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diff --git a/old/33081-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/33081-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab152c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/33081-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,25352 @@ +<?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> + Sir Jasper Carew 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 Sir Jasper Carew, 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: Sir Jasper Carew + His Life and Experience + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: E. Van Muyden and Phiz. + +Release Date: July 5, 2010 [EBook #33081] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR JASPER CAREW *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +SIR JASPER CAREW. +</h1> +<h2> +His Life and Experience +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +Illustrated By E. Van Muyden and Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h4> +Boston: Little, Brown, And Company. 1904. <br /><br /> Copyright, 1894, By +Little, Brown, And Company. <br /><br /> <b>DEDICATED TO H. D. W.</b> <br /><br /> +By ONE WHO THINKS HIGHLY OF HIS HEART, AND HOPES MUCH FROM HIS HEAD. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/car0009.jpg" alt="car0009" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/car0012.jpg" alt="car0012" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> SOME +“NOTICES OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> +CHAPTER II. </a> THE ILLUSTRATION OF AN ADAGE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A FATHER AND DAUGHTER +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> A +BREAKFAST AND ITS CONSEQUENCES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> +CHAPTER V. </a> JOE RAPER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> +CHAPTER VI. </a> TWO FRIENDS AND THEIR CONFIDENCES <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> SHOWING HOW CHANCE +IS BETTER THAN DESIGN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. +</a> A STATE TRUMPETER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> +CHAPTER IX. </a> A GENTLEMAN USHER <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE COMPANY AT CASTLE +CAREW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> POLITICS +AND NEWSPAPERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> SHOWING +THAT “WHAT IS CRADLED IN SHAME IS HEARSED IN <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> A MIDNIGHT RENCONTRE +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> A +CONFERENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> CIRCUMSTANTIAL +EVIDENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> AN +UNLOOKED-FOR DISCLOSURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER +XVII. </a> A FRIEND'S TRIALS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> DISAPPOINTMENTS +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> "FUM'S +ALLEY, NEAR THE PODDLE” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. +</a> PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> AT REST <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> THE VILLAGE OF +REICHENAU <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> A +MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. +</a> "THE HERR ROBERT” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> +CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE COUNT DE GABRIAC <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> PARIS IN '95 <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE BATTLE OF +THE SECTIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> AN +EPISODE OF MY LIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. +</a> THE INN AT VALENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> +CHAPTER XXX. </a> LINANGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> +CHAPTER XXXI. </a> HAVRE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> +CHAPTER XXXII. </a> MY REWARD <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> A GLIMPSE OF A NEW +PATH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> SECRET +SERVICE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> "DISCOVERIES” + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> THE +ORDEAL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> THE +GLOOMIEST PASSAGE OF ALL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER +XXXVIII. </a> THE STREETS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0039"> +CHAPTER XXXIX. </a> A STRANGE INCIDENT TO BE A TRUE ONE <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a> AT SEA <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a> LYS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XLII. </a> THE COMING SHADOW +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. </a> A +PASSAGE IN THE DRAMA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. +</a> THE PRICE OF FAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0045"> +CHAPTER XLV. </a> DARK PASSAGES OF LIFE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XLVI. </a> YSAFFICH <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XLVII. </a> TOWARDS HOME +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XLVIII. </a> THE +PERILS OF EVIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XLIX. </a> THE +FIRST DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER L. </a> A +TRIAL—CONCLUSION <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> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +NOTICE +</h2> +<p> +It has been constantly observed by writers of travels that to gain +credence for any of the strange incidents of their journeys, they have +been compelled to omit many of the most eventful passages of their lives. +“The gentlemen,” and still more the ladies, “who live at home at ease” + take, indeed, but little account of those adventures which are the daily +lot of more precarious existences, and are too prone to set down as +marvellous, or worse, events which have comparatively little remarkable +for those whose fortunes have thrown them on the highways of the world. +</p> +<p> +I make this remark in part to deprecate some of the criticism which I have +seen pronounced upon these Memoirs. It has been said: How could any man +have met so many adventures? and my answer is simply: By change of place. +Nothing more is required. The pawn on the chess-board has a life of a very +uneventful character, simply because his progress is slow, methodical, and +unchanging. Not so the knight, who, with all the errantry of his race, +dashes here and there, encountering every rank and condition of men,—continually +in difficulties himself, or the cause of them to others. What the knight +is to the chess-board, the adventurer is to real life. The same wayward +fortune and zig-zag course belongs to each, and each is sure to have his +share in nearly every great event that occurs about him. But I also refer +to this subject on another account. Tale-writers are blamed for the +introduction of incidents which have little bearing on the main story, or +whose catastrophes are veiled in obscurity. But I would humbly ask, Are +not these exactly the very traits of real life? Is not every man's course +checkered with incidents, and crossed by people who never affect his +actual career? Do not things occur every week singular enough to demand a +record, and yet, to all seeming, not in any way bearing upon our fortunes? +While I need but appeal to universal experience to corroborate me when I +say that life is little else than a long series of uncompleted adventures, +I do not employ the strongest of all argument on this occasion, and +declare that in writing my Memoirs I had no choice but to set down the +whole or nothing, because I am aware that some sceptical folk would like +to imagine <i>me</i> a shade, and <i>my story</i> a fiction! +</p> +<p> +I am quite conscious of some inaccuracies; for aught I know, there may be +many in these pages; but I wrote most of them in very old age, away from +books, and still further away from the friends who might have afforded me +their counsel and guidance. I wrote with difficulty and from memory,—that +is, from a memory in which a fact often faded while I transcribed it, and +where it demanded all my efforts to call up the incidents, without, at the +same time, summoning a dozen others, irrelevant and unwarranted. +</p> +<p> +These same pages, with all their faults, have been a solace to many a +dreary hour, when, alone and companionless, I have sat in the stillness of +a home that no footsteps resound in, and by a hearth where none confronts +me. They would be still richer in comfort if I thought they could cheer +some heart lonely as my own, and make pain or sorrow forget something of +its sting. I scarcely dare to hope for this, but I <i>wish</i> it +heartily! And if there be aught of presumption in the thought, pray set it +down amongst the other errors and short-comings of +</p> +<p> +Jasper Carew. +</p> +<p> +Palazzo Guidotte, Senegaqlia, Jan. 1855. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. SOME “NOTICES OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER” + </h2> +<p> +It has sometimes occurred to me that the great suits of armor we see in +museums, the huge helmets that come down like extinguishers on the penny +candles of modern humanity, the enormous cuirasses and gigantic iron +gloves, were neither more nor less than downright and deliberate cheats +practised by the “Gents” of those days for the especial humbugging of us, +their remote posterity. It might, indeed, seem a strange and absurd thing +that any people should take so much pains, and incur so much expense, just +for the sake of mystifying generations then unborn. Still, I was led to +this conclusion by observing and reflecting on a somewhat similar +phenomenon in our own day; and indeed it was the only explanation I was +ever able to come to, respecting those great mansions that we Irish +gentlemen are so fond of rearing on our estates, “totally regardless of +expense,” and just as indifferent to all the circumstances of our fortune, +and all the requirements of our station,—the only real difference +being, that our forefathers were satisfied with quizzing their +descendants, whereas we, with a livelier appreciation of fun, prefer +enjoying the joke in our own day. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps I am a little too sensitive on this point; but my reader will +forgive any excess of irritability when I tell him that to this national +ardor for brick and mortar—this passion for cutstone and stucco—it +is I owe, not only some of the mischances of my life, but also a share of +what destiny has in store for those that are to come after me. We came +over to Ireland with Cromwell; my ancestor, I believe, and I don't desire +to hide the fact, was a favorite trumpeter of Old Noll. He was a powerful, +big-boned, slashing trooper, with a heavy hand on a sabre, and a fine +deep, bass voice in the conventicle; and if his Christian name was a +little inconvenient for those in a hurry,—he was called +Bind-your-kings-in-chains-and-your-nobles-in-links-of-iron Carew,—it +was of the less consequence, as he was always where he ought to be, +without calling. It was said that in the eyes of his chief his moderation +was highly esteemed, and that this virtue was never more conspicuous than +in his choice of a recompense for his services; since, instead of +selecting some fine, rich tract of Meath or Queen's County, some fruitful +spot on the Shannon or the Blackwater, with a most laudable and exemplary +humility he pitched upon a dreary and desolate region in the County +Wicklow,—picturesque enough in point of scenery, but utterly barren +and uncultivated. Here, at a short distance from the opening of the Vale +of Arklow, he built a small house, contiguous to which, after a few years, +was to be seen an outlandish kind of scaffolding,—a composite +architecture between a draw-well and a gallows; and which, after various +conjectures about its use,—some even suggesting that it was a new +apparatus “to raise the Devil,”—turned out to be the machinery for +working a valuable lead mine which, by “pure accident,” my fortunate +ancestor had just discovered there. +</p> +<p> +It was not only lead, but copper ore was found there, and at last silver; +so that in the course of three generations the trumpeter's descendants +became amongst the very richest of the land; and when my father succeeded +to the estate, he owned almost the entire country between Newrath Bridge +and Arklow. There were seventeen townlands in our possession, and five +mines in full work. In one of these, gold was found, and several fine +crystals of topaz and beryl,—a few specimens of which are yet to be +seen in the Irish Academy. It has been often remarked that men of ability +rarely or never transmit their gifts to the generation succeeding them. +Nature would seem to set her face against monopolies, and at least, so far +as intellect is concerned, to be a genuine “Free-Trader.” There is another +and very similar fact, however, which has not attracted so much notice. It +is this: that not only the dispositions and tastes of successive +generations change and alternate, but that their luck follows the same +law, and that after a good run of fortune for maybe a century or two, +there is certain to come a turn; and thus it is that these ups and downs, +which are only remarked in the lives of individuals, are occurring in the +wider ocean of general humanity. The common incident that we so often hear +of a man winning an enormous sum and losing every farthing of it, down to +the very half-crown he began with, is just the type of many a family +history,—the only difference being that the event which in one case +occupied a night, in the other was spread over two, or maybe three, +hundred years. +</p> +<p> +When my father succeeded to the family property, Ireland was enjoying her +very palmiest days of prosperity. The spirit of her nationality, without +coming into actual collision with England, yet had begun to assume an +attitude of proud hostility,—a species of haughty defiance,—the +first effect of which was to develop and call forth all the native ardor +and daring of a bold and generous people. It was in the celebrated year +'82; and, doubtless, there are some yet living who can recall to memory +the glorious enthusiasm of the “Volunteers.” The character of the +political excitement was eminently suited to the nature of the people. The +themes were precisely those which lay fastest hold of enthusiastic +temperaments. Liberty and Independence were in every mouth. From the +glowing eloquence of the Parliament House,—the burning words and +heart-stirring sentences of Grattan and Ponsonby,—they issued forth +to mingle in all the exciting din of military display,—the tramp of +armed battalions, and the crash and glitter of mounted squadrons. To these +succeeded those festive meetings, resounding with all the zeal of +patriotic toasts,—brilliant displays of those convivial +accomplishments for which the Irish gentlemen of that day were so justly +famed. There was something peculiarly splendid and imposing in the +spectacle of the nation at that moment; but, like the grand groupings we +witness upon the stage, all the gorgeousness of the display was only to +intimate that the curtain was about to fall! +</p> +<p> +But to come back to personal matters. At the first election which occurred +after his accession to the property, my father was returned for Wicklow, +by a large majority, in opposition to the Government candidate; and thus, +at the age of twenty-two, entered upon life with all the glowing ardor of +a young patriot,—rich, well-looking, and sufficiently gifted to be +flattered into the self-confidence of actual ability. +</p> +<p> +Parliamentary conflicts have undergone a change just as great as those of +actual warfare. In the times I speak of, tactical skill and subtlety would +have availed but little, in comparison with their present success. The +House was then a species of tournament, where he who would break his lance +with the most valiant tilter was always sure of an antagonist. The +marshalling of party, the muster of adherents, was not, as it now is, +all-sufficient against the daring eloquence of a solitary opponent; and +if, as is very probable, men were less under the guidance of great +political theorems, they were assuredly not less earnest and devoted than +we now see them. The contests of the House were carried beyond its walls, +and political opponents became deadly enemies, ready to stake life at any +moment in defence of their opinions. It was the school of the period; nor +can it be better illustrated than by the dying farewell of a great +statesman, whose last legacy to his son was in the words: “Be always ready +with the pistol.” This great maxim, and the maintenance of a princely +style of living, were the two golden rules of the time. My father was a +faithful disciple of the sect. +</p> +<p> +In the course of a two years' tour on the Continent, he signalized himself +by various adventures, the fame of which has not yet faded from the memory +of some survivors. The splendor of his retinue was the astonishment of +foreign courts; and the journals of the time constantly chronicled the +princely magnificence of his entertainments, and the costly extravagance +of his household. Wagers were the fashionable pastime of the period; and +to the absurd extent to which this passion was carried, are we in all +probability now indebted for that character of eccentricity by which our +countrymen are known over all Europe. +</p> +<p> +The most perilous exploits, the most reckless adventures, ordeals of +personal courage, strength, endurance, and address, were invented as the +subject of these wagers; and there was nothing too desperately hazardous, +nor too absurdly ridiculous, as not to find a place in such contests. My +father had run the gauntlet through all, and in every adventure was said +to have acquitted himself with honor and distinction. +</p> +<p> +Of one only of these exploits do I intend to make mention here; the reason +for the selection will soon be palpable to my reader. At the time I speak +of, Paris possessed two circles totally distinct in the great world of +society. One was that of the Court; the other rallied around the Duc +d'Orléans. To this latter my father's youth, wealth, and expensive tastes +predisposed him, and he soon became one of the most favored guests of the +Palais Royal. Scanty as are the materials which have reached us, there is +yet abundant reason to believe that never, in the most abandoned days of +the Regency, was there any greater degree of profligacy than then +prevailed there. Every vice and debauchery of a corrupt age was +triumphant, and even openly defended on the base and calumnious pretence +that the company was at least as moral as that of the “Petit Trianon.” My +father, I have said, was received into this set with peculiar honor. His +handsome figure, his winning manners, an easy disposition, and an ample +fortune were ready recommendations in his favor, and he speedily became +the chosen associate of the Prince. +</p> +<p> +Amongst his papers are to be found the unerring proofs of what this +friendship cost him. Continued losses at play had to be met by loans of +money, at the most ruinous rates of interest; and my poor father's +memoranda are filled with patriarchal names that too surely attest the +nature of such transactions. It would seem, however, that fortune at last +took a turn,—at least, the more than commonly wasteful extravagance +of his life at one period would imply that he was a winner. These gambling +contests between the Duke and himself had latterly become like personal +conflicts, wherein each staked skill, fortune, and address on the issue,—duels +which involved passions just as deadly as any whose arbitrament was ever +decided by sword or pistol! As luck favored my father, the Duke's efforts +to raise money were not less strenuous, and frequently as costly, as his +own; while on more than one occasion the jewelled decorations of his rank—his +very sword—were the pledges of the play-table. At last, so decidedly +had been the run against him that the Prince was forced to accept of loans +from my father to enable him to continue the contest. Even this +alternative, however, availed nothing. Loss followed upon loss, till at +length, one night, when fortune had seemed to have utterly forsaken him, +the Prince suddenly rose from the table, and saying, “Wait a moment, I'll +make one 'coup' more,” disappeared from the room. When he returned, his +altered looks almost startled my father. The color had entirely deserted +his cheeks; his very lips were bloodless; his eyes were streaked with red +vessels; and when he tried to speak, his first words were inaudible. +Pressing my father down again upon the seat from which he had arisen, he +leaned over his shoulder, and whispered in a voice low and broken,— +</p> +<p> +“I have told you, Chevalier, that I would make one 'coup' more. This +sealed note contains the stake I now propose to risk. You are at liberty +to set any sum you please against it. I can only say, it is all that now +remains to me of value in the world. One condition, however, I must +stipulate for; it is this: If you win”—here he paused, and a +convulsive shudder rendered him for some seconds unable to continue—“if +you win, that you leave France within three days, and that you do not open +this paper till within an hour after your departure.” + </p> +<p> +My father was not only disconcerted by the excessive agitation of his +manner, but he was little pleased with a compact, the best issue of which +would compel him to quit Paris and all its fascinations at a very hour's +notice. He tried to persuade the Prince that there was no necessity for so +heavy a venture; that he was perfectly ready to advance any sum his Royal +Highness could name; that fortune, so persecuting as she seemed, should +not be pushed further, at least for the present. In fact, he did +everything which ingenuity could prompt to decline the wager. But the more +eagerly he argued, the more resolute and determined became the Duke; till +at last, excited by his losses, and irritated by an opposition to which he +was but little accustomed, the Prince cut short the discussion by the +insolent taunt “that the Chevalier was probably right, and deemed it safer +to retain what he had won, than risk it by another venture.” + </p> +<p> +“Enough, sir; I am quite ready,” replied my father, and reseated himself +at the table. +</p> +<p> +“There's my stake, then,” said the Prince, throwing a sealed envelope on +the cloth. +</p> +<p> +“Your Royal Highness must correct me if I am in error,” said my father, +“and make mine beneath what it ought to be.” At the same moment he pushed +all the gold before him—several thousand louis—into the middle +of the table. +</p> +<p> +The Prince never spoke nor moved; and my father, after in vain waiting for +some remark, said,— +</p> +<p> +“I perceive, sir, that I have miscalculated. These are all that I have +about me;” and he drew from his pocket a mass of bank-notes of +considerable amount. The Prince still maintained silence. +</p> +<p> +“If your Royal Highness will not vouchsafe to aid me, I must only trust to +my unguided reason, and, however conscious of the inferiority of the +venture, I can but stake all that I possess. Yes, sir, such is my stake.” + </p> +<p> +The Prince bowed formally and coldly, and pushed the cards towards my +father. The fashionable game of the day was called Barocco, in which, +after certain combinations, the hand to whom fell the Queen of Spades +became the winner. So evenly had gone the fortune of the game that all now +depended on this card. My father was the dealer, and turned up each card +slowly, and with a hand in which not the slightest tremor could be +detected. The Prince, habitually the very ideal of a gambler's cold +impassiveness, was agitated beyond all his efforts to control, and sat +with his eyes riveted on the game; and when the fatal card fell at length +from my father's hand, his arms dropped powerless at either side of him, +and with a low groan he sank fainting on the floor. +</p> +<p> +He was quickly removed by his attendants, and my father never saw him +after! All his efforts to obtain an audience were in vain; and when his +entreaties became more urgent, he was given significantly to understand +that the Prince was personally indisposed to receive him. Another and +stronger hint was also supplied, in the-shape of a letter from the +Minister of Police, inclosing my father's passport, and requiring his +departure, by way of Calais, within a given time. +</p> +<p> +Whatever share curiosity as to the contents of the paper might have had in +my father's first thoughts, a sense of offended dignity for the manner of +his treatment speedily mastered; and as he journeyed along towards the +coast, his mind was solely occupied with one impression. To be suddenly +excluded from the society in which he had so long mixed, and banished from +the country where he had lived with such distinction, were indeed deep +personal affronts, and not without severe reflection on his conduct and +character. +</p> +<p> +His impatience to quit a land where he had been so grossly outraged grew +greater with every mile he travelled; and although the snow lay heavily on +the road, he passed on, regardless of everything but his insulted honor. +It was midnight when he reached Calais. The packet, which had sailed in +the afternoon, had just re-entered the port, driven back by a hurricane +that had almost wrecked her. The passengers, overcome with terror, +fatigue, and exhaustion, were crowding into the hotel at the very moment +of my father's arrival. The gale increased in violence at every instant, +and the noise of the sea breaking over the old piles of the harbor was now +heard like thunder. Indifferent to such warning, my father sent for the +captain, and asked him what sum would induce him to put to sea. A positive +refusal to accept of any sum was the first reply; but by dint of +persuasion, persistence, and the temptation of a large reward, he at last +induced him to comply. +</p> +<p> +To my father's extreme surprise, he learned that two ladies who had just +arrived at the hotel were no less resolutely bent on departure, and, in +defiance of the gale, which was now terrific, sent to beg that they might +be permitted to take their passage in the vessel. To the landlord, who +conveyed this request, my father strongly represented the danger of such +an undertaking; that nothing short of an extreme necessity would have +induced him to embark in such a hurricane; that the captain, who had +undertaken the voyage at his especial entreaty, might, most naturally, +object to the responsibility. In a word, he pleaded everything against +this request, but was met by the steady, unvarying reply, “That their +necessity was not less urgent than his own, and that nothing less than the +impossibility should prevent their departure.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so, then,” said my father, whose mind was too much occupied with +his own cares to bestow much attention on strangers. Indeed, so little of +either interest or curiosity did his fellow travellers excite in him that +although he assisted them to ascend the ship's side, he made no effort to +see their faces; nor did he address to them a single word. They who cross +the narrow strait nowadays, with all the speed of a modern mail-steamer, +can scarcely credit how much of actual danger the passage once involved. +The communication with the Continent was frequently suspended for several +days together; and it was no unusual occurrence to hear of three or even +four mails being due from France. So great was the storm on the occasion I +refer to that it was full two hours before the vessel could get clear of +the port; and even then, with a mainsail closely reefed, and a mere +fragment of a foresail, the utmost she could do was to keep the sea. An +old and worthless craft, she was ill-suited to such a service; and now, at +each stroke of the waves, some bulwark would be washed away, some spar +broken, or part of the rigging torn in shreds. The frail timbers creaked +and groaned with the working, and already, from the strain, leaks had +burst open in many places, and half the crew were at the pumps. My father, +who kept the deck without quitting it, saw that the danger was great, and, +not improbably, now condemned his own rashness when it was too late. Too +proud, however, to confess his shame, he walked hurriedly up and down the +poop, only stopping to hold on at those moments when some tremendous lurch +almost laid the craft under. In one of these it was that he chanced to +look down through the cabin grating, and there beheld an old lady, at +prayer, on her knees; her hands held a crucifix before her, and her +upturned eyes were full of deep devotion. The lamp which swung to and fro +above her head threw a passing light upon her features, and showed that +she must once have been strikingly handsome, while even yet the traces +were those that bespoke birth and condition. My father in vain sought for +her companion, and while he bent down over the grating to look, the +captain came up to his side. +</p> +<p> +“The poor Duchess is terribly frightened,” said he, with an attempt at a +smile which only half succeeded. +</p> +<p> +“How do you call her?” asked my father. +</p> +<p> +“La Duchesse de Sargance, a celebrated court beauty some forty years ago. +She has been always attached to the Duchess of Orleans; or, some say, to +the Duke. At least, she enjoys the repute of knowing all his secret +intrigues and adventures.” + </p> +<p> +“The Duke!” said my father, musing; and, suddenly calling to mind his +pledge, he drew nigh to the binnacle lamp, and, opening his letter, bent +down to read it. A small gold locket fell into his hand, unclasping which, +he beheld the portrait of a beautiful girl of eighteen or nineteen. She +was represented in the act of binding up her hair; and in the features, +the coloring, and the attitude, she seemed the very ideal of a Grecian +statue. In the corner of the paper was written the words, “Ma Fille,” + “Philippe d'Orléans.” + </p> +<p> +“Is this possible? can this be real?” cried my father, whose quick +intelligence at once seemed to divine all. The next instant he was at the +door of the cabin, knocking impatiently to get in. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know this, madam?” cried he, holding out the miniature towards the +Duchess. “Can you tell me aught of this?” + </p> +<p> +“Is the danger over? Are we safe?” was her exclamation, as she arose from +her knees. +</p> +<p> +“The wind is abating, madam,—the worst is over; and now to my +question.” + </p> +<p> +“She is yours, sir,” said the Duchess, with a deep obeisance. “His Royal +Highnesses orders were, not to leave her till she reached England. Heaven +grant that we are to see that hour! This is Mademoiselle de Courtois,” + continued she, as at the same instant the young lady entered the cabin. +</p> +<p> +The graceful ease and unaffected demeanor with which she received my +father at once convinced him that she at least knew nothing of the +terrible compact in which she was involved. Habituated as he was to all +the fascinations of beauty, and all the blandishments of manner, there was +something to him irresistibly charming in the artless tone with which she +spoke of her voyage, and all the pleasure she anticipated from a tour +through England. +</p> +<p> +“You see, sir,” said the Duchess, when they were once more alone together, +“Mademoiselle Josephine is a stranger to the position in which she stands. +None could have undertaken the task of breaking it to her. Let us trust +that she is never to know it.” + </p> +<p> +“How so, madam? Do you mean that I am to relinquish my right?” cried my +father. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing could persuade me that you would insist upon it, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“You are wrong, then, madam,” said he, sternly. “To the letter I will +maintain it. Mademoiselle de Courtois is mine; and within twenty-four +hours the law shall confirm my title, for I will make her my wife.” + </p> +<p> +I have heard that however honorable my father's intentions thus proclaimed +themselves, the Duchess only could see a very lamentable <i>mésalliance</i> +in such a union; nor did she altogether disguise from my father that his +Royal Highness was very likely to take the same view of the matter. +Mademoiselle's mother was of the best blood of France, and illegitimacy +signified little if Royalty but bore its share of the shame. Fortunately +the young lady's scruples were more easily disposed of: perhaps my father +understood better how to deal with them; at all events, one thing is +certain, Madame de Sargance left Dover for Calais on the same day that my +father and his young bride started for London,—perhaps it might be +exaggeration to say the happiest, but it is no extravagance to call them—as +handsome a pair as ever journeyed the same road on the same errand. I have +told some things in this episode which, perhaps, second thoughts would +expunge, and I have omitted others that as probably the reader might +naturally have looked for. But the truth is, the narrative has not been +without its difficulties. I have had to speak of a tone of manners and +habits now happily bygone, of which I dare not mark my reprehension with +all the freedom I could wish, since one of the chief actors was my father,—its +victim, my mother. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. THE ILLUSTRATION OF AN ADAGE +</h2> +<p> +“Marry in haste,” says the adage, and we all know what occupation leisure +will bring with it; unhappily, my father was not to prove the exception to +the maxim. It was not that his wife was wanting in any quality which can +render married life happy; she was, on the contrary, most rarely gifted +with them all. She was young, beautiful, endowed with excellent health and +the very best of tempers. The charm of her manner won every class with +whom she came into contact. But—alas that there should be a but!—she +had been brought up in habits of the most expensive kind. Living in royal +palaces, waited on by troops of menials, with costly equipages and +splendid retinues ever at her command, only mingling with those whose +lives were devoted to pleasure and amusement, conversant with no other +themes than those which bore upon gayety and dissipation, she was +peculiarly unsuited to the wear and tear of a social system which demanded +fully as much of self-sacrifice as of enjoyment. The long lessons my +father would read to her of deference to this one, patient endurance of +that, how she was to submit to the tiresome prosings of certain +notorieties in respect of their political or social eminence,—she +certainly heard with most exemplary resignation; but by no effort of her +reason, nor, indeed, of imagination, could she attain to the fact why any +one should associate with those distasteful to them, nor ever persuade +herself that any worldly distinction could possibly be worth having at +such a price. +</p> +<p> +She was quite sure—indeed, her own experience proved it—“that +the world was full of pleasant people.” Beauty to gaze on and wit to +listen to, were certainly not difficult to be found; why, then, any one +should persist in denying themselves the enjoyment derivable from such +sources was as great a seeming absurdity as that of him who, turning his +back on the rare flowers of a conservatory, would go forth to make his +bouquet of the wild flowers and weeds of the roadside. Besides this, in +the world wherein she had lived, her own gifts were precisely those which +attracted most admiration and exerted most sway; and it was somewhat hard +to descend to a system where such a coinage was not accepted as currency, +but rather regarded as gilded counters, pretty to look at, but, after all, +a mere counterfeit money, unrecognized by the mint. +</p> +<p> +My father saw all this when it was too late; but he lost no time in vain +repinings. On the contrary, having taken a cottage in a secluded part of +North Wales, by way of passing the honeymoon in all the conventional +isolation that season is condemned to, he devoted himself to that +educational process at which I have hinted, and began to instil those +principles, to the difficulty of whose acquirement I have just alluded. +</p> +<p> +I believe that his life at this period was one of as much happiness as +ever is permitted to poor mortality in this world; so, at least, his +letters to his friends bespeak it. It may be even doubted if the little +diversities of taste and disposition between himself and my mother did not +heighten the sense of his enjoyment; they assuredly averted that lassitude +and ennui which are often the results of a connubial duet unreasonably +prolonged. I know, too, that my poor mother often looked back to that +place as to the very paradise of her existence. My father had encouraged +such magnificent impressions of his ancestral house and demesne that he +was obliged to make great efforts to sustain the deception. An entire wing +had to be built to complete the symmetry of the mansion. The roof had also +to be replaced by another, of more costly construction. In the place of a +stucco colonnade, one of polished granite was to be erected. The whole of +the furniture was to be exchanged. Massive old cabinets and oaken chairs, +handsome enough in their way, were but ill-suited to ceilings of fretted +gold, and walls hung in the rich draperies of Lyons. The very mirrors, +which had been objects of intense admiration for their size and splendor, +were now to be discarded for others of more modern pretensions. The china +bowls and cups which for centuries had been regarded as very gems of virtu +were thrown indignantly aside, to make place for Sèvres vases and rich +groupings of pure Saxon. In fact, all the ordinary comforts and +characteristics of a country gentleman's house were abandoned for the +sumptuous and splendid furniture of a palace. To meet such expenses large +sums were raised on loan, and two of the richest mines on the estate were +heavily mortgaged. Of course it is needless to say that preparations on +such a scale of magnificence attracted a large share of public attention. +The newspapers duly chronicled the increasing splendor of “Castle Carew.” + Scarcely a ship arrived without some precious consignment, either of +pictures, marbles, or tapestries; and these announcements were usually +accompanied by some semi-mysterious paragraph about the vast wealth of the +owner, and the great accession of fortune he had acquired by his marriage. +On this latter point nothing was known, beyond the fact that the lady was +of an ancient ducal family of France, of immense fortune and eminently +beautiful. Even my father's most intimate friends knew nothing beyond +this; for, however strange it may sound to our present-day notions, my +father was ashamed of her illegitimacy and rightly judged what would be +the general opinion of her acquaintances, should the fact become public. +At last came the eventful day of the landing in Ireland; and, certainly, +nothing could be more enthusiastic nor affectionate than the welcome that +met them. +</p> +<p> +Personally, my father's popularity was very great; politically, he had +already secured many admirers, since, even in the few months of his +parliamentary life, he had distinguished himself on two or three +occasions. His tone was manly and independent; his appearance was +singularly prepossessing; and then, as he owned a large estate, and spent +his money freely, it would have been hard if such qualities had not made +him a favorite in Ireland. +</p> +<p> +It was almost a procession that accompanied him from the quay to the great +hotel of the Drogheda Arms, where they stopped to breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to see you back amongst us, Carew!” said Joe Parsons, one of my +father's political advisers, a county member of great weight with the +Opposition. “We want every good and true man in his place just now.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith! we missed you sorely at the Curragh meetings, Watty,” cried a +sporting-looking young fellow, in “tops and leathers.” “No such thing as a +good handicap, nor a hurdle race for a finish, without you.” + </p> +<p> +“Harry deplores those pleasant evenings you used to spend at three-handed +whist, with himself and Dick Morgan,” said another, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“And where's Dick?” asked my father, looking around him on every side. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Dick!” said the last speaker. “It's no fault of his that he 's not +here to shake your hand to-day. He was arrested about six weeks ago, on +some bills he passed to Fagan.” + </p> +<p> +“Old Tony alive still?” said my father, laughing. “And what was the +amount?” added he, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“A heavy figure,—above two thousand, I believe; but Tony would be +right glad to take five hundred.” + </p> +<p> +“And couldn't Dick's friends do that much for him?” asked my father, half +indignantly. “Why, when I left this, Dick was the very life of your city. +A dinner without him was a failure. Men would rather have met him at the +cover than seen the fox. His hearty face and his warm shake-hands were +enough to inspire jollity into a Quaker meeting.” + </p> +<p> +“All true, Watty; but there's been a general shipwreck of us all, somehow. +Where the money has gone, nobody knows; but every one seems out at elbows. +You are the only fellow the sun shines upon.” + </p> +<p> +“Make hay, then, when it does so,” said my father, laughing; and, taking +but his pocket-book, he scribbled a few lines on a leaf which he tore out. +“Give that to Dick, and tell him to come down and dine with us on Friday. +You'll join him. Quin and Parsons won't refuse me.