt no impatience to break the seal. +</p> +<p> +I dressed myself with unusual care, though the pain of my arm made the +process a very slow one; and at last set out to pay my visit. I passed +along the corridor, through the conservatory, and found myself at a door, +at which I knocked twice. At last I turned the handle, and entered a small +but handsomely furnished drawing-room, about which books and newspapers +lay scattered; and a small embroidery-frame near the fire showed where +she, who was engaged with that task, had lately been seated. As I bent +down in some curiosity to examine a really clever copy of an altar-piece +of Albert Durer, a door gently opened, and I heard the rustle of a silk +dress. I had not got time to look round when, with a cry, she rushed +towards me, and clasped me in her arms. It was Madame Cleremont! +</p> +<p> +“My own dear, dear Digby!” she cried, as she kissed me over face and +forehead, smoothing back my hair to look at me, and then falling again on +my neck. “I knew it could be no other when I heard of you, darling; and +when they told me of your singing, I could have sworn it was yourself.” + </p> +<p> +I tried to disengage myself from her embrace, and summoned what I could of +sternness to repel her caresses. She dropped at my feet, and, clasping my +hands, implored me, in accents broken with passion, to forgive her. To see +her who had once been all that a mother could have been to me in +tenderness and care, who watched the long hours of the night beside my +sick-bed,—to see her there before me, abject, self-accused, and yet +entreating forgiveness, was more than I could bear. My nerves, besides, +had been already too tensely strung; and I burst into a passion of tears +that totally overcame me. She sat with her arm round me, and wept. +</p> +<p> +With a wild hysterical rapidity she poured forth a sort of excuse of her +own conduct. She recalled all that I had seen her suffer of insult and +shame; the daily outrages passed upon her; the slights which no woman can +or ought to pardon. She spoke of her friendlessness, her misery; but, more +than all, her consuming desire to be avenged on the man who had degraded +her. “Your father, I knew, was the man to do me this justice,” she cried; +“he did not love me, nor did I love him; but we both hated this wretch, +and it seemed little to me what became of me, if I could but compass his +ruin.” + </p> +<p> +I scarcely followed her. I bethought me of my poor mother, for whom none +had a thought, neither of the wrongs done her, nor of the sufferings to +which she was so remorselessly consigned. +</p> +<p> +“You do not listen to me. You do not hear me,” cried she, passionately; +“and yet who has been your friend as I have? Who has implored your father +to be just towards you as I have done? Who has hazarded her whole future +in maintaining your rights,—who but I?” In a wild rhapsody of +mingled passion and appeal she went on to show how Sir Roger insisted on +presenting her everywhere as his wife. +</p> +<p> +Even at courts she had been so presented, though all the terrible +consequences of exposure were sure to ring over the whole of Europe. The +personal danger of the step was-a temptation too strong to resist; and the +altercation and vindication that must follow were ecstasy to him. He +was-pitting himself against the world, and he would back himself on the +issue. +</p> +<p> +“And, here, where we are now,” cried I, “what is to happen if to-morrow +some stranger should arrive from England who knows your story, and feels +he owes it to his host to proclaim it?” + </p> +<p> +“Is it not too clear what is to happen?” shrieked she; “blood, more blood,—theirs +or his, or both! Just as he struck a young prince at Baden with a glove +across the face, because he stared at me too rudely, and shot him +afterwards; his dearest tie to me is the peril that attaches to me. Do you +not know him, Digby? Do you not know the insolent disdain with which he +refuses to be bound by what other men submit to; and that when he has +said, 'I am ready to stake my life on it,' he believes he has proved his +conviction to be a just one?” + </p> +<p> +Of my father's means, or what remained to him of fortune, she knew +nothing. They had often been reduced to almost want, and at other times +money would flow freely in, to be wasted and lavished with that careless +munificence that no experiences of privation could ever teach prudence. We +now turned to speculate on what would happen when he came back from this +shooting-party; how he would recognize me. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” cried I: “you suspect he will disown me?” + </p> +<p> +“Not that, dear Digby,” said she, in some confusion, “but he may require—that +is, he may wish you to conform to some plan, some procedure of his own.” + </p> +<p> +“If this should involve the smallest infraction of what is due to my +mother, I 'll refuse,” said I, firmly, “and reject as openly as he dares +to make it.” + </p> +<p> +“And are you ready to face what may follow?” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean as regards myself, I am quite ready. My father threw me off +years ago, and I am better able to fight the battle of life now than I was +then. I ask nothing of him,—not even his name. If you speak of other +consequences,—of what may ensue when his hosts shall learn the fraud +he has practised on them—” It was only as the fatal word fell from +me that I felt how cruelly I had spoken, and I stopped and took her hand +in mine, saying, “Do not be angry with me, dear friend, that I have spoken +a bitter word; bear with me for <i>her</i> sake, who has none to befriend +her but myself.” + </p> +<p> +She made me no answer, but looked out cold and stern into vacancy, her +pale features motionless, not a line or lineament betraying what was +passing within her. +</p> +<p> +“Why remain here then to provoke a catastrophe?” cried she, suddenly. “If +you have come for pleasure, you see enough to be aware there is little +more awaiting you.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not come for pleasure. I am here to confer with Count Hunyadi on a +matter of business.” + </p> +<p> +“And will some paltry success in a little peddling contract for the +Count's wine or his olives or his Indian corn compensate you for the ruin +you may bring on your father? Will it recompense you if his blood be +shed?” + </p> +<p> +There was a tone of defiant sarcasm in the way she spoke these words that +showed me, if I would not yield to her persuasions, she would not hesitate +to employ other means of coercion. Perhaps she mistook the astonishment my +face expressed for terror; for she went on: “It would be well that you +thought twice over it ere you make your breach with your father +irreparable. Remember, it is not a question of a passing sentimentality or +a sympathy, it is the whole story of your life is at issue,—if you +be anything, or anybody, or a nameless creature, without belongings or +kindred.” + </p> +<p> +I sat for some minutes in deep thought. I was not sure whether I +understood her words, and that she meant to say it