—And what do you +say, Gervy Power? Can you spare a day from the tennis-court, or an evening +from piquet?—Jack Gore, I count upon you. Harvey Hepton will drive +you down, for I know you never can pay the post-boys.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad, they 're too well trained to expect it. The rascals always look to +me for a hint about the young horses at the Curragh, and, now and then, I +do throw a stray five-pound in their way.” + </p> +<p> +“We have not seen madam yet. Are we not to have that honor to-day?” said +Parsons. +</p> +<p> +“I believe not; she's somewhat tired. We had a stormy time of it,” said my +father, who rather hesitated about introducing his bachelor friends to my +mother without some little preparation. +</p> +<p> +Nor was the caution quite unreasonable. Their style and breeding were +totally unlike anything she had ever seen before. The tone of familiarity +they used towards each other was the very opposite to that school of +courtly distance which even the very nearest in blood or kindred observed +in her own country; and lastly, very few of those then present understood +anything of French; and my mother's English, at the time I speak of, did +not range beyond a few monosyllables, pronounced with an accent that made +them all but unintelligible. +</p> +<p> +“You'll have Kitty Dwyer to call upon you the moment she hears you 're +come,” said Quin. +</p> +<p> +“Charmed to see her, if she 'll do us that honor,” said my father, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You must have no common impudence, then, Watty,” said another; “you +certainly jilted her.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,” replied my father; “she it was who refused me.” + </p> +<p> +“Bother!” broke in an old squire, a certain Bob French of Frenchmount; +“Kitty refuse ten thousand a-year, and a good-looking fellow into the +bargain! Kitty's no fool; and she knows mankind just as well as she knows +horseflesh,—and, faix, that's not saying a trifle.” + </p> +<p> +“How is she looking?” asked my father, rather anxious to change the topic. +</p> +<p> +“Just as you saw her last. She hurt her back at an ugly fence in Kennedy's +park, last winter; but she's all right again, and riding the little black +mare that killed Morrissy, as neatly as ever!” + </p> +<p> +“She's a fine dashing girl!” said my father. +</p> +<p> +“No, but she's a good girl,” said the old squire, who evidently admired +her greatly. “She rode eight miles of a dark night, three weeks ago, to +bring the doctor to old Hackett's wife, and it raining like a waterfall; +and she gave him two guineas for the job. Ay, faith, and maybe at the same +time, two guineas was two guineas to her.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, Mat Dwyer is not so hard-up as that comes to?” exclaimed my father. +</p> +<p> +“Is n't he, faith? I don't believe he knows where to lay his hand on a +fifty-pound note this morning. The truth is, Walter, Mat ran himself out +for <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“For me! How do you mean for me?” + </p> +<p> +“Just because he thought you 'd marry Kitty. Oh! you need n't laugh. There +'s many more thought the same thing. You remember yourself that you were +never out of the house. You used to pretend that Bishop's-Lough was a +better cover than your own,—that it was more of a grass country to +ride over. Then, when summer came, you took to fishing, as if your bread +depended on it; and the devil a salmon you ever hooked.” + </p> +<p> +A roar of laughter from the surrounders showed how they relished the +confusion of my father's manner. +</p> +<p> +“Even all that will scarcely amount to an offer of marriage,” said he, in +half pique. +</p> +<p> +“Nobody said it would,” retorted the other; “but when you teach a girl to +risk her life, four days in the week, over the highest fences in a hunting +country,—when she gives up stitching and embroidery, to tying flies +and making brown hackles,—when she 'd rather drive a tandem than sit +quiet in a coach and four,—why, she's as good as spoiled for any one +else. 'Tis the same with women as with young horses,—every one likes +to break them in for himself. Some like a puller; others prefer a light +mouth; and there's more that would rather go along without having to think +at all, sure that, no matter how rough the road, there would be neither a +false step nor stumble in it.” + </p> +<p> +“And what's become of MacNaghten?” asked my father, anxious to change the +topic. +</p> +<p> +“Scheming, scheming, just the same as ever. I 'm sure I wonder he 's not +here to-day. May I never! if that's not his voice I hear on the stairs. +Talk of the devil—” + </p> +<p> +“And you're sure to see Dan MacNaghten,” cried my father; and the next +moment he was heartily shaking hands with a tall, handsome man who, though +barely thirty, was yet slightly bald on the top of the head. His eyes were +blue and large; their expression full of the joyous merriment of a happy +schoolboy,—a temperament that his voice and laugh fully confirmed. +</p> +<p> +“Watty, boy, it 's as good as a day rule to have a look at you again,” + cried he. “There's not a man can fill your place when you 're away,—devil +a one.” + </p> +<p> +“There he goes,—there he goes!” muttered old French, with a sly wink +at the others. +</p> +<p> +“Ireland wasn't herself without you, my boy,” continued MacNaghten. “We +were obliged to put up with Tom Burke's harriers and old French's claret; +and the one has no more scent than the other has bouquet.” + </p> +<p> +French's face at this moment elicited such a roar of laughter as drowned +the remainder of the speech. +</p> +<p> +“'T was little time you had either to run with the one or drink the other, +Dan,” said he; “for you were snug in Kilmainham the whole of the winter.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Otium cum dignitate</i>,” said Dan. “I spent my evenings in drawing up +a bill for the better recovery of small debts.” + </p> +<p> +“How so, Dan?” + </p> +<p> +“Lending enough more, to bring the debtor into the superior courts,—trying +him for murder instead of manslaughter.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, you'd do either if you were put to it,” said French, who merely +heard the words, without understanding the context. +</p> +<p> +Dan MacNaghten was now included in my father's invitation to Castle Carew; +and, after a few other allusions to past events and absent friends, they +all took their leave, and my father hastened to join his bride. +</p> +<p> +“You thought them very noisy, my dear,” said my father, in reply to a +remark of hers. “They, I have no doubt, were perfectly astonished at their +excessive quietness,—an air of decorum only assumed because they +heard you were in the next room.” + </p> +<p> +“They were not afraid of me, I trust,” said she, smiling. “Not exactly +afraid,” said my father, with a very peculiar smile. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A FATHER AND DAUGHTER +</h2> +<p> +The celebrated money-lender and bill-discounter of Dublin in the times we +speak of, was a certain Mr. Fagan, popularly called “The Grinder,” from +certain peculiarities in his dealings with those who stood in need of his +aid. He had been, and indeed so had his father before him, a fruit-seller, +in a quarter of the city called Mary's Abbey,—a trade which he still +affected to carry on, although it was well known that the little +transactions of the front shop bore no imaginable proportion to the +important events which were conducted in the small and gloomy back-parlor +behind it. +</p> +<p> +It was a period of unbounded extravagance. Few even of the wealthiest +lived within their incomes. Many maintained a style and pretension far +beyond their fortunes, the first seeds of that crop of ruin whose harvest +we are now witnessing. By large advances on mortgage, and great loans at +moments of extreme pressure, the Grinder had amassed an immense fortune, +at the same time that he possessed a very considerable influence in many +counties, in whose elections he took a deep although secret interest. +</p> +<p> +If money-getting and money-hoarding was the great passion of his +existence, it was in reality so in furtherance of two objects, on which he +seemed to have set his whole heart. One of these was the emancipation of +the Catholics; the other, the elevation of his only child, a daughter, to +rank and station, by means of a high marriage. +</p> +<p> +On these two themes his every thought was fixed; and however closely the +miser's nature had twined itself around his own, all the thirst for gain, +all the greed of usury, gave way before these master-passions. So much was +he under their guidance that no prospect of advantage ever withdrew him +from their prosecution; and he who looked for the Grinder's aid, must at +least have appeared to him as likely to contribute towards one or other of +these objects. +</p> +<p> +Strange as it may seem to our modern notions, the political ambition +seemed easier of success than the social. With all their moneyed +embarrassments, the higher classes of Ireland refused to stoop to an +alliance with the families of the rich plebeians, and were much more ready +to tamper with their conscience on questions of state, than to abate a +particle of their pride on a matter of family connection. In this way, Mr. +Fagan could command many votes in the House from those who would have +indignantly refused his invitation to a dinner. +</p> +<p> +In pursuit of this plan, he had given his daughter the best education that +money could command. She had masters in every modern language, and in +every fashionable accomplishment. She was naturally clever and quick of +apprehension, and possessed considerable advantages in person and +deportment. Perhaps an overweening sense of her own importance, in +comparison with those about her, imparted a degree of assumption to her +manner, or perhaps this was instilled into her as a suitable lesson for +some future position; but so was it, that much of the gracefulness of her +youth was impaired by this fault, which gradually settled down into an +almost stern and defiant hardiness of deportment,—a quality little +likely to be popular in high society. +</p> +<p> +A false position invariably engenders a false manner, and hers was +eminently so. Immeasurably above those with whom she associated, she saw a +great gulf between her and that set with whose habits and instincts she +had been trained to assimilate. To condescend to intimacy with her +father's guests, was to undo all the teachings of her life; and yet how +barren seemed every hope of ascending to anything higher! No young +proprietor had attained his majority for some years back, without being +canvassed by the Grinder as a possible match for his daughter. He well +knew the pecuniary circumstances of them all. To some he had lent largely; +and yet somehow, although his emissaries were active in spreading the +intelligence that Bob Fagan's daughter would have upwards of three hundred +thousand pounds. +</p> +<p> +It seemed a point of honor amongst this class that none should descend to +such a union, nor stoop to an alliance with the usurer. If, in the wild +orgies of after-dinner in the mad debauchery of the mess-table, some +reckless spendthrift would talk of marrying Polly Fagan, a burst of +mockery and laughter was certain to hail the proposition. In fact, any +alternative of doubtful honesty, any stratagem to defeat a creditor, +seemed a more honorable course than such a project. +</p> +<p> +There were kind friends—mayhap amongst them were some disappointed +suitors—ready to tell Polly how she was regarded by this set; and +this consciousness on her part did not assuredly add to the softness of a +manner that each day was rendering her more cold and severe; and, from +despising those of her own rank, she now grew to hate that above her. +</p> +<p> +It so chanced that my father was one of those on whom Fagan had long +speculated for a son-in-law. There was something in the careless ease of +his character that suggested the hope that he might not be very difficult +of persuasion; and, as his habits of expense required large and prompt +supplies, the Grinder made these advances with a degree of liberality that +could not fail to be flattering to a young heir. +</p> +<p> +On more than one occasion, the money was paid down before the lawyers had +completed the documents; and this confidence in my father's honor had +greatly predisposed him in Fagan's favor. The presumptuous idea of an +alliance with him would have, of course, routed such impressions, but this +never occurred to my father. It is very doubtful that he could have +brought himself to believe the thing possible. So secret had been my +father's marriage that none, even of his most intimate friends, knew of it +till within a short time before he arrived in Ireland. The great outlay at +Castle Carew of course attracted its share of gossip, but all seemed to +think that these were the preparations for an event not yet decided on. +This also was Fagan's reading of it; and he watched with anxious intensity +every step and detail of that costly expenditure in which his now last +hope was centred. +</p> +<p> +“He must come to me for all this; I alone can be the paymaster here,” was +his constant reflection, as he surveyed plans which required a princely +fortune to execute, and which no private income could possibly have +supported by a suitable style of living. “A hundred thousand pounds will +pay for all,” was the consolatory thought with which he solaced himself +for this extravagance. +</p> +<p> +The frequent calls for money, the astounding sums demanded from time to +time, did indeed alarm Fagan. The golden limit of a hundred thousand had +long been passed, and yet came no sign of retrenchment; on the contrary, +the plans for the completion of the Castle were on a scale of even greater +magnificence. +</p> +<p> +It was to assure himself as to the truth of these miraculous narratives, +to see with his own eyes the splendors of which he had heard so much, that +Fagan once undertook a journey down to Castle Carew. For reasons the +motives of which may be as well guessed as described, he was accompanied +by his daughter. Seeming to be engaged on a little tour of the county, +they arrived at the village inn at nightfall, and the following morning +readily obtained the permission to visit the grounds and the mansion. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps there is no higher appreciation of landscape beauty than that of +him who emerges from the dark and narrow street of some busy city,—from +its noise, and smoke, and din,—from its vexatious cares and +harassing duties, and strolls out, of a bright spring morning, through the +grassy fields and leafy lanes of a rural country; there is a repose, a +sense of tranquil calm in the scene, so refreshing to those whose habitual +rest comes of weariness and exhaustion. No need is there of the painter's +eye nor the poet's fancy to enjoy to the utmost that rich combination of +sky, and wood, and glassy lake. +</p> +<p> +There may be nothing of artistic excellence in the appreciation, but the +sense of pleasure, of happiness even, is to the full as great. +</p> +<p> +It was in such a mood that Fagan found himself that morning slowly +stealing along a woodland-path, his daughter at his side; halting wherever +a chance opening afforded a view of the landscape, they walked leisurely +on, each, as it were, respecting the other's silence. Not that their +secret thoughts were indeed alike,—far from it! The daughter had +marked the tranquil look, the unembarrassed expression of those features +so habitually agitated and careworn: she saw the sense of relief even one +day, one single day of rest, had brought with it. Why should it not be +always thus? thought she. He needs no longer to toil and strive. His might +be a life of quietude and peace. Our fortune is far above our wants, +beyond even our wishes. We might at last make friendships, real +friendships, amongst those who would look on us as equals and neighbors, +not as usurers and oppressors. +</p> +<p> +While such was passing in the daughter's mind, the father's thoughts ran +thus: Can she see these old woods, these waving lawns, these battlemented +towers, topping the great oaks of centuries, and yet not wish to be their +mistress? Does no ambition stir her heart to think, These might be mine? +He scanned her features closely, but in her drooping eyelids and pensive +look he could read no signs of the spirit he sought for. +</p> +<p> +“Polly,” said he, at length, “this is finer, far finer than I expected; +the timber is better grown, the demesne itself more spacious. I hardly +looked for such a princely place.” + </p> +<p> +“It is very beautiful,” said she, pensively. +</p> +<p> +“A proud thing to be the owner of, Polly,—a proud thing! This is not +the home of some wealthy citizen; these trees are like blazons of +nobility, girl.” + </p> +<p> +“One might be very happy here, father,” said she, in the same low voice. +</p> +<p> +“The very thought of my own mind, Polly,” cried he, eagerly. “The highest +in the land could ask for nothing better. The estate has been in his +family for four or five generations. The owner of such a place has but to +choose what he would become. If he be talented, and with capacity for +public life, think of him in Parliament, taking up some great question, +assailing some time-worn abuse,—some remnant of that barbarous code +that once enslaved us,—and standing forward as the leader of an +Irish party. How gracefully patriotism would sit on one who could call +this his own! Not the sham patriotism of your envious plebeian, nor the +mock independence of the needy lawyer, but the sturdy determination to +make his country second to none. There 's the Castle itself,” cried he, +suddenly, as they emerged into an open space in front of the building; +and, amazed at the spacious and splendid edifice before them, they both +stood several minutes in silent admiration. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely thought any Irish gentleman had a fortune to suit this,” said +she, at length. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Polly; nor has Carew himself. The debts he will have +incurred to build that Castle will hamper his estate, and cripple him and +those that are to come after him. Nothing short of a large sum of ready +money, enough to clear off every mortgage and incumbrance at once, could +enable this young fellow to save them. Even then, his style should not be +the spendthrift waste they say he is fond of. A princely household he +might have, nobly maintained, and perfect in all its details, but with +good management, girl. You must remember that, Polly.” + </p> +<p> +She started at this direct appeal to herself; and, as her cheeks grew +crimson with conscious shame, she turned away to avoid his glance,—not +that the precaution was needed, for he was far too much immersed in his +own thoughts to observa her. Polly had on more than one occasion seen +through the ambitious schemes of her father. She had detected many a +deep-laid plot he had devised to secure for her that eminence and station +he longed for. Deep and painful were the wounds of her offended pride at +the slights, the insults of these defeated plans. Resentments that were to +last her lifetime had grown of them, and in her heart a secret grudge +towards that class from which they sprung. Over and over had she +endeavored to summon up courage to tell him that, to her, these schemes +were become hateful; that all dignity, all self-respect, were sacrificed +in this unworthy struggle. At last came the moment of hardihood; and in a +few words, at first broken and indistinct, but more assured and distinct +as she went on, she said that she, at least, could never partake in his +ambitious views. +</p> +<p> +“I have seen you yourself, father, after a meeting with one of these—these +high and titled personages, come home pale, careworn, and ill. The +contumely of their manner had so offended you that you sat down to your +meal without appetite. You could not speak to me; or, in a few words you +dropped, I could read the bitter chagrin that was corroding your heart. +You owned to me, that in the very moment of receiving favors from you, +they never forgot the wide difference of rank that separated you,—nay +more, that they accepted your services as a rightful homage to their high +estate, and made you feel a kind of serfdom in your very generosity.” + </p> +<p> +“Why all this? To what end do you tell me these things, girl?” cried he, +angrily, while his cheek trembled with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Because if I conceal them longer,—if I do not speak them,—they +will break my heart,” said she, in an accent of deepest emotion; “because +the grief they give me has worn me to very wretchedness. Is it not clear +to you, father, that they wish none of us,—that our blood is not +their blood, nor our traditions their traditions?” + </p> +<p> +“Hold—stop—be silent, I say, or you will drive me distracted,” + said he, grasping her wrist in a paroxysm of rage. +</p> +<p> +“I will speak out,” said she, resolutely. “The courage I now feel may, +perhaps, never return to me. There is nothing humiliating in our position, +save what we owe to ourselves; there is no meanness in our rank in life, +save when we are ashamed of it! Our efforts to be what we were not born to +be, what we ought not to be, what we cannot be,—these may, indeed, +make us despicable and ridiculous, for there are things in this world, +father, that not even gold can buy.” + </p> +<p> +“By Heaven, that is not true!” said he, fiercely. “There never yet was +that in rank, honor, and distinction that was not ticketed with its own +price! Our haughtiest nobility—the proudest duke in the land—knows +well what his alliance with a plebeian order has done for him. Look about +you, girl. Who are these marchionesses, these countesses, who sweep past +us in their pride? The daughters of men of my own station,—the +wealthy traders of the country—” + </p> +<p> +“And what is their position, father? A living lie. What is their haughty +carriage? The assumption of a state they were not born to,—the +insolent pretension to despise all amidst which they passed their youth, +their earliest friendships, their purest, best days. Let them, on the +other hand, cling to these; let them love what has grown into their +natures from infancy,—the home, the companions of their happy +childhood,—and see how the world will scoff at their vulgarity, +their innate degeneracy, their low-born habits: vulgar if generous, vulgar +when saving; their costly tastes a reproach, their parsimony a sneer.” + </p> +<p> +There was a passionate energy in her tone and manner, which, heightening +the expression of her handsome features, made her actually beautiful; and +her father half forgot the opposition to his opinions, in his admiration +of her. As he still gazed at her, the sharp sound of a horse's canter was +heard behind them; and, on turning round, they saw advancing towards them +a young man, mounted on a blood horse, which he rode with all the careless +ease of one accustomed to the saddle; his feet dangling loosely out of the +stirrups, and one hand thurst into the pocket of his shooting-jacket. +</p> +<p> +“Stand where you are!” he cried, as the father and daughter were about to +move aside, and give him room to pass; and immediately after he rushed his +horse at the huge trunk of a fallen beech-tree, and cleared it with a +spring. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll be perfect at timber, when he gets a little cooler in temper,” + said he, turning on his saddle; and then, recognizing Fagan, he reined +short in, and called out, “Halloo, Tony! who ever expected to see you +here?—Miss Polly, your servant. A most unexpected pleasure this,” + added he, springing from his saddle, and advancing towards them with his +hat off. +</p> +<p> +“It is not often I indulge myself with a holiday, Mr. MacNaghten,” said +Fagan, as though half ashamed of the confession. +</p> +<p> +“So much the worse for you, Fagan, and for your handsome daughter here,—not +to speak of the poor thriftless devils, like myself, who are the objects +of your industrious hours. Eh, Tony, is n't that true?” and he laughed +heartily at his impudent joke. +</p> +<p> +“And if it were not for such industry, sir,” said the daughter, sternly, +“how many like you would be abroad to-day?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/car0052.jpg" alt="car0052" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“By Jove, you are quite right, Miss Polly. It is exactly as you say. Your +excellent father is the providence of us younger sons; and I, for one, +will never prove ungrateful to him. But pray let us turn to another theme. +Shall I show you the grounds and the gardens? The house is in such a mess +of confusion that it is scarcely worth seeing. The conservatory, however, +and the dairy are nearly finished; and if you can breakfast on grapes and +a pineapple, with fresh cream to wash them down, I 'll promise to +entertain you.” + </p> +<p> +“We ask for nothing better, Mr. MacNaghten,” said Fagan, who was not sorry +to prolong an interview that might afford him the information he sought +for. +</p> +<p> +“Now for breakfast, and then for sight-seeing,” said Dan, politely +offering his arm to the young lady, and leading the way towards the house. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. A BREAKFAST AND ITS CONSEQUENCES +</h2> +<p> +To do the honors of another man's house is a tremendous test of tact. In +point of skill or address, we know of few things more difficult. The ease +which sits so gracefully on a host becomes assurance when practised by a +representative; and there is a species of monarchy about the lord of a +household that degenerates into usurpation in the hands of a pretender. It +is not improbable, then, Dan MacNaghten's success in this trying part was +mainly attributable to the fact that he had never thought of its +difficulty. He had gone through a fine property in a few years of +dissipation, during which he had played the entertainer so often and so +well that nothing seemed to him more natural than a seat at the head of a +table, nor any task more simple or agreeable than to dispense its +hospitalities. +</p> +<p> +The servants of the Castle were well accustomed to obey him, and when he +gave his orders for breakfast to be speedily laid out in the conservatory, +they set about the preparations with zeal and activity. With such +promptitude, indeed, were the arrangements made that by the time +MacNaghten had conducted his guests to the spot, all was in readiness +awaiting them. +</p> +<p> +The place was admirably chosen, being a central point in the conservatory, +from which alleys branched out in different directions; some opening upon +little plots of flowers or ornamental shrubbery, others disclosing views +of the woodland scenery or the distant mountains beyond it. The table was +spread beside a marble basin, into which a little group of sportive Titans +were seen spouting. Great Nile lilies floated on the crystal surface, and +gold and silver fish flashed and glittered below. The board itself, +covered with luscious fruit, most temptingly arranged amidst beautiful +flowers, displayed, besides, some gorgeous specimens of Sèvres and Saxony, +hastily taken from their packing-cases, while a large vase of silver, +richly chased, stood in the centre, and exhibited four views of the +Castle, painted in medallions on its sides. +</p> +<p> +“If you'll sit here, Miss Polly,” said MacNaghten, “you'll have a prettier +view, for you'll see the lake, and catch a peep, too, of the Swiss Cottage +on the crag above it. I must show you the cottage after breakfast. It was +a bit of fancy of my own,—copied, I am free to confess, from one I +saw in the Oberland.—Fagan, help yourself; you 'll find these +cutlets excellent. Our friend Carew has made an admirable choice of a +cook.” + </p> +<p> +“You treat us in princely fashion, sir,” said Fagan, whose eyes glanced +from the splendor before him to his daughter, and there tried to read her +thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“You gave me no time for that; had you told me you were coming down, I 'd +have tried to receive you properly. As it is, pray make up your mind to +stay a day or two,—Carew will be so delighted; nothing flatters him +so much as to hear praise of this place.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, sir, you forget that men like myself have but few holidays.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the worse, Fagan; remember what the adage says about all work and +no play. Not, by Jove, but I 'm sure that the converse of the proposition +must have its penalty, too; for if not, I should have been a marvellously +clever fellow.—Ay, Miss Polly, my life has been all play.” + </p> +<p> +“A greater fault than the other, sir, and with this addition, too, that it +makes proselytes,” said she, gravely; “my father's theory finds fewer +followers.” + </p> +<p> +“And you not one of them?” said MacNaghten, rapidly; while he fixed a look +of shrewd inquiry on her. +</p> +<p> +“Assuredly not,” replied she, in a calm and collected tone. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove, I could have sworn to it,” cried he, with a burst of +enthusiastic delight. “There, Fagan, you see Miss Polly takes my side, +after all.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not said so,” rejoined she, gravely. “Gain and waste are nearer +relatives than they suspect.” + </p> +<p> +“I must own that I have never known but one of the family,” said Dan, with +one of those hearty laughs which seemed to reconcile him to any turn of +fortune. +</p> +<p> +Fagan all this time was ill at ease and uncomfortable; the topic annoyed +him, and he gladly took occasion to change it by an allusion to the wine. +</p> +<p> +“And yet there are people who will tell you not to drink champagne for +breakfast,” exclaimed Dan, draining his glass as he spoke; “as if any man +could be other than better with this glorious tipple. Miss Polly, your +good health, though it seems superfluous to wish you anything.” + </p> +<p> +She bowed half coldly to the compliment, and Fagan added hurriedly, “We +are at least contented with our lot in life, Mr. MacNaghten.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad, I should think you were, Tony, and no great merit in the +resignation, after all. Put yourself in my position, however,—fancy +yourself Dan MacNaghten for one brief twenty-four hours. Think of a fellow +who began the world—ay, and that not so very long ago either—with +something over five thousand a-year, and a good large sum in bank, and who +now, as he sits here, only spends five shillings when he writes his name +on a stamp; who once had houses and hounds and horses, but who now sits in +the rumble, and rides a borrowed hack. If you want to make a virtue of +your contentment, Fagan, change places with me.” + </p> +<p> +“But would you take mine, Mr. MacNaghten? Would you toil, and slave, and +fag,—would you shut out the sun, that your daily labor should have +no suggestive temptings to enjoyment,—would you satisfy yourself +that the world should be to you one everlasting struggle, till at last the +very capacity to feel it otherwise was lost to you forever?” + </p> +<p> +“That's more than I am able to picture to myself,” said MacNaghten, +sipping his wine. “I 've lain in a ditch for two hours with a broken +thigh-bone, thinking all the time of the jolly things I 'd do when I 'd +get well again; I 've spent some very rainy weeks in a debtor's prison, +weaving innumerable enjoyments for the days when I should be at liberty; +so that as to any conception of a period when I should not be able to be +happy, it 's clean and clear beyond me.” + </p> +<p> +Polly's eyes were fixed on him as he spoke, and while their expression was +almost severe, the heightened color of her cheeks showed that she listened +to him with a sense of pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it's in the family,” continued Dan, gayly. “My poor father used +to say that no men have such excellent digestion as those that have +nothing to eat.” + </p> +<p> +“And has it never occurred to you, sir,” said Polly, with a degree of +earnestness in her voice and manner,—“has it never occurred to you +that this same buoyant temperament could be turned to other and better +account than mere “—she stopped, and blushed, and then, as if by an +effort, went on—“mere selfish enjoyment? Do you not feel that he who +can reckon on such resources but applies them to base uses when he +condescends to make them the accessories of his pleasures? Is there +nothing within your heart to whisper that a nature such as this was given +for higher and nobler purposes; and that he who has the spirit to confront +real danger should not sit down contented with a mere indifference to +shame?” + </p> +<p> +“Polly, Polly!” cried her father, alike overwhelmed by the boldness and +the severity of her speech. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove, the young lady has given me a canter,” cried MacNaghten, who, in +spite of all his good temper, grew crimson; “and I only wish the lesson +had come earlier. Yes, Miss Polly,” added he, in a voice of more feeling, +“it 's too late now.” + </p> +<p> +“You must forgive my daughter, Mr. MacNaghten,—she is not usually so +presumptuous,” said Fagan, rising from the table, while he darted a +reproving glance towards Polly; “besides, we are encroaching most unfairly +on your time.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you so?” cried Dan, laughing. “I never heard it called mine before! +Why, Tony, it's yours, and everybody's that has need of it. But if you 'll +not eat more, let me show you the grounds. They are too extensive for a +walk, Miss Polly, so, with your leave, we 'll have something to drive; +meanwhile I'll tell the gardener to pluck you some flowers.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan waited till MacNaghten was out of hearing, and then turned angrily +towards his daughter. +</p> +<p> +“You have given him a sorry specimen of your breeding, Polly; I thought, +indeed, you would have known better.” + </p> +<p> +“You forget already, then, the speech with which he accosted us,” said +she, haughtily; “but my memory is better, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“His courtesy might have effaced the recollection, I think,” said Fagan, +testily. +</p> +<p> +“His courtesy! Has he not told you himself that every gift he possesses is +but an emanation of his selfishness? The man who can be anything so +easily, will be nothing if it cost a sacrifice.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care what he is,” said Fagan, in a low, distinct voice, as though +he wanted every word to be heard attentively. “For what he has been, and +what he will be, I care just as little. It is where he moves, and lives, +and exerts influence,—these are what concern me.” + </p> +<p> +“Are the chance glimpses that we catch of that high world so attractive, +father?” said she, in an accent of almost imploring eagerness. “Do they, +indeed, requite us for the cost we pay for them? When we leave the vulgar +circle of our equals, is it to hear of generous actions, exalted +sentiments, high-souled motives; or is it not to find every vice that +stains the low pampered up into greater infamy amongst the noble?” + </p> +<p> +“This is romance and folly, girl. Who ever dreamed it should be otherwise? +Nature stamped no nobility on gold, nor made copper plebeian. This has +been the work of men; and so of the distinctions among themselves, and it +will not do for us to dispute the ordinance. Station is power, wealth is +power; he who has neither, is but a slave; he who has both, may be all +that he would be!” + </p> +<p> +A sudden gesture to enforce caution followed these words; and at the same +time MacNaghten's merry voice was heard, singing as he came along,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Kneel down there, and say a prayer, +Before my hounds shall eat you.' +'I have no prayer,' the Fox replied, +'For I was bred a Quaker.' +</pre> +<p> +“All right, Miss Polly. Out of compliment to you, I suppose, Kitty Dwyer, +that would never suffer a collar over her head for the last six weeks, has +consented to be harnessed as gently as a lamb; and my own namesake, 'Dan +the Smasher,' has been traced up, without as much as one strap broken. +They 're a little pair I have been breaking in for Carew; for he's +intolerably lazy, and expects to find his nags trained to perfection. Look +at them, how they come along,—no bearing reins, no blinkers. That 's +what I call a very neat turn-out.” + </p> +<p> +The praise was, assuredly, not unmerited, as two highbred black ponies +swept past with a beautiful phaeton, and drew up at the door of the +conservatory. +</p> +<p> +The restless eyes, the wide-spread nostrils and quivering flanks of the +animals, not less than the noiseless caution of the grooms at their heads, +showed that their education had not yet been completed; and so Fagan +remarked at once. +</p> +<p> +“They look rakish,—there's no denying it!” said Mac-Naghten; “but +they are gentleness itself. The only difficulty is to put the traps on +them; once fairly on, there's nothing to apprehend. You are not afraid of +them, Miss Polly?” said he, with a strong emphasis on the “you.” + </p> +<p> +“When you tell me that I need not be, I have no fears,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I must be uncourteous enough to say that I do not concur in the +sentiment,” said Fagan; “and, with your leave, Mr. MacNaghten, we will +walk.” + </p> +<p> +“Walk! why, to see anything, you'll have twelve miles a-foot. It must n't +be thought of, Miss Polly,—I cannot hear of it!” She bowed, as +though in half assent; and he continued: “Thanks for the confidence; you +shall see it is not misplaced. Now, Fagan—” + </p> +<p> +“I am decided, Mr. MacNaghten; I'll not venture; nor will I permit my +daughter to risk her life.” + </p> +<p> +“Neither would I, I should hope,” said MacNaghten; and, although the words +were uttered with something of irritation, there was that in the tone that +made Polly blush deeply. +</p> +<p> +“It's too bad, by Jove!” muttered he, half aloud, “when a man has so few +things that he really can do, to deny his skill in the one he knows best.” + </p> +<p> +“I am quite ready, sir,” said Polly, in that tone of determination which +she was often accustomed to assume, and against which her father rarely or +never disputed. +</p> +<p> +“There now, Fagan, get up into the rumble. I 'll not ask you to be the +coachman. Come, come,—no more opposition; we shall make them +impatient if we keep them standing much longer.” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, he offered his arm to Polly, who, with a smile,—the +first she had deigned to give him,—accepted it, and then, hastily +leading her forward, he handed her into the carriage. In an instant +MacNaghten was beside her. With the instinct of hot-tempered cattle, they +no sooner felt a hand upon the reins than they became eager to move +forward, and, while one pawed the ground with impatience, the other, +retiring to the very limit of the pole-strap, prepared for a desperate +plunge. +</p> +<p> +“Up with you, Fagan; be quick—be quick!” cried Dan. “It won't do to +hold them in. Let them go, lads, or they 'll smash everything!” and the +words were hardly out, when, with a tremendous bound, that carried the +front wheels off the road, away they went. “Meet us at the other gate,—they +'ll show you the way,” cried MacNaghten, as, standing up, he pointed with +his whip in the direction he meant. He had no time for more; for all his +attention was now needed to the horses, as, each exciting the other, they +dashed madly on down the road. +</p> +<p> +“This comes of keeping them standing,” muttered Dan; “and the scoundrels +have curbed them up too tight. You're not afraid, Miss Polly? By Jove, +that was a dash,—Kitty showed her heels over the splash-board. Look +at that devil Dan,—see how he 's bearing on the pole-piece!—an +old trick of his.” + </p> +<p> +A tremendous cut on his flank now drove him almost furious, and the +enraged animal set off at speed. +</p> +<p> +“We must let them blow themselves, Miss Polly. It all comes of their +standing so long. You're not afraid?