lay entirely with my +father to own or disown me, as he pleased. She seemed delighted at my +embarrassment, and her voice rung out with its own clear triumphant +cadence, as she said, “You begin at last to see how near the precipice you +have been straying.” + </p> +<p> +“One moment, Madam,” cried I. “If my mother be Lady Norcott, Sir Roger +cannot disown me; not to say that already, in an open court, he has +maintained his right over me and declared me his son.” + </p> +<p> +“You are opening a question I will not touch, Digby,” said she, gravely,—“your +mother's marriage. I will only say that the ablest lawyers your father has +consulted pronounce it more than questionable.” + </p> +<p> +“And my father has then entertained the project of an attempt to break +it.” + </p> +<p> +“This is not fair,” cried she, eagerly; “you lead me on from one admission +to another, till I find myself revealing confidences to one who at any +moment may avow himself my enemy.” + </p> +<p> +I raised my eyes to her face, and she met my glance with a look cold, +stern, and impassive, as though she would say, “Choose your path now, and +accept me as friend or foe.” All the winning softness of her manner, all +those engaging coquetries of look and gesture, of which none was more +mistress, were gone, and another and a very different nature had replaced +them. +</p> +<p> +This, then, was one of those women all tenderness and softness and +fascination, but who behind this mask have the fierce nature of the +tigress. Could she be the same I had seen so submissive under all the +insolence of her brutal husband, bearing his scoffs and his sarcasms +without a word of reply? Was it that these cruelties had at last evoked +this stern spirit, and that another temperament had been generated out of +a nature broken down and demoralised by ill treatment? +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you what I think you ought to do?” asked she, calmly. I +nodded assent. “Sit down there, then,” continued she, “and write these few +lines to your father, and let him have them before he returns here.” + </p> +<p> +“First of all, I cannot write just now; I have had a slight accident to my +right arm.” + </p> +<p> +“I know,” said she, smiling dubiously. “You hurt it in the riding-school; +but it's a mere nothing, is it not?” + </p> +<p> +I made a gesture of assent, not altogether pleased the while at the little +sympathy she vouchsafed me, and the insignificance she ascribed to my +wound. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I write for you, then? you can sign it afterwards.'' +</p> +<p> +“Let me first know what you would have me say.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear father—You always addressed him that way?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear father,—I have been here some days, awaiting Count Hunyadi's +return to transact some matters of business with him, and have by a mere +accident learned that you are amongst his guests. As I do not know how, to +what extent, or in what capacity it may be your pleasure to recognize me, +or whether it might not chime better with your convenience to ignore me +altogether, I write now to submit myself entirely to your will and +guidance, being in this, as in all things, your dutiful and obedient son.” + </p> +<p> +The words came from her pen as rapidly as her fingers could move across +the paper; and as she finished, she pushed it towards me, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“There—put 'Digby Norcott' there, and it is all done!” + </p> +<p> +“This is a matter to think over,” said I, gravely. “I may be compromising +other interests than my own by signing this.” + </p> +<p> +“Those Jews of yours have imbued you well with their cautious spirit, I +see,” said she, scoffingly. +</p> +<p> +“They have taught me no lessons I am ashamed of, Madam,” said I, reddening +with anger. +</p> +<p> +“I declare I don't know you as the Digby of long ago! I fancied I did, +when I heard those ladies coming upstairs each night, so charmed with all +your graceful gifts, and so eloquent over all your fascinations; and now, +as you stand there, word-splitting and phrase-weighing, canvassing what it +might cost you to do this or where it would lead you to say that, I ask +myself, Is this the boy of whom his father said, 'Above all things he +shall be a gentleman'?” + </p> +<p> +“To one element of that character, Madam, I will try and preserve my +claim,—no provocation shall drive me to utter a rudeness to a lady.” + </p> +<p> +“This is less breeding than calculation, young gentleman. I read such +natures as yours as easily as a printed book.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask nothing better, Madam; my only fear would be that you should +mistake me, and imagine that any deference to my father's views would make +me forget my mother's rights.” + </p> +<p> +“So then,” cried she, with a mocking laugh, “you have got your courage up +so far,—you dare me! Be advised, however, and do not court such an +unequal contest. I have but to choose in which of a score of ways I could +crush you,—do you mark me? crush you! You will not always be as +lucky as you were this morning in the riding-school.” + </p> +<p> +“Great heaven!” cried I, “was this, then, of <i>your</i> devising?” + </p> +<p> +“You begin to have a glimpse of whom you have to deal with? Go back to +your room and reflect on that knowledge, and if it end in persuading you +to quit this place at once, and never return to it, it will be a wise +resolve.” + </p> +<p> +I was too much occupied with the terrible fact that she had already +conspired against my life to heed her words of counsel, and I stood there +stunned and confused. +</p> +<p> +In the look of scorn and hate she threw on me, she seemed to exult over my +forlorn and bewildered condition. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely think there is any need to prolong this interview,” said she, +at last, with an easy smile; “each of us is by this time aware of the +kindly sentiments of the other; is it not so?” + </p> +<p> +“I am going, Madam,” I stammered out; “good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +She made a slight movement, as I thought, towards me; but it was in +reality the prelude to a deep courtesy, while in her sweetest of accents +she whispered, “<i>Au revoir</i>, Monsieur Digby, <i>au revoir</i>.” I +bowed deeply and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. HASTY TIDINGS +</h2> +<p> +Of all the revulsions of feeling that can befall the heart, I know of none +to compare in poignant agony with the sudden consciousness that you are +hated where once you were loved; that where once you had turned for +consolation or sympathy you have now nothing to expect but coldness and +distrust; that the treasure of affection on which you have counted against +the day of adversity had proved bankrupt, and nothing remained of all its +bright hopes and promises but bitter regrets and sorrowful repinings. +</p> +<p> +It was in the very last depth of this spirit I now locked myself in my +room to determine what I should do, by what course I should shape my +future. I saw the stake for which Madame Cleremont was playing. She had +resolved that my mother's marriage should be broken, and she herself +declared Lady Norcott. That my father might be brought to accede to such a +plan was by no means improbable. Its extravagance and its enormity would +have been great inducements, had he no other interest in the matter. +</p> +<p> +I began to canvass with myself how persons poor and friendless could +possibly meet the legal battle which this question should originate, and +how my mother, in her destitution and poverty, could contend against the +force of the wealth that would be opposed to her. It had only been by the +united efforts of her relatives and friends, all eager to support her in +such a cause, that she had been enabled to face the expenses of the suit +my father had brought on the question of my guardianship. How could she +again sustain a like charge? Was it likely that her present condition +would enable her to fee leaders on circuit and bar magnates, to pay the +costs of witnesses, and all the endless outgoings of the law? +</p> +<p> +So long as I lived, I well knew my poor mother would compromise none of +the rights that pertained to me; but if I could be got rid of,—and +the event of the morning shot through my mind,—some arrangement with +her might not be impossible,—at least, it was open to them to think +so; and I could well imagine that they would build on such a foundation. +It was not easy to imagine a woman like \ Madame Cleremont, a person of +the most attractive manners, beautiful, gifted, and graceful, capable of a +great crime; but she herself had shown me more than once in fiction the +portraiture of an individual who, while shrinking with horror from the +coarse contact of guilt, would willingly set the springs in motion which +ultimately conduce to the most appalling disasters. I remember even her +saying to me one day, “It is in watching the terrible explosions their +schemes have ignited, that cowards learn to taste what they fancy to be +the ecstasy of courage.” + </p> +<p> +While I thought what a sorry adversary I should prove against such a +woman, with all the wiles of her nature, and all the seductions by which +she could display them, my eyes fell upon the packet from Fiume, which +still lay with its seal unbroken. I broke it open half carelessly. It +contained an envelope marked “Letters,” and the following note:— +</p> +<p> +“Herr Owen,—With this you are informed that the house of Hodnig and +Oppovich has failed, dockets of bankruptcy having been yesterday declared +against that firm; the usual assignees will be duly appointed by the court +to liquidate, on such terms as the estate permits. Present liabilities are +currently stated as below eight millions of florins. Actual property will +not meet half that sum. +</p> +<p> +“Further negotiations regarding the Hunyadi contract on your part are +consequently unnecessary, seeing that the most favorable conditions you +could obtain would in no wise avert or even lessen the blow that has +fallen on the house. +</p> +<p> +“I am directed to enclose you by bill the sum of two hundred and eighteen +florins twenty-seven kreutzers, which at the current exchange will pay +your salary to the end of the present quarter, and also to state that, +having duly acknowledged the receipt of this sum to me by letter, you are +to consider yourself free of all engagement to the house. I am also +instructed to say that your zeal and probity will be duly attested when +any reference is addressed to the managers of this estate. +</p> +<p> +“I am, with accustomed esteem and respect, +</p> +<p> +“Your devoted servant, +</p> +<p> +“Jacob Ulrich. +</p> +<p> +“P. S. Herr Ignaz is, happily for him, in a condition that renders him +unconscious of his calamity. The family has retired for the present to the +small cottage near the gate of the Abazzia Villa, called 'Die Hutte,' but +desires complete privacy, and declines all condolences.—J. U. +</p> +<p> +“2nd P. S. The enclosed letters have arrived here during your absence.” + </p> +<p> +So intensely imbued was my mind with suspicion and distrust, that it was +not till after long and careful examination I satisfied myself that this +letter was genuine, and that its contents might be taken as true. The +packet it enclosed would, however, have resolved all doubt; they were +three letters from my dear mother. Frequent reference was made to other +letters which had never reached me, and in which it was clear the mode in +which she had learned my address was explained. She also spoke of Sara as +of one she knew by correspondence, and gave me to understand how she was +following every little humble incident of my daily life with loving +interest and affection. She enjoined me by all means to devote myself +heartily and wholly to those who had befriended me so generously, and to +merit the esteem of that good girl, who, caring nothing for herself, gave +her heart and soul to the service of her father. +</p> +<p> +“I have told you so much,” said she, “of myself in former letters” (these +I never saw) “that I shall not weary you with more. You know why I gave up +the school, and through what reasonings I consented to call myself Lady +Norcott, though in such poverty as mine the assumption of a title only +provoked ridicule. Mr. McBride, however, persuaded me that a voluntary +surrender of my position might be made terrible use of against me, should—what +I cannot believe—the attempt ever be made to question the legality +of my marriage with your father. +</p> +<p> +“It has been so constantly repeated, however, that Sir Roger means to +marry this lady,—some say they are already married,—that I +have had careful abstracts made of the registry, and every detail duly +certified which can establish your legitimacy,—not that I can bring +myself to believe your father would ever raise that question. Strangely +enough, my allowance, left unpaid for several years, was lately resumed, +and Foster and Wall received orders to acknowledge my drafts on them, for +what, I concluded, were meant to cover all the arrears due. As I had +already tided over these years of trial and pressure, I refused all save +the sum due for the current year, and begged to learn Sir Roger's address +that I might write to him. To this they replied 'that they had no +information to give me on the subject; that their instructions, as +regarded payments to me, came to them from the house of Rodiger, in +Frankfort, and in the manner and terms already communicated to me,'—all +showing me that the whole was a matter of business, into which no +sentiment was to enter, or be deemed capable of entering.” + </p> +<p> +It was about this period my mother came to learn my address, and she +avowed that all other thoughts and cares were speedily lost in the +whirlpool of joy these tidings swept around her. Her eagerness to see me +grew intense, but was tempered by the fear lest her selfish anxiety might +prejudice me in that esteem I had already won from my employers, of whom, +strangely enough, she spoke freely and familiarly, as though she