—Well, then, they may do their +worst.” + </p> +<p> +By this time the pace had become a tearing gallop, and seeing that nothing +short of some miles would suffice to tame them down, MacNaghten turned +their heads in the direction of a long avenue which led towards the sea. +</p> +<p> +It was all in vain that Fagan fastened through the flower-garden, and +across a private shrubbery; when he reached the “gate,” there was no sign +of the phaeton. The cuckoo and the thrush were the only voices heard in +the stillness; and, at intervals, the deep booming of the sea, miles +distant, told how unbroken was the silence around. His mind was a conflict +of fear and anger; terrible anxieties for his daughter were mixed up with +passion at this evidence of her wayward nature, and he walked along, +reproaching himself bitterly for having accepted the civilities of +MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +Fagan's own schemes for a high alliance for his daughter had made him +acquainted with many a counterplot of adventurers against himself. He well +knew what a prize Polly Fagan was deemed amongst the class of broken-down +and needy spendthrifts who came to him for aid. Often and often had he +detected the first steps of such machinations, till at length he had +become suspectful of everything and everybody. Now, MacNaghten was exactly +the kind of man he most dreaded in this respect. There was that +recklessness about him that comes of broken fortune; he was the very type +of a desperate adventurer, ready to seize any chance to restore himself to +fortune and independence. Who could answer for such a man in such an +emergency? +</p> +<p> +Driven almost mad with these terrors, he now hastened his steps, stopping +at times to listen, and at times calling on his daughter in the wildest +accents. Without knowing whither he went, he soon lost himself in the +mazes of the wood, and wandered on for hours in a state bordering upon +distraction. Suspicion had so mastered his reason that he had convinced +himself the whole was a deliberate scheme,—that MacNaghten had +planned all beforehand. In his disordered fancies, he did not scruple to +accuse his daughter of complicity, and inveighed against her falsehood and +treachery in the bitterest words. +</p> +<p> +And what was Dan MacNaghten doing all this time? Anything, everything, in +short, but what he was accused of! In good truth, he had little time for +love-making, had such a project even entered his head, so divided were his +attentions between the care of the cattle and his task of describing the +different scenes through which they passed at speed,—the prospect +being like one of those modern inventions called dissolving views,—no +sooner presenting an object than superseding it by another. In addition to +all this, he had to reconcile Miss Polly to what seemed a desertion of her +father; so that, what with his “cares of coachman, cicerone, and +consoler,” as he himself afterwards said, it was clean beyond him to slip +in even a word on his own part. It is no part of my task to inquire how +Polly enjoyed the excursion, or whether the dash of recklessness, so +unlike every incident of her daily life, did not repay her for any +discomfort of her father's absence: certain is it that when, after about +six miles traversed in less than half an hour, they returned to the +Castle, her first sense of apprehension was felt by not finding her father +to meet her. No sooner had MacNaghten conducted her to the library than he +set out himself in search of Fagan, having despatched messengers in all +directions on the same errand. Dan, it must be owned, had far rather have +remained to reassure Miss Polly, and convince her that her father's +absence would be but momentary; but he felt that it was a point of duty +with him to go—and go he did. +</p> +<p> +It chanced that, by dint of turning and winding, Fagan had at length +approached the Castle again, so that MacNaghten came up with him within a +few minutes after his search began. “Safe, and where?” were the only words +the old man could utter as he grasped the other's arm. Dan, who attributed +the agitation to but one cause, proceeded at once to reassure him on the +score of his daughter's safety, detailing, at the same time, the +circumstances which compelled him to turn off in a direction the opposite +of that he intended. Fagan drank in every word with eagerness, his gray +eyes piercingly fixed on the speaker all the while. Great as was his +agitation throughout, it became excessive when MacNaghten chanced to +allude to Polly personally, and to speak of the courage she displayed. +</p> +<p> +“She told you that she was not afraid?—she said so to yourself?” + cried he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, a dozen times,” replied Dan, freely. “It was impossible to have +behaved better.” + </p> +<p> +“You said so,—you praised her for it, I have no doubt,” said the +other, with a grim effort at a smile. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure I did, Tony. By Jove, you've reason to be proud of her. I +don't speak of her beauty,—that every one can see; but she's a +noble-minded girl. She would grace any station in the land.” + </p> +<p> +“She heard you say as much with pleasure, I 'm certain,” said Fagan, with +a smile that was more than half a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, faith, Tony, I did not go so far. I praised her courage. I told her +that not every man could have behaved so bravely.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten paused at this. +</p> +<p> +“And then—and then, sir,” cried Fagan, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +Dan turned suddenly towards him, and, to his amazement, beheld a +countenance tremulous with passionate excitement. +</p> +<p> +“What then, sir? Tell me what then? I have a right to ask, and I will know +it. I 'm her father, and I demand it.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, what in Heaven's name is the matter?” exclaimed MacNaghten. “I have +told you she is safe,—that she is yonder.” + </p> +<p> +“I speak not of that, sir; and you know it,” cried Fagan, imperiously. +“The dissimulation is unworthy of you. You ought to be a man of honor.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad, good temper would be the best quality for me just now,” said the +other, with a smile; “for you seem bent on testing it.” + </p> +<p> +“I see it all,” cried Fagan, in a voice of anguish. “I see it all. Now +hear me, Mr. MacNaghten. You are one who has seen much of the world, and +will readily comprehend me. You are a man reputed to be kind-hearted, and +you will not pain me by affecting a misunderstanding. Will you leave this +to-morrow, and go abroad, say for a year or two? Give me your hand on it, +and draw on me for one thousand pounds.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, Tony, what has come over you? Is it the air of the place has +disordered your excellent faculties? What can you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“This is no answer to my question, sir,” said Fagan, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot believe you serious in putting it,” said MacNaghten, half +proudly. “Neither you nor any other man has the right to make such a +proposal to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I say that I have, sir. I repeat it. I am her father, and by one dash of +my pen she is penniless to-morrow. Ay, by Heaven, it is what I will do if +you drive me to it.” + </p> +<p> +“At last I catch your meaning,” said MacNaghten, “and I see where your +suspicions have been pointing at. No, no; keep your money. It might be a +capital bargain for me, Tony, if I had the conscience to close with it; +and if you knew but all, you 've no right to offer so much temptation. +That path will bring you to the Castle. You 'll find Miss Polly in the +library. Good-bye, Fagan.” + </p> +<p> +And without waiting for a reply, MacNaghten turned abruptly away, and +disappeared in the wood. +</p> +<p> +Fagan stood for a second or two deep in thought, and then bent his steps +towards the Castle. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. JOE RAPER +</h2> +<p> +The little incident which forms the subject of the last chapter occurred +some weeks before my father's return to Ireland, and while as yet the fact +of his marriage was still a secret to all, save his most intimate friends. +The morning after Fagan's visit, however, MacNaghten received a few lines +from my father, desiring him to look after and “pass” through the Custom +House certain packages of value which would arrive there about that time. +It chanced that poor Dan's circumstances just at this moment made +seclusion the safer policy, and so he forwarded the commission to Fagan. +</p> +<p> +The packages contained the wardrobe of Madame de Carew, and revealed the +mystery of my father's marriage. Fagan's plans and speculations must have +attained to a great maturity in his own mind, to account for the sudden +shock which this intelligence gave him. He was habitually a cautious +calculator, rarely or never carried away by hope beyond the bounds of +stern reality, and only accepting the “probable” as the “possible.” In +this instance, however, he must have suffered himself a wider latitude of +expectation, for the news almost stunned him. Vague as were the chances of +obtaining my father for a son-in-law, they were yet fair subjects of +speculation; and he felt like one who secures a great number of tickets in +a lottery, to augment his likelihood to win. Despite of all this, he had +now to bear the disappointment of a “blank.” The great alliance on which +he had built all his hopes of position and station was lost to him +forever; and, unable to bear up against the unexpected stroke of fortune, +he feigned illness and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +It is very difficult for some men to sever the pain of a disappointment +from a sense of injury towards the innocent cause of it. Unwilling to +confess that they have calculated ill, they turn their anger into some +channel apart from themselves. In the present case Fagan felt as if my +father had done him a foul wrong, as though he had been a party to the +deceit he practised on himself, and had actually traded on the hopes which +stirred his own heart. He hastened home, and, passing through the little +shop, entered the dingy parlor behind it. +</p> +<p> +At a large, high desk, at each side of which stood innumerable +pigeon-holes, crammed with papers, a very diminutive man was seated +writing. His suit of snuff-brown was worn and threadbare, but scrupulously +clean, as was also the large cravat of spotless white which enclosed his +neck like a pillory. His age might have been about fifty-one or two; some +might have guessed him more, for his features were cramped and contracted +with wrinkles, which, with the loss of one of his eyes from small-pox, +made him appear much older than he was. His father had been one of the +first merchants of Dublin, in whose ruin and bankruptcy, it was said, +Fagan's father had a considerable share. The story also ran that Joe Raper—such +was his name—had been the accepted suitor of her who subsequently +married Fagan. The marriage having been broken off when these disasters +became public, young Raper was forced by poverty to relinquish his career +as a student of Trinity College, and become a clerk in Fagan's office and +an inmate of his house. In this station he had passed youth and manhood, +and was now growing old; his whole ambition in life being to see the +daughter of his former sweetheart grow up in beauty and accomplishments, +and to speculate with himself on some great destiny in store for her. +Polly's mother had died within two years after her marriage, and to her +child had Joe transmitted all the love and affection he had borne to +herself. He had taken charge of her education from infancy, and had +labored hard himself to acquire such knowledge as might keep him in +advance of his gifted pupil. But for this self-imposed task it is more +than likely that all his little classic lore had been long forgotten, and +that the graceful studies of his earlier days had been obliterated by the +wear and tear of a life so little in unison with them. To be her teacher, +he had toiled through the long hours of the night, hoarding up his +miserable earnings to buy some coveted book of reference, some deeply +prized authority in criticism. By dint of downright labor,—for his +was not one of those bright intelligences that acquire as if by instinct,—he +had mastered several of the modern languages of Europe, and refreshed his +knowledge of the ancient ones. With such companionship and such training, +Polly Fagan's youth had been fashioned into that strange compound, where +high ambitions and gentle tastes warred with each other, and the +imaginative faculties were cultivated amidst views of life alone +suggestive of gain and money-getting. +</p> +<p> +If Fagan took little interest in the care bestowed by Raper on his +daughter's education, he was far from indifferent to the devotion of his +faithful follower; while Joe, on the other hand, well knowing that without +him the complicated business of the house could not be carried on for a +single day, far from presuming on his indispensable services, only felt +the more bound in honor to endure any indignity rather than break with one +so dependent on him. It had been a kind of traditionary practice with the +Fagans not to keep regular books, but to commit all their transactions to +little fragments of paper, which were stuffed, as it seemed, recklessly +into some one or other of that vast nest of pigeon-holes, which, like a +gigantic honeycomb, formed the background of Joe Raper's desk, and of +which he alone, of men, knew the secret geography. No guide existed to +these mysterious receptacles, save when occasionally the name of some +suitor of uncommon importance appeared over a compartment; and as an +evidence of what a share our family enjoyed in such distinction, I have +heard that the word “Carew” figured over as many as five of these little +cells. +</p> +<p> +Joe turned round hastily on his stool as his chief entered, and saluted +him with a respectful bow; and then, as if continuing some unbroken +thread' of discourse, said, “Whyte is protested,—Figgis and Read +stopped.” + </p> +<p> +“What of Grogan?” said Fagan, harshly. +</p> +<p> +“Asks for time. If he sells his stock at present prices, he 'll be a heavy +loser.” + </p> +<p> +“So let him,—say that we'll proceed.” + </p> +<p> +“The writ can't run there; he lives in Mayo.” + </p> +<p> +“We 'll try it.” + </p> +<p> +“We did so before, and the sub-sheriff was shot.” + </p> +<p> +“Attorneys are plenty,—we 'll send down another.” + </p> +<p> +“Hump!” muttered Joe, as he turned over a folio of papers before him. “Ay, +here it is,” said he. “Oliver Moore wishes to go to America, and will give +up his lease; he only begs that you will vouchsafe to him some small +compensation—” + </p> +<p> +“Compensation! That word is one of yours, Mr. Raper, and I've no doubt has +a classical origin,—you got it in Homer, perhaps; but, let me tell +you, sir, that it is a piece of vulgar cant, and, what is worse, a +swindle! Ay, grow pale if you like; but I 'll repeat the word,—a +swindle! When a man wants to sell a pair of old boots, does he think of +charging for all the blacking he has put on them for the three years +before? And yet that is precisely what you dignify with the name of +compensation. Tell him if he built a house, that he lived in it; if he +fenced the land, that the neighbors' cattle made fewer trespasses; if he +drained, the soil was the drier. Your cry of compensation won't do, Raper. +I might as well ask an insurance office to pay me for taking care of my +health, and give me a bonus whenever I took castor oil!” + </p> +<p> +“The cases are not alike, sir. If his improvements be of a permanent +character—” + </p> +<p> +“Is this an office, Mister Raper, or is it a debating society?” broke in +Fagan. “My answer to Moore is, pay, and go—to the devil, if he +likes.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Harry Wheeler,” continued Joe, “writes from Cheltenham that he thinks +there must be a mistake about the bill for three hundred and forty odd,—that +it was included In the bond he gave in September last.” + </p> +<p> +“File a bill, send for Crowther, and let him proceed against him.” + </p> +<p> +“But I think he 's right, sir; the memorandum is somewhere here. I put it +amongst the W's; for we have no box for Sir Harry.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a nice way to keep accounts, Mister Raper; I must say it's very +creditable to you,” said Fagan, who, when any inaccuracy occurred, always +reproached Joe with the system that he rigidly compelled him to follow. +“Perhaps it's classical, however; maybe it's the way the ancients did it! +But I 'll tell you what, sir, you 'd cut an ugly figure before the courts +if you came to be examined; your Latin and Greek wouldn't screen you +there.” + </p> +<p> +“Here it is,—here's the note,” said Joe, who had all the while been +prosecuting his search. “It's in your own hand, and mentions that this sum +forms a portion of the debt now satisfied by his bond.” + </p> +<p> +“Cancel the bill, and tell him so. What's that letter yonder?” + </p> +<p> +“It is marked 'strictly private and confidential,' sir; but comes from +Walter Carew, Esq.” + </p> +<p> +“Then why not give it to me at once? Why keep pottering about every trifle +of no moment, sir?” said Fagan, as he broke the seal, and drew near to the +window to read. It was very brief, and ran thus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dear Fagan,—Shylock could n't hold a candle to you; such +an infernal mess of interest, compound interest, costs, and +commission as you have sent me I never beheld! However, for +the present I must endure all your exactions, even to the +tune of fifty per cent. Let me have cash for the enclosed +three bills, for one thousand each, drawn at the old dates, +and, of course, to be 'done' at the old discount. + +I have just taken a wife, and am in want of ready money to +buy some of the customary tomfooleries of the occasion. +Regards to Polly and her fat terrier. + +Yours, in haste, + +Walter Carew. +</pre> +<p> +“Read that,” said Fagan, handing the letter to his clerk, while the veins +in his forehead swelled out with passion, and his utterance grew hoarse +and thick. +</p> +<p> +Raper carefully perused the note, and then proceeded to examine the bills, +when Fagan snatched them rudely from his hand. +</p> +<p> +“It was his letter I bade you read,—the gross insolence of his +manner of addressing me. Where's his account, Raper? How does he stand +with us?” + </p> +<p> +“That's a long affair to make out,” said Joe, untying a thick roll of +papers. +</p> +<p> +“I don't want details. Can you never understand that? Tell me in three +words how he stands.” + </p> +<p> +“Deeply indebted,—very deeply indebted, sir,” said Joe, poring over +the papers. +</p> +<p> +“Tell Crowther to come over this evening at six o'clock, and write to +Carew by this post, thus:— +</p> +<p> +“'Mr. Fagan regrets that in the precarious condition of the money market +he is obliged to return you the bills, herewith enclosed, without +acceptance. Mr. F., having some large and pressing claims to meet, desires +to call your attention to the accompanying memorandum, and to ask at what +early period it will be your convenience to make an arrangement for its +settlement.' +</p> +<p> +“Make out an account and furnish it, Raper; we'll see how he relishes +Shylock when he comes to read that.” + </p> +<p> +Joseph sat with the pen in his hand, as if deep in thought. +</p> +<p> +“Do you hear me, Raper?” asked Fagan, in a harsh voice. +</p> +<p> +“I do,” said the other, and proceeded to write. +</p> +<p> +“There's a judgment entered upon Carew's bond of February, isn't there?” + </p> +<p> +“There is! Crowther has it in his office.” + </p> +<p> +“That's right. We 'll see and give him a pleasant honeymoon.” And with +these words, uttered with an almost savage malevolence, he passed out into +the street. +</p> +<p> +Joe Raper's daily life was a path on which the sunlight seldom fell; but +this day it seemed even darker than usual, and as he sat and wrote, many a +heavy sigh broke from him, and more than once did he lay down his pen and +draw his hand across his eyes. Still he labored on, his head bent down +over his desk, in that selfsame spot where he had spent his youth, and was +now dropping down into age unnoticed and unthought of. Of those who came +and went from that dreary room, who saw and spoke with him, how many were +there who knew him, who even suspected what lay beneath that simple +exterior! To some he was but the messenger of dark tidings, the agent of +those severe measures which Fagan not unfrequently employed against his +clients. To others he seemed a cold, impassive, almost misanthropic being, +without a tie to bind him to his fellow-man; while not a few even ascribed +to his influences all the harshness of the “Grinder.” It is more than +likely that he never knew of, never suspected, the different judgments +thus passed on him. So humbly did he think of himself, so little disposed +was he to fancy that he could be an object of attention to any, the +chances are that he was spared this source of mortification. Humility was +the basis of his whole character, and by its working was every action of +his simple life influenced. It might be a curious subject of inquiry how +far this characteristic was fashioned by his habits of reading and of +thought. Holding scarcely any intercourse with the world of society, +companionless as he was, his associates were the great writers of ancient +or modern times,—the mighty spirits whose vast conceptions have +created a world of their own. Living amongst them, animated by their +glorious sentiments, feeling their thoughts, breathing their words, how +natural that he should have fallen back upon himself with a profound sense +of his inferiority! How meanly must he have thought of his whole career in +life, in presence of such standards! +</p> +<p> +Upon this day Joe never once opened a book; the little volumes which lay +scattered through his drawers were untouched, nor did he, as was his wont, +turn for an instant to refresh himself in the loved pages of Metastasio or +of Uhland. Whenever he had more than usual on hand, it was his custom not +to dine with the family, but to eat something as he sat at his desk. Such +was his meal now: a little bread and cheese, washed down by a glass of +water. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Polly hopes you'll take a glass of wine, Mr. Joe,” said a +maid-servant, as she appeared with a decanter in her hand. +</p> +<p> +“No! Thanks—thanks to Miss Polly; many thanks—and to you +Margaret; not to-day. I have a good deal to do.” And he resumed his work +with that air of determination the girl well knew brooked no interruption. +</p> +<p> +It was full an hour after sunset when he ceased writing; and then, laying +his head down between his hands, he slept,—the sound, heavy sleep +that comes of weariness. Twice or thrice had the servant to call him +before he could awake, and hear that “Miss Polly was waiting tea for him.” + </p> +<p> +“Waiting for me!” cried he, in mingled shame and astonishment. “How +forgetful I am; how very wrong of me! Is Mr. Crowther here, Margaret?” + </p> +<p> +“He came an hour ago, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear me, how I have forgotten myself!” And he began gathering up his +papers, the hard task of the day, in all haste. “Say I'm coming, Margaret; +tell Miss Polly I'm so sorry.” And thus with many an excuse, and in great +confusion, Raper hurried out of the office, and upstairs into the +drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +Fagan's house was, perhaps, the oldest in the street, and was remarkable +for possessing one of those quaint, old-fashioned windows, which, +projecting over the door beneath,-formed a species of little boudoir, with +views extending on either side. Here it was Polly's pleasure to sit, and +here she now presided at her tea-table; while in a remote corner of the +room her father and Mr. Crowther were deep in conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you finished the statement? Where 's the account?” cried Fagan, +roughly interrupting the excuses that Raper was making for his absence. +</p> +<p> +“Here it is,—at least, so far as I was able to make it. Many of our +memoranda, however, only refer to verbal arrangements, and allude to +business matters transacted personally between you and Mr. Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“Listen to him, Crowther; just hear what he says,” said Fagan, angrily. +“Is not that a satisfactory way to keep accounts?” + </p> +<p> +“Gently, gently; let us go quietly to work,” said Crowther, a large, fat, +unwieldy man, with a bloated, red face, and an utterance rendered +difficult from the combined effects of asthma and over-eating. “Raper is +generally most correct, and your own memory is admirable. If Miss Polly +will give me a cup of her strongest tea, without any sugar, I 'll answer +for it I 'll soon see my way.” + </p> +<p> +When Raper had deposited the mass of papers on the table, and presented +the cup of tea to Crowther, he stole, half timidly, over to where Polly +sat. +</p> +<p> +“You must be hungry, Papa Joe,”—it was the name by which she called +him in infancy,—“for you never appeared at dinner. Pray eat +something now.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no appetite, Polly,—that is, I have eaten already. I 'm +quite refreshed,” said he, scarcely thinking of what he said, for his eyes +were directed to the table where Crowther was seated, and where a kind of +supercilious smile on the attorney's face seemed evoked by something in +the papers before him. +</p> +<p> +“Some cursed folly of his own,—some of that blundering nonsense that +he fills his brains with!” cried Fagan, as he threw indignantly away a +closely written sheet of paper, the lines of which unmistakably proclaimed +verse. +</p> +<p> +Joe eyed the unhappy document wistfully for a second or two, and then, +with a stealthy step, he crept over, and threw it into the hearth. +</p> +<p> +“I found out the passage, Polly,” said he, in a whisper, so as not to +disturb the serious conference of the others; and he drew a few +well-thumbed leaves from his pocket, and placed them beside her, while she +bent over them till her glossy ringlets touched the page. +</p> +<p> +“This is the Medea,” said she; “but we have not read that yet.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Polly; you remember that we kept it for the winter nights; we agreed +Tieck and Chamisso were better for summer evenings—'Quando ridono i +prati,' as Petrarch says;” and her eyes brightened, and her cheek glowed +as he spoke. “How beautiful was that walk we took on Sunday evening last! +That little glen beside the river, so silent, so still, who could think it +within a mile or two of a great city? What a delightful thing it is to +think, Polly, that they who labor hard in the week—and there are so +many of them!—can yet on that one day of rest wander forth and taste +of the earth's freshness. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'L; oro e le perle—i fîor vermegli ed i bianchi.'” + </pre> +<p> +“Confound your balderdash!” cried Fagan, passionately; “you've put me out +in the tot—seventeen and twelve, twenty-nine—two thousand nine +hundred pounds, with the accruing interest. I don't see that he has added +the interest.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Crowther bent patiently over the document for a few minutes, and then, +taking off his spectacles, and wiping them slowly, said, in his blandest +voice: “It appears to me that Mr. Raper has omitted to calculate the +interest. Perhaps he would kindly vouchsafe us his attention for a +moment.” + </p> +<p> +Raper was, however, at that moment deaf to all such appeals; his spirit +was as though wandering free beneath the shade of leafy bowers or along +the sedgy banks of some clear lake. +</p> +<p> +“You remember Dante's lines, Polly, and how he describes— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'La divina foresta— +Che agli occhi tempera va il nuovo giorno, +Senza piu aspettar lasciai la riva, +Preudendo la campagna lento lento.' +</pre> +<p> +How beautiful the repetition of the word 'lento;' how it conveys the slow +reluctance of his step!” + </p> +<p> +“There is, to my thinking, even a more graceful instance in Metastasio,” + said Polly:— +</p> +<p> +“'L' onda che mormora, Fra sponda e sponda, L' aura che tremola, Fra +fronda e fronda.” + </p> +<p> +“Raper, Raper,—do you hear me, I say?” cried Fagan, as he knocked +angrily with his knuckles on the table. +</p> +<p> +“We are sorry, Miss Fagan,” interposed Crowther, “to interrupt such +intellectual pleasure, but business has its imperative claims.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm ready—quite ready, sir,” said Joe, rising in confusion, and +hastening across the room to where the others sat. +</p> +<p> +“Take a seat, sir,” said Fagan, peremptorily; “for here are some points +which require full explanation. And I would beg to remind you that if the +cultivation of your mind, as I have heard it called, interferes with your +attention to office duties, it would be as well to seek out some more +congenial sphere for its development than my humble house. I'm too poor a +man for such luxurious dalliance, Mr. Raper.” These words, although spoken +in a whisper, were audible to him to whom they were addressed, and he +heard them in a state of half-stupefied amazement. “For the present, I +must call your attention to this. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +Raper was no sooner in the midst of figures and calculations than all his +instincts of office-life recalled him to himself, and he began rapidly but +clearly to explain the strange and confused-looking documents which were +strewn before him, and Crowther could not but feel struck by the admirable +memory and systematic precision which alone could derive information from +such disorderly materials. Even Fagan himself was so carried away by a +momentary impulse of enthusiasm as to say, “When a man is capable of such +a statement at this, what a disgrace that he should fritter away his +faculties with rhymes and legends!” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Raper is a philosopher, sir; he despises the base pursuits and +grovelling ambitions of us lower mortals,” said Crowther, with a +well-feigned humility. +</p> +<p> +“We must beg of him to lay aside his philosophy, then, for this evening, +for there is much to be done yet,” said Fagan, untying a large bundle of +letters. “This is the correspondence of the last year,—the most +important of all.” + </p> +<p> +“Large sums! large sums, these!” said Crowther, glancing his eyes over the +papers. “You appear to have placed a most unlimited confidence in this +young gentleman,—a very well merited trust, I have no doubt.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan made no reply, but a slight contortion of his mouth and eyebrows +seemed to offer some dissent to the doctrine. +</p> +<p> +“I have kept the tea waiting for you, Papa Joe,” said Polly, who took the +opportunity of a slight pause to address him; and Raper, like an escaped +schoolboy, burst away from his task at a word. +</p> +<p> +“I have just remembered another instance, Polly,” said he, “of what we +were speaking; it occurs in Schiller,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Es bricht sich die Wellen mit Macht—mit Macht.'” + </pre> +<p> +“Take your books to your room, Polly,” said Fagan, harshly; “for I see +that as long as they are here, we have little chance of Mr. Raper's +services.” + </p> +<p> +Polly rose, and pressed Joe's hand affectionately, and then, gathering up +the volumes before her, she left the room. Raper stood for a second or two +gazing at the door after her departure, and then, heaving a faint sigh, +muttered to himself:— +</p> +<p> +“I have just recalled to mind another,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Eine Blüth', eine Blüth' mir brich, +Vom den Baum im Garten.' +</pre> +<p> +Quite ready, sir,” broke he in suddenly, as a sharp summons from Fagan's +knuckles once more admonished him of his duty; and now, as though the link +which had bound him to realms of fancy was snapped, he addressed himself +to his task with all the patient drudgery of daily habit. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. TWO FRIENDS AND THEIR CONFIDENCES +</h2> +<p> +By the details of my last two chapters, I have been obliged to recede, as +it were, from the due course of my story, and speak of events which +occurred prior to those mentioned in a former chapter; but this +irregularity was a matter of necessity, since I could not pursue the +narrative of my father's life without introducing to the reader certain +characters who, more or less, exerted an influence on his fortunes. Let me +now, however, turn to my tale, from which it is my intention in future to +digress as seldom as possible. A few lines, written in haste, had summoned +MacNaghten to Castle Carew, on the morning of that Friday for which my +father had invited his friends to dinner. With all his waywardness, and +all the weaknesses of an impulsive nature, Dan MacNaghten stood higher in +my father's esteem than any other of his friends. It was not alone that he +had given my father the most signal proofs of his friendship, but that, +throughout his whole career, marked as it was by folly and rashness, and +the most thoughtless extravagance, he had never done a single action that +reflected on his reputation as a man of honor, nor, in all the triumphs of +his prosperous days, or in the trials of his adverse ones, had be +forfeited the regard of any who knew him. My father had intrusted to him, +during his absence, everything that could be done without correspondence; +for amongst Dan's characteristics. none was more remarkable than his +horror of letter-writing; and it was a popular saying of the time “that +Dan MacNaghten would rather fight two duels than write one challenge.” Of +course, it may be imagined how much there was for two such friends to talk +over when they met, for if my father's letters were few and brief, +MacNaghten's were still fewer and less explicit, leaving voids on either +side that nothing but a meeting could supply. +</p> +<p> +Early, therefore, that Friday morning, Dan's gig and mottled gray, the +last remnant of an extensive stable establishment, rattled up the avenue +of Castle Carew, and MacNaghten strolled into the garden to loiter about +till such time as my father might be stirring. He was not many minutes +there, however, when my father joined him, and the two friends embraced +cordially, and arm-in-arm returned to the house. +</p> +<p> +It was not without astonishment Dan saw that the breakfast-table was +spread in the same little garden-room which my father always used in his +bachelor days, and, still more, that only two places were laid. +</p> +<p> +“You are wondering, where's my wife, Dan. She never breakfasts with me; +nor indeed, do we see each other till late in the afternoon,—a +custom, I will own, that I used to rebel against at first, but I 'm +getting more accustomed to it now. And, after all, Dan, it would be a +great sacrifice of all her comfort should I insist on a change; so I put +up with it as best I can.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps she 'll see herself, in time, that these are not the habits +here.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said my father; “but usually French people think their own +ways the rule, and all others the exception. I suppose you were surprised +at my marriage, Dan.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, I was, I own to you. I thought you one of those inveterate +Irishers that could n't think of anything but Celtic blood. You remember, +when we were boys, how we used to rave on that theme.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true. Like all the grafts, we deemed ourselves purer than the +ancient stock; but no man ever knows when, where, or whom he'll marry. +It's all nonsense planning and speculating about it. You might as well +look out for a soft spot to fall in a steeplechase. You come smash down in +the very middle of your speculations. I 'm sure, as for me, I never +dreamed of a wife till I found that I had one.” + </p> +<p> +“I know so well how it all happened,” cried Dan, laughing. “You got up one +of those delightful intimacies—that pleasant, familiar kind of +half-at-homishness that throws a man always off his guard, and leaves him +open to every assault of female fascination, just when he fancies that he +is the delight of the whole circle. Egad, I've had at least half-a-dozen +such, and must have been married at least as many times, if somebody +hadn't discovered, in the mean while, that I was ruined.” + </p> +<p> +“So that you never fell in love in your prosperous days, Dan?” + </p> +<p> +“Who does—who ever did? The minor that wrote sonnets has only to +come of age, and feel that he can indite a check, to be cured of his love +fever. Love is a passion most intimately connected with laziness and +little money. Give a fellow seven or eight thousand a-year, good health +and good spirits, and I 'll back him to do every other folly in +Christendom before he thinks of marriage.” + </p> +<p> +“From all of which I am to conclude that you set down this act of mine +either as a proof of a weak mind or a failing exchequer,” said my father. +</p> +<p> +“Not in your case,” said he, more slowly, and with a greater air of +reflection. “You had always a dash of ambition about you; and the chances +are that you set your affections on one that you half despaired of +obtaining, or had really no pretentions to look for. I see I 'm right, +Walter,” said he, as my father fidgeted, and looked confused. “I could +have wagered a thousand on it, if I had as much. You entered for the royal +plate, and, by Jove! I believe you were right.” + </p> +<p> +“You have not made so bad a guess of it, Dan; but what say the rest? +What's the town gossip?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you not know Dublin as well or better than I do? Can't you frame to a +very letter every syllable that has been uttered on the subject? or need I +describe to you my Lady Kilfoyle's fan-shaking horror as she tells of +'that poor dear Carew, and his unfortunate marriage with Heaven knows +whom!' Nor Bob French's astonishment that you, of all men, should marry +out of your sphere,—or, as he calls it, your 'spire.' Nor how +graphically Mrs. Stapleton Harris narrates the manner of your +entanglement: how you fought two brothers, and only gave in to the +superior force of an outraged mamma and the tears of your victim! Nor +fifty other similar stories, in which you figured alternately as the dupe +or the deceived,—the only point of agreement being a universal +reprobation of one who, with all his pretentions to patriotism, should +have entirely forgotten the claims of Irish manufacture.” + </p> +<p> +“And are they all so severe,—so unjust?” + </p> +<p> +“Very nearly. The only really warm defender I 've heard of you, was one +from whom you probably least expected it.” + </p> +<p> +“And who might that be?” + </p> +<p> +“Can't you guess, Watty?” + </p> +<p> +“Harry Blake—Redmond—George Macartney?” + </p> +<p> +“Confound it, you don't think I mean a man!” + </p> +<p> +“A woman,—who could she be? Not Sally Talbot; not Lady Jane Rivers; +not—” + </p> +<p> +“Kitty Dwyer; and I think you might have guessed her before, Watty! It is +rather late, to be sure, to think of it; but my belief is that you ought +to have married that girl.” + </p> +<p> +“She refused me, Dan. She refused me,” said my father, growing red, +between shame and a sense of irritation. +</p> +<p> +“There 's a way of asking that secures a refusal, Watty. Don't tell me +Kitty was not fond of you. I ought to know, for she told me so herself.” + </p> +<p> +“She told you so,” cried my father, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, did she. It was in the summer-house, down yonder. You remember the +day you gave a great picnic to the Carbiniers; they were ordered off to +India, and you asked them out here to a farewell breakfast. Well, I did +n't know then how badly matters were with me. I thought at least that I +could scrape together some thirteen or fourteen hundreds a year; and I +thought, too, that I had a knowledge of the world that was worth as much +more, and that Kitty Dwyer was just the girl that suited me. She was never +out of humor, could ride anything that ever was backed, did n't care what +she wore, never known to be sick, sulky, nor sorry for anything; and after +a country dance that lasted two hours, and almost killed everybody but +ourselves, I took her a walk round the gardens, and seated her in the +summer-house there. I need n't tell all I said,” continued he, with a +sigh. “I believe I could n't have pleaded harder for my life, if it was at +stake; but she stopped me short, and, squeezing my hand between both of +hers, said: 'No, Dan, this cannot be, and you are too generous to ask me +why.' But I was not! I pressed her all the more; and at last—not +without seeing a tear in her eye, too—I got at her secret, and heard +her say your name. I swore by every saint we could either of us remember, +never to tell this to man or mortal living; and I suppose, in strict fact, +I ought n't to do so now; but, of course, it 's the same thing as if you +were dead, and you, I well know, will never breathe it again.” + </p> +<p> +“Never!” said my father, and sat with his head on his hand, unable to +utter a word more. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Kitty!” said Dan, with a heavy sigh, while he balanced his spoon on +the edge of his teacup. “I half suspect she is the only one in the world +that you ever seriously wronged, and yet she is the very first to uphold +you.” + </p> +<p> +“But you are unjust, Dan,—most unjust,” cried my father, warmly. +“There was a kind of flirtation between us—I don't deny it,—but +nothing more than is always going forward in this free-and-easy land of +ours, where people play with their feelings as they do with their +fortunes, and are quite astonished to discover, some fine morning, that +they have fairly run through both one and the other. I liked her, and she +perhaps liked me, somewhat better than any one else that she met as often. +We got to become very intimate; to feel that in the disposal of our +leisure hours—which meant the livelong day—we were excessively +necessary to each other; in fact, that if our minds were not quite alike, +our tastes were. Of course, before one gets that far, one's friends, as +they call themselves, have gone far beyond it. There's no need of wearying +you with detail. Somebody, I 'm sure I forget who it was, now took +occasion to tell me that I was behaving ill to Kitty; that unless I really +intended seriously,—that's the paraphrase for marriage,—my +attentions were calculated to do her injury. Ay, by Jove! your +match-making moralists talk of a woman as they would of a horse, and treat +a broken flirtation as if it were a breach of warranty. I was, I own it, +not a little annoyed at the unnecessary degree of interest my friends +insisted on taking in my welfare; but I was not fool enough to go to war +with the world single-handed, so I seemed to accept the counsel, and went +my way. That same day, I rode out with Kitty. There was a large party of +us, but by some chance we found ourselves side by side and in an avenue of +the wood. Quite full as my mind was of the communication of the morning, I +could not resist my usual impulse, which was to talk to her of any or +every thing that was uppermost in my thoughts. I don't mean to say, Dan, +that I did so delicately, or even becomingly, for I confess to you I had +grown into that kind of intimacy whose gravest fault is that it has no +reserve. I 'm quite certain that nothing could be worse in point of taste +or feeling than what I said. You can judge of it from her reply: 'And are +you such a fool, Walter, as to cut an old friend for such silly gossip?' I +blundered out something in defence of myself,—floundered away into +all kinds of stupid, unmeaning apologies, and ended by asking her to marry +me. Up to that moment we were conversing in all the freedom of our old +friendship, not the slightest reserve on either side; but no sooner had I +uttered these words than she turned towards me with a look so sad and so +reproachful, I did not believe that her features could have conveyed the +expression, while, in a voice of deepest emotion, she said: 'Oh, Walter, +this from you!' I was brute enough—there 's only one word for it—to +misunderstand her; and, full of myself and the splendid offer I had made +her, and my confounded <i>amour propre</i>, I muttered something about the +opinion of the world, the voice of friends, and so on. 