had known +them. +</p> +<p> +The whole tone of these letters—and I read them over and over—calmed +and reassured me. Full of personal details, they were never selfish in its +unpleasant sense. They often spoke of poverty, but rather as a thing to be +baffled by good-humored contrivance or rendered endurable by habit than as +matter for complaint and bewailment. Little dashes of light-heartedness +would now and then break the dark sombreness of the picture, and show how +her spirit was yet alive to life and its enjoyments. Above all, there was +no croaking, no foreboding. She had lived through some years of trial and +sorrow, and if the future had others as gloomy in store, it was time +enough when they came to meet their exigencies. +</p> +<p> +What a blessing was it to me to get these at such a time! I no longer felt +myself alone and isolated in the world. There was, I now knew, a bank of +affection at my disposal at which I could draw at will; and what an object +for my imitation was that fine courage of hers, that took defeats as mere +passing shadows, and was satisfied to fight on to the end, ever hopeful +and ever brave. +</p> +<p> +How I would have liked to return to Madame Cleremont, and read her some +passages of these letters, and said, “And this is the woman you seek to +dethrone, and whose place you would fill! This is she whose rival you +aspire to be. What think you of the contest now? Which of you should prove +the winner? Is it with a nature like this you would like to measure +yourself?” + </p> +<p> +How I would have liked to have dared her to such a combat, and boldly +declared that I would make my father himself the umpire as to the +worthier. As to her hate or her vengeance, she had as much as promised me +both, but I defied them; and I believed I even consulted my safety by open +defiance. As I thus stimulated myself with passionate counsels, and burned +with eagerness for the moment I might avow them, I flung open my window +for fresh air, for my excitement had risen to actual fever. +</p> +<p> +It was very dark without Night had set in about two hours, but no stars +had yet shone out, and a thick impenetrable blackness pervaded everywhere. +Some peasants were shovelling the snow in the court beneath, making a +track from the gate to the house-door, and here and there a dimly burning +lantern attached to a pole would show where the work was being carried +out. As it was about the time of the evening when travellers were wont to +arrive, the labor was pressed briskly forward, and I could hear an +overseer's voice urging the men to increased zeal and activity. +</p> +<p> +“There has been a snow-mountain fallen at Miklos, they say,” cried one, +“and none can pass the road for many a day.” + </p> +<p> +“If they cannot come from Pesth, they can come from Hermanstadt, from +Temesvar, from Klausenberg. Guests can come from any quarter,” cried the +overseer. +</p> +<p> +I listened with amusement to the discussion that followed; the various +sentiments they uttered as to whether this system of open hospitality +raised the character of a country, or was not a heavy mulct out of the +rights which the local poor possessed on the properties of their rich +neighbors. +</p> +<p> +“Every flask of Tokayer drunk at the upper table,” cried one, “is an eimer +of Mediasch lost to the poor man.” + </p> +<p> +“That is the true way to look at it,” cried another. “We want neither +Counts nor Tokayer.” + </p> +<p> +“That was a Saxon dog barked there!” called out the overseer. “No +Hungarian ever reviled what his land is most famed for.” + </p> +<p> +“Here come travellers now,” shouted one from the gate. “I hear horses at +full speed on the Klausenberg road.” + </p> +<p> +“Lanterns to the gate, and stand free of the road,” cried the overseer; +and now the scene became one of striking excitement, as the lights flitted +rapidly from place to place; the great arch of the gate being accurately +marked in outline, and the deep cleft in the snow lined on either side by +lanterns suspended between posts. +</p> +<p> +“They 're coming at a furious pace,” cried one; “they 've passed the +toll-bridge at full gallop.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it's the Count himself,” chimed in another, “There 's none but he +could force the toll-bar.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a country wagon, with four <i>juckers</i>; and here it comes;” and +as he spoke four sweating horses swung through the gateway, and came full +speed into the court. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Kitzlach? Call Kitzlach! call the doctor!” screamed a voice from +the wagon. “Tell him to come down at once.” + </p> +<p> +“Out with the <i>juchera</i>, and harness a fresh team,” cried the same +voice. And now, as he descended from the wagon, he was surrounded with +eager figures, all anxious to hear his tidings. As I could gather nothing +from where I was, I hastily threw on a fur coat, and made my way down to +the court. I soon learned the news. A terrible disaster had befallen the +hunting-party. A she-boar, driven frantic by her wounds, had dashed +suddenly into the midst of them, slightly wounded the Count and his head +Jager, but dangerously one of the guests, who had sustained a single +combat with her and killed her; not, however, without grievous injury to +himself, for a large blood-vessel had been severed; all the efforts to +stanch which had been but half successful. +</p> +<p> +“Have you your tourniquet, doctor?” cried the youth from a wagon, as the +equipage was turned again to the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Everything—everything.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll want any quantity of lint and bandages; and, remember, nothing +can be had down yonder.” + </p> +<p> +“Make your mind easy! I've forgotten nothing. Just keep your beasts quiet +till I get up.” + </p> +<p> +I drew nigh as he was about to mount, and whispered a word in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“I don't know,” said he, gruffly. “I can't see why you should ask.” + </p> +<p> +“Why don't you get up?” cried the youth, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“There's a young fellow here importuning me to ask you for a place in the +wagon. He thinks he knows this stranger.” + </p> +<p> +“Let him get in at once, then; and let's have no more delays.” And +scarcely had we scrambled to our places, than the loud whip resounded with +the quick, sharp report of pistol-shots, and the beasts sprung out at +once, rushed through the narrow gateway, and were soon stretching along at +their topmost pace through impenetrable blackness. +</p> +<p> +Crouching in the straw at the bottom of the wagon, I crept as closely as I +could to where the doctor was seated beside the young man who drove. I was +eager to hear what I could of the incident that had befallen; but, to my +great disappointment, they spoke in Hungarian, and all I could gather, +from certain dropping expressions, was that both the Count and his English +friend had been engaged in some rivalry of personal daring, and that the +calamity had come of this insane contest. “They'll never say 'Mad as a +Hunyadi' any longer up at Lees. They 'll say 'Mad as an Englishman.'” + </p> +<p> +The young fellow spoke in wondrous admiration of the wounded man's courage +and coolness, and described how he had taught them to pass a light +ligature round his thigh, and tighten it further by inserting a stick to +act as a screw. “Up to that,” said he, “he had been bleeding like a tapped +Wein-kass; and then he made them give him large goblet» of strong +Bordeaux, to sustain him.” + </p> +<p> +“He's a bold-hearted fellow then?” said the doctor. +</p> +<p> +“The Count declares he has never met his equal. They were alone together +when I started, for the Englishman said he had something for the Count's +own ear, and begged the others to withdraw.” + </p> +<p> +“So he thought himself in danger?” + </p> +<p> +“That he did. I saw him myself take off a large signet ring and lay it on +the table beside his watch, and he pointed them out to Hunyadi as he came +in, and said something in English; but the Count rejoined quickly, 'No, +no. It's not come to that yet.'” + </p> +<p> +While they spoke slowly, I was able to gather at least the meaning of what +passed between them, but I lost all clew so soon as they talked eagerly +and rapidly, so that, confused by the unmeaning sounds, and made drowsy by +the fresh night-air, I at last fell off into a heavy sleep. +</p> +<p> +I was awakened by the noise of the wheels over a paved street. I looked +up, and saw, by the struggling light of a breaking dawn, that we were in a +village where a number of people were awaiting us. “Have you brought the +doctor?” “Where is the doctor?” cried several together; and he was +scarcely permitted to descend, so eager were they to seize and carry him +off. +</p> +<p> +A dense crowd was gathered before the door of a small two-storied house, +into which the doctor now disappeared; and I, mixing with the mass, tried +as best I might, to ask how the wounded man was doing, and what hopes +there were of his life. While I thus went from one to another vainly +endeavoring to make my question intelligible, I heard a loud voice cry out +in German, “Where is the young fellow who says he knows him?” + </p> +<p> +“Here,” cried I, boldly. “I believe I know him,—I am almost sure I +do.” + </p> +<p> +“Come to the door, then, and look in; do not utter a word,” cried a tall +dark man I soon knew to be Count Hunyadi. “Mind, sir, for your life's +sake, that you don't disturb him.” + </p> +<p> +I crept on tiptoe to the slightly opened door, and looked in. There, on a +mattress on the floor, a tall man was lying, while the doctor knelt beside +him, and seemed to press with all his weight on his thigh. The sick man +slowly turned his face to the light, and it was my father! My knees +trembled, my sight grew dim; strength suddenly forsook me, and I fell +powerless and senseless to the ground. +</p> +<p> +They were bathing my face and temples with vinegar and water to rally me +when the doctor came to say the sick man desired to see me. In a moment +the blood rushed to my head, and I cried out, “I am ready.” + </p> +<p> +“Be calm, sir. A mere word, a gesture, may prove fatal to him,” whispered +the doctor to me. “His life hangs on a thread.” + </p> +<p> +Count Hunyadi was kneeling beside my father, and evidently trying to catch +some faint words he was saying, as I stole forward and knelt down by the +bedside. My father turned his eyes slowly round till they fell upon me,—when +their expression suddenly changed from the look of weary apathy to a stare +of full and steadfast meaning,—intense, indeed, in significance; but +I dare not say that this conveyed anything like love or affection for me. +</p> +<p> +“Come closer,” cried he, in a hoarse whisper. “It is Digby, is it not? +This boy is my son, Hunyadi,” he said, with an increased effort. “Give me +your hand.” He took my trembling fingers in his cold moist hand, and +passed the large signet ring over my second finger. “He is my heir. +Gentlemen,” he cried, in a tone at once haughty and broken by debility, +“my name, my title, my fortune all pas» to <i>him</i>. By to-morrow you +will call him Sir Digby—” + </p> +<p> +He could not finish; his lips moved without a sound. I was conscious of no +more than being drawn heavily across the floor, not utterly bereft of +reason, but dulled and stunned as if from the effect of a heavy blow. +</p> +<p> +When I was able, I crept back to the room. It was now the decline of day. +A large white cavalry cloak covered the body. I knelt down beside it, and +cried with a bursting heart till late into the night. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. IN SORROW +</h2> +<p> +Of what followed that night of mourning I remember but snatches and brief +glimpses. There is nothing more positively torturing to the mind in sorrow +than the way in which the mere excitement of grief robs the intellect of +all power of perspective, and gives to the smallest, meanest incidents the +prominence and force of great events. It is as though the jar given to the +nervous system had untuned us for the entire world, and all things come amiss. +I am sure, indeed, I know it would have been impossible to have met more +gentle and considerate kindness than I now experienced on every hand, and +yet I lived in a sort of feverish irritability, as though expecting each +moment to have my position questioned, and my right to be there disputed. +</p> +<p> +In obedience to the custom of the country, it was necessary that the +funeral should take place within forty-eight hours after death, and though +all the details had been carefully looked to by the Count's orders, +certain questions still should be asked of me, and my leave obtained for +certain acts. +</p> +<p> +The small church of Hunyadi-Naglos was fixed on for the last +resting-place. It contained the graves of eight generations of Hunyadis, +and to accord a place amongst them to a stranger, and a Protestant, was +deemed a high honor. Affliction seemed to have developed in me all the +pride of my race, for I can recall with what sullen hauteur I heard of +this concession, and rather took it as a favor accorded than accepted. An +overweening sense of all that my father himself would have thought due to +his memory was on me, and I tortured my mind to think that no mark of +honor he would have desired should be forgotten. As a soldier, he had a +right to a soldier's funeral, and a “Honved” battalion, with their band, +received orders to be present For miles around the landed gentry and +nobles poured in, with hosts of followers. Next to a death in battle, +there was no such noble death as in the hunting-field, and the splendid +prowess of my father's achievement had won him imperishable honor. +</p> +<p> +All was conducted as if for the funeral of a magnate of Hungary. The +titles and rank of the deceased were proclaimed aloud as we entered the +graveyard, and each whose station entitled him to be thought a friend came +forward and kissed the pall as the body was borne in. +</p> +<p> +One part of the ceremony overcame me altogether. When the third round