'Tell your friends, +then,' said she, and with such an emphasis on the word,—'tell your +friends that I refused you!' and giving her mare a tremendous cut of the +whip, she dashed off at speed, and was up with the others before I had +even presence of mind to follow her.” + </p> +<p> +“You behaved devilish badly,—infamously. If I 'd been her brother, +I'd have shot you like a dog!” cried Dan, rising, and walking the room. +</p> +<p> +“I see it,” said my father, covering his face with his handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry I said that, Watty,—I don't mean that,” said Dan, laying +his hand on my father's shoulder. “It all comes of that infernal system of +interference! If they had left you alone, and to the guidance of your own +feelings, you 'd never have gone wrong. But the world will poke in its d——d +finger everywhere. It's rather hard, when good-breeding protests against +the bystander meddling with your game at chess, that he should have the +privilege of obtruding on the most eventful incident of your existence.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us never speak of this again, Dan,” said my father, looking up with +eyes that were far from clear. +</p> +<p> +MacNaghten squeezed his band, and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“What have you been doing with Tony Fagan, Dan?” said my father, suddenly. +“Have you drawn too freely on the Grinder, and exhausted the liberal +resources of his free-giving nature?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind; he has closed his books against me this many a day. +But why do you ask this?” + </p> +<p> +“Look here.” And he opened a drawer and showed a whole mass of papers, as +he spoke. “Fagan, whom I regarded as an undrainable well of the precious +metals, threatens to run dry; he sends me back bills unaccepted, and +actually menaces me with a reckoning.” + </p> +<p> +“What a rascal, not to be satisfied with forty or fifty per cent!” + </p> +<p> +“He might have charged sixty, Dan, if he would only 'order the bill to lie +on the table.' But see, he talks of a settlement, and even hints at a +lawyer.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought to have married Polly.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray, is there any one else that I should have married, Dan?” cried my +father, half angrily; “for it seems to me that you have quite a passion +for finding out alliances for me.” + </p> +<p> +“Polly, they say, will have three hundred thousand pounds,” said Dan, +slowly, “and is a fine girl to boot. I assure you, Watty, I saw her the +other day, seated in the library here; and with all the splendor of your +stained-glass windows, your gold-fretted ceiling, and your gorgeous +tapestries, she looked just in her place. Hang me, if there was a particle +of the picture in better style or taste than herself.” + </p> +<p> +“How came she here?” cried my father, in amazement. And MacNaghten now +related all the circumstances of Fagan's visit, the breakfast, and the +drive. +</p> +<p> +“And you actually sat with three hundred thousand pounds at your side,” + said my father, “and did not decamp with it?” + </p> +<p> +“I never said she had the money in her pocket, Watty. Egad! that would +have been a very tempting situation.” + </p> +<p> +“How time must have changed you, Dan, when you could discuss the question +thus calmly! I remember the day when you 'd have won the race, without +even wasting a thought on the solvency of the stakeholder.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, I believe it were the wisest way, after all, Watty,” said he, +carelessly; “but the fact is, in the times you speak of, my conscience, +like a generous banker, never refused my drafts; now, however, she has +taken a circumspect turn, and I 'm never quite certain that I have not +overdrawn my account with her. In plain words, I could not bring myself to +do with premeditation what once I might have done from recklessness.” + </p> +<p> +“And so the scruple saved Polly?” cried my father. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; not that I had much time to reflect on it, for the blacks were +pulling fearfully, and Dan had smashed his splinter-bar with a kick. +Still, in coming up by the new shrubbery there, I did say to myself: +'Which road shall I take?' The ponies were going to decide the matter for +me; but I turned them short round with a jerk, and laid the whip over +their flanks with a cut,—the dearest, assuredly, I ever gave to +horseflesh, for it cost me, in all likelihood, three hundred thousand.” + </p> +<p> +“Who 'd have ever thought Dan MacNaghten's conscience would have been so +expensive!” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove, Watty, it's the only thing of value remaining to me. Perhaps my +creditors left it on the same polite principle that they allow a +respectable bankrupt to keep his snuff-box or his wife's miniature,—a +cheap complaisance that reads well in the newspapers.” + </p> +<p> +“The Grinder, of course, thought that he had seen the last of you,” said +my father, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“He as much as said so to me when I came back. He even went further,” said +Dan, reddening with anger as he spoke: “he proposed to me to go abroad and +travel, and that he would pay the cost. But he 'll scarcely repeat the +insolence.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, what has come over you all here? I scarcely know you for what I left +you some short time back. Dan Mac-Naghten taking to scruples, and Tony +Fagan to generosity, seem, indeed, too much for common credulity! And now +as to politics, Dan! What are our friends doing? for I own to you I have +not opened one of Bagwell's letters since I left Paris.” + </p> +<p> +“You 're just as wise as if you had. Tom has got into all that Rotundo +cant about the 'Convention,' and the 'Town Council,' and the +'Sub-Committee of Nine,' so that you'd not make anything out of the +correspondence. I believe the truth is, that the Bishop is mad, and they +who follow him are fools. The Government at first thought of buying them +over; but they now perceive it's a cheaper and safer expedient to leave +them to themselves and their own-indiscretions. But I detest the subject; +and as we 'll have nothing else talked of to-day at dinner, I'll cry truce +till then. Let us have a look at the stable, Watty. I want to talk to you +about the 'nags.'” And so saying, MacNaghten arose from table, and, taking +my father's arm, led him away into the garden. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. SHOWING HOW CHANCE IS BETTER THAN DESIGN +</h2> +<p> +It was not the custom of the day for the lady of the house to present +herself at dinner when the party consisted solely of men, so that my +mother's absence from table appeared nothing remarkable. To her, however, +it did seem somewhat singular that, although she descended to the +drawing-room in all the charming elegance of a most becoming costume, not +one of the guests presented himself to pay his respects, or, as she would +have said, his dutiful homage. It is possible that my father had forgotten +to apprise her that the company of a dinner-party were not usually in that +temperate and discreet frame of mind which would make their appearance in +a drawing-room desirable. In his various lessons, it is more than likely +that this escaped him; and I believe I am not far wrong in wishing that +many other of his instructions had shared the same fate. The fact was, +that in preparing my mother for the duties and requirements of a novel +state of society, he had given her such false and exaggerated notions of +the country and the people, she had imbibed a hundred absurd prejudices +about them which, had she been left to her own unguided good sense and +tact, she would have totally escaped; and while, as he thought, he was +storing her mind with a thorough knowledge of Ireland, he was simply +presenting her with a terrifying picture of such inconsistency, +incongruity, and wrongheadedness that no cleverness on her part could ever +succeed in combating. +</p> +<p> +It is perfectly true that the courtly deference and polished reserve of +old French manners, its thousand observances, and its unfailing devotion +to ladies, were not the striking features of Irish country-house life; but +there was a great deal in common between them, and perhaps no country of +Europe in that day could so easily, and with such little sacrifice, have +conformed to the French standard of good-breeding as Ireland; and I have +little doubt that if left to herself, my mother would have soon discovered +the points of contact, without even troubling her head or puzzling her +ingenuity over their discrepancies. However that may be, there she sat, in +all the attractive beauty of full dress, alone and in silence, save when +the door of the distant dinner-room opening bore to her ears the wild and +vociferous merriment of a party excited by wine and conviviality. +</p> +<p> +I know not, I can but fancy, what thoughts of her own dear land were hers +at that moment, what memory of delicious evenings spent amidst alleys of +orange and lime trees, the rippling fountain mingling its sounds with the +more entrancing music of flattery; what visions rose before her of scenes +endeared from infancy, of objects that recalled that soft, luxurious +dalliance which makes of life a dream. I can but imagine that of this kind +were her reveries, as she sat in solitude, or slowly paced up and down the +immense room which, but partially lighted up, looked even larger than it +was. To cut off every clew to her family, my father had sent back from +England the maid who accompanied her, and taken in her place one who knew +nothing of my mother's birth or connections, so that she had not even the +solace of so much confidential intercourse, and was utterly, completely +alone. While in Wales she had been my father's companion for the entire +day, accompanying him when he walked or rode, and beside him on the +river's bank as he fished; scarcely had they arrived in Ireland, however, +when the whole course of life was changed. The various duties of his +station took up much of his time, he was frequently occupied all the day, +and they met but rarely; hence had she adopted those old habits of her +native country,—that self-indulgent system which surrounds itself +with few cares, fewer duties, and, alas! no resources. +</p> +<p> +So fearful was my father that she might take a dislike to the country from +the first impressions produced upon her by new acquaintances that he +actually avoided every one of his neighbors, hesitating where or with whom +to seek companionship for his wife: some were too old, some too vulgar, +some were linked with an objectionable “set,” some were of the opposite +side in politics. His fastidiousness increased with every day; and while +he was assuring her that there was a delightful circle into which she +would be received, he was gradually offending every one of his old +neighbors and associates. Of the great heap of cards which covered her +table, she had not yet seen one of the owners, and already a hundred +versions were circulated to account for the seclusion in which she lived. +</p> +<p> +I have been obliged to burden my reader with these explanations, for whose +especial enlightenment they are intended, for I desire that he should have +as clear an idea of the circumstances which attended my mother's position +as I am able to convey, and without which he would be probably unjust in +his estimate of her character. In all likelihood there is not any one less +adapted to solitude than a young, very handsome, and much-flattered +Frenchwoman. Neither her education nor her tastes fit her for it; and the +very qualities which secure her success in society are precisely those +which most contribute to melancholy when alone; wit and brilliancy when +isolated from the world being like the gold and silver money which the +shipwrecked sailor would willingly have bartered for the commonest and +vilest articles of simple utility. +</p> +<p> +Let the reader, then, bearing all this in his mind, picture to himself my +mother, who, as the night wore on, became more and more impatient, +starting at every noise, and watching the door, which she momentarily +expected to see open. +</p> +<p> +During all this time, the company of the dinner-room were in the fullest +enjoyment of their conviviality,—and let me add, too, of that +species of conviviality for which the Ireland of that day was celebrated. +It is unhappily too true: those habits of dissipation prevailed to such an +extent that a dinner-party meant an orgie; but it is only fair to remember +that it was not a mere festival of debauch, but that native cleverness and +wit, the able conversationalist, the brilliant talker, and the lively +narrator had no small share in the intoxication of the hour. There was a +kind of barbaric grandeur in the Irish country gentleman of the time—with +his splendid retinue, his observance of the point of honor, his contempt +of law, and his generous hospitality—that made him a very +picturesque, if not a very profitable, feature of his native country. The +exact period to which I refer was remarkable in this respect: the +divisions of politics had risen to all the dignity of a great national +question, and the rights of Ireland were then on trial. +</p> +<p> +It is not my object, perhaps as little would it be the reader's wish, to +enter on any description of the table-talk, where debates in the House, +duels, curious assize cases, hard runs with fox-hounds, adventures with +bailiffs, and affairs of gallantry all followed pell-mell, in wild +succession. None were above telling of their own defeats and +discomfitures. There was little of that overweening self-esteem which in +our time stifles many a good story, for fear of the racy ridicule that is +sure to follow it. Good fellowship and good temper were supreme, and none +felt that to be offence which was uttered in all the frank gayety of the +bottle. Even then the western Irishman had his distinctive traits; and +while the taste for courtly breeding and polished manners was gradually +extending, he took a kind of pride in maintaining his primitive habits of +dress and demeanor, and laughed at the newfangled notions as a fashionable +folly that would last its hour and disappear again. Of this school was a +certain Mr., or rather, as he was always called, “Old Bob Ffrench,” the +familiar epithet of Bitter Bob being his cognomen among friends and +intimates. I am unwilling to let my readers suppose, even for a moment, +that he really deserved the disparaging prefix. He was, indeed, the very +emblem of an easy-tempered, generous-hearted old man, the utmost extent of +whose bitterness was the coarseness of a manner that, however common in +his own country, formed a strong contrast to the tone of the capital. +Although a man of a large fortune and ancient family, in his dress and +appearance he looked nothing above the class of a comfortable farmer. His +large loose brown coat was decorated with immense silver buttons, and his +small clothes, disdaining all aid from braces, displayed a liberal margin +of linen over his hips; but his stockings were most remarkable of all, +being of lamb's wool and of two colors, a light-brown and blue,—an +invention of his own to make them easy of detection if stolen, but which +assuredly secured their safety on better grounds. He was a member of +Parliament for a western borough; and despite many peculiarities of +diction, and an occasional lapse of grammar, was always listened to with +attention in the House, and respected for the undeviating honor and manly +frankness of his character. Bob had been, as usual, an able contributor to +the pleasures of the evening; he had sung, told stories, joked, and +quizzed every one around him, and even, in a burst of confidence, +communicated the heads of a speech he was about to make in the House on +the question of reform, when he suddenly discovered that his snuffbox was +empty. Now, amongst his many peculiarities, one was the belief that no man +in Ireland knew how to apportion the various kinds of tobacco like +himself, and Bob's mixture was a celebrated snuff of the time. +</p> +<p> +To replenish his box he always carried a little canister in his great-coat +pocket, but never would intrust the care of this important casket to a +servant; so that when he saw that he was “empty,” he quietly stole from +the room and went in search of his great-coat. It was not without some +difficulty that he found his way through the maze of rooms and corridors +to the antechamber where he had deposited his hat and coat. Having found +it at last, however, he set out to retrace his steps; but whether it was +that the fresh air of the cool galleries, or the walking, or that the wine +was only then producing its effects, certain is it Mr. Ffrench's faculties +became wonderfully confused. He thought he remembered a certain door; but, +to his misery, there were at least half-a-dozen exactly like it; he knew +that he turned off into a passage, but passages and corridors opened on +all sides of him. How heartily did he curse the architect that could not +build a house like all the world, with a big hall, having the drawing-room +to the left and the dinner-room to the right,—an easy geography that +any one could recollect after dinner as well as before. With many a +malediction on all newfangled notions, he plodded on, occasionally coming +to the end of an impassable gallery, or now straying into rooms in total +darkness. “A blessed way to be spending the evening,” muttered he to +himself; “and maybe these rascals are quizzing me all this time.” Though +he frequently stopped to listen, he never could catch the sounds of a +conviviality that he well knew was little measured, and hence he opined +that he must have wandered far away from the right track. In the +semi-desperation of the moment, he would gladly have made his escape by a +window, and trusted to his chance of discovering the hall door; but +unfortunately the artifices of a modern window-bolt so completely defied +his skill that even this resource was denied him. “'I'll take one 'cast' +more,” muttered he, “and if that fails, I 'll lie down on the first snug +place I can find till morning.” It became soon evident to him that he had, +at least, entered new precincts; for he now found himself in a large +corridor, splendidly lighted, and with a rich carpeting on the floor. +There were several doors on either side, but although he tried them each +in turn, they were all locked. At last he came to a door at the extreme +end of the gallery, which opened to his hand, and admitted him into a +spacious and magnificently furnished apartment, partially lit up, and by +this deceptive light admitting glimpses of the most rare and costly +objects of china, glass, and marble. It needed not the poetizing effects +of claret to make Bob fancy that this was a fairy palace; but perhaps the +last bottle contributed to this effect, for he certainly stood amazed and +confounded at a degree of magnificence and splendor with which he had +never seen anything to compare. Vainly endeavoring to peer through the +dubious half light, and see into the remote distance of the chamber, +Ffrench reached the middle of the room, when he heard, or thought he +heard, the rustling sounds of silk. It was in the days of hoops and ample +petticoats. He turned abruptly, and there stood directly in front of what, +in his own description, he characterized as “the elegantest crayture ye +ever set eyes upon.” Young, beautiful, and most becomingly dressed, it is +no wonder if my mother did produce a most entrancing effect on his +astounded senses. Never for a moment suspecting that his presence was the +result of an accident, my mother courtesied very low, and, with a voice +and a smile of ineffable sweetness, addressed him. Alas! poor Bob's +mystifications were not to end here, for she spoke in French, and however +distinguished the City of the Tribes might be in many respects, that +language was but little cultivated there. He could, therefore, only bow, +and lay his hand on his heart, and look as much devotion, respect, and +admiration as it was in his power to express at that late hour of the +evening. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you'll accept of a cup of tea?” said she at length, leading the +way towards the table; and as Ffrench said, afterwards, that he never +declined drink, no matter what the liquor, he readily consented, and took +his place beside her on the sofa. Full of all my father's lessons and +precepts about the civilities she was to bestow on the Irish gentlemen and +their wives, the importance of creating the most favorable impression on +them, and ingratiating herself into their esteem, my mother addressed +herself to the task in right earnest. Her first care was to become +intelligible, and she accordingly spoke in the slowest and most measured +manner, so as to give the foreigner every possible facility to follow her. +Her second was to impose as little necessity on her companion for reply as +it was possible. She accordingly talked on of Ireland, of the capital, the +country, the scenery about them, the peasantry,—everything, in +short, that she could think of, and always in a tone of praise and +admiration. The single monosyllable “oui” was the whole stock of old Bob's +French, but, as he often remarked, “we hear of a man walking from +Ballinasloe to Dublin with only tu'pence in his pocket; and I don't see +why he should not be able to economize his parts of speech like his pence, +and travel through the French dictionary with only one word of it!” Bob's +“oui” was uttered, it is true, with every possible variety of tone and +expression. It was assent, conviction, surprise, astonishment, doubt, and +satisfaction, just as he uttered it. So long debarred from all intercourse +with strangers, it is not improbable that my mother was perfectly +satisfied with one who gave her the lion's share of the conversation. She +certainly seemed to ask for no higher efforts at agreeability than the +attention he bestowed, and he often confessed that he could have sat for a +twelvemonth listening to her, and fancying to himself all the sweet things +that he hoped she was saying to him. Doubtless not ignorant of her +success, she was determined to achieve a complete victory, for after +upwards of an hour speaking in this manner, she asked him if he liked +music. Should she sing for him? The “oui” was of course ready, and without +further preface she arose and walked over to the pianoforte. The +fascination which was but begun before was now completed, for, however +weak his appreciation of her conversational ability, he could, like nearly +all his countrymen, feel the most intense delight in music. It was +fortunate, too, that the tastes of that day did not rise beyond those +light “chansonettes,” those simple melodies which are so easy to execute +that they are within the appreciation of the least-educated ears. +</p> +<p> +Had the incident occurred in our own day, the chances are that some +passionate scene from Verdi, or some energetic outburst of despised love +or betrayed affection from Donizetti or Meyerbeer, had been the choice, +and poor Bob had gone away with a lamentable opinion of musical science, +and regret for the days when “singing was preferred to screeching.” + Happily the ballad was more in vogue then than the bravura, and instead of +holding his ears with his hands, Bob felt them tremble with ecstasy as he +listened. Enjoying thoroughly a praise so heartily accorded, my mother +sung on, song after song: now some bold “romance” of chivalry, now some +graceful little air of pastoral simplicity. No matter what the theme, the +charm of the singer was over him, and he listened in perfect rapture! +There is no saying to what pitch of enthusiasm he might have soared, had +he felt the fascination of the words as he appreciated the flood of +melody. As it was, so completely was he carried away by his emotions that +in a rapture of admiration and delight he threw himself on his knees, and, +seizing her hand, covered it with kisses. +</p> +<p> +“You're an angel; you're the loveliest, sweetest, and most enchanting +crayture—” He had got thus far in his rhapsody when my father +entered the room, and, throwing himself into a chair, laughed till the +tears ran down his cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“Bob! Bob!” cried he, “is this quite fair, I say?” And the old man, at +once alive to the bantering and ridicule to which his adventure would +expose him, got slowly up and resumed his seat, with a most ludicrous +expression of shame on his features. +</p> +<p> +“There is no necessity of introducing one of my oldest friends to you, +Josephine,” said my father. “He has already done so without my +intervention, and, I must say, he seems to have lost no time in pushing +the acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“He is quite charming,” said my mother. “We had an old Marquis de +Villebois so like him, and he was the delight of our neighborhood in +Provence.” + </p> +<p> +“I see what it is now,” muttered Ffrench, “you are cutting me up, between +you; but I deserve it well. I was an old fool,—I am ashamed of +myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you going away?” cried my mother. +</p> +<p> +“What is she saying?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“She asks if you have really the heart to leave her,” rejoined my father, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Begad, you may laugh now, Watty,” replied he, in a half-angry tone; “but +I tell you what it is, you'd neither be so ready with your fun, nor so +willing to play interpreter, if old Bob was the same man he was +five-and-thirty years ago!—No, ma'am, he would not,” added he, +addressing my mother. “But maybe, after all, it's a greater triumph for +you to turn an old head than a young one.” + </p> +<p> +He hurried away after this; and although my father followed him, and did +all in his power to make him join his companions at table, it was in vain; +he insisted on going to his room, probably too full of the pleasant vision +he had witnessed to destroy the illusion by the noisy merriment of a +drinking-party. +</p> +<p> +Trivial as the event was in itself, it was not without its consequences. +Bob Ffrench had spread the fame of my mother's beauty and accomplishments +over Dublin before the following week closed, and nothing else was talked +of in the society of the capital. My father, seeing that all further +reserve on his part was out of the question, and being satisfied besides +that my mother had acquitted herself most successfully in a case of more +than ordinary difficulty, resolved on leaving the rest to fortune. +</p> +<p> +From all that I have ever heard of the society of the time, and from what +has reached me by description of my mother's manner and deportment, I am +fully convinced that she was exactly the person to attain an immense +popularity with all classes. The natural freshness and gayety of her +character, aided by beauty and the graceful duties of a hostess,—which +she seemed to fill as by an instinct,—made her the object of +universal admiration,—a homage which, I believe, it was not +difficult to see was even more pleasing to my father than to herself. +</p> +<p> +Castle Carew was from this time crowded with visitors, who, strangely +enough, represented the most opposite sections of politics and party. My +father's absence during some of the most exciting sessions of +parliamentary life had invested him with a species of neutrality that made +his house an open territory for men of all shades of opinion; and he was +but too glad to avail himself of the privilege to form acquaintance with +the most distinguished leaders of opposite sections of the House; and here +were now met the Castle officials, the chiefs of Opposition, the violent +antagonists of debate, not sorry, perhaps, for even this momentary truce +in the strife and conflict of a great political campaign. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. A STATE TRUMPETER +</h2> +<p> +The 27th of May, 1782, was the day on which Parliament was to assemble in +Dublin, and under circumstances of more than ordinary interest. The great +question of the independence of the Irish Legislature was then to be +discussed and determined; and never was the national mind so profoundly +excited as when that time drew near. They who have only known Ireland in a +later period, when her political convulsions have degenerated into low +sectarian disputes,—irregular irruptions, headed by men of inferior +ability, and stimulated solely by personal considerations,—can +scarcely form any idea of Dublin in the days of the Volunteers. It was not +alone that the Court of the Viceroy was unusually splendid, or that the +presence of the Parliament crowded the capital with all the country could +boast of wealth, station, and influence, but that the pomp and parade of a +powerful army added brilliancy and grandeur to a spectacle which, for the +magnitude of the interests at stake, and the genius and capacity of those +that controlled them, had not its superior in Europe. +</p> +<p> +The position of England at the moment was pregnant with anxiety; at war +with two powerful nations, she had more than ever reason to conciliate the +feelings and consult the wishes of Ireland. The modern theory of English +necessity being Irish opportunity had not the same prevalence then as in +our own day, but still it had some followers, not one of whom more +profoundly believed the adage, or was more prepared to stake fortune on +the issue, than our acquaintance, Anthony Fagan. +</p> +<p> +If the Grinder was not possessed of very sage and statesmanlike opinions +on politics generally, he was, on Irish questions, fully as far advanced +as the patriots of our own time; his creed of “Ireland for the Irish” + comprising every article of his political belief, with this advantage over +modern patriotism that he was immensely rich, and quite ready to employ +his wealth in the furtherance of his conviction. He was no needy +adventurer, seeking, as the price of a parliamentary display, the position +to which mere professional attainments would never have raised him, but a +hard-working, slow-thinking, determined man, stimulated by the ambition +that is associated with great riches, and stung by the degradation of low +birth and proscribed religion. +</p> +<p> +Such men are dangerous in proportion as they are single-minded. Fagan, +with all his sincerity of purpose, failed in this respect, for he was +passionate and resentful to an extent which made him often forget +everything else but his desire of a personal reparation. This was his +great fault, and, strange enough, too, he knew it. The working of that +failing, and his iron efforts to control it, made up the whole character +of the man. +</p> +<p> +The gross corruption which characterized a late period of Irish history +was then comparatively unknown. It is very possible that had it been +attempted, its success had been very inferior to that it was destined to +obtain subsequently, for the whole tone of public feeling was higher and +purer. Public men were both more independent in property, as well as +principle, and no distinction of talent or capacity could have dispensed +with the greater gifts of honesty and good faith. If there were not +venality and low ambition, however, to work upon, there were other +national traits no less open to the seductive arts of a crafty +administration. There was a warm-hearted and generous confidence, and a +gratitude that actually accepted a pledge, and acknowledged it for +performance. These were weaknesses not likely to escape the shrewd +perception of party, and to the utmost were they profited by. The great +game of the government was to sow, if not dissension, at least distrust, +in the ranks of the national party,—to chill the ardor of +patriotism, and, wherever possible, to excite different views, and +different roads to success, amongst the popular leaders of the time. There +came a day when corruption only asked to see a man's rent-roll and the +list of his mortgages, when his price could be estimated as easily as an +actuary can calculate an annuity when given the age and the circumstances +of the individual. Then, however, the investigation demanded nicer and +more delicate treatment, for the question was the more subtle one of the +mixed and often discordant motives of the human heart. +</p> +<p> +The Duke of Portland was well calculated to carry out a policy of this +kind; but I am far from suspecting that he was himself fully aware of the +drama in which he acted. He was a plain, straightforward man, of average +good sense, but more than average firmness and determination. He came over +to Ireland thoroughly impressed with the favorite English maxim that +whatever Irishmen wish is assuredly bad for them, and thought, like the +old physicians of the sixteenth century, that a patient's benefit was in +the exact proportion to his repugnance for the remedy. I am not quite sure +that this pleasant theory is not even yet the favorite one as regards +Ireland, which, perhaps, after all, might be permitted the privilege so +generally accorded to the incurable, to take a little medicine of her own +prescribing. Be this as it may, I am convinced that the Duke of Portland +was no hypocrite, but firmly believed in the efficacy of the system he +advocated, and only made use of the blandishments and hospitalities of his +station to facilitate connections which he trusted would at last be +concurred in on the unerring grounds of reason and judgment. Whatever +people may say or think to the contrary, hypocrisy—that is, a really +well-sustained and long-maintained hypocrisy—is one of the rarest +things to be met with, and might even be suspected never to exist at all, +since the qualities and gifts necessary, or indeed indispensable, to its +attainment are exactly of an order which bespeaks some of the first and +greatest traits of human nature, and for that reason would make the game +of dissimulation impossible; and I would be as slow to believe that a man +could search the heart, study the passions, weigh the motives, and balance +the impulses of his fellow-men, for mere purposes of trick or deception, +as that a doctor would devote years of toil and labor in his art for the +sole aim of poisoning and destroying his patients. +</p> +<p> +Few men out of the lists of party took so great an interest in the great +struggle as Tony Fagan. With the success of the patriotic side his own +ambitions were intimately involved. It was not the section of great +wealth, and there was no saying to what eminence a man of his affluence +might attain amongst them. He not only kept a registry of all the members, +with their peculiar leanings and party connections annexed to it, but he +carefully noted down any circumstance likely to influence the vote or sway +the motives of the principal leaders of the people. His sources of +information were considerable, and penetrated every class of society, from +the high world of Dublin down to the lowest resorts of the rabble. The +needy gentleman, hard pressed for resources, found his dealings with the +Grinder wonderfully facilitated by any little communication of backstairs +doings at the Castle, or the secrets of the chief secretary's office; +while the humble ballad-singer of the streets, or the ragged newsman, were +equally certain of a “tester,” could they only supply some passing +incident that bore upon the relations of party. +</p> +<p> +If not one of the most brilliant, certainly one of the most assiduous of +Fagan's emissaries was a certain Samuel Cotterell,—a man who held +the high and responsible dignity of state trumpeter in the Irish Court. He +was a large, fine-looking, though somewhat over-corpulent, personage, with +a most imposing dignity of air, and a calm self-possession of manner that +well became his functions. Perhaps this was natural to him; but some of it +may well be attributed to his sense of the dignity of one who only +appeared in public on the very greatest occasions, and was himself the +herald of a splendid ceremonial. +</p> +<p> +From long association with the Viceregal Court, he had grown to believe +himself a part, and by no means an insignificant part, of the Government, +and spoke of himself as of one mysteriously but intimately mixed up in all +the acts of the State. The pretentious absurdity, the overweening vanity +of the man, which afforded so much amusement to others, gave no pleasure +to Fagan,—they rather vexed and irritated him; but these were +feelings that he cautiously concealed, for he well knew the touchy and +irritable nature of the man, and that whatever little information could be +derived from him was only come-at-able by indulging his vein of +self-esteem. +</p> +<p> +It had been for years his custom to pay a visit to Fagan on the eve of any +great solemnity, and he was snugly installed in the little bow-window on +the evening of the 26th May, with a goodly array of glasses and a very +formidable square decanter of whiskey on a table in front of him. Fagan, +who never could trust to the indiscreet propensity of Polly to “quizz” his +distinguished friend, had sent her to spend the day in the country with +some acquaintances; Raper was deep in a difficult passage of Richter, in +his own chamber; so that the Grinder was free to communicate with the +great official unmolested and undisturbed. +</p> +<p> +Most men carry into private life some little trait or habit of their +professional career. The lawyer is apt to be pert, interrogative, and +dictatorial; the doctor generally distils the tiresomeness of the patient +in his own conversation; the soldier is proverbially pipeclay; and so +perhaps we may forgive our friend Cotterell if his voice, in speaking, +seemed to emulate the proud notes of his favorite instrument, while his +utterance came in short, broken, abrupt bursts,—faint, but faithful, +imitations of his brazen performances in public. He was naturally not +given to talking, so that it is more than probable the habit of <i>staccato</i> +was in itself a great relief to him. +</p> +<p> +I will not pretend to say that Fagan's patience was not sorely tried as +well by the matter as the manner of his friend. His pursuit of politics +was, indeed, under the greatest of difficulties; but he labored on, and, +like some patient gold-seeker, was satisfied to wash the sand for hours, +rewarded with even a few grains of the precious metal at the end of his +toil. +</p> +<p> +“Help yourself, Sam. That's the poteen,—this, here, is Kinahan,” + said the Grinder, who well knew that until the finish of the third +tumbler, Mr. Cotterell's oracle gave no sound. “Help yourself, and +remember you 'll have a fatiguing day to-morrow!” + </p> +<p> +“A great day,—say rather a great day for Ireland,” tolled out the +trumpeter. +</p> +<p> +“That's to be seen,” replied Fagan, caustically. “I have witnessed a good +many of those great days for Ireland, but I 'd be sorely puzzled to say +what has come of them.” + </p> +<p> +“There are three great days for Ireland every year. There's the opening, +one; the King's, two; St. Patrick's, three—” + </p> +<p> +“I know all that,” muttered Tony, discontentedly. +</p> +<p> +“St. Patrick's, three; and a collar day!” repeated Sam, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Collars, and curs to wear them,” growled out Tony, under his breath. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, a collar day!” and he raised his eyes with a half devotional +expression at these imposing words. +</p> +<p> +“The Duke will open Parliament in person?” asked Fagan, as a kind of +suggestive hint, which chanced to turn the talk. +</p> +<p> +“So we mean, sir,—we have always done so. Procession to form in the +Upper Castle Yard at twelve; battle-axes in full dress; Ulster in his +tabard!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes; I have seen it over and over again,” sighed Fagan, wearily. +</p> +<p> +“Sounds of trumpet in the court—flourish!” + </p> +<p> +“Flourish, indeed!” sighed Tony; “it's the only thing does flourish in +poor Ireland. Tell me, Sam, has the Court been brilliant lately?” + </p> +<p> +“We gave two dinners last week—plain dress—bags and swords!” + </p> +<p> +“And who were the company?” + </p> +<p> +“Loftus, Lodge, and Morris, Skeffington, Langrishe, and others—Boyle +Roche, the Usher-in-waiting. On Friday, we had Rowley, Charlemont—” + </p> +<p> +“Lord Charlemont,—did he dine with the Viceroy on Friday last?