of +musketry had rung out over the grave, a solemn pause of half a minute or +so was to ensue, then the band was to burst out with the first bars of +“God preserve the Emperor;” and while a wild cheer arose, I was to spring +into the saddle of my father's horse, which had been led close after the +coffin, and to join the cheer. This soldier declaration that death was but +a passing terror, revolted me to the heart, and I over and over asserted I +could not do this. They would not yield, however; they regarded my reasons +as childish sentimentality, and half impugned my courage besides. I do not +know why I gave in, nor am I sure I ever did yield; but when the heavy +smoke of the last round slowly rose over the bier, I felt myself jerked up +into the saddle of a horse that plunged wildly and struck out madly in +affright With a rider's instinct, I held my seat, and even managed the +bounding animal with the hand of a practised rider. Four fearful bounds I +sat unshaken, while the air rang with the hoarse cheer of some thousand +voices, and then a sickness like death itself gathered over my heart,—a +sense of horror, of where I was and why, came over me. My arms fell +powerless to my sides, and I rolled from the saddle and fell senseless and +stunned to the ground. +</p> +<p> +Without having received serious injury, I was too ill to be removed from +the little village of Naglos, where I was confined to bed for ten days. +The doctor remained with me for some days, and came again and again to +visit me afterwards. The chief care of me, however, devolved on my +father's valet, a smart young Swiss, whom I had difficulty in believing +not to be English, so perfectly did he speak our language. +</p> +<p> +I soon saw this fellow was thoroughly conversant with all my father's +history, and, whether in his confidence or not, knew everything that +concerned him, and understood his temperament and nature to perfection. +There was much adroitness in the way in which he showed me this, without +ever shocking my pride or offending my taste by any display of a supposed +influence. Of his consummate tact I need give but one,—a very slight +instance, it is true, but enough to denote the man. He, in addressing me +as Sir Digby, remarked how the sound of my newly acquired title seemed to +recall my father to my mind at once, and ever after limited himself to +saying simply “sir,” which attracted no attention from me. +</p> +<p> +Another instance of his address I must record also. I had got my +writing-desk on the bed, and was writing to my mother, to whom I had +already despatched two telegraphic messages, but as yet received no reply. +“I beg pardon, sir,” said La Grange, entering in his usual noiseless +fashion; “but I thought you would like to know that my Lady has left +Schloss Hunyadi. She took her departure last night for Pesth.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean—” I faltered, not really knowing what I. would say. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said he, thoroughly aware of what was passing in my mind. “She +admitted no one, not even the doctor, and started at last with only a few +words of adieu in writing for the Countess.” + </p> +<p> +“What impression has this left? How are they speaking of her?” asked I, +blurting out against my will what was working within me. +</p> +<p> +“I believe, sir,” said he, with a very faint smile, “they lay it all to +English ways and habits. At least I have heard no other comments than such +as would apply to these.” + </p> +<p> +“Be sure that you give rise to no others,” said I, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not, sir. It would be highly unbecoming in me to do so.” + </p> +<p> +“And greatly to your disservice besides,” added I, severely. +</p> +<p> +He bowed in acquiescence, and said no more. +</p> +<p> +“How long have you served my father, La Grange?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“About two years, sir. I succeeded Mr. Nixon, sir, who often spoke of +you.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, I remember Nixon. What became of him?” + </p> +<p> +“He set up the Hôtel Victoria at Spa, sir. You know, sir, that he married, +and married very well too?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I never heard of it,” said I, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; he married Delorme's daughter, la belle Pauline they used to +call her at Brussels.” + </p> +<p> +“What, Pauline Delorme?” said I, growing crimson with I know not what +feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, the same; and she's the size of old Pierre, her father, +already: not but she's handsome still,—but such a monster!” + </p> +<p> +I cannot say with what delight I heard of her disfigurement. It was a +malice that warmed my heart like some good news. +</p> +<p> +“It was Sir Roger, sir, that made the match.” + </p> +<p> +“How could that be? What could he care about it?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, he certainly gave Nixon five hundred pounds to go and propose +for her, and promise old Pierre his patronage, if he agreed to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you sure of this?” asked I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Nixon himself told me, sir. I remember he said, 'I haven't much time to +lose about it, for the tutor, Mr. Eccles, is quite ready to take her, on +the same terms, and Sir Roger doesn't care which of us it is.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor the lady either, apparently,” said I, half angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not. Pauline was too well brought up for that.” + </p> +<p> +I was not going to discuss this point of ethics with Mr. La Grange, and +soon fell off into a vein of reflection over early loves, and what they +led to, which took me at last miles away from Pauline Delorme, and her +fascinations. +</p> +<p> +I would have liked much to learn what sort of a life my father had led of +late: whether he had plunged into habits of dissipation and excess; or +whether any feeling of remorse had weighed with him, and that he sorrowed +over the misery and the sorrow he had so recklessly shed around him; but I +shrunk from questioning a servant on such matters, and merely asked as to +his habitual spirits and temper. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Roger was unlike every other gentleman I ever lived with, sir,” said +he. “He was never in high spirits except when he was hard up for money. +Put him down in a little country inn to wait for his remittances, and live +on a few francs a day till they arrived, and I never saw his equal for +good humor. He 'd play with the children; he 'd work in the garden. I 've +seen him harness the donkey, and go off for a load of firewood. There's +nothing he would not do to oblige, and with a kind word and a smile for +every one all the while; but if some morning he 'd get up with a dark +frown on his face, and say, 'La Grange, get in your bills here, and pay +them; we must get away from this dog-hole,' I knew well the banker's +letter had come, and that whatever he might want, it would not be money.” + </p> +<p> +“And had my Lady—Madame, I mean—no influence over him?” + </p> +<p> +“None, sir, or next to none; he was all ceremony with her; took her in to +dinner every day with great state, showed her every attention at table, +left her at liberty to spend what money she liked. If she fancied an +equipage, it was ordered at once. If she liked a bracelet, it was sent +home. As to toilette, I believe there are queens have not as many dresses +to change. We had two fourgons of her luggage alone, when we came to the +Schloss, and she was always saying there was something she was longing +for.” + </p> +<p> +“Did not this irritate my father?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; he would simply say, 'Don't wish, but write for it.' And I +verily believe this indifference piqued her,—she saw that no +sacrifice of money cost him anything, and this thought wounded her pride.” + </p> +<p> +“So that there was not much happiness between them?” + </p> +<p> +“There was none, sir! Something there was that Sir Roger would never +consent to, but which she never ceased to insist on, and I often wondered +how she could go on, to press a man of his dangerous temper, as she did, +and at times she would do so to the very verge of a provocation. Do you +know, sir,” said he, after a short silence,—“if I was to be on my +oath to-morrow, I 'd not say that he was not seeking his death when he met +it? I never saw a man so sick of life,—he was only puzzled how to +lay it down without dishonor.” + </p> +<p> +I motioned him to leave me as he said this, and of my father I never spoke +to him more. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. THE END +</h2> +<p> +Two telegrams came from my mother. They were little other than +repetitions. She had been ill, and was impatient to see me. In the last, +she added that she would shorten the distance between us by coming to +Dublin to meet me. I was to inquire for her at “Elridge's Hotel.” + </p> +<p> +I was no less eager to be with her; but there were many matters of detail +which still delayed me. First of all, all my father's papers and effects +were at Schloss Hunyadi, and some of these were all-essential to me. On +arriving at the Castle, a sealed packet addressed Sir Digby Norcott, +Bart., in Madame Cleremont's hand, was given me. On opening, I found it +contained a bunch of keys, without one word of any kind. It was an +unspeakable relief to me to discover that she had not sent me either her +condolences or her threats, and I could scarcely reassure myself that we +had parted thus easily. +</p> +<p> +My father's personal luggage might have sufficed for half-a-dozen people. +Not only did he carry about a quantity of clothes that no ordinary life +could have required, but that he journeyed with every imaginable kind of +weapon, together with saddlery and horse-gear of all fashions and shapes. +Fishing-tackle and hunting-spears abounded; and lassos of Mexican make +seemed to show that he had intended to have carried his experiences to the +great Savannahs of the West. +</p> +<p> +From what I had seen of him, I was in no way prepared for the order and +regularity in which I found his papers. All that regarded his money +matters was contained in one small oak desk, in which I found a will, a +copy of which, it was stated, was deposited with Norton and Temple, +Solicitors, Furnival's Inn. The document ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“I leave whatever I may die possessed of in personal or real property to +the wife I have long neglected, in trust for the boy I have done much to +corrupt. With time, and in the enjoyment of better fortune, they may learn +to forgive me; but even if they should not, it will little trouble the +rest of——-Roger Norcott. +</p> +<p> +“I desire that each of my servants in my service at the time of my death +should receive a quarter's wages; but no present or gratuity of any kind. +It is a class that always served me with fear and dislike, and whose +services I ever accepted with distrust and repugnance. +</p> +<p> +“I also desire that my retriever, 'Spy,' be shot as soon after my death as +may be, and that my other dogs be given away to persons who have never +known me, and that my heirs will be particular on this head, so that none +shall pretend that they inherit this or that of mine in token of +friendship or affectionate remembrance. +</p> +<p> +“There are a few objects of furniture in the care of Salter, the +house-agent at Brussels, of which I beg my wife's acceptance; they are +intrinsically of little value, but she will know how dearly we have both +paid for them. This is all. +</p> +<p> +(Signed) “Roger Norcott, Bart +</p> +<p> +“Witnesses, Joseph Granes, head groom. +</p> +<p> +“Paul Lanton, house-steward.” + </p> +<p> +This will, which bore for date only four months prior to his death, did +not contain any, the slightest, allusion to Madame Cleremont. Was it that +by some antecedent arrangement he had taken care to provide for her, +omitting, through a sense of delicacy to my mother, all mention of her +name? This I could not guess at the time, nor did I ever discover +afterwards. +</p> +<p> +In a larger desk I found a mass of letters; they were tied in packets, +each with a ribbon of a different color; they were all in women's +handwriting. There were several miniatures on ivory, one of which was of +my mother, when a girl of about eighteen. It was exceedingly beautiful, +and wore an expression of girlish innocence and frankness positively +charming. On the back, in my father's hand, there was,—“Why won't +they keep this look? Is the fault theirs or ours?” + </p> +<p> +Of the contents of that box, I committed all to the flames except that +picture. A third desk, the key of which was appended to his watch, +contained a manuscript in his writing, headed “My Cleremont Episode, how +it began, and how it cannot but end.” I own it pushed my curiosity sorely +to throw this into the fire without reading it; but I felt it would have +been a disloyalty which, had he lived, he never would have pardoned, and +so I restrained myself, and burned it. +</p> +<p> +One box, strongly strapped with bands of brass, and opening by a lock of +most complicated mechanism, was filled with articles of jewelry, not only +such trinkets as men affect to wear in shirt-studs and watch-pendants, but +the costlier objects of women's wear; there were rings and charms, +bracelets of massive make, and necklaces of great value. There was a +diamond cross, too, at back of which was a locket, with a braid of very +beautiful fair hair. This looked as though it had been worn, and if so, +how had it come back to him again? by what story of sorrow, perhaps of +death? +</p> +<p> +If a sentiment of horror and loyalty had made me burn all the letters, I +had found there was no restraining the exercise of my imagination as to +these relics, every one of which I invested with some story. In a secret +drawer of this box, was a considerable sum in gold, and a letter of credit +for a large amount on Escheles, of Vienna, by which it appeared that he +had won the chief prize