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; and it was the first time we have asked him since the Mutiny +Bill!” + </p> +<p> +“This is indeed strange, Sam; I scarcely thought he was on such terms with +the Court!” + </p> +<p> +“We forgive and forget, sir,—we forgive and forget,” said Sam, +waving his hand with dignity. +</p> +<p> +“There was young Carew also.” + </p> +<p> +“Walter Carew, the member for Wicklow?” + </p> +<p> +“The same—took in Lady Charlotte Carteret—sat next to her +Grace, and spoken to frequently—French wife—much noticed!” + </p> +<p> +“Is he one of the new converts, then?” asked Fagan, slowly; “is he about +to change the color of his coat?” + </p> +<p> +“A deep claret, with diamond buttons, jabot, and ruffles, Mechlin lace—” + </p> +<p> +“And the Duke, you say, spoke much with him?” + </p> +<p> +“Repeatedly.” + </p> +<p> +“They talked of politics?” + </p> +<p> +“We talked of everything.” + </p> +<p> +“And in terms of agreement too?” + </p> +<p> +“Not about artichokes. Carew likes them in oil,—we always prefer +butter.” + </p> +<p> +“That is a most important difference of opinion,” said Tony, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“We thought nothing of it,” said the other, with an air of dignity; “for +shortly after, we accepted an invitation to go down to Castle Carew for a +week.” + </p> +<p> +“To spend a week at Castle Carew?” + </p> +<p> +“A half state visit.” + </p> +<p> +“With all the tagrag and bobtail of a Court,—the lazy drones of +pageantry, the men of painted coats and patched characters, the women +painted too, but beyond the art of patching for a reputation.” + </p> +<p> +“No, in half state,” replied Cotterell, calmly, and not either heeding or +attending to this passionate outburst,—“two aides-de-camp; Mr. +Barrold, private secretary; Sir George Gore; and about thirty servants.” + </p> +<p> +“Thirty thieves in state livery,—thirty bandits in silk stockings +and powder!” + </p> +<p> +“We have made mutual concessions, and shall, I doubt not, be good +friends,” continued Sam, only thinking of what he said himself. “Carew is +to give our state policy a fair trial, and we are to taste the artichokes +with oil. His Grace proposed the contract, and then proposed the visit.” + </p> +<p> +A deep groan of angry indignation was all that Tony could utter in reply. +“And this same visit,” said he, at last, “when is it to take place?” + </p> +<p> +“Next week; for the present we have much on our hands. We open Parliament +to-morrow; Wednesday, grand dinner to peers and peeresses; Thursday, the +judges and law officers; Friday, debate on the address—small party +of friends; Saturday we go to the play in state,—we like the play.” + </p> +<p> +“You do, do you?” said the Grinder, with a grin of malice, as some +vindictive feeling worked within him. +</p> +<p> +“We have commanded 'The Road to Ruin,'” continued Cotterell. +</p> +<p> +“Out of compliment to your politics, I suppose!” + </p> +<p> +“Holman's Young Rapid always amused us!” + </p> +<p> +“Carew's performance of the character is better still,—it is real; +it is palpable.” Then, suddenly carried beyond himself by a burst of +passion, he cried: “Now, is it possible that your heavy browed Duke +fancies a country can be ruled in this wise? Does he believe that a little +flattery here, a little bribery there, some calumny to separate friends, +some gossip to sow dissension amongst intimates, a promise of place, a +title or a pension thrown to the hungry hounds that yelp, and bark, and +fawn about a Court,—that this means government, or that these men +are the nation?” + </p> +<p> +“You have overturned the sugar-bowl,” observed Cotterell. +</p> +<p> +“Better than to upset the country,” said the other, with a contemptuous +look at his stolid companion. “I tell you what it is, Cotterell,” added +he, gravely, “these English had might and power on their side, and had +they rested their strength on them, they might defy us, for we are the +weaker party; but they have condescended to try other weapons, and would +encounter us with subtlety, intrigue, and cabal. Now, mark my words: we +may not live to see it, but the time will come when their scheme will +recoil upon themselves; for we are their equals,—ay, more than their +equals,—with such arms as these! Fools that they are, not to see +that if they destroy the influence of the higher classes, the people will +elect leaders from their own ranks; and, instead of having to fight Popery +alone, the day is not distant when they 'll have to combat democracy too. +Will not the tune be changed then?” + </p> +<p> +“It must always be 'God save the King,' sir, on birthdays,” said +Cotterell, who was satisfied if he either caught or comprehended the last +words of any discourse. +</p> +<p> +It is difficult to say whether the Grinder's temper could have much longer +endured these assaults of stupidity, but for the sudden appearance of +Raper, who, coming stealthily forward, whispered a few words in Fagan's +ear. +</p> +<p> +“Did you say here?—here?” asked Fagan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Raper; “below in the office.” + </p> +<p> +“But why there? Why not show him upstairs? No, no, you 're right,” added +he, with a most explanatory glance towards his guest. “I must leave you +for a few minutes, Cotterell. Take care of yourself till I come back;” and +with this apology he arose, and followed Raper downstairs. +</p> +<p> +The visitor, who sat on one of the high office-stools, dressed in the +first fashion of the day, slapped his boot impatiently with his cane, and +did not even remove his hat as Fagan entered, contenting himself with a +slight touch of the finger to its leaf for salutation. +</p> +<p> +“Sorry to disturb you, Fagan,” said he, half cavalierly; “but being in +town late this evening, and knowing the value of even five minutes' +personal intercourse, I have dropped in to say,—what I have so often +said in the same place,—I want money.” + </p> +<p> +“Grieved to hear it, Mr. Carew,” was the grave, sententious reply. +</p> +<p> +“I don't believe you, Tony. When a man can lend, as you can, on his own +terms, he 's never very sorry to hear of the occasion for his services.” + </p> +<p> +“Cash is scarce, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“So I have always found it, Tony; but, like everything else, one gets it +by paying for. I 'm willing to do so, and now, what's the rate,—ten, +fifteen, or are you Patriarch enough to need twenty per cent?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not sure that I could oblige you, even on such terms, Mr. Carew. +There is a long outstanding, unsettled account between us. There is a very +considerable balance due to me. There are, in fact, dealings between us +which call for a speedy arrangement.” + </p> +<p> +“And which are very unlikely to be favored with it, Tony. Now, I have n't +a great deal of time to throw away, for I'm off to the country to-night, +so that pray let us understand each other at once. I shall need, before +Monday next, a sum of not less than eight thousand pounds. Hacket, my man +of law, will show you such securities as I possess. Call on him, and take +your choice of them. I desire that our negotiation should be strictly a +matter between ourselves, because we live in gossiping times, and I don't +care to amuse the town with my private affairs. Are you satisfied with +this?” + </p> +<p> +“Eight thousand, in bills, of course, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“If you wish it!” + </p> +<p> +“At what dates?” + </p> +<p> +“The longer the better.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall we say in two sums of four thousand each,—six months and +nine?” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart. When can I touch the coin?” + </p> +<p> +“Now, sir; this moment if you desire it.” + </p> +<p> +“Write the check, then, Tony,” said he, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“There, sir, there are the bills for your signature,” said Fagan. “Will +you have the goodness to give me a line to Hacket about the securities?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course,” said he; and he at once wrote the note required. “Now for +another point, Tony: I am going to ask a favor of you. Are you in a +gracious mood this evening?” + </p> +<p> +The appeal was sudden enough to be disconcerting, and so Fagan felt it, +for he looked embarrassed and confused in no ordinary degree. +</p> +<p> +“Come, I see I shall not be refused,” said my father, who at once saw that +the only course was the bold one. “It is this: we are expecting some +friends to spend a few days with us at Castle Carew, a kind of +house-warming to that new wing; we have done our best to gather around us +whatever our good city boasts of agreeability and beauty, and with +tolerable success. There is, I may say, but one wanting to make our +triumph complete. With her presence I 'd wager a thousand guineas that no +country mansion in Great Britain could contest the palm with us.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan grew deadly pale as he listened, then flushed deeply, and a second +time a sickly hue crept over his features as, in a voice barely above a +whisper, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“You mean my daughter, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course I do, Tony. A man need n't read riddles to know who is the +handsomest girl in Dublin. I hope you 'll not deny us the favor of her +company. My wife will meet her at Bray; she'll come into town, if you +prefer it, and take her up here.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, no, sir; not here,” said Fagan, hurriedly, who, whatever plans he +might be forming in his mind, quickly saw the inconvenience of such a +step. +</p> +<p> +“It shall be as you please in every respect, Fagan. Now, on Tuesday +morning—” + </p> +<p> +“Not so fast, sir,—not so fast,” said Fagan, calmly. “You have n't +given me time for much reflection now; and the very little thought I have +bestowed on the matter suggests grave doubts to me. Nobody knows better +than Mr. Carew that a wide gulf separates our walk in life from his; that +however contented with our lot in this world, it is a very humble one—” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! I like such humility. The man who can draw a check for ten thousand +at sight, and yet never detect any remarkable alteration in his banker's +book, ought to be proud of the philosophy that teaches him contentment. +Tony, my worthy friend, don't try to mystify me. You know, and you 'd be a +fool if you did n't know, that with your wealth and your daughter's beauty +you have only to choose the station she will occupy. There is but one way +you can possibly defeat her success, and that is by estranging her from +the world, and withdrawing her from all intercourse with society. I can't +believe that this is your intention; I can scarcely credit that it could +be her wish. Let us, then, have the honor of introducing her to that rank, +the very highest position in which she would grace and dignify. I ask it +as a favor,—the very greatest you can bestow on us.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; it cannot be. It's impossible, utterly impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“I am really curious to know upon what grounds, for I confess they are a +secret to me!” + </p> +<p> +“So they must remain, then, sir, if you cannot persuade me to open more of +my heart than I am in the habit of doing with comparative strangers. I can +be very grateful for the honor you intend me, Mr. Carew; but the best way +to be so is, probably, not to accompany that feeling with any sense of +personal humiliation!” + </p> +<p> +“You are certainly not bent on giving me any clew to your motives, Fagan.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sorry for it, sir; but frankness to you might be great unfairness to +myself.” + </p> +<p> +“More riddles, Tony, and I 'm far too dull to read them.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, sir, perhaps you'd understand me when I say that Anthony +Fagan, low and humble as he is, has no mind to expose his daughter to the +sneers and scoffs of a rank she has no pretension to mix with; that, miser +as he is, he would n't bring a blush of shame to her cheek for all the +wealth of India! and that, rather than sit at home here and brood over +every insult that would be offered to the usurer's daughter by those +beggarly spendthrifts that are at liberty by his bounty, he 'd earn his +name of the Grinder by crushing them to the dust!” + </p> +<p> +The vehemence of his utterance had gone on increasing as he spoke, till at +the end the last words were given with almost a scream of passion. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, Fagan,” replied my father, calmly, “that you form a very +humble, I trust a very unfair, estimate of the habits of my house, not to +say of my own feelings. However, we'll not dispute the matter. Good +evening to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Good evening, sir; I 'm sorry I was so warm; I hope I have said nothing +that could offend you.” + </p> +<p> +“Not when you did n't mean offence, believe me, Fagan. I repeat my hope +that the friends and acquaintances with whom I live are not the underbred +and ill-mannered class you think them; beyond that I have nothing to say. +Good evening.” + </p> +<p> +Probably no amount of discussion and argument on the subject could so +palpably have convinced Fagan of the vast superiority of a man of good +manners over one of inferior breeding as did the calm and gentleman-like +quietude of my father's bearing, in contradistinction to his own +passionate outbreak. +</p> +<p> +“One moment, sir,—one moment,” cried he, laying his hand on my +father's arm; “you really believe that one humbly born as Polly, the +daughter of a man in my condition, would be received amongst the high and +titled of Dublin without a scornful allusion to whence she came,—without +a sneer at her rank in life?” + </p> +<p> +“If I thought anything else, Fagan, Ï should be dishonored in making this +request of you.” + </p> +<p> +“She shall go, sir,—she shall go,” cried Fagan. +</p> +<p> +“Thanks for the confidence, Fagan; I know you 'd rather trust me with half +your fortune without a scratch of my pen in return.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan turned away his head; but a motion of his hand across his eyes +showed how he felt the speech. +</p> +<p> +To obviate the awkwardness of the moment, my father entered upon the +details of the journey, for which it was arranged that Fagan was to send +his daughter to Bray, where a carriage from Castle Carew would be in +waiting to convey her the remainder of the way. These points being +settled, my father once again thanked him for his compliance, and +departed. +</p> +<p> +I should be only mystifying my reader most unjustifiably should I affect +any secrecy as to my father's reasons for this singular invitation; for +although the gossipry of the day could adduce innumerable plots and plans +which were to spring out of it, I sincerely believe his sole motive was +the pleasure that he and my mother were sure to feel in doing a piece of +graceful and generous politeness. MacNaghten's account of Polly had +strongly excited their curiosity, not to speak of a more worthy feeling, +in her behalf; and knowing that Fagan's immense wealth would one day or +other be hers, they felt it was but fair that she should see, and be seen, +by that world of which she was yet to be a distinguished ornament. Beyond +this, I implicitly believe they had no motive nor plan. Of course, I do +not pretend to say that even amongst his own very guests, the men who +travelled down to enjoy his hospitality, his conduct did not come in for +its share of criticism. Many an artful device was attributed to this +seeming stroke of policy, not one of which, however, did not more redound +to my father's craft than to his character for honorable dealing. But what +would become of “bad tongues” in this world if there were not generous +natures to calumniate and vilify? Of a verity, scandal prefers a high mark +and an unblemished reputation for its assaults, far better than a damaged +fame and a tattered character; it seems more heroic to shy a pebble +through a pane of plate-glass than to pitch a stone through a cracked +casement! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. A GENTLEMAN USHER +</h2> +<p> +Among the members of the Viceregal suite who were to accompany his Grace +on a visit was a certain Barry Rutledge, a gentleman usher, whose +character and doings were well known in the times I speak of. When a very +young man, Rutledge had been stripped of his entire patrimony on the turf, +and was thrown for support upon the kindness of those who had known him in +better days. Whether it was that time had developed or adversity had +sharpened his wits, it is certain that he showed himself to be a far +shrewder and more intelligent being than the world had heretofore deemed +him. If he was not gifted with any very great insight into politics, for +which he was free to own he had no taste, he was well versed in human +nature, at least in all its least favorable aspects, and thoroughly +understood how to detect and profit by the weaknesses of those with whom +he came in contact. +</p> +<p> +His racing experiences had given him all the training and teaching which +he possessed, and to his own fancied analogy between the turf and the +great race of life did he owe all the shrewd inspirations that guided him. +</p> +<p> +His favorite theory was, that however well a horse may gallop, there is +always, if one but knew it, some kind of ground that would throw him “out +of stride;” and so of men: he calculated that every one is accompanied by +some circumstance or other which forms his stumbling-block through life; +and however it may escape notice, that to its existence will be referrable +innumerable turnings and windings, whose seeming contradictions excite +surprise and astonishment. +</p> +<p> +To learn all these secret defects, to store his mind with every incident +of family and fortune of the chief actors of the time, was the mechanism +by which he worked, and certainly in such inquisitorial pursuits it would +have been hard to find his equal. By keenly watching the lines of action +men pursued, he had taught himself to trace back to their motives, and by +the exercise of these faculties he had at last attained to a skill in +reading character that seemed little short of marvellous. +</p> +<p> +Nature had been most favorable in fitting him for his career, for his +features were of that cast which bespeaks a soft, easy temperament, +careless and unsuspecting. His large blue eyes and curly golden hair gave +him, even at thirty, a boyish look, and both in voice and manner was he +singularly youthful, while his laugh was like the joyous outburst of a +happy schoolboy. +</p> +<p> +None could have ever suspected that such a figure as this, arrayed in the +trappings of a courtly usher, could have inclosed within it a whole +network of secret intrigue and plot. My mother had the misfortune to make +a still more fatal blunder; for, seeing him in what she pardonably enough +believed to be a livery, she took him to be a menial, and actually +despatched him to her carriage to fetch her fan! The incident got abroad, +and Rutledge, of course, was well laughed at; but he seemed to enjoy the +mirth so thoroughly, and told the story so well himself, that it could +never be imagined he felt the slightest annoyance on the subject. By all +accounts, however, the great weakness of his character was the belief that +he was decidedly noble-looking and highbred; that place him where you +would, costume him how you might, surround him with all that might +disparage pretension, yet that such was the innate gentlemanhood of his +nature, the least critical of observers would not fail to acknowledge him. +To say that he concealed this weakness most completely, that he shrouded +it in the very depth of his heart, is only to repeat what I have already +mentioned as to his character; for he was watchful over every trifle that +should betray a knowledge of his nature, and sensitively alive to the +terrors of ridicule. From that hour forward he became my mother's enemy,—not, +as many others might, by decrying her pretensions to beauty, or by any +depreciatory remarks on her dress or manner, but in a far deeper sense, +and with more malignant determination. +</p> +<p> +To learn who she was, of what family, what were her connections, their +rank, name, and station, were his first objects; and although the +difficulties of the inquiry were considerable, his sources of knowledge +were sufficient to overcome them. He got to hear something at least of her +history, and to trace back her mysterious journey to an ancient château +belonging to the Crown of France. Beyond this, in all livelihood, he could +not go; but even here were materials enough for his subtlety to make use +of. +</p> +<p> +The Viceregal visit to Castle Carew had been all planned by him. He had +persuaded the Duke that the time was come when, by a little timely +flattering, the whole landed gentry of Ireland were in his hands. The +conciliating tone of the speech which opened Parliament, the affectedly +generous confidence of England in all the acts of the Irish Legislature, +had already succeeded to a miracle. Grattan himself moved the address in +terms of unbounded reliance on the good faith of Government. Flood +followed in the same strain, and others, of lesser note, were ashamed to +utter a sentiment of distrust, in the presence of such splendid instances +of confiding generosity. My father, although not a leading orator of the +House, was, from connection and fortune, possessed of much influence, and +well worth the trouble of gaining over, and, as Rutledge said, “It was +pleasant to have to deal with a man who wanted neither place, money, nor +the peerage, but whose alliance could be ratified at his own table, and +pledged in his own Burgundy.” + </p> +<p> +Every one knows what happens in the East when a great sovereign makes a +present of an elephant to some inferior chief. The morale of a Viceregal +visit is pretty much in the same category. It is an honor that cannot be +declined, and it is generally sure to ruin the entertainer. Of course I do +not talk of the present times nor of late years. Lord-Lieutenants have +grown to be less stately; the hosts have become less splendid. But in the +days I speak of here, there were great names and great fortunes in the +land. The influence of the country neither flowed from Roman rescripts nor +priestly denunciations. The Lions of Judah and the Doves of Elphin were as +yet unknown to our political zoology; and, with all their faults and +shortcomings, we had at least a national gentry party, high-spirited, +hospitable, and generous, and whose misfortunes were probably owing to the +fact that they gave a too implicit faith to the adaptiveness of English +laws to a people who have not, in their habits, natures, or feelings, the +slightest analogy to Englishmen! and that, when at length they began to +perceive the error, it was already too late to repair it. +</p> +<p> +The Viceroy's arrival at Castle Carew was fixed for a Tuesday, and on +Monday evening Mr. Barry Rutledge drove up to the door just as my father +and mother, with Dan Mac-Naghten, were issuing forth for a walk. He had +brought with him a list of those for whom accommodation should be +provided, and the number considerably exceeded all expectation. Nor was +this the only disconcerting event, for my father now learned, for the +first time, that he should have taken his Grace's pleasure with regard to +each of the other guests he had invited to meet him,—a piece of +etiquette he had never so much as thought of. “Of course it's not much +matter,” said Rutledge, laughing easily; “your acquaintances are all known +to his Grace.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not so sure of that,” interposed my father, quickly; for he suddenly +remembered that Polly Fagan was not likely to have been presented at +Court, nor was she one to expect to escape notice. +</p> +<p> +“He never thinks of politics in private life; he has not the smallest +objection to meet every shade of politician.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm quite sure of that,” said my father, musing, but by no means +satisfied with the prospect before him. +</p> +<p> +“Tell Rutledge whom you expect,” broke in Dan, “and he'll be able to guide +you, should there be any difficulty about them.” + </p> +<p> +“Ma foi!” broke in my mother, half impatiently, in her imperfect language. +“If dey are of la bonne société, what will you have more?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course,” assented Rutledge. “The names we are all familiar with,—the +good houses of the country.” Carelessly as he spoke, he contrived to dart +a quick glance towards my mother; but, to his astonishment, she showed no +sign of discomfort or uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! I think it somewhat hard that a man's company should not be of his +own choosing!” said MacNaghten, half angrily. “Do you think his Grace +would order the dinner away if there happened to be a dish at table he +didn't like?” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly, if he were not compelled to eat of it,” said Rutledge, +good-humoredly; “but I 'm sure, all this time, that we 're only amusing +ourselves fighting shadows. Just tell me who are coming, and I 'll be able +to give you a hint if any of them should be personally displeasing to his +Grace.” + </p> +<p> +“You remember them all, Dan,” said my father; “try and repeat the names.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall we keep the lump of sugar for the last,” said Dan, “as they do with +children when they give them medicine? or shall we begin with your own +friends, Rut-ledge? for we've got Archdall, and Billy Burton, and Freke, +and Barty Hoare, and some others of the same stamp,—fellows that I +call very bad company, but that I'm well aware you Castle folk expect to +see everywhere you go!” + </p> +<p> +“But you've done things admirably,” cried Rutledge. “These are exactly the +men for us. Have you Townsend?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, and his flapper, Tisdall; for without Joe he never remembers what +story to tell next. And then there's Jack Preston! Egad! you 'll fancy +yourselves on the Treasury benches.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, now for the Opposition,” said Rutledge, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“To begin: Grattan can't come,—a sick child, the measles, or +something or other wrong in the nursery, which he thinks of more +consequence than 'all your houses;' Ponsonby won't come,—he votes +you all very dull company; Hugh O'Donnell is of the same mind, and adds +that he 'd rather see Tom Thumb, in Fishamble Street, than all your court +tomfooleries twice over. But then we've old Bob Ffrench,—Bitter Bob; +Joe Curtis—” + </p> +<p> +“Not the same Curtis that refused his Grace leave to shoot over his bog at +Bally vane?” + </p> +<p> +“The very man, and just as likely to send another refusal if the request +be repeated.” + </p> +<p> +“I didn't know of this, Dan,” interposed my father. “This is really +awkward.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps it was a little untoward,” replied MacNaghten, “but there was no +help for it. Joe asked himself; and when I wrote to say that the Duke was +coming, he replied that he 'd certainly not fail to be here, for he did +n't think there was another house in the kingdom likely to harbor them +both at the same time.” + </p> +<p> +“He was right there,” said Rutledge, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“He generally is right,” replied MacNaghten, with a dry nod. “Stephen +Blake, too, isn't unlikely to come over, particularly if he finds out that +we 've little room to spare, and that he 'll put us all to inconvenience.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, we'll have room enough for every one,” cried my father. +</p> +<p> +“I do hope, at least, none will go away for want of—how you say, +place?” said my mother. +</p> +<p> +“That's exactly the right word for it,” cried MacNaghten, slyly. “'Tis +looking for places the half of them are. I've said nothing of the ladies, +Rutledge; for of course your courtly habits see no party distinctions +amongst the fair sex. We'll astonish your English notions, I fancy, with +such a display of Irish beauty as you 've no idea of.” + </p> +<p> +“That we can appreciate without the slightest disparagement on the score +of politics.” + </p> +<p> +“Need you tell him of Polly?” whispered my father in Dan's ear. +</p> +<p> +“No; it's just as well not.” “I'd tell him, Dan; the thing is done, and +cannot be undone,” continued he, in the same undertone. +</p> +<p> +“As you please.” + </p> +<p> +“We mean to show you such a girl, Rutledge, as probably not St. James's +itself could match. When I tell you she 'll have not very far from half a +million sterling, I think it's not too much to say that your English Court +has n't such a prize in the wheel.” + </p> +<p> +“It 's Westrop's daughter you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it, man. Dorothy won't have fifty thousand. I doubt greatly +if she 'll have thirty; and as to look, style, and figure, she's not to +compare with the girl I mean.” + </p> +<p> +“The Lady Lucy Lighton? and she is very beautiful, I confess.” + </p> +<p> +“Lucy Lighton! Why, what are you thinking of? Where would she get the +fortune I am speaking of? But you'd never guess the name; you never saw +her,—perhaps never so much as heard of her. She is a Miss Fagan.” + </p> +<p> +“Polly—Polly Fagan, the Grinder's daughter?” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, you have heard of her?” said Dan, not a little disconcerted by +this burst of intelligence. +</p> +<p> +“Heard of her! Nay, more, I've seen and spoken with her. I once made a +descent on the old father, in the hope of doing something with him; and +being accidentally, I believe it was, shown upstairs, I made Miss Polly's +acquaintance, but with just as little profit.” + </p> +<p> +“You'll have more time to improve the intimacy here, Rutledge,” said my +father, laughingly, “if MacNaghten be not a rival 'near the throne.'” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not interfere with you, Barry,” cried MacNaghten, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +Rutledge gave one of his usual unmeaning laughs, and said, “After all, if +we except Ffrench and Curtis, there's nothing to be afraid of; and I +suppose there will be no difficulty in keeping them at a safe distance.” + </p> +<p> +“Bob Ffrench cares much more for Carew's Burgundy than for his grand +acquaintances,” interposed MacNaghten; “and as for Curtis, he only comes +out of curiosity. Once satisfied that all will go on in the routine +fashion of every other country visit, he'll jog home again, sorely +discontented with himself for the trouble he has taken to come here.” + </p> +<p> +“I need scarcely tell you,” said Rutledge, taking my father's arm, and +leading him to one side,—“I need scarcely tell you that we 'd better +avoid all discussion about politics and party. You yourself are very +unlikely to commit any error in tact, but of course you cannot answer for +others. Would it not, then, be as well to give some kind of hint?” + </p> +<p> +“Faith,” broke in my father, hastily, “I will never attempt to curb the +liberty of speech of any one who does me the honor to be my guest; and I +am sure I have not a friend in the world who would tamely submit to such +dictation.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are right. Indeed, I'm sure you are,” broke in Rutledge, and +hastened his step till he joined the others. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. THE COMPANY AT CASTLE CAREW +</h2> +<p> +From an early hour on the following morning, the company began to pour in +to Castle Carew, then style and retinue being as varied as may well be +imagined,—some arriving in all the pomp and splendor of handsomely +appointed equipage; some dashing up with splashed and panting posters; and +others jogging lazily along the avenue in some old “conveniency” of a past +age, drawn by animals far more habituated to the plough than the phaeton. +Amongst those first was conspicuous the singular old noddy, as it was +called, in which Ffrench and Curtis travelled; the driver being perilously +elevated some dozen feet above the earth, and perched on a bar which it +required almost a rope-dancer's dexterity to occupy. This primitive +conveyance, as it trundled along before the windows, drew many to gaze and +jest upon its curious appearance,—a degree of notice which seemed to +have very opposite effects on the two individuals exposed to it; for while +Ffrench nodded, kissed hands, and smiled good-humoredly to his friends, +Curtis sat back with his arms folded, and his hat slouched over his eyes, +as if endeavoring to escape recognition. +</p> +<p> +“Confound the rascal!” muttered he between his teeth. “Could n't he have +managed to creep round by some back way? His blasted jingling old rat-trap +has called the whole household to look at us!—and, may I never, if +he has n't broken something! What's the matter,—what are you getting +down for?” + </p> +<p> +“'T is the mare's got the reins under her tail, yer honer!” said the +driver, as he descended some half-dozen feet to enable him to get near +enough to rectify the entanglement The process was made more difficult by +the complicated machinery of springs, straps, bars, and bolts which +supported the box, and in the midst of which the poor fellow sat as in a +cage. He was, however, proceeding in a very business-like way to tug at +the tail with one hand, and pull out the reins with the other, when, +suddenly, far behind, there came the tearing tramp of horses advancing at +speed, the cracking of the postilions' whips adding to the clamor. The +horses of the noddy, feeling no restraint from the reins, and terrified by +the uproar, kicked up their heels at once, and bolted away, shooting the +driver out of his den into a flowerpot. Away dashed the affrighted beasts, +the crazy old conveyance rattling and shaking behind them with a deafening +uproar. Immediately beyond the hall-door, the avenue took a sweep round a +copse, and by a gentle descent wound its course towards the stables, a +considerable expanse of ornamental water bordering the-road on the other +side. Down the slope they now rushed madly; and, unable from their speed +to accomplish the turn in safety, they made a sudden “jib” at the water's +edge, which upset the noddy, pitching its two occupants over head and +heels into the lake. By good fortune it was not more than four or five +feet deep in this part, so that they came off with no other injury than a +thorough drenching, and the ridicule which met them in the laughter of +some fifty spectators. As for Ffrench, he had to sit down on the bank and +laugh till the very tears came; the efforts of Curtis to rid himself of +tangled dead weed and straggling aquatic plants having driven that +choleric subject almost out of his wits. +</p> +<p> +“This may be an excellent joke,—I've no doubt it is, since you seem +to think so; but, by Heaven, sir, I 'll try if I cannot make some one +responsible for it! Yes, gentlemen,” added he, shaking his fist at the +crowded windows, “it's not all over yet; we'll see who laughs last!” + </p> +<p> +“Faith, we're well off, to escape with a little fright, and some +frog-spawn,” said Bob; “it might have been worse!” + </p> +<p> +“It shall be worse, sir, far worse, depend upon it!” said the other. +</p> +<p> +By this time my father had come up to the spot, and endeavored, as well as +the absurdity of the scene would permit him, to condole with the angry +sufferer. It was not, however, without the greatest difficulty that Curtis +could be prevailed upon to enter the house. The very idea of being a +laughing-stock was madness to him; and it was only on the strict assurance +that no allusion to the event would be tolerated by my father that he at +last gave in and accompanied him. +</p> +<p> +Insignificant as was this incident in itself, it was the origin of very +grave consequences. Curtis was one of those men who are unforgiving to +anything like ridicule; and the sense of injury, added to the poignant +suffering of a ruined estate and a fallen condition, by no means improved +a temper irascible beyond everything. He entered the house swearing every +species of vengeance on the innocent cause of his misadventure. +</p> +<p> +“Time was, sir, when a lord-lieutenant drove to a gentleman's door in a +style becoming his dignity, and not heralded by half-a-dozen rascals, +whip-cracking and caracolling like the clowns in a circus!” + </p> +<p> +Such was his angry commentary as he pushed past my father and hastened to +his room. Long after, he sat brooding and mourning over his calamity. It +was forgotten in the drawing-room, where Polly had now arrived, dividing +attention and interest with the Viceroy himself. Indeed, while his Grace +was surrounded with courtly and grave figures, discussing the news of the +day and the passing topics, Polly was the centre of a far more animated +group, whose laughter and raillery rung through the apartment. +</p> +<p> +My mother was charmed with her, not only because she possessed +considerable personal charms, but, being of her own age, and speaking +French with ease and fluency, it was a great happiness to her to unbend +once again in all the freedom of her own delightful language. It was to no +purpose that my father whispered to her the names and titles of various +guests to whom peculiar honor was due; it was in vain that he led her to +the seat beside some tiresome old lady, all dulness and diamonds; by some +magical attraction she would find herself leaning over Polly's chair, and +listening to her, as she talked, in admiring ecstasy. It was +unquestionably true that although most of the company were selected less +for personal qualities than their political influence, there were many +most agreeable persons in the number. My mother, however, was already +fascinated, and she required more self-restraint than she usually imposed +upon herself to forego a pleasure which she saw no reason for +relinquishing. +</p> +<p> +My father exerted himself to the uttermost. Few men, I believe, performed +the host more gracefully; but nothing more fatally mars the ease and +destroys the charm of that character than anything like over-effort at +success. His attentions were too marked and too hurried; he had +exaggerated to himself the difficulties of his situation, and he increased +them tenfold by his own terrors. +</p> +<p> +The Duke was one of those plain, quiet, well-bred persons so frequently +met with in the upper classes of England, and whose strongest +characteristic is, probably, the excessive simplicity of their manners, +and the total absence of everything bordering on pretension. This very +quietude, however, is frequently misinterpreted, and, in Ireland +especially, often taken for the very excess of pride and haughtiness. Such +did it seem on the present occasion; for now that the restraint of a great +position was removed, and that he suffered himself to unbend from the +cumbrous requirements of a state existence, the ease of his deportment was +suspected to be indifference, and the absence of all effort was deemed a +contemptuous disregard for the company. +</p> +<p> +The moment, too, was not happily chosen to bring men of extreme and +opposite opinions into contact. They met with coldness and distrust; they +were even suspectful of the motives which had led to their meeting,—in +fact, a party whose elements were less suited to each other rarely +assembled in an Irish country-house; and by ill luck the weather took one +of those wintry turns which are not unfrequent in our so-called summers, +and set in to rain with that determined perseverance so common to a July +in Ireland. +</p> +<p> +Nearly all the resources by which the company were to have been amused +were of an outdoor kind, and depended greatly on weather. The shooting, +the driving, the picnicing, the visits to remarkable scenes in the +neighborhood, which Dan MacNaghten had “programmed” with such care and +zeal, must now be abandoned, and supplied by occupation beneath the roof. +</p> +<p> +Oh, good reader, has it ever been your lot to have your house filled with +a large and incongruous party, weatherbound and “bored”? To see them +stealing stealthily about corridors, and peeping into rooms, as if fearful +of chancing on something more tiresome than themselves? To watch their +silent contemplation of the weather-glass, or their mournful gaze at the +lowering and leaden sky? To hear the lazy, drowsy tone of the talk, broken +by many a half-suppressed yawn? To know and to feel that they regard +themselves as your prisoners, and you as their jailer?—that your +very butler is in their eyes but an upper turnkey? Have you witnessed the +utter failure of all efforts to amuse them?