of the Frankfort lottery, in the spring drawing; a +piece of fortune, which, by a line in his handwriting, I saw he believed +was to cost him dearly: “What is to be counterpoise to this luck? An +infidelity, or a sudden death? I can't say that either affright me, but I +think the last would be less of an insult.” + </p> +<p> +In every relic of him, the same tone of mockery prevailed, an insolent +contempt for the world, a disdain from which he did not exempt himself, +went through all he said or did; and it was plain to see that, no matter +how events went with him, he always sufficed for his own un happiness. +</p> +<p> +What a relief it was to me to turn from this perpetual scorn to some two +or three letters of my dear mother's, written after their separation +indeed, but in a spirit of such thorough forgiveness, and with such an +honest desire for his welfare, that I only wondered how any heart could +have resisted such loving generosity. I really believe nothing so jarred +upon him as her humility. Every reference to their inequality of condition +seemed to affect him like an insult; and on the back of one of her letters +there was written in pencil, “Does she imagine I ever forget from what I +took her; or that the memory is a pleasant one?” + </p> +<p> +Mr. La Grange's curiosity to learn what amount of money my father had left +behind him, and what were the dispositions of his will, pushed my patience +very hard indeed. I could not, however, exactly afford to get rid of him, +as he had long been intrusted with the payment of tradesmen's bills, and +he was in a position to involve me in great difficulty, if so disposed. +</p> +<p> +At last we set out for England; and never shall I forget the strange +effect produced upon me by the deference my new station attracted towards +me. It seemed to me but yesterday that I was the companion of poor +Hanserl, of the “yard;” and now I had become, as if by magic, one of the +favored of the earth. The fame of being rich spreads rapidly, and my +reputation on that head lost nothing through any reserve or forbearance of +my valet I was an object of interest, too, as the son of that daring +Englishman who had lost his life so heroically. Heaven knows how La Grange +had related the tragic incident, or with what embellishment he had been +pleased to adorn it. I can onsay that half my days were passed in assuring +eager inquirers that I was neither present at the adventure, nor wounded +in the affray; and all my efforts were directed to proving that I was a +most insignificant person, and without the smallest claim to interest on +my side. +</p> +<p> +Arrived in London, I was once more a “personage;” at least, to my family +solicitors. My father's will had been already proved, and I was recognized +in all form as the heir to his title and fortune. They were eager to know +would I restore the family seat at Hexham. The Abbey was an architectural +gem that all England was proud of, and I was eagerly entreated not to +suffer it to drop into decay and ruin. The representation of the borough—long +neglected by my family—only needed an effort to secure; and would I +not like the ambition of a parliamentary life? +</p> +<p> +What glimpses of future greatness were shown me! what possible chances of +this or that attained that would link me with real rank forever! And all +this time I was pining to clasp my mother to my arms; to pour out my whole +heart before her, and tell her that I loved a pale Jewish girl, silent and +half sad-looking, but whose low soft voice still echoed within my heart, +and whose cold hand had left a thrill after its touch that had never +ceased to move me. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Digby, my own, own darling,” cried she, as she hugged me in her arms, +“what a great tall fellow you have grown, and how like—how like +him!” and she burst into a torrent of tears, renewed every time that she +raised her eyes to my face, and saw how I resembled my father. There +seemed an ecstasy in this grief of which she never wearied, and day after +day she would sit holding my hand, gazing wistfully at me, and only +turning away as her tearful eyes grew dim with weeping. I will not dwell +on the days we passed together; full of sorrow they were, but a sorrow so +hallowed by affection that we felt an unspeakable calm shed over us. +</p> +<p> +My great likeness to my father, as she first saw him, made her mind revert +to that period, and she never ceased to talk of that time of hope and +happiness. Ever ready to ascribe anything unfavorable in his character to +the evil influences of others, she maintained that though occasionally +carried away by hot temper and passion, he was not only the soul of honor +but had a heart of tenderness and gentleness. Curious to find out what +sudden change of mind had led him after years of neglect and forgetfulness +to renew his relations with her, by remitting money to her banker, we +examined all that we could of his letters and papers to discover a clew to +this mystery. Baffled in all our endeavors, we were driven at length to +write to the Frankfort banker through whom the letter of credit had come. +As we assumed to say that the money should be repaid by us, in this way +hoping to trace the history of the incident, we received for answer, that, +though bound strictly to secrecy at the time, events had since occurred +which in a measure removed that obligation. The advance, he declared, came +from the house of Hodnig and Oppovich, Fiume, who having failed since that +time, there was no longer the same necessity for reserve. “It is only this +morning,” he added, “that we have received news of the death of Herr Ignaz +Oppovich, the last of this once opulent firm, now reduced to utter ruin.” + </p> +<p> +My mother and I gazed on each other in silence as we read these words, +when at length she threw her arms around me and said, “Let us go to her, +Digby; let us set out this very day.” + </p> +<p> +Two days after we were on the Rhine. I was seated with my mother on the +deck of a river steamer, when I was startled to hear a voice utter my +name. The speaker was a burly stout man of middle age, who walked the deck +with a companion to whom he talked in a loud tone. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, sir,” said he, “that boy of Norcott's, what between those new +coal-fields and the Hexham property, can't have less than ten thousand a +year.” + </p> +<p> +“And he's going to marry a rich Austrian Jewess, they say,” replied the +other, “as if his own fortune was not enough for him.” + </p> +<p> +“He'll marry her, and desert her just as his father did.” + </p> +<p> +I have but to say that I accomplished one part of this prediction, and +hope never to fulfil the other. +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's That Boy Of Norcott's, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT BOY OF NORCOTT'S *** + +***** This file should be named 32693-h.htm or 32693-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/9/32693/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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