—have you overheard the +criticism that pronounced your piano out of tune, your billiard-table out +of level, your claret out of condition? Have you caught mysterious +whisperings of conspiracies to get away? and heard the word “post-horses” + uttered with an accent of joyful enthusiasm? Have you watched the growing +antipathies of those that, in your secret plannings, you had destined to +become sworn friends? Have you grieved over the disappointment which your +peculiar favorites have been doomed to experience? Have you silently +contemplated all the wrong combinations and unhappy conjunctures that have +grown up, when you expected but unanimity and good feeling? Have you known +all these things? and have you passed through the terrible ordeal of +endeavoring to amuse the dissatisfied, to reconcile the incompatible, and +to occupy the indolent? Without some such melancholy experience, you can +scarcely imagine all that my poor father had to suffer. +</p> +<p> +Never was there such discontent as that household exhibited. The Viceregal +party saw few of the non-adherents, and perceived that they made no +converts amongst the enemy. The Liberals were annoyed at the restraint +imposed on them by the presence of the Government people; the ladies were +outraged at the distinguished notice conferred by their hostess on one who +was not their equal in social position, and whom they saw for the first +time admitted into the “set.” In fact, instead of a large party met +together to please and be pleased, the society was broken up into small +coteries and knots, all busily criticising and condemning their neighbors, +and only interrupting their censures by grievous complaints of the +ill-fortune that had induced them to come there. +</p> +<p> +It was now the third morning of the Duke's visit, and the weather showed +no symptoms of improvement. The dark sky was relieved towards the horizon +by that line of treacherous light which to all accustomed to an Irish +climate is the signal for continued rain. The most intrepid votary of +outdoor amusements had given up the cause in despair, and, as though +dreading to augment the common burden of dulness by meeting most of the +guests, preferred keeping their rooms, and confining to themselves the +gloom that oppressed them. +</p> +<p> +The small drawing-room that adjoined my mother's dressing-room was the +only exception to this almost prison discipline; and there she now sat +with Polly, MacNaghten, Rutledge, and one or two more, the privileged +visitors of that favored spot,—my mother at her embroidery-frame, +that pleasant, mock occupation which serves so admirably as an aid to +talking or to listening, which every Frenchwoman knows so well how to +employ as a conversational fly-wheel. They assuredly gave no evidence in +their tone of that depression which the gloomy weather had thrown over the +other guests. Laughter and merriment abounded; and a group more amusing +and amused it would have been difficult to imagine. Rutledge, perhaps, +turned his eyes towards the door occasionally, with the air of one in +expectation of something or somebody; but none noticed this anxiety, nor, +indeed, was he one to permit his thoughts to sway his outward actions. +</p> +<p> +“The poor Duke,” cried MacNaghten, “he can bear it no longer. See, there +he goes, in defiance of rain and wind, to take his walk in the shrubbery!” + </p> +<p> +“And mon pauvre mari—go with him,” said my mother, in a tone of +lamentation that made all the hearers burst out a-laughing. “Ah, I know +why you Irish are all so domestic,” added she,—“c'est le climat!” + </p> +<p> +“Will you allow us nothing to the credit of our fidelity,—to our +attachments, madame?” said Rutledge, who, while he continued to talk, +never took his eyes off the two figures, who now walked side by side in +the shrubbery. +</p> +<p> +“It is a capricious kind of thing, after all, is your Irish fidelity,” + said Polly. “Your love is generally but another form of self-esteem; you +marry a woman because you can be proud of her beauty, her wit, her +manners, and her accomplishments, and you are faithful because you never +get tired in the indulgence of your own vanity.” + </p> +<p> +“How kind of you is it, then, to let us never want for the occasion of +indulging it,” said Rutledge, half slyly. +</p> +<p> +“I don't quite agree with you, Miss Polly,” said Mac-Naghten, after a +pause, in which he seemed to be reflecting over her words; “I think most +men—Irishmen, I mean—marry to please themselves. They may make +mistakes, of course,—I don't pretend to say that they always choose +well; but it is right to bear in mind that they are not free agents, and +cannot have whom they please to wife.” + </p> +<p> +“It is better with us,” broke in my mother. “You marry one you have never +seen before; you have nothing of how you call 'exultation,' point des +idées romantiques; you are delighted with all the little 'soins' and +attentions of your husband, who has, at least, one inestimable merit,—he +is never familiar.” + </p> +<p> +“How charming!” said Rutledge, with mock seriousness. +</p> +<p> +“Is it not?” continued she, not detecting the covert irony of his tone; +“it is your intimité,—how you call it?” + </p> +<p> +“Intimacy.” + </p> +<p> +“Oui,” said she, smiling, but not trusting herself to repeat the word. +“C'est cela,—that destroys your happiness.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! I 'd as soon be a bachelor,” broke in MacNaghten, “if I only were +to look at my wife with an opera-glass across the theatre, or be permitted +to kiss her kid glove on her birthday.” + </p> +<p> +“What he say,—why you laugh?” cried my mother, who could not follow +the rapidity of his utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. MacNaghten prefers homeliness to refinement,” said Polly. +</p> +<p> +“Oui, you are right, my dear,” added my mother; “it is more refined. And +then, instead of all that 'tracasserie' you have about your house, and +your servants, and the thousand little 'inconvenance de ménage,' you have +one whom you consult on your toilette, your equipage, your 'coiffure,'—in +fact, in all affairs of good taste. Voilà Walter, par exemple: he never +dérange me for a moment,—I hope I never ennuyé him.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite right,—perfectly right,” said Polly, with a well-assumed +gravity. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove, that's only single harness work, after all,” said MacNaghten; +“I'd rather risk a kick, now and then, and have another beside me to tug +at this same burden of daily life.” + </p> +<p> +“I no understand you, you speak so fast. How droll you are, you Irish! See +there, the Lord Duke and my husband, how they shake hands as if they did +not meet before, and they walk together for the last half-hour.” + </p> +<p> +“A most cordial embrace, indeed,” said Polly, fixing her eyes on Rutledge, +who seemed far from being at ease under the inspection, while MacNaghten, +giving one hasty glance through the window, snatched up his hat and left +the room. He passed rapidly down the stairs, crossed the hall, and was +just leaving the house when my father met him. +</p> +<p> +“The very man I wanted, Dan,” cried he; “come to my room with me for a few +minutes.” + </p> +<p> +As they entered the room, my father turned the key in the door, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“We must not be interrupted, for I want to have a little talk with you. I +have just parted with the Duke—” + </p> +<p> +“I know it,” broke in Dan, “I saw you shake hands; and it was that made me +hurry downstairs to meet you.” + </p> +<p> +My father flushed up suddenly, and it was not till after a few seconds he +was collected enough to continue. +</p> +<p> +“The fact is, Dan,” said he, “this gathering of the clans has been a most +unlucky business, after all. There's no telling how it might have turned +out, with favorable weather and good sport; but caged up together, the +menagerie has done nothing but growl and show their teeth; and, egad! very +little was wanting to have set them all by the ears in open conflict.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten shrugged his shoulders, without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“It's an experiment I 'll assuredly never try again,” continued my father; +“for whether it is that I have forgotten Irishmen, or that they are not +what they used to be, but all has gone wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“Your own fault, Watty. You were far too anxious about it going right; and +whenever a man wants to usurp destiny, he invariably books himself for a +'break down.' You tried, besides, what no tact nor skill could manage. You +wanted grand people to be grand, and witty people to be witty, and +handsome people to look beautiful. Now, the very essence of a party like +this is, to let everybody try and fancy themselves something that they are +not, or at least that they are not usually. Your great folk ought to have +been suffered to put off the greatness, and only be esteemed for their +excessive agreeability. Your smart men ought not to have been called on +for pleasantry, but only thought very high-bred and well-mannered, or, +what is better still, well-born. And your beauties should have been +permitted to astonish us all by a simplicity that despised paint, patches, +and powder, and captivate us all, as a kind of domestic shepherdesses.” + </p> +<p> +“It's too serious for jesting about, Dan; for I doubt if I have not +offended some of the oldest friends I had in the world.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope not,” said MacNaghten, more seriously. +</p> +<p> +“I am sadly afraid it is so, though,” said my father. “You know the +Fosbrokes are gone?” + </p> +<p> +“Gone? When? I never heard of it!” + </p> +<p> +“They 're gone. They left this about an hour ago. I must say it was very +absurd of them. They ought to have made allowances for difference of +country, habits, education; her very ignorance of the language should have +been taken as an excuse. The Tisdalls I am less surprised at.” + </p> +<p> +“Are they gone too?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes! and without a leave-taking,—except so far as a very dry note, +dated five o'clock in the morning, may be taken for such, telling of +sudden intelligence just received, immediate necessity, and so forth. But +after Harvey Hepton, I ought to be astonished at nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“What of Harvey?” cried Dan, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Why, he came into my room while I was dressing, and before I had time to +ask the reason, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“'Watty, you and I have been friends since our schooldays, and it would +tell very badly for either, or both of us, if we quarrelled; and that no +such ill-luck may befall us, I have come to say good-bye.' +</p> +<p> +“'Good-bye! but on what account?' exclaimed I. +</p> +<p> +“'Faith, I 'd rather you 'd guess my reason than ask me for it, Watty. You +well know how, in our bachelor days, I used to think this house half my +own. I came and went as often without an invitation as with one; and as to +supposing that I was not welcome, it would as soon have occurred to me to +doubt of my identity. Now, however, we are both married. Matters are +totally changed; nor does it follow, however we might wish it so, that our +wives will like each other as well as you and I do.' +</p> +<p> +“'I see, Harvey,' said I, interrupting him, 'Mrs. Hepton is offended at my +wife's want of attention to her guests; but will not so amiable and clever +a person as Mrs. Hepton make allowances for inexperience, a new country, a +strange language, her very youth,—she is not eighteen?' +</p> +<p> +“'I'm sure my wife took no ill-natured view of the case. I 'm certain that +if she alone were concerned,—that is, I mean, if she herself were +the only sufferer—' +</p> +<p> +“'So, then, it seems there is a copartnery in this misfortune,' broke I +in, half angrily, for I was vexed to hear an old friend talk like some +frumpy, antiquated dowager. +</p> +<p> +“'That's exactly the case, Watty,' said he, calmly. 'Your friends will go +their way, sadly enough, perhaps, but not censoriously; but others will +not be so delicately minded, and there will be plenty rude enough to say, +Who and what is she that treats us all in this fashion?' +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Dan,” cried my father, with a flushed brow and an eye flashing with +passion, “he said those words to me, standing where you stand this +instant! I know nothing more afterwards. I believe he said something about +old friendship and school-days, but I heard it imperfectly, and I was +relieved when he was gone, and that I could throw myself down into that +chair, and thank God that I had not insulted an old friend under my own +roof. It would actually seem as if some evil influence were over the +place. The best-tempered have become cross; the good-natured have grown +uncharitable; and even the shrewd fellows that at least know life and +manners have actually exhibited themselves as totally deficient in the +commonest elements of judgment. Just think of Rutledge,—who, if not +a very clever fellow, should, at all events, have picked up some share of +luck by his position,—just fancy what he has done: he has actually +had the folly—I might well give it a worse name—to go to +Curtis and ask him to make some kind of apology to the Duke for his rude +refusal of leave to shoot over his estate,—a piece of impertinence +that Curtis has never ceased to glory in and boast of; a refusal that the +old fellow has, so to say, lived on ever since,—to ask him to +retract and excuse it! I have no exact knowledge of what passed between +them,—indeed, I only know what his Grace himself told me,—but +Curtis's manner must have been little short of outrage; and the only +answer Rutledge could obtain from him was: 'Did your master send you with +this message to me?'—a question, I fancy, the other was not disposed +to answer. The upshot, however, was, that as the Duke was taking his walk +this morning, after breakfast, he suddenly came upon Curtis, who was +evidently waiting for him. If the Duke did not give me very exact details +of the interview, I am left to conjecture from his manner that it must +have been one of no common kind. 'Your friend,' said his Grace, 'was +pleased to tell me what he called some home truths; he took a rapid survey +of the acts of the Government, accompanying it with a commentary as little +flattering as may be; he called us all by very hard names, and did not +spare our private characters. In fact, as he himself assured me, fearing +so good an opportunity might not readily present itself of telling me a +piece of his mind, he left very little unsaid on any topic that he could +think of, concluding with a most meaning intimation that although he had +refused me the shooting of his woodcocks, he would be charmed to afford me +the opportunity of another kind of sport,—I suppose he meant a +better mark for me to aim at; and so he left me.' Though nothing could +possibly be in better taste or temper than the Duke's recital of the +scene, it was easy to see that he was sorely pained and offended by it. +Indeed, he wound up by regretting that a very urgent necessity would +recall him at once to town, and a civil assurance that he 'd not fail to +complete his visit at some more fortunate opportunity. I turned at once to +seek out Curtis, and learn his version of the affair; but he and Ffrench +had already taken their departure, this brief note being all their +leave-taking:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Watty,—In your father's, and indeed in your +grandfather's, day one was pretty sure what company might be +met with under your roof. I 'm sorry to see times are +changed, and deeply deplore that your circumstances make it +necessary for you to fill your house with Government hacks, +spies, and informers. Take my word for it, honest men and +their wives won't like such associates; and though they +sneer now at the Grinder's daughter, she 'll be the best of +your company ere long. + +“My compliments to his Grace, and say I hope he 'll not +forget that I have promised him some shooting. + +“Yours truly, + +“M. Curtis. +</pre> +<p> +“A line from Ffrench followed:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“D. W.,—As I came with Curtis, I must go with him; but I +hope soon to see you, and explain some things which I grieve +to defer even for a short time. +</pre> +<p> +“Now, Dan, I ask you, is this courteous,—is it even fair and manly? +They see me endeavoring to bring men together socially who, whatever their +political differences, might yet learn to know and esteem each other in +private. They comprehend all the difficulty imposed by my wife's extreme +youth and inexperience; and this is the aid they give me! But I know well +what it means! The whole thing is part and parcel of that tyranny that a +certain set of fellows have exercised over this country for the last +century. A blind, misguided, indiscriminate hatred of England and of +Englishmen is their only notion of a policy, and they'd stop short at +nothing in their stupid animosity. They've mistaken their man, however, +this time. Egad! they ought to have tried some other game before they +ventured to bully me. In their blind ignorance, they fancied that because +I entertained a Viceroy, I must necessarily be a Castle hack. Faith, if I +become so yet, they 've only themselves to thank for it. As it is, I had +no sooner read that note than I hastened downstairs to seek the Duke, and +just overtook him in the shrubbery. I told him frankly the indignation I +felt at a dictation which I suffered no man to assume towards me. I said +more,—I assured him that no sneers of party, nor any intimidation of +a set, should ever prevent me giving the Government a support whenever the +measures were such as in my conscience I approved of. I am the more free +to say so, because I want nothing,—I would accept of nothing from +them; and I went so far as to say as much. 'I 'll never insult you with an +offer, Carew,' was the Duke's reply to me, and we shook hands on our +bargain!” + </p> +<p> +“It was that very shake-hands alarmed me!” said Dan, gravely; “I saw it +from the window, and guessed there was something in the wind!” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Dan, it's not in your nature to be suspectful; you could n't +possibly suppose—” + </p> +<p> +“I never lose time in suspecting anybody,” broke in MacNaghten; “but +indeed it's not worth any one's while to plot against me! I only say, +Watty, don't be hurried away by any momentary anger with Curtis and the +like of him. You have a fine position, don't wreck it out of a mere +pique!” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll go abroad again! I 've lived too long out of this wasps' nest to +endure the eternal buzzing and stinging that goes on around me.” + </p> +<p> +“I think you 're right there,” said MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +My father made no reply, and looked anything but pleased at the ready +concurrence in his plan. +</p> +<p> +“We shall never understand them, nor they us,” said he, peevishly, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +MacNaghten nodded an affirmative. +</p> +<p> +“The Duke, of course, then, remains here?” said Dan, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Of course he does not,” replied my father, pettishly; “he has announced +to me the urgent necessity of his return to Dublin, nor do I see that +anything has since occurred to alter that contingency.” + </p> +<p> +The tone in which he had spoken these words showed not only how he felt +the taunt implied in Dan's remark, but how sincerely to his own conscience +he acknowledged its justice. There was no doubt of it! My father's +patriotism, that withstood all the blandishments of “Castle” flattery, all +the seductions of power, and all the bright visions of ambition, had given +way under the impulse of a wounded self-love. That men so inferior to him +should dictate and control his actions, presume to influence his whole +conduct, and even exercise rule in his household, gave him deep offence, +coming as it did at a moment when his spirit was chafed by disappointment; +and thus, he that could neither have been bribed nor bought was entrapped +by a trick and an accident. +</p> +<p> +Every one knows that there are little social panics as there are national +ones,—terrors for which none can account, leading to actions for +which none can give the reason; so here, all of a sudden, all the guests +discovered that they had reached the limit of their stay: some had to +hasten home to receive visitors, others were engaged elsewhere; there were +innumerable calls of duty, and affection, and business, all uttered with +the accustomed sincerity, and listened to by my father with a cold +acquiescence which assuredly gave no fresh obstacles to the departures. +</p> +<p> +As for my mother, her graciousness at the leave-takings only served to +increase the displeasure her former indifference had created. It seemed as +if her courtesy sprung out of the pleasure of being free from her guests; +and as she uttered some little polite phrase in her broken language to +each, the recipients looked anything but flattered at the alteration of +her manner. The Viceroy alone seemed to accept these civilities literally; +he vowed that he had never enjoyed three days more in his life; that +Castle Carew and its hospitalities would hold the very first place in his +future recollections of Ireland: these and such like, uttered with the +very best of manners, and with all the influence which rank could bestow, +actually delighted my mother, who was not slow to contrast the high-bred +tone of the great personage with the less flattering deportment of her +other guests. +</p> +<p> +It would not be a very pleasing task were we to play the eavesdropper, +and, following the various carriages of the departing company, hear the +comments now so freely bestowed on the host of Castle Carew. It is true +some were kind-hearted enough to see all the difficulties of my father's +position in the true light, and to hope that by time and a little +management these might be overcome. +</p> +<p> +There were others less generous; but what they said it would be scarcely +more graceful of me to repeat; enough that my mother was the especial mark +of the strictures,—the censure of my father went no further than +compassion! And oh, dear! when the world condescends to compassion, what +execration is equal to it! How beautifully it draws up the full indictment +of your failings, that it may extend its clemency to each! How carefully +does it discriminate between your depravity and your weakness, that it may +not wrong you! But how cutting is the hopefulness it expresses for your +future, by suggesting some utterly impossible road for your reformation! +</p> +<p> +And now they were all gone,—all except Polly Fagan and MacNaghten; +but Dan, indeed, was part of the household, and came and went as he liked. +Fagan had sent his carriage to Bray to meet his daughter, as had been +agreed upon; but a letter from Polly came to say that Madame Carew had +pressed her with so much kindness to remain, and that she herself was so +happy, that she sincerely hoped the permission might be accorded her. The +note concluded by stating that Mr. Carew would visit Dublin by the end of +the week, and take that opportunity of leaving her at home. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, que nous sommes bien, ainsi!” exclaimed my mother, as the little +party of four sat down to dinner; and all seemed to applaud the sentiment +but my father, who seemed far more thoughtful and grave than his wont. +Even this, however, threw no gloom over the rest, who were in the very +happiest and best of humors. My mother was in all the ecstasy of her now +joyous nature, suddenly emancipated from the toilsome drudgery of a duty +she disliked. Polly, flattered by the tone of perfect equality extended to +her, and by the unequivocal preference of my mother for her, hourly +developed more and more of those graces which only needed opportunity for +their growth, and displayed charms of manner and resources of mind that +actually delighted her companions; while in MacNaghten's happy nature and +gay-heartedness there was the only other element wanting to make the party +a most pleasant one. +</p> +<p> +The arrival of the letter-bag—that little moment which in every +country household forms the privileged interruption to every care and +every amusement—broke suddenly in upon their carouse; and as my +father unlocked the precious sack, each looked eagerly for his share of +the contents. +</p> +<p> +“All for myself, I see,” muttered he; “nothing but 'Walter Carew' here. +Your creditors are forgetting you, Dan,—not even a note of reminder +or remonstrance. Silence, of course, means consent, Miss Polly: your +father says nothing against your stay. But what is this, Josephine? This +looks as if meant for you; but it has been sent over half the post-offices +of the kingdom, with 'Try Compton Basset, Caresfort, and Chirck Castle,' I +believe this is; there's no making out the address.” + </p> +<p> +“Plain enough, I think,” cried MacNaghten; “it is, 'Madame la Comtesse de +Carew, à son Château, ou en Ville, Irlande.'” + </p> +<p> +“At all events, it is for me,” said my mother, breaking the seal with +impatience. Scarcely had she opened the letter when she exclaimed, “Oh, la +bonne chance,—only think, Walter, here is Emile de Gabriac coming to +Ireland!” + </p> +<p> +“You forget, dearest, that I have never seen him,” said my father, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Does that signify?” said she, with enthusiastic rapidity. “Is he not +known over all Europe by reputation? That dear Emile, so good, so +generous, so handsome, so full of accomplishments,—rides so +perfectly, sings so beautifully. Ah, ma chère, c'est fait de vous,” said +she to Polly, “when you see him.” + </p> +<p> +Polly only smiled and bowed, with an arch look of submission, while my +father broke in,— +</p> +<p> +“But how comes it that so much brilliancy should waste itself on the +unprofitable atmosphere of Ireland? What is bringing him here?” + </p> +<p> +My mother continued to read on, heedless of the question, not, however, +without showing by her countenance the various emotions which the letter +excited; for while, at times, her color came and went, and her eyes filled +with tears, a smile would pass suddenly across her features, and at last a +merry burst of laughter stopped her. “Shall I read it for you?” cried she, +“for it will save me a world of explanations. This is dated from our dear +old country-house on the Loire, Château de Lesieux:— +</p> +<p> +“'April 20th. +</p> +<p> +“'Ma chère et ma belle Fifine,”—he always called me Fifine when we +were children. [“Humph!” muttered my father, “read on!” and she resumed:] +'Ma belle Fifine,— +</p> +<p> +“'How the dear name recalls happy hours, gay, buoyant, and brilliant with +all that could make life a paradise! when we were both so much in love +with all the world, and, consequently, with each other!' Ah, oui,” + exclaimed she, in a tone so perfectly simple as to make MacNaghten burst +out into a laugh, which Polly with difficulty refrained from joining.— +“'You,'” continued she, reading, “'you, ma belle, have doubtless grown +wiser; but I remain the same dreamy, devoted thing you once knew me. Well, +perhaps we may soon have an opportunity to talk over all this; and so now +no more of it. You may perhaps have heard—I cannot guess what news +may or may not reach you in your far-away solitudes—that the Cour de +Cassation has decided against me, and that, consequently, they have not +only rejected my claim, but have actually questioned my right to the +domain of Chasse Loups and the famous jewels which my grandfather received +from Isabella of Spain. +</p> +<p> +“'They say—I 'm not going to worry you with details, but they say +something to this effect—that as we were engaged with Law in that +great scheme of his,—the Mississippi affair they called it,—we +stand responsible, in all that we possess, to the creditors or the heirs, +as if we ourselves were not the greatest losers by that charlatan of the +Rue Quincampoix! Perhaps you never heard of that notorious business, nor +knew of a time when all Paris went mad together, and bartered everything +of price and value for the worthless scrip of a mountebank's invention. +How sorry I am, dearest Fifine, to tease you with all this, but I cannot +help it. They have found—that is, the lawyers—that there are +two parties in existence whose claims extend to our poor old château by +some private arrangement contracted between my grandfather and the then +Duc d'Orléans. One of these is Louis's own son, now living at Venice; the +other—you'll scarcely believe me—yourself! Yes, my dear +cousin, you possess a part right over Chasse Loups. There was a day when +you might have had the whole I—not my fault that it was not so!'” + </p> +<p> +“Is this a lover's letter, or a lawyer's, Josephine?” said my father, +dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you cannot understand Emile,” said she, artlessly; “he is so unlike +the rest of the world, poor fellow! But I 'll read on. +</p> +<p> +“'It all comes to this, Fifine: you must give me a release, so they call +it, and Louis, if I can find him out, must do something of the same kind; +for I am going to be married'—[she paused for a few seconds, and +then read on] 'to be married to Mademoiselle de Nipernois, sister of +Charles de Nipernois. When you went, remember, as a page to the Queen, you +never saw ma belle Hortense, for she was educated at Bruges. Alas, oui! so +is my episode to end also! Meanwhile I 'm coming to see you, to obtain +your signature to these tiresome papers, and to be, for a while at least, +out of the way, since I have been unlucky enough to wound Auguste Vallaume +seriously, I 'm afraid,—all his own fault, however, as I will tell +you at another time. Now, can you receive me,—I mean is it +convenient? Will it be in any way unpleasant? Does le bon mari like or +dislike us French? Will he be jealous of our cousinage?'” + </p> +<p> +“On the score of frankness, Josephine, you may tell him I have nothing to +complain of,” broke in my father, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Is it not so?” rejoined my mother. “Emile is candor itself.” She read: +“'At all hazards, I shall try, Fifine. If he does not like me, he must +banish me. The difficulty will be to know where; for I have debts on all +sides, and nothing but marriage will set me right. Droll enough, that one +kind of slavery is to be the refuge for another. Some of your husband's +old associates here tell me he is charming,—that he was the delight +of all the society at one time. Tell me all about him. I can so readily +like anything that belongs to you, I 'm prepared already to esteem him.'” + </p> +<p> +“Most flattering,” murmured my father. +</p> +<p> +“'It will be too late, dear cousin, to refuse me; for when this reaches +you, I shall be already on the way to your mountains.—Are they +mountains, by the way?—So then make up your mind to my visit, with +the best grace you can. I should fill this letter with news of all our +friends and acquaintances here, but that I rely upon these very narratives +to amuse you when we meet,—not that there is anything very strange +or interesting to recount. People marry, and quarrel, and make love, +fight, go in debt, and die, in our enlightened age, without the slightest +advancement on the wisdom of our ancestors; and except that we think very +highly of ourselves, and very meanly of all others, I do not see that we +have made any considerable progress in our knowledge. +</p> +<p> +“'I am all eagerness to see you once again. Are you altered?—I hope +and trust not. Neither fatter nor thinner, nor paler, nor more carnation, +than I knew you; not graver, I could swear. No, ma chère cousine, yours +was ever a nature to extract brightness from what had been gloom to +others. What a happy inspiration was it of that good Monsieur Carew to +relieve the darkness of his native climate by such brilliancy! +</p> +<p> +“'Still, how many sacrifices must this banishment have cost you! Do not +deny it, Fifine. If you be not very much in love, this desolation must be +a heavy infliction. I have just been looking at the map, and the whole +island has an air of indescribable solitude and remoteness, and much +further distant from realms of civilization than I fancied. You must be my +guide, Fifine; I will accept of no other to all those wonderful sea-caves +and coral grottoes which I hear so much of! What excursions am I already +planning! what delicious hours, floating over the blue sea, beneath those +gigantic cliffs that even in a woodcut look stupendous! And so you live +almost entirely upon fish! I must teach your chef some Breton devices in +cookery. My old tutor, who was a curé at Scamosse, taught me to dress +soles “en gratin,” with two simple herbs to be found everywhere; so that, +like Vincent de Paul, I shall be extending the blessings of cultivation in +the realms of barbarism. I picture you strolling along the yellow beach, +or standing storm-lashed on some lone rock, with your favorite pet seal at +your feet.'” + </p> +<p> +“Is the gentleman an idiot, or is he only ignorant?” broke in my father. +</p> +<p> +My mother gave a glance of half-angry astonishment, and resumed: “'A +thousand pardons, ma chère et bonne; but, with my habitual carelessness, I +have been looking at Iceland, and not Ireland, on the map. You will laugh, +I'm certain; but confess how natural was the mistake, how similar the +names, how like are they, perhaps, in other respects. At all events, I +cannot alter what I have written; it shall go, if only to let you have one +more laugh at that silly Emile, whose blunders have so often amused you. +Pray do not tell your “dear husband” of my mistake, lest his offended +nationality should take umbrage; and I am resolved—yes, Fifine, I am +determined on his liking me.'” + </p> +<p> +My father's face assumed an expression here that was far too much for +MacNaghten's gravity; but my mother read on, unconcerned: “'And now I have +but to say when I shall be with you. It may be about the 12th—not +later than the 20th—of next month. I shall take no one but François +with me; I shall not even bring the dogs, only Jocasse, my monkey,—for +whom, by the way, I beg to bespeak a quiet room, with a south aspect. I +hope the climate will not injure him; but Dr. Reynault has given me +numerous directions about his clothing, and a receipt for a white wine +posset that he assures me will be very bracing to his nervous system. You +have no idea how susceptible he has grown latterly about noise and tumult. +The canaille have taken to parade the streets, singing and shouting their +odious songs, and Jocasse has suffered much from the disturbance. I +mentioned the fact to M. Mirabeau, whom I met at your aunt's the other +night, and he remarked gravely, “It's a bad time for monkeys just now,—'singerie' +has had its day.” The expression struck me as a very hollow, if not a very +heartless,' one; but I may say, en passant, that this same M. Mirabeau, +whom it is the fashion to think clever and agreeable, is only abrupt and +rude, with courage to say the coarse things that good-breeding retreats +from! I am glad to find how thoroughly the Court dislikes him. They say +that he has had the effrontery to tell the King the most disagreeable +stories about popular discontent, distress, and so forth. I need scarcely +say that he met the dignified rebuke such underbred observations merited. +</p> +<p> +“'And now, Fifine, to say adieu until it be my happiness once again to +embrace you and that dear Carew, who must have more good qualities than I +have known centred in one individual, to deserve you. Think of me, dearest +cousin, and do not forget Jocasse.'” + </p> +<p> +“The association will aid you much,” said my father, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“'Let him have a cheerful room, and put me anywhere, so that I have a +place in your heart. Your dearly attached cousin, +</p> +<p> +“'Emile de Gabriac.'” + </p> +<p> +“Is that all?” asked my father, as she concluded. +</p> +<p> +“A few words on the turn-down: 'Hortense has just sent me her picture. She +is blond, but her eyes want color; the hair, too, is sandy, and not silky; +the mouth—But why do I go on?—it is not Fifine's.'” + </p> +<p> +“Our cousin is the most candid of mortals,” said my father, quietly; +“whatever opinion we may entertain of his other gifts, on the score of +frankness he is unimpeachable. Don't you think so, Miss Polly?” + </p> +<p> +“His letter is a most unreserved one, indeed,” said she, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +And now a silence fell on all, for each was following out in his own way +some train of thought suggested by the Count's letter. As if to change the +current of his reflections, my father once more turned to the letter-bag, +and busied himself running hastily over some of the many epistles +addressed to him. Apparently there was little to interest or amuse amongst +them, for he threw them from him half read,—some, indeed, when he +had but deciphered the writers' names; one short note from Hackett, his +man of business, alone seemed to excite his attention, and this he read +over twice. +</p> +<p> +“Look at that, Dan,” said he, handing the paper to MacNaghten, who, +walking to the window slowly, perused the following lines:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Dear Sir,—In accordance with the directions contained in +your note of Friday last, and handed to me by Mr. Fagan, I +placed at his disposal all the deeds and securities at +present in my possession, for him to select such as would +appear sufficient guarantee for the sum advanced to you on +that day. I now beg to state that he has made choice of the +title to Lucksleven silver mine, and a bond of joint +mortgage over a French estate which I apprehend to form part +of the dowry of Madame Carew. I endeavored to induce him to +make choice of some other equally valuable document, not +knowing whether this selection might be to your satisfaction; +he, however, persisted, and referred to the tenor of your +note to substantiate his right. Of course, I could offer no +further opposition, and have now only to mention the +circumstance for your information. I have the honor to be, +dear sir, respectfully yours, + +“E. Hackett.” + </pre> +<p> +“Curious enough, that, Dan!” muttered my father. MacNaghten assented with +a nod, and handed back the letter. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. POLITICS AND NEWSPAPERS +</h2> +<p> +The venality and corruption which accomplished the Legislative Union +between England and Ireland admit of as little doubt as of palliation. +There was an epidemic of baseness over the land, and but few escaped the +contagion. To whatever section of party an Irishman may belong, he never +can cease to mourn over the degenerate temper of a time which exhibited +the sad spectacle of a Legislature declaring its own downfall. Nor does +the secret history of the measure offer much ground for consolation. +</p> +<p> +And yet what a position did the Irish Parliament hold, but eighteen short +years before that event! Never, perhaps, in the whole history of +constitutional government was the stand of a representative body more +boldly maintained, alike against the power and the secret influence of the +Crown; and England, in all the plenitude of her glory and influence, was +forced to declare the necessity of finally adjusting the differences +between the two countries. +</p> +<p> +The very admission of separate interests seemed a fatal confession, and +might—had a more cautious temper swayed the counsels of the Irish +party—have led to very momentous consequences; but in the enthusiasm +of victory all thought of the spoils was forgotten. It was a moment of +national triumph from which even the coldest could not withhold his +sympathies. The “Dungannon Declaration” became at once the adopted +sentiment of the national party, and it was agreed that Ireland was bound +by no laws save such as her own Lords and Commons enacted. +</p> +<p> +In the very crisis of this national enthusiasm was it that the Duke of +Portland arrived as Viceroy in Ireland. His secret instructions counselled +him to endeavor to prorogue the Parliament, and thus obtain a short +breathing-time for future action. This policy, in the then temper of the +people, was soon declared impossible. Mr. Grattan had already announced +his intention of proposing a final settlement of the national differences +by a “Bill of Rights,” and the country would not brook any delay as to +their expectations. +</p> +<p> +But one other safe course remained, which was, by a seeming concurrence in +the views of the Irish party, to affect that a change had come over the +spirit of English legislation towards Ireland, and a sincere desire grown +up to confirm her in the possession of “every privilege not inconsistent +with the stability of the empire.” Mr. Grattan was induced to see the +Viceroy in private, and submit to his Grace his intended declaration of +rights. Without conceding the slightest alteration in his plan, the great +leader was evidently impressed by the conciliating tone of the Duke, and, +with a generous credulity, led to believe in the most favorable +dispositions of the Government towards Ireland. The measure in itself was +so strong and so decisive that the Duke could not say how it would be +received by his party. He had no time to ask for instructions, for +Parliament was to assemble on the day but one after; and thus was he +driven to a policy of secret influence,—the origin of that school of +corruption which ultimately was to effect the doom of Irish nationality. +</p> +<p> +I am sorry to be obliged to impose upon my reader even so much of a +digression; but the requirements of my story demand it. I wish, as +briefly, of course, as may be, to place before him a state of society +wherein as yet the arts of corruption had made no great progress, and in +which the open bribery of a subsequent time would have been perfectly +impossible. +</p> +<p> +This was in reality a great moment in Irish history. The patriotism of the +nation had declared itself not less manfully than practically. The same +avowal which pronounced independence also proclaimed the principles of +free trade, and that the ports of Ireland were open to all foreign +countries not at war with England. It is humiliating enough to contrast +the patriotic spirit of those times with the miserable policy of popular +leaders in our own day; but in the names of the men who then swayed her +counsels we read some of the greatest orators and statesmen of our +country,—a race worthy of nobler successors than those who now trade +upon the wrongs of Ireland, and whose highest aspirations for their +country are in the despotism of an ignorant and intolerant priesthood. +</p> +<p> +The Duke of Portland was not ill suited to the task before him. A man of +more shining abilities, one who possessed in a higher degree the tact of +winning over his opponents, might have awakened suspicion and distrust; +but his was precisely the stamp and temperament which suggest confidence; +and in his moderate capacity and easy nature there seemed nothing to +excite alarm. “Bonhomie”—shame that we must steal a French word for +an English quality!—was his great characteristic; and all who came +within the circle of his acquaintance felt themselves fascinated by his +free and unpretending demeanor. +</p> +<p> +To him was now intrusted the task of sowing schism among the members of +the Irish party,—the last and only resource of the English +Government to thwart the progress of national independence. The Opposition +had almost every element of strength. Amongst them were the first and most +brilliant orators of the day,—men trained to all the habits of +debate, and thoroughly masters of all Irish questions. They possessed the +entire confidence of the great body of the people, asserting, as they did, +the views and sentiments of the country; and they were, what at that time +had its own peculiar value, men of great boldness and intrepidity. There +was but one feature of weakness in the whole party, and this was the +almost inevitable jealousy which is sure to prevail where many men of +great abilities are mixed up together, and where the success of a party +must alternately depend upon qualities the most discrepant and opposite. +The very purest patriotism is sure to assume something of the character of +the individual; and in these varying tints of individuality the Irish +Government had now to seek for the chance of instilling those doubts and +hesitations which ultimately must lead to separation. +</p> +<p> +Nor was this the only artifice to which they descended. They also invented +a policy which in later days has been essayed with very indifferent +success, which was, to outbid the national party in generosity, and to +become actual benefactors where mere justice was asked at their hands,—a +very dangerous game, which, however well adapted for a critical emergency, +is one of the greatest peril as a line of policy and a system of +government. In the spirit of this new tactic was it that Mr. Bagenal's +motion to confer some great mark of national gratitude on Mr. Grattan was +quickly followed by an offer of the Viceroy to bestow upon him the +Viceregal palace in the Phoenix Park, as “a suitable residence for one who +had conferred the greatest services on his country, and as the highest +proof the Government could give of their value of such services.” A +proposal of such unbounded generosity was sure to dim the lustre of the +popular enthusiasm, and at the same time cast a shadow of ministerial +protection over the patriot himself, who, in the event of acceptance, +would have been the recipient of royal, and not of national, bounty. And +when, in fact, the grant of a sum of money was voted by Parliament, the +splendor of the gift was sadly tarnished by the discussion that +accompanied it! +</p> +<p> +Enough has here been said to show the general policy of that short but +eventful administration; and now to our story. +</p> +<p> +My father's reception of the Viceroy had blazed in all the ministerial +papers with a kind of triumphant announcement of the progress the +Government were making in the esteem and confidence of the Irish gentry. +Walter Carew was quoted as the representative of a class eminently +national, and one most unlikely to be the mark for Castle intrigue or +seduction. His large fortune was expatiated on, and an “authentic +assurance” put forth that he had already refused the offer of being made a +Privy Councillor. These statements were sure to provoke rejoinder. The +national papers denied that the hospitalities of Castle Carew had any +peculiar or political significance. It was very natural that one of the +first of the gentry should receive the representative of his Sovereign +with honor, and pay him every possible mark of respect and attention. But +that Walter Carew had done any more than this, or had sacrificed anything +of his old connection with his party, the best contradiction lay in the +fact that his guests contained many of the very foremost and least +compromising men of the Liberal party; and “Curtis” was quoted in a very +conspicuous type as the shortest refutation of such a charge. +</p> +<p> +It was, unfortunately, a moment of political inaction—a lull in the +storm of Parliamentary conflict—when this discussion originated; and +the newspapers were but too happy to have any theme to occupy the +attention of their readers. The Castle press became more confident and +insulting every day, and at last tauntingly asked why and how did this +great champion of nationality,—Curtis,—take leave of Castle +Carew? The question was unreplied to, and consequently appeared again, and +in larger capitals, followed by an article full of innuendo and +insinuation, and conveying the most impertinent allusions to the +antiquated section of party to which Curtis belonged. +</p> +<p> +It is notorious that a subject totally devoid of any interest in itself +will, by the bare force of repetition, assume a degree of importance far +above its due, and ultimately engage the sympathies of many for or against +it. Such was the case here; certain personalities, that occasionally were +thrown out, giving a piquancy to the controversy, and investing it with +the attraction of town gossip. “Falkner's Journal,” “The Press,” “The +Post,” and “The Freeman” appeared each morning with some new contribution +on the same theme; and letters from, and contradictions to, “A Visitor at +Castle Carew,” continued to amuse the world of Dublin. +</p> +<p> +The fashionable circles enjoyed recitals which contained the names of so +many of their own set; the less distinguished were pleased with even such +passing peeps at a world from which they were excluded; and thus the +discussion very soon usurped the place of all other subjects in public +interest. +</p> +<p> +It was remarked throughout the controversy that the weight of authority +lay all with the Castle press. Whatever bore the stamp of real information +was on that side; and the national journals were left merely to guess and +surmise, while their opponents made distinct assertions. At last, to the +astonishment of the town, appeared a letter in “Falkner's Journal” from +Curtis. He had been ill of the gout; and, as it seemed, had only become +aware of the polemic the preceding day. Indeed, the tone of the epistle +showed that the irritability consequent on his malady was still over him. +After a brief explanation of his silence, he went on thus: +</p> +<p> +“The Castle hacks have asked, Why and how did Curtis take his leave of +Castle Carew? Now, without inquiring by what right these low scullions +presume to put such a question, I 'll tell them: Curtis left when he +discovered the company by whom he was surrounded; when he found that he +should sit down at the same table with a knavish pack of English +adventurers, bankrupt in character, and beggars in pocket. +</p> +<p> +“When he saw the house where his oldest friend in the world was wont to +gather round him all that was eminently Irish, and where a generous +hospitality developed a hearty and noble conviviality, converted into a +den of scheming and intriguing politicians, seeking to snare support by +low flattery, or to entrap a vote, in the confidence of the bottle; when +he saw this, and more than this,—that the best names and the best +blood in the land were slighted, in order to show some special and +peculiar attention to vulgar wealth or still more vulgar pretension, +Curtis thought it high time to take his leave. This is the why; and as to +the how, he went away in the same old conveniency that he arrived by; and, +though drawn by a sorry hack, and driven by a ragged Irishman, he felt +prouder as he sat in it than if his place had been beside a duke in the +king's livery, with a coach paid for out of the pockets of the people. +</p> +<p> +“This is the answer, therefore, to your correspondent. And if he wants any +further information, will you tell him that it will be more in accordance +with the habits of Irish gentlemen if he'll address himself personally to +Mr. Curtis, 12, Ely Place, than by any appeal in the columns of a +newspaper. +</p> +<p> +“And now, Mr. Editor, a word for yourself and the others. I know nothing +about the habits of your order, nor the etiquette of the press; but this I +do know: I am a private gentleman, living, so far, at least, as you and +the like of you are concerned, out of the world; I am very unlikely to +fill a paragraph either among the marriages or the births; and if—mark +me well, for I am not joking—you, or any of you, print my name again +in your pages, except to announce my decease, I will break every bone in +your body; and this 'without prejudice,' as the attorneys say, to any +future proceedings I may reserve for your correspondent.” + </p> +<p> +None who knew Curtis doubted for an instant the authenticity of this +letter, though many at the time fancied it must be a queer quiz upon his +style. The effect of it was, however, marvellous; for, in the most +implicit confidence that he meant to keep his word, his name entirely +dropped out of the discussion, which, however, raged as violently, if not +more violently, than ever. Personalities of the most offensive kind were +interchanged; and the various guests were held up, with little histories +of their private life, by the journals of one side or the other. +</p> +<p> +Up to this moment my father's name had never been regularly introduced +into the discussion. Regrets, it is true, were insinuated that he who +could afford the shortest and most satisfactory explanations of everything +should not condescend to give the public such information. It was deplored +that one who so long enjoyed the confidence of the national party should +feel himself bound to maintain a silence on questions which a few words +would suffice to make intelligible. Gradually these regrets grew into +remonstrances, and even threatened to become reproach. Anonymous letters, +in the same spirit, were addressed to him in great numbers; but they all +failed in their object,—for the best reason, that my father saw none +of them. A feverish cold, attended with some return of an old gout attack, +had confined him to bed for some weeks, so that he had never heard of the +controversy; all the newspapers, filled as they were with it, having been +cautiously withheld from him by the careful watchfulness of MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +Such was the state of matters as my father, still weak from his attack, +descended, for the first time, to the drawing-room. MacNaghten had +persuaded my mother to accompany him on a short drive through the grounds, +when my father, whom they had left in his room, thought he would make an +effort to get downstairs, and surprise them on their return. He was seated +at an open window that looked out upon a flower-garden, enjoying, with all +an invalid's relish, the balmy air of a summer's day, and feeling as if he +drank in health at every stir of the leaves by the light wind. His illness +had not only greatly debilitated him, but had even induced a degree of +indolent inaction very foreign to the active habit of his mind in health; +and instead of experiencing his wonted curiosity to know what the world +had been doing during his illness, he was actually happy in the thought of +the perfect repose he was enjoying, undisturbed by a single care. The +rattling of wheels on the ground at last gave token of some one coming, +and a few moments after, my father heard the sound of voices in the hall. +Resolved to deny himself to all strangers, he had risen to reach the bell, +when the door opened, and Rutledge entered. +</p> +<p> +“Why, they told me you were in bed, Carew,” cried he, endeavoring by a +half-jocular manner to conceal the shock my father's wasted appearance +imparted. “They said I could not possibly see you, so that I had to send +up a few lines on my card to say how urgently I wished it, and meanwhile +came in to await your answer.” + </p> +<p> +“They only said truly,” muttered my father. “I have crept down to-day for +the first time, and I 'm not quite sure that I have done prudently.” + </p> +<p> +“What has it been?—gout—rheumatic fever?” + </p> +<p> +“Neither; a bad cold neglected, and then an old ague on the back of it.” + </p> +<p> +“And of course the fellows have bled and blistered you, without mercy. My +medical skill is borrowed from the stable: hot mashes and double +body-clothes are generally enough for a common attack. But rich fellows +like you cannot get off so cheaply. And madam—how is she?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly well, thank you. And how are all your friends?” + </p> +<p> +“As well as men can be who are worried and badgered every hour of the +twenty-four. It 's no use in sending Englishmen here, they are never +trusted! I don't believe it's possible to find an honester man, nor a +truer friend to Ireland, than Portland; but his Saxon blood is quite +enough to mar his utility and poison every effort he makes to be of +service.” + </p> +<p> +“The children are paying off the scores of their fathers, Rutledge. The +sentiment that has taken some centuries to mature, can scarcely be treated +like a mere prejudice.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true; but what bad policy it is—as policy—to obstruct +the flow of concessions, even coming from a suspected channel. It 's +rather too hard to criticise them for doing the very things we ask them.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not looked into a newspaper these few weeks,” said my father, half +wearied of the theme. +</p> +<p> +“So that you know nothing, then, of—” He stopped short, for he just +caught himself in time. +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing whatever of the events that have occurred in that +interval; and—however inglorious the confession, Rutledge, I must +make it—I 'd almost as soon live over my attack again as hear them. +Take it as a sick man's peevishness or sound philosophy, as you may; but, +in the jarring, squabbling world we live in, there 's nothing so good as +to let bygones be bygones.” + </p> +<p> +“That's taking for granted that anything is ever a 'bygone,' Walter; but, +faith, my experience says that we are feeling, to the end of centuries, +the results of the petty mischances that befell us in the beginning of +them.” + </p> +<p> +My father sighed, but it was more in weariness than sorrow; and Rutledge +said,— +</p> +<p> +“I came out to have a long chat with you, Walter, about various things; +but I fear talking fatigues you.” + </p> +<p> +“It does fatigue me,—I'm not equal to it,” said my father, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“It's unlucky too,” said the other, half peevishly, “one so seldom can +catch you alone; and though MacNaghten is the best fellow in the world—” + </p> +<p> +“You must still say nothing against him, at least in my hearing,” added my +father, as if to finish the sentence for him. +</p> +<p> +“I was only going to observe that in all that regards politics—” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon my interrupting you again,” broke in my father, “but Dan never +pretended to know anything about them; nor is it likely that a fellow that +felt the turf a contamination will try to cultivate his morals by the +intrigues of party.” + </p> +<p> +Rutledge affected to laugh at the sneering remark, and after a moment +resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, then, it was precisely about that very subject of politics I +came out to talk with you to-day. The Duke told me of the generous way you +expressed yourself to him during his visit here, and that although not +abating anything of your attachment to what you feel a national cause, you +never would tie yourself hand and foot to party, but stand free to use +your influence at the dictates of your own honest conviction. Now, +although there is no very important question at issue, there are a number +of petty, irritating topics kept continually before Parliament by the +Irish party, which, without the slightest pretension to utility, are used +as means of harassing and annoying the Government.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of this before, Rutledge; but I know well, if the measures +you speak of have Grattan and Flood and Ponsonby, and others of the same +stamp, to support them, they are neither frivolous nor contemptible; and +if they be not advocated by the leaders of the Irish party, you can afford +to treat them with better temper.” + </p> +<p> +“Be that as it may, Walter, the good men of the party do not side with +these fellows. But I see all this worries you, so let 's forget it!” And +so, taking a turn through the room, he stopped opposite a racing print, +and said: “Poor old Gadfly, how she reminds me of old times! going along +with her head low, and looking dead-beat when she was just coming to her +work. That was the best mare ever you had, Carew!” + </p> +<p> +“And yet I lost heavily on her,” said my father, with a half sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Lost! Why the report goes that you gained above twenty thousand by her +the last year she ran.” + </p> +<p> +“'Common report,' as Figaro says, 'is a common liar;' my losses were very +nearly one-half more! It was a black year in my life. I began it badly in +Ireland, and ended it worse abroad!” + </p> +<p> +The eager curiosity with which Rutledge listened, suddenly caught my +father's attention, and he stopped short, saying: “These are old stories +now, and scarcely worth remembering. But here comes my wife; she 'll be +glad to see you, and hear all the news of the capital, for she has been +leading a stupid life of it these some weeks back.” + </p> +<p> +However uneasy my mother and MacNaghten might have been lest Rutledge +should have alluded to the newspaper attacks, they were soon satisfied on +that point, and the evening passed over pleasantly in discussing the +sayings and doings of the Dublin world. +</p> +<p> +It was late when Rutledge rose to take his leave, and my father had so far +rallied by the excitement of conversation that he already felt himself +restored to health; and his last words to his guest at parting were,— +</p> +<p> +“I'll call and see you, Rutledge, before the week is over.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. SHOWING THAT “WHAT IS CRADLED IN SHAME IS HEARSED IN +</h2> +<p> +SORROW.” + </p> +<p> +Accustomed all his life to the flattery which surrounds a position of some +eminence, my father was not a little piqued at the coldness of his friends +during his illness. The inquiries after him were neither numerous nor +hearty. Some had called once or twice to ask how he was; others had +written brief excuses for their absence; and many contented themselves +with hearing that it was a slight attack, which a few days would see the +end of. Perhaps there were not many men in the kingdom less given to take +umbrage at trifles than my father. Naturally disposed to take the bold and +open line of action in every affair of life, he never suspected the +possibility of a covert insult; and that any one could cherish ill-feeling +to another, without a palpable avowal of hostility, was a thing above his +conception. At any other time, therefore, this negligence, or +indifference, or whatever it was, would not have occasioned him a moment's +unpleasantness. He would have explained it to himself in a dozen ways, if +it ever occurred to him to require explanation. Now, however, he was +irritable from the effects of a malady peculiarly disposed to ruffle +nervous susceptibility; while the chagrin of the late Viceregal visit, and +its abrupt termination, was still over him. There are little eras in the +lives of the best-tempered men, when everything is viewed in wrong and +discordant colors, and when, by a perverse ingenuity, they seek out +reasons for their own unhappiness in events and incidents that have no +possible bearing on the question. Having once persuaded himself that his +friends were faithless to him, he set about accounting for it by every +casuistry he could think of. I have lived too long abroad; I have mixed +too much in the great world, thought he, to be able to conform to this +small and narrow circle. I am not local enough for them. I cannot trade on +the petty prejudices they love to cherish, and which they foolishly think +means being national. My wider views of life are a rebuke to their +pettiness; and it 's clear we do not suit each other. To preserve my +popularity I should have lived at home, and married at home; never soared +beyond a topic of Irish growth, and voted at the tail of those two or +three great men who comprise within themselves all that we know of Irish +independence. “Even idolatry would be dear at that price,” cried he, +aloud, at the end of his reflections,—bitter and unpleasant reveries +in which he had been sunk as he travelled up to town some few days after +the events related in the last chapter. +</p> +<p> +Matters of business with his law agent had called him to the capital, +where he expected to be detained for a day or two. My mother had not +accompanied him, her state of health at the time requiring rest and +quietude. Alone, an invalid, and in a frame of, to him, unusual +depression, he arrived at his hotel at nightfall. It was not the “Drogheda +Arms,” where he stopped habitually, but the “Clare,” a smaller and less +frequented house in the same street, and where he hoped to avoid meeting +with his ordinary acquaintances. +</p> +<p> +Vexed with everything, even to the climate, to which he wrongfully +ascribed the return of his malady, he was bent on making immediate +arrangements to leave Ireland, and forever. His pecuniary affairs were, it +is true, in a condition of great difficulty and embarrassment; still, with +every deduction, a very large income, or at least what for the Continent +would be thought so, would remain; and with this he determined to go +abroad and seek out some spot more congenial to his tastes and likings, +and, as he also fancied, more favorable to his health. +</p> +<p> +The hotel was almost full, and my father with difficulty obtained a couple +of rooms; and even for these he was obliged to await the departure of the +occupant, which he was assured would take place immediately. In the mean +while, he had ordered his supper in the coffee-room, where now he was +seated, in one of those gloomy looking stalls which in those times were +supposed to comprise all that could be desired of comfort and isolation. +</p> +<p> +It was, indeed, a new thing for him to find himself thus,—he, the +rich, the flattered, the high-spirited, the centre of so much worship and +adulation, whose word was law upon the turf, and whose caprices gave the +tone to fashion, the solitary occupant of a dimly lighted division in a +public coffee-room, undistinguished and unknown. There was something in +the abrupt indifference of the waiter that actually pleased him, +ministering, as it did, to the self-tormentings of his reflections. All +seemed to say, “This is what you become when stripped of the accidents of +wealth and fortune,—these are your real claims.” There was no +deference to him there. He had asked for the newspaper, and been curtly +informed “that 'Falkner' was engaged by the gentleman in the next box;” so +was he left to his own lucubrations, broken in upon only by the drowsy, +monotonous tone of his neighbor in the adjoining stall, who was reading +out the paper to a friend. Either the reader had warmed into a more +distinct elocution, or my father's ears had become more susceptible by +habit, but at length he found himself enabled to overhear the contents of +the journal, which seemed to be a rather flippant criticism on a late +debate in the Irish House of Commons. +</p> +<p> +A motion had been made by the Member for Cavan for leave to bring in a +bill to build ships of war for Ireland,—a proposition so palpably +declaring a separate and independent nationality that it not only incurred +the direct opposition of Government, but actually met with the +disapprobation of the chief men of the Liberal party, who saw all the +injury that must accrue to just and reasonable demands, by a course of +policy thus exaggerated. “Falkner” went even further; for he alleged that +the motion was a trick of the Castle party, who were delighted to see the +patriots hastening their own destruction, by a line of action little short +of treason. The arguments of the journalist in support of this view were +numerous and acute. He alleged the utter impossibility of the measure ever +being accepted by the House, or sanctioned by the Crown. He showed its +insufficiency for the objects proposed, were it even to become law; and, +lastly, he proceeded to display all the advantages the Government might +derive from every passing source of disunion amongst the Irish party,—schisms +which, however insignificant at first, were daily widening into fatal +breaches of all confidence. His last argument was based on the fact that +had the Ministry anticipated any serious trouble by the discussion, they +would never have displayed such utter indifference about mustering their +forces. “We saw not,” said the writer, “the accustomed names of Townley, +Tisdale, Loftus, Skeffington, and fifty more such, on the division. Old +Roach did n't whistle up one of his pack, but hunted down the game with +the fat poodles that waddle after the Viceroy through the Castle-yard.” + </p> +<p> +“M'Cleary had a caricature of the Portland hunt this morning in his +window,” cried the listener; “and capital likenesses there are of Bob +Uniack and Vandeleur. Morris, too, is represented by a lame dog that +stands on a little eminence and barks vigorously, but makes no effort to +follow the chase.” + </p> +<p> +“Much they care for all the ridicule and all the obloquy you can throw on +them,” replied the reader. “They well know that the pensions and peerages +that await them will survive newspaper abuse, though every word of it was +true as Gospel. Now, here's a list of them alphabetically arranged; and +will you tell me how many will read or remember one line of them a dozen +years hence? Besides, there is a kind of exaggeration in these attacks +that deprives them of credit; when you read such stories as that of Carew, +for instance, throwing a main with the dice to decide whether or not he'd +vote with the Government.” + </p> +<p> +“I would not say that it was impossible, however,” broke in the other. +“Carew's a confirmed gambler, and we know what that means; and as to his +having a particle of principle, if Rutledge's story be true, he has done +far worse than this.” + </p> +<p> +My father tried to arise from his seat; he even attempted to call out, and +impose silence on those whose next words might possibly contain an insult +irreparable forever: but he could not do either; a cold sweat broke over +him, and he sat powerless and almost fainting, while they continued:— +</p> +<p> +“I'd be slow to take Master Bob's word, either in praise or dispraise of +any man,” said the first speaker. +</p> +<p> +“So should I, if he could make it the subject of a wager,” said the other; +“but here is a case quite removed from all chance of the betting-ring.” + </p> +<p> +“And what does it amount to, if true?” said the other. “He married +somebody's illegitimate daughter. Look at the peerage; look at one half +the small sovereignties of Europe.” + </p> +<p> +“That's not the worst of it at all,” broke in the former. “It was the way +he got his wife.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I suppose I have not heard the story aright. How was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Rutledge's version is something in this wise: Carew had won such enormous +sums at play from one of the French princes that at last he actually held +in his hands some of the rarest of the crown jewels as pledges. One of the +ministers, having heard of the transaction, went to the prince and +insisted, under threat of a public exposure, on an immediate settlement of +the debt. In this terrible dilemma, the prince had nothing for it but to +offer Carew the valuable paintings and furniture of his château,—reputed +to be the most costly in the whole kingdom. The report goes that the +pictures alone were estimated at several millions of francs. Carew at once +accepts the proposition; but, as if not to be outdone in generosity, even +by a royal prince, he lets it be known that he will only accept of one +solitary article from the whole collection,—rather, in fact, a +souvenir than a ransom. I suppose the prince, like everybody else, felt +that this was very handsome conduct, for he frankly said: 'The château and +all within it are at his disposal; I reserve nothing.' Armed with this +authority, Carew never waits for morning, but starts that night, by post, +for Auvergne, where the château lies. I believe it is not ascertained +whether he was previously acquainted with the circumstances of the +prince's domestic affairs. The probability, however, is that he must have +been; for within a week he returned to Paris, bringing with him the object +selected as his choice, in the person of a beautiful girl, the natural +daughter of his Royal Highness. Whether he married her then under +compulsion, or subsequently of his own free will, is to this day a secret. +One thing, however, is certain: he was banished from the French territory +by a summary order, which gave him barely time to reach the coast and +embark. Of course, once in England, he had only to select some secluded, +out-of-the-way spot for a while, and there could be no likelihood of +leaving any trace to his adventure. Indeed, the chances are that Rutledge +is about the only man who could have unravelled so tangled a skein. How he +ever contrived to do so, is more than I can tell you!” + </p> +<p> +My father sat listening to this story more like one whose faculties are +under the dominion of some powerful spell, than of a man in the free +exercise of reason. There was something in the mingled truth and falsehood +of the tale that terrified and confused him. Up to that moment he had no +notion in what a light his conduct could be exhibited, nor could he see by +what means the calumny could be resented. There was, however, one name he +could fix upon. Rutledge at least should be accountable! There was enough +of falsehood in the story to brand him as a foul slanderer, and he should +not escape him. +</p> +<p> +By an effort that demanded all his strength my father rose, the cold sweat +dropping from his forehead, and every limb trembling, from weakness and +passion. His object was to present himself to the strangers in the +adjoining box, and, by declaring his name, to compel them to bring home to +Rutledge the accusation he had overheard. He had no time, had he even +head, to weigh all the difficulties of such a line of procedure. It was +not at such a moment that he could consider the question calmly and +deliberately. Next to the poignant sense of injury, the thought of +vengeance was uppermost in his mind; and the chances were that he was +ready to wreak his fury on the first object that should present itself. +Fortunately,—might I not rather say unfortunately, since nothing +could be more disastrous than the turn affairs were fated to take; it +seemed, however, at the moment, as though it were good fortune that when +my father by an immense effort succeeded in reaching the adjoining box, +the former occupants had departed. Several persons were leaving the +coffee-room at the same instant; and though my father tried to hasten +after them, and endeavor to recognize the voices he had overheard, his +strength was unequal to the effort, and he sank back powerless on a bench. +He beckoned to a waiter who was passing, and questioned him eagerly as to +their names, and, giving him a guinea, promised as much more if he should +follow them to their residences and bring back their addresses. But the +man soon returned to say that as the strangers were not remarked by him, +he had no clew whatever to Their detection in the crowded streets of the +capital. +</p> +<p> +It struck my father as though destiny itself pointed out Rutledge as the +only one of whom he could seek reparation; and now he retired to his room +to weigh the whole question in his mind, and see by what means, while +gratifying his thirst for vengeance, he should best avoid that degree of +exposure which would be fatal to the future happiness of my mother. +</p> +<p> +In this lay all the difficulty. To demand satisfaction from Rutledge +required that he should specify the nature of the injury, open the whole +history of the slander, and, while giving contradiction to all that was +false, publish to the world a true version of an incident that, up to that +moment, he had never confided to his dearest friend. Terrible as seemed +the task of such a revelation, it was nothing in comparison with what he +judged would be the effect upon my mother when she came to learn the +course of events which preceded her marriage. +</p> +<p> +And now this must be given to the world, with all that accompaniment of +gossip and scandal such a story would be sure to evoke. Was this possible?—could +he venture to embark upon such a sea of peril as this?—could he dare +to confront difficulties that would rise up against him at every step and +in every relation of life, to assail his political reputation to-day—to +slur his personal honor to-morrow—to cast shame upon her whose fair +fame was dearer to him than life itself twice told—to be an +inheritance of disgrace to his children, if he were to have children? No, +no Î For such an exposure as this nothing short of downright desperation +could give courage. +</p> +<p> +Far from serving to allay his passion for vengeance, these difficulties +but deepened the channel of his wrath, and made the injury itself appear +more irreparable. Nor did he know whom to consult at such a crisis. To +unbosom himself to MacNaghten was like confessing that he could do, from +personal motives, what he had shrunk from in the full confidence of his +friendship; and such an avowal would, he was well aware, give heartfelt +pain to his best friend in the world. Many other names occurred to him, +but each was accompanied by some especial difficulty. It was a case which +demanded great discretion, and at the same time promptitude and decision. +To have allowed any interval for discussion would have been to incur that +publicity which my father dreaded beyond all. +</p> +<p> +The indignant energy of his mind had given a kind of power to his +emaciated and wasted frame; and as he paced his room in passionate +emotion, he felt as though all his wonted strength and vigor were +returning to “stand by him” in his hour of peril. He had opened his window +to admit the cool air of the night; and scarcely had he thrown wide the +sash when the cry of a newsvendor met his ear. +</p> +<p> +“Here's the 'List of the Castle hacks,' to be sold to the highest bidder, +the Government having no further use for them; with the pedigree and +performances set forth in full, and a correct account of the sums paid for +each of them.” + </p> +<p> +To this succeeded a long catalogue of gentlemen's names, which were +received by the mob that followed the hawker, with shouts and cries of +derision. Groan followed groan as they were announced, and my father +listened with an agonizing suspense lest he should hear his own amidst the +number; but, to his inexpressible relief, the fellow concluded his +muster-roll without alluding to him. Just, however, as he was about to +close the window, the man again broke out with: “On Saturday next will be +published the account of the five bought in by the Crown; and Mark Brown, +Sam Vesey, William Burton, Ross Mahon, and Walter Carew will be given in +full, on a separate sheet, for one halfpenny!” + </p> +<p> +A wild outburst of derisive laughter from the crowd followed, and my +father heard no more. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. A MIDNIGHT RENCONTRE +</h2> +<p> +My father had walked several streets of the capital before he could +collect his thoughts, or even remember where he was. He went along, lost +to everything save memory of his vengeance. He tried to call to mind the +names of those on whose zeal and devotedness he could reckon; but so +imbued with suspicion had his mind become, so distrustful of every thing +and every one, that he actually felt as if deserted by all the world, +without one to succor or stand by him. +</p> +<p> +Thus rambling by chance, he found himself in Stephen's Green, where he sat +down to rest under one of those great trees which in those times shaded +the favorite promenade of Dublin. Directly in front of him was a large +mansion, brilliantly lighted up, and crowded by a numerous company, many +of whom were enjoying the balmy air of a summer's night on the balcony in +front of the windows. As they moved to and fro, passing back and forwards, +my father could recognize several that he was acquainted with, and some +that he knew most intimately. +</p> +<p> +Filled with one consuming thought, he fancied that he heard his name at +every moment; that every allusion was to him, and each burst of laughter +was uttered in derision at his cost. His rage had worked him up almost to +madness, and he could hardly restrain himself from calling out, and +replying aloud to these fancied insults and aspersions on his character. +</p> +<p> +At such moments of doubt as these, certainty flashes on the mind with a +power of concentration and resolution that seems to confer strength for +anything, however difficult. So was it to my father as suddenly the tones +of a well-known voice struck on his ear, and he heard the easy laugh of +him that he hated most of all the world. It was Barry Rutledge himself, +who now was leaning over the balcony, in the centre of a group whom, he +was evidently entertaining by his remarks. +</p> +<p> +The bursts of laughter which at each moment interrupted him, showed how +successfully his powers of entertaining were being exercised, while at +intervals a dead silence around proved the deep attention with which they +listened. +</p> +<p> +It was at the moment when, by the death of the Marquis of Rockingham, a +new Ministry was formed in England, and the Duke of Portland recalled from +his viceroyalty, to be succeeded by Lord Temple. The changes that were +like to ensue upon this new appointment were actively discussed in +society, and now formed the subject of conversation on the balcony. +</p> +<p> +“You will be at large again, Barry,” said one of the group; “these new +people won't know your value.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me!” cried he, laughing, “I'm handed over with Cotterell and the +state coach, as functionaries that cannot be easily replaced. Let them try +and manage Dublin without me! I defy them! Who knows every flaw and crack +of reputation, every damaged character, and every tarnished fame, as I do? +Who can tell each man's price, from knowing his weak points? Who can play +off the petty jealousies of rivals against each other; disgust them with +their party; and buy them cheap for the Castle? Who but Barry Rutledge? +I'll offer a wager of five hundred that there is not a family secret I +can't have the key to within one week.” + </p> +<p> +“What the devil ever induced you to take up such a career?” asked a +deep-voiced, burly-looking country gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“The turf gave me the hint,” said Rutledge, coolly. “I lost every sixpence +I once possessed, when I backed this horse, or betted on that one. I +regained a considerable share of my loss when I limited myself to looking +out for what they style 'disqualifications,'—to discover that Wasp +was n't a two-year-old, or that Muffin was clean bred; that Terry had won +before, and that Ginger was substituted for another. I saw that political +life was pretty much the same kind of game, and that there would be a +grand opening for the first fellow that brought his racing craft to bear +on the great world of state affairs. I 'm sure others will follow out the +line, and doubtless eclipse all the cleverness of Barry Rutledge; but, at +all events, they can't deny him the merit of the invention. They talk to +you about skilful secretaries and able debaters: I tell you flatly I 've +got more votes for the Government than any one of them all, and just in +the way I 've mentioned. Was it Dick Talbot's convictions, or his wife's +losses at lqo that made him join us last session? How did Rowley come +over? Ask Harvey Bruce who horsewhipped him in the mess-room at Kells. Why +did Billy Hamilton desert his party? Lady Mary may tell you; and if she +won't, George Gordon, of the Highlanders, can. What's the use of going +through the list, from old Hemphill, that was caught cheating at piquet, +down to Watty Carew, with his wife won at a game of Barocco?” + </p> +<p> +“Slanderer—scoundrel!” cried out my father, in a voice hoarse with +passion; and as the words were uttered, the balcony was suddenly deserted, +and the rushing sounds of many people descending the stairs together were +as quickly heard. For a few seconds my father stood uncertain and +undecided; but then, with a bold precipitancy, he seemed to calculate +every issue in an instant, and made up his mind how to proceed. He dashed +across the street towards the dark alley which flanked the “Green,” and +along which ran a deep and stagnant ditch, of some ten or twelve feet in +width. Scarcely had he gained the shelter of the trees, when a number of +persons rushed from the house into the street, and hurried hither and +thither in pursuit. As they passed out, my father was enabled to recognize +several whom he knew; but for one only had he any care; on him he fastened +his eyes with the eager steadfastness of hate, and tracked him as he went, +regardless of all others. +</p> +<p> +Without concert among themselves, or any clew to direct their search, they +separated in various directions. Still, my father held his place +unchanged, doubtless revolving in that brief interval the terrible +consequences of his act. Some fifteen or twenty minutes might have thus +elapsed, and now he saw one return to the house, speedily followed by +another, and then a third. At last Rutledge came alone; he walked along +slowly, and as if deep in meditation. As though revolving the late +incident in his mind, he stood for a moment looking up at the windows, and +probably speculating in his mind on the precise spot occupied by him who +had uttered the insult. +</p> +<p> +“Here, beneath the trees,” said my father, in a low, but clear accent; and +Rutledge turned, and hastened across the street. It will, of course, never +be known whether he understood these words as coming from a stranger, or +from some one of his own friends, suggesting pursuit in a particular +direction. +</p> +<p> +My father only waited to see that the other was following, when he turned +and fled. The entrances to the park, or green, as it was called, were by +small pathways across the moat, closed by low wooden wickets. Across one +of these my father took his way, tearing down the gate with noise +sufficient to show the course he followed. +</p> +<p> +Rutledge was close at his heels, and already summoning all his efforts to +come up with him, when my father turned round and stood. +</p> +<p> +“We are alone!” cried he; “there is none to interrupt us. Now, Barry +Rutledge, you or I, or both of us, mayhap, shall pass the night here!” + and, as he spoke, he drew forth his sword-cane from the walking-stick that +he carried. +</p> +<p> +“What! is that Carew? Are you Walter Carew?” said Rutledge, advancing +towards him. +</p> +<p> +“No nearer,—not a step nearer!—or, by Heaven! I 'll not answer +for my passion. Draw your sword, and defend yourself!” + </p> +<p> +“Why, this is sheer madness, Watty. What is your quarrel with me?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you ask me?—do you want to hear why I called you a scoundrel and +a slanderer?—or is it that I can brand you as both, at noon-day, and +in a crowd, adding coward to the epithets?” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said the other, with a sarcastic coolness that only +increased my father's rage. “You know, as well as any man, that these +things are not done in this fashion. I am easily found when wanted.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think that I will give you another day to propagate your slander? +No, by Heaven! not an hour!” And so saying, he rushed on, probably to +consummate the outrage by a blow. Rutledge, who was in full dress, now +drew his rapier, and the two steels crossed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/2not_an_hour.jpg" alt="2not_an_hour" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +My father was a consummate swordsman; he had fought several times with +that weapon when abroad; and had he only been guided by his habitual +temper, nothing would have been easier for him than to overcome his +antagonist. So ungovernable, however, was his passion now, that he lost +almost every advantage his superior skill might have conferred. +</p> +<p> +As if determined to kill his enemy at any cost, he never stood on his +guard, nor parried a single thrust, but rushed wildly at him. Rutledge, +whose courage was equal to his coolness, saw all the advantage this gave +him; and, after a few passes, succeeded in running his sword through my +father's chest so that the point actually projected on the opposite side. +With a sudden jerk of his body, my father snapped the weapon in two, and +then, shortening his own to within about a foot of the point, he ran +Rutledge through the heart. One heavy groan followed, and he fell dead +upon his face. +</p> +<p> +My father drew forth the fragment from his own side, and then, stooping +down, examined the body of his adversary. His recollection of what passed +in that terrible moment was horribly distinct ever after. He mentioned to +him from whom I myself learned these details that so diabolical was the +hatred that held possession of him that he sat down in the grass beside +the body, and contemplated it with a kind of fiend-like exultation. A +light, thin rain began to fall soon after, and my father, moved by some +instinctive feeling, threw Rutledge's cloak over the lifeless body, and +then withdrew. Although the pain of his own wound was considerable, he +soon perceived that no vital part had been injured,—indeed, the +weapon had passed through the muscles without ever having penetrated the +cavity of the chest. He succeeded, by binding his handkerchief around his +waist, in stanching the blood; and, although weakened, the terrible +excitement of the event seemed to lend him a momentary strength for +further exertion. +</p> +<p> +His first impulse, as he found himself outside the Green, was to deliver +himself up to the authorities, making a full avowal of all that had +occurred. To do this, however, would involve other consequences which he +had not the courage to confront. Any narrative of the duel would +necessarily require a history of the provocation, and thus a wider +publicity to that shame which was now embittering his existence. +</p> +<p> +Without ultimately deciding what course he should adopt, my father +determined to give himself further time for reflection, by at once +hastening back to the country ere his presence in the capital was known. +He now returned to the hotel, and, asking for his bill, informed the +waiter that if any one inquired for Mr. Cuthbert, that he should mention +his address at a certain number in Aungier Street. The carman who drove +him from the door was directed to drive to the same place, and there +dismissed. After this, taking his carpet-bag in his hand, he walked +leisurely along towards Ball's Bridge, where already, as the day was +breaking, a number of vehicles were assembled on the stand. Affecting a +wish to catch the packet for England, he drove hastily to the Pigeon +House; but the vessel had already sailed. It was strange enough that he +never was able to say actually whether he meditated passing over to +England, or simply to conceal the line of his flight. Thus uncertain +whither to go or what to do, a considerable time was passed; and he was on +the point of engaging a boat to cross over to Howth, when a sudden thought +struck him that he would drive direct to Fagan's, in Mary's Abbey. +</p> +<p> +It was about six o'clock of a bright summer's morning as my father +alighted at Fagan's door. “The Grinder” was already up, and busily engaged +inspecting the details of his shop; for, however insignificant as a source +of gain, some strange instinct seemed to connect his prosperity with the +humble occupation of his father and his grandfather, and he appeared to +think that the obscure fruit-stall formed a secret link between their +worldly successes and his own. +</p> +<p> +It was with surprise not altogether devoid of shame that he saw my father +descend from the jaunting-car to salute him. +</p> +<p> +“I've come to take my breakfast with you, Tony,” said he, gayly; “and, +determining to be a man of business for once, I 'm resolved to catch these +calm hours of the morning that you prudent fellows make such good use of!” + </p> +<p> +Fagan stared with astonishment at this sudden apparition of one from whom +he neither expected a visit at such an hour, much less a speech of such +meaning. He, however, mumbled out some words of welcome, with a +half-intelligible compliment about my father's capacity being fully equal +to any exigencies or any demands that might be made upon it. +</p> +<p> +“So they told me at school, Tony, and so they said in college. They +repeated the same thing when I entered Parliament; but, somehow, I have +been always a fellow of great promise and no performance, and I am +beginning at last to suspect that I shall scarcely live to see this +wonderful future that is to reveal me to the world in the plenitude of my +powers!” + </p> +<p> +“It will, then, be entirely your own fault, sir,” said Fagan, with an +earnestness that showed the interest he felt in the subject. “Let me speak +to you seriously, sir,” said he; and he led the way into a room, where, +having seated themselves, he went on: “With your name, and your position, +and your abilities, Mr. Carew,—no sir, I am too deeply concerned in +what I say to be a flatterer,—there was a great and glorious career +open before you; nor is the time to follow it gone by. Think what you +might be amongst your countrymen, by standing forward as their champion! +Picture to yourself the place you might hold, and the power you might +wield,—not a power to depend upon the will of a minister, or the +caprice of a cabinet, but a power based upon the affections of an entire +people; for, I say it advisedly, the leadership of the national party is +yet to be claimed. Lord Charlemont is too weak and too ductile for it. +Besides that, his aristocratic leanings unfit him for close contact with +the masses. Henry Grattan has great requisites, but he has great +deficiencies too. The favor that he wins in the senate, he loses in +society. We want a man who shall speak for us in public the sentiments +that fall from us at our tables; who shall assure the English Government, +and the English nation too, that the Irish Catholic is equal in loyalty as +in courage,—that his fealty is not less because his faith is that of +his fathers. It is not eloquence we need, Mr. Carew. Our cause does not +want embellishment. Orators may be required to prop up a weak or falling +case. Ours can stand alone, without such aid! An honest, a resolute, and +an independent advocate,—one whose ancient name on one side, and +whose genial nature on the other, shall be a link betwixt the people and +the gentry,—such a man, whenever found, may take the lead in +Ireland; and, however English ministers may dictate laws, he, and he +alone, will govern this country.” + </p> +<p> +My father listened with intense eagerness to every word of this appeal. +Not even the flattery to himself was more pleasing than the glimpses he +caught of a great national struggle, in which Ireland should come out +triumphant. Such visions were amongst the memories of his boyish +enthusiasm, begotten in the wild orgies of a college life, and nurtured +amidst the excesses of many a debauch; and although foreign travel and +society had obliterated most of these impressions, now they came back with +tenfold force, in a moment when his mind was deeply agitated and excited. +For an instant he had been carried away by this enticing theme; he had +actually forgotten, in his ardor the terrible incident which so lately he +had passed through, when Raper rushed hurriedly into the room where they +sat, exclaiming,— +</p> +<p> +“A dreadful murder has taken place in the city. Mr. Rutledge, of the +Viceroy's household, was found dead this morning in Stephen's Green.” + </p> +<p> +“Within the Green?” asked Fagan. “What could have brought him there after +nightfall? There must have been some assignation in the case.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you know, have you heard any of the circumstances, sir?” asked my +father. +</p> +<p> +“No further than that he was killed by a sword-thrust which passed +completely through his chest. Some suspect that he was lured to the spot +by one pretence or other; others are of opinion that it was a duel. +Robbery had certainly nothing to say to it, for his watch and purse were +found on the body.” + </p> +<p> +“Have they taken the body away?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir. It remains for the coroners inquest, which is to assemble +immediately.” + </p> +<p> +“Had Rutledge any political enemies? Is it supposed that the event was in +any way connected with party?” + </p> +<p> +“That could scarcely be,” said Fagan. “He was one who gave himself little +concern about state affairs,—an easy fop that fluttered about the +Court, caring for little above the pleasures of his valueless existence!” + </p> +<p> +“For such men you have few sympathies, Fagan!” + </p> +<p> +“None, sir, not one. Their history is ever the same,—a life of +debauch, a death of violence!” + </p> +<p> +“This is to speak hardly, Fagan,” said my father, mildly. “Men like poor +Rutledge have their good qualities, though they be not such as you and I +set store by. I never thought so myself, but others, indeed, deemed him a +most amusing companion, and with more than an ordinary share of wit and +pleasantry.” + </p> +<p> +“The wit and pleasantry were both exerted to make his friends ridiculous, +sir,” said Fagan, severely. “He was a man that lived upon a reputation for +smartness, gained at the expense of every good feeling.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll wager a trifle, Tony,” said my father, laughing, “that he died deep +in your books. Come, be frank, and say how much this unhappy affair will +cost you.” + </p> +<p> +“Not so dearly as it may you, sir,” whispered Fagan in my father's ear; +and the words nearly overcame him. +</p> +<p> +“How so?—what do you mean?” muttered my father, in a broken, +faltering voice. +</p> +<p> +“Come this way for a moment, Mr. Carew,” said the other, aloud, “and I'll +show you my snuggery, where I live, apart from all the world.” + </p> +<p> +My father followed him into a small chamber, where Fagan at once closed +the door and locked it, and then, approaching him, pulled forth from +beneath his loose cuff a lace ruffle stained and clotted with blood. +</p> +<p> +“It is fortunate for you, Mr. Carew,” said he, “that Raper is so +unobservant; any other than he would have seen this, and this;” and as he +spoke the last words, he pointed to a small portion of a bloody +handkerchief which projected outside the shirt-frill. +</p> +<p> +So overwhelmed was my father by these evidences that he sank powerless +into a chair, without strength to speak. +</p> +<p> +“How was it?—how did it occur?” asked Fagan, sitting down in front +of him, and placing one hand familiarly on my father's knee. Simple as the +action was, it was a liberty that he had never dared before to take with +my father, who actually shuddered at the touch, as though it had been a +pollution. +</p> +<p> +“Unpremeditated, of course, I conclude,” said Fagan, still endeavoring to +lead him on to some explanation. My father nodded. +</p> +<p> +“Unwitnessed also,” said Fagan, slowly. Another nod implied assent. +</p> +<p> +“Who knows of your presence in Dublin?—Who has seen you since your +arrival in Dublin?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“None of my acquaintances, so far, at least, as I know. I went, by a mere +accident, to an hotel where I am not known. By another accident, if I dare +so call it, I fell upon this rencontre. I will endeavor to tell you the +whole, as it occurred,—that is, if I can sufficiently collect +myself; but first let me have some wine, Fagan, for I am growing weak.” + </p> +<p> +As Fagan left the room, he passed the desk where Raper was already seated, +hard at work, and, laying his hand on the clerk's shoulder, he whispered,— +</p> +<p> +“Be cautious that you do not mention Mr. Carew's arrival here. There is a +writ out against him for debt, and he has come up here to be out of the +way.” + </p> +<p> +Raper heard the words without even discontinuing to write, and merely +muttered a brief “Very well,” in reply. +</p> +<p> +When Fagan re-entered the chamber, he found my father just rallying from a +fainting-fit, which loss of blood and agitation together had brought on. +Two or three glasses of wine, hastily swallowed, restored him, and he was +again able to converse. +</p> +<p> +“Can you be traced to this house? Is there any clew to you here?” asked +Fagan, resuming his former seat. +</p> +<p> +“None, so far as I know. The affair occurred thus—” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon my interrupting you,” broke in Fagan; “but the most important +thing at this moment is, to provide for your safety, in the event of any +search after you. Have you any ground to apprehend this?” + </p> +<p> +“None whatever. You shall hear the story.” + </p> +<p> +“They are talking of it outside!” whispered Fagan, with a gesture of his +hand to enforce caution; “let us listen to them.” And he slowly unlocked +the door, and left it to stand ajar. +</p> +<p> +The outer shop was by this time filling with the small fruit-vendors of +the capital,—a class peculiarly disposed to collect and propagate +the gossip of the day; and Fagan well knew how much the popular impression +would depend upon the coloring of their recital. +</p> +<p> +“'T is lucky,” said one, “that his watch and money was on him, or they 'd +say at once it was the boys done it.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! they could n't do that,” broke in another; “there's marks about the +place would soon contradict them.” + </p> +<p> +“What marks?” + </p> +<p> +“The print of an elegant boot. I saw it myself; it is small in the heel, +and sharp in the toe,—very unlike yours or mine, Tim.” + </p> +<p> +“Begad! so much the better,” said the other, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'll tell you more,” resumed the former speaker: “it was a +dress-sword—what they wear at the Castle—killed him. You could +scarce see the hole. It 's only a little blue spot between the ribs.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” exclaimed a woman's voice; “and they say he was an +elegant, fine man!” + </p> +<p> +“As fine a figure of a man as ever ye looked at!” + </p> +<p> +“And nobody knows the reason of it at all?” asked she again. +</p> +<p> +“I'll engage it was about a woman!” muttered a husky, old, cracked voice, +that was constantly heard, up to this moment, bargaining for oranges. +</p> +<p> +And Fagan quickly made a sign to my father to listen attentively. +</p> +<p> +“That's Denny Cassin,” whispered he, “the greatest newsmonger in Dublin.” + </p> +<p> +“The devil recave the fight ever I heerd of hadn't a woman in it, somehow +or other; an' if she did n't begin it, she was sure to come in at the end, +and make it worse. Was n't it a woman that got Hemphill Daly shot? Was n't +it a woman was the death of Major Brown, of Coolmiues? Was n't it a woman—” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah! bother ye, Denny!” broke in the representative of the sex, who +stood an impatient listener to this long indictment; “what's worth +fightin' for in the world barrin' ourselves?” + </p> +<p> +A scornful laugh was all the reply he deigned to this appeal; and he went +on,— +</p> +<p> +“I often said what Barry Rutledge 'ud come to,—ay, and I told +himself so. 'You 've a bad tongue,' says I, 'and you 've a bad heart. Some +day or other you 'll be found out;' and ye see, so he was.” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder who did it!” exclaimed another. +</p> +<p> +“My wonder is,” resumed Denny, “that it was n't done long ago; or instead +of one wound in his skin, that he had n't fifty. Do you know that when I +used to go up to the officers' room with oranges, I'd hear more wickedness +out of his mouth in one mornin' than I 'd hear in Pill Lane, here, in a +month of Sundays. There was n't a man dined at the Castle, there was n't a +lady danced at the Coort, that he had n't a bad story about; and he always +began by saying: 'He and I were old schoolfellows,' or 'She 's a great +friend of mine.' I was up there the morning after the Coort came home from +Carew Castle; and if ye heard the way he went on about the company. He +began with Curtis, and finished with Carew himself.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan closed the door here, and, walking over, sat down beside my father's +chair. +</p> +<p> +“We 've heard enough now, sir,” said he, “to know what popular opinion +will pronounce upon this man. Denny speaks with the voice of a large mass +of this city; and if they be not either very intelligent or exalted, they +are at least fellows who back words by deeds, and are quite ready to risk +their heads for their convictions,—a test of honesty that their +betters, perhaps, would shrink from. From what he says, there will be +little sympathy for Rutledge. The law, of course, will follow its due +path; but the law against popular feeling is like the effort of the wind +to resist the current of a fast river: it may ruffle the surface, but +never will arrest the stream. Now, sir, just tell me, in a few words, what +took place between you?” + </p> +<p> +My father detailed everything, from the hour of his arrival in Dublin, +down to the very moment of his descending at Fagan's door. He faltered, +indeed, and hesitated about the conversation of the coffee-room, for even +in all the confidence of a confession, he shrunk from revealing the story +of his marriage. And in doing so, he stammered and blundered so much that +Fagan could collect little above the bare facts, that my mother had been +wagered at a card-table, and won by my father. +</p> +<p> +Had my father been in a cooler mood, he could not have failed to remark +how much deeper was the interest Fagan took in the story of his first +meeting with my mother than in all the circumstances of the duel. So far +as it was safe,—further than it would have been so at any other +moment,—the Grinder cross-questioned my father as to her birth, the +manner of her education, and the position she held before her marriage. +</p> +<p> +“This is all beside the matter,” cried my father, at last, impatiently. “I +am now to think what is best to be done here. Shall I give myself up at +once?—And why not, Fagan?” added he, abruptly, interrogating the +look of the other. +</p> +<p> +“For two sufficient reasons, sir: first, that you would be needlessly +exposing yourself to great peril; and, secondly, you would certainly be +exposing another to great—” He stopped and faltered, for there was +that in my father's face that made the utterance of a wrong word +dangerous. +</p> +<p> +“Take care what you say, Master Tony; for, however selfish you may deem +me, I have still enough of heart left to consider those far worthier of +thought than myself.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet, sir, the fact is so, whether I speak it or not,” said Fagan. +“Once let this affair come before a public tribunal, and what is there +that can be held back from the prying impertinence of the world? And I see +no more reason why you should peril life than risk all that makes life +desirable.” + </p> +<p> +“But what or where is all this peril, Fagan? You talk as if I had been +committing a murder.” + </p> +<p> +“It is precisely the name they would give it in the indictment, sir,” said +the other, boldly. “Nay, hear me out, Mr. Carew. Were I to tell the +adventure of last night as the bare facts reveal it, who would suggest the +possibility of its being a duel? Think of the place—the hour—the +solitude—the mere accident of the meeting! Oh, no, sir; duels are +not fought in this fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“You are arguing against yourself, Tony. You have convinced me that there +is but one course open. I must surrender myself!” + </p> +<p> +“Think well of it first, Mr. Carew,” said Fagan, drawing his chair closer, +and speaking in a lower tone. “We must not let any false delicacy deceive +us. There never was a case of this kind yet that did not less depend upon +its own merits than on fifty things over which one has no control. The +temper of the judge—the rank in life of the jury—the +accidental tone of public opinion at the moment—the bias of the +press: these are the agencies to be thought of. When Grogan Hamilton was +tried for shooting John Adair in the mess-room at Carlow, his verdict was +pronounced before the jury was empanelled!” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of that case,” said my father, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“It occurred when you were a boy at school, sir; and although the facts +would not read so condemnatory now, at that time there was not one voice +to be heard on the side of mercy. The duel, if duel it could be called, +took place after every one, save themselves, had left the table. The +quarrel was an old grudge revived over the bottle. They fought without +witnesses and with Heaven knows what inequality of weapons; and although +Hamilton gave himself up——” + </p> +<p> +“He gave himself up?” interrupted my father. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; in direct opposition to his friends' advice, he did so: but had +he followed a different course,—had he even waited till the +excitement had calmed down a little, till men began to talk more +dispassionately on the subject, the result might have been different.” + </p> +<p> +“And what was the result?” + </p> +<p> +“I have already told you, sir,—a conviction.” + </p> +<p> +“And what followed?” + </p> +<p> +“He was hanged,—hanged in front of the old jail at Naas, where the +regiment he once had served in was quartered. I don't know how or why this +was done. Some said it was to show the people that there was no favoritism +towards a man of rank and fortune. Some alleged it was to spare the +feelings of his relatives, who were Carlow people.” + </p> +<p> +“Good Heavens!” exclaimed my father, passionately; “was there ever such an +infamy!” + </p> +<p> +“The event happened as I tell you, sir. I believe I have the trial in the +house; if I have not, Crowther will have it, for he was engaged in the +defence, and one of those who endeavored to dissuade Hamilton from his +resolution of surrender.” + </p> +<p> +“And who is Crowther?” + </p> +<p> +“A solicitor, sir, of great practice and experience.” + </p> +<p> +“In whom you have confidence, Fagan?” + </p> +<p> +“The most implicit confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“And who could be useful to us in this affair?” + </p> +<p> +“Of the very greatest utility, sir,—not alone from his legal +knowledge, but from his consummate acquaintance with the world and its +modes of thinking.” + </p> +<p> +“Can you send for him? Can you get him here without exciting suspicion?” + said my father; for already had terror seized hold on him, and even before +he knew it was he entangled in the toils. +</p> +<p> +“I can have him here within an hour, sir, and without any risk whatever; +for he is my own law adviser, and in constant intercourse with me.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan now persuaded my father to lie down and try to obtain some sleep, +promising to awake him the moment that Crowther arrived. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. A CONFERENCE +</h2> +<p> +Scarcely had my father laid himself down on the bed, when he fell off into +a heavy sleep. Fatigue, exhaustion, and loss of blood all combined to +overcome him, and he lay motionless in the same attitude he at first +assumed. +</p> +<p> +Fagan came repeatedly to the bedside, and, opening the curtains slightly, +gazed on the cold, impassive features with a strange intensity. One might +have supposed that the almost deathlike calm of the sleeper's face would +have defied every thought or effort of speculation; but there he sat, +watching it as though, by dint of patience and study, he might at length +attain to reading what was passing within that brain. +</p> +<p> +At the slightest sound that issued from the lips, too, he would bend down +to try and catch its meaning. Perhaps, at moments like these, a trace of +impatience might be detected in his manner; but, for the most part, his +hard, stern features showed no sign of emotion, and it was in all his +accustomed self-possession that he descended to the small and secluded +chamber where Crowther sat awaiting him. +</p> +<p> +“Still asleep, Fagan?” asked the lawyer, looking hastily up from the +papers and documents he had been perusing. +</p> +<p> +“He is asleep, and like enough to continue so,” replied the other, slowly, +while he sank down into an arm-chair, and gave himself up to deep +reflection. +</p> +<p> +“I have been thinking a good deal over what you have told me,” said +Crowther, “and I own I see the very gravest objections to his surrendering +himself.” + </p> +<p> +“My own opinion!” rejoined Fagan, curtly. +</p> +<p> +“Even if it were an ordinary duel, with all the accustomed formalities of +time, place, and witnesses, the temper of the public mind is just now in a +critical state on these topics; MacNamara's death and that unfortunate +affair at Kells have made a deep impression. I'd not trust too much to +such dispositions. Besides, the chances are they would not admit him to +bail, so that he 'd have to pass three, nearly four, months in Newgate +before he could be brought to trial.” + </p> +<p> +“He'd not live through the imprisonment. It would break his heart, if it +did not kill him otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“By no means unlikely.” + </p> +<p> +“I know him well, and I am convinced he 'd not survive it. Why, the very +thought of the accusation, the bare idea that he could be arraigned as a +criminal, so overcame him here this morning that he staggered back and +sunk into that chair, half fainting.” + </p> +<p> +“He thinks that he was not known at that hotel where he stopped?” + </p> +<p> +“He is quite confident of that; the manner of the waiters towards him +convinces him that he was not recognized.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor has he spoken with any one since his arrival, except yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“Not one, save the hackney carman, who evidently did not know him.” + </p> +<p> +“He left home, you say, without a servant?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes! he merely said that he was going over for a day or two, to the +mines, and would be back by the end of the week. But, latterly, he has +often absented himself in this fashion; and, having spoken of visiting one +place, has changed his mind and gone to another, in an opposite +direction.” + </p> +<p> +“Who has seen him since he arrived here?” + </p> +<p> +“No one but myself and Raper.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! Raper has seen him?” + </p> +<p> +“That matters but little. Joe has forgotten all about it already, or, if +he has not, I have but to say that it was a mistake, for him to fancy that +it was so. You shall see, if you like, that he will not even hesitate the +moment I tell him the thing is so.” + </p> +<p> +“It only remains, then, to determine where he should go,—I mean +Carew; for although any locality would serve in one respect, we must +bethink ourselves of every issue to this affair: and, should there be any +suspicion attaching to him, he ought to be out of danger,—the danger +of arrest. Where do his principal estates lie?” + </p> +<p> +“In Wicklow,—immediately around Castle Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“But he has other property?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he has some northern estates; and there is a mine, also, on Lough +Allen belonging to him.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, why not go there?” + </p> +<p> +“There is no residence; there is nothing beyond the cabins of the +peasantry, or the scarcely more comfortable dwelling of the overseer. I +have it, Crowther,” cried he, suddenly, as though, a happy notion had just +struck him; “I have it. You have heard of that shooting-lodge of mine at +the Killeries? It was Carew's property, but has fallen into my hands; he +shall go there. So far as seclusion goes, I defy Ireland to find its +equal. They who have seen it, tell me it is a perfect picture of landscape +beauty. He can shoot and fish and sketch for a week or so, till we see +what turn this affair is like to take. Nothing could be better; the only +difficulty is the distance.” + </p> +<p> +“You tell me that he is ill.” + </p> +<p> +“It is more agitation than actual illness; he was weak and feeble before +this happened, and of course his nerves are terribly shaken by it.” + </p> +<p> +“The next consideration is, how to apprise his wife; at least, what we +ought to tell her if he be incapable of writing.” + </p> +<p> +“I hinted that already as I accompanied him upstairs, and by his manner it +struck me that he did not lay much stress on the matter; he merely said, +'Oh! she has no curiosity; she never worries herself about what does not +concern her.'” + </p> +<p> +“A rare quality in a wife, Fagan,” said the other, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +Whether it was the prompting of his own thoughts, or that some real or +fancied emphasis on the word “wife” caught him, but Fagan asked suddenly, +“What did you say?” + </p> +<p> +“I remarked that it was a rare quality for a wife to possess. You thought, +perhaps, it was rather the gift of those who enjoy the privilege, and not +the name of such.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe you're right, then, Crowther. Shall I own to you, it was the very +thought that was passing through my own brain!” + </p> +<p> +“How strange that Rutledge should have hinted the very same suspicion to +myself, the last time we ever spoke together,” said Crowther, in a low, +confidential whisper. “We were sitting in my back office; he had come to +show me some bills of money won at play, and ask my advice about them. +Carew was the indorser of two or three amongst them, and Rutledge remarked +at the tremendous pace the other was going, and how impossible it was that +any fortune could long maintain it. There was some difficulty in catching +exactly his meaning, for he spoke rapidly, and with more than his +accustomed warmth. It was something, however, to this effect: 'All this +extravagant display is madame's doing, and the natural consequence of his +folly in France. If, instead of this absurd mistake, he had married and +settled in Ireland, his whole career would have taken a different turn.' +Now, when I reflected on the words after he left me, I could not satisfy +myself whether he had said that Carew ought to have married, in +contradistinction to have formed this French attachment, or simply that he +deemed an Irish wife would have been a wiser choice than a French one.” + </p> +<p> +“The former strikes me as the true interpretation,” said Fagan; “and the +more I think on every circumstance of this affair, the more do I incline +to this opinion. The secrecy so unnecessary, the mystery as to her family, +even as to her name, all so needless. That interval of seclusion, in +which, probably, he had not yet resolved finally on the course he should +adopt. And, lastly, a point more peculiarly referring to ourselves, and +over which I have often pondered,—I mean the selection of my +daughter Polly to be her friend and companion. It is not at my time of +life,” added Fagan, with an almost fierce energy of voice, “that I have to +learn how the aristocracy regard me and such as me. No one needs to tell +me that any intercourse between us must depend on something else than +similarity of taste and pursuit; that if we ever sit down to the same +table together, it is on the ground of a compromise. There is a shame to +be concealed or consoled, or there is a debt to be deferred, or left +unclaimed forever. Walter Carew's wife would scarcely have sought out the +Grinder's daughter for her friend and bosom companion. His mistress might +have thought such an alliance most suitable. Polly has herself told me the +terms of perfect equality on which they lived; that never by a chance +word, look, or gesture was there aught which could imply a position of +superiority above her own. They called each other by their Christian +names, they assumed all the intimacy of sisters, and that almost at once. +When she related these things to me,” cried Fagan, sternly, “my passion +nearly overcame me, to think how we had been outraged and insulted; but I +remembered, suddenly, that there were others, far higher than us, exposed +to the same indignity. The Castle was crowded by the rank, the wealth, and +the influence of the whole country; and if there be a disgrace to be +endured, we have at least partners in our shame.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said Crowther, nodding his head slowly in assent; “the whole +assumes a strange and most remarkable consistency. I remember well, +hearing how many of those invited on that occasion had sent letters of +apology; and stranger again, the way in which the party broke up and +separated has been made public enough in the newspapers. Rutledge's own +words were: 'It was a rout, not a retreat.' That was a curious +expression.” + </p> +<p> +Who has not, at some time or other of his life, experienced the force of +that casuistry which is begotten of suspicion? Who has not felt how +completely reason is mastered by the subtle assaults of a wily ingenuity +which, whilst combining the false and the true, the possible and +impossible together, makes out a mock array of evidence almost too strong +for a doubt? The least creative of minds are endowed with this faculty, +and even the most commonplace and matter-of-fact temperaments are +sometimes the slaves of this delusion! To render its influence all +powerful, however, it should be exercised by two who, in the interchange +of suspicions, and by bartering their inferences, arrive at a degree of +certainty in their conclusions rarely accorded to the most convincing +testimony. As a river is swollen by the aid of every tiny rill that +trickles down the mountain side, so does the current of conviction receive +as tributary, incidents the most trivial, and events of the slightest +meaning. +</p> +<p> +Fagan's spirit revolted at what he felt to be a gross insult passed upon +his daughter; but this very indignation served to rivet more firmly his +suspicions, for he reasoned thus: Men are ever ready to credit what they +desire to be credible, and to disbelieve that which it is unpleasant to +accept as true. Now, here have I every temptation to incredulity! If this +be the fact, as my suspicions indicate, I have been deeply outraged. An +affront has been offered to me which dared not have been put upon one of +higher rank and better blood. It is, therefore, my interest and my wish to +suppose this impossible; and yet I cannot do so. Not all the self-respect +I can call to aid, not all the desire to shelter myself behind a doubt, +will suffice. My reason accepts what my feelings would reject, and I +believe what it is a humiliation for me to credit. +</p> +<p> +Such was, in brief, the substance of a long mental struggle and +self-examination on Fagan's part,—a process to which he addressed +himself with all the shrewdness of his nature. It was a matter of deep +moment to him in every way. He ardently desired that he should arrive at a +right judgment upon it; and yet, with all his penetration and +keen-sighted-ness, he never perceived that another agency was at work all +the while, whose tendencies were exactly in the opposite direction. To +believe Walter Carew still unmarried was to revive his long-extinct hope +of calling him his son-in-law, and to bring back once more that gorgeous +dream of Polly's elevation to rank and position, which had filled his mind +for many a year. His whole heart had been set upon this object. In pursuit +of it, he had made the most immense advances of money to my father, many +of them on inferior security. For some he had the mere acknowledgment +contained in a few lines of a common letter. The measures of severity +which he had once menaced were undertaken in the very paroxysm of his +first disappointment, and were as speedily relinquished when calm +reflection showed him that they could avail nothing against the past. +Besides this he felt that there was still an object, to the attainment of +which my father's aid might contribute much, and towards which he hoped to +urge him,—the emancipation of the Catholics. It had been long +Fagan's cherished idea that the leadership of that party should be given +to one who united to reasonable good abilities the advantages of birth, +large fortune, and, above all, personal courage. +</p> +<p> +“We have orators and writers in abundance,” would he say. “There are +plenty who can make speeches, and even songs, for us; but we want a few +men who, with a large stake in the country, and high position in society, +are willing and ready to peril both, and themselves into the bargain, in +the assertion of our cause. If we ever chance to find these, our success +is certain. The worst thing about our cause,” added he, “is not its +disloyalty, for that admits of discussion and denial; but the real +plague-spot is its vulgarity. Our enemies have been cunning enough to cast +over the great struggle of a nation all the petty and miserable +characteristics of a faction, and not of mere faction, but of one agitated +by the lowest motives, and led on by the meanest advocates. A gentleman or +two, to take service with us, will at once repulse this tactic; and until +we can hit upon these, we shall make no progress.” + </p> +<p> +I have been obliged to dwell even to tediousness on these traits of the +Grinder; for if they be not borne in mind, his actions and motives will +seem destitute of any satisfactory explanation. And I now return to the +chamber where he sat with Crowther as they compared impressions together, +and bartered suspicions about my father's marriage. +</p> +<p> +“Now that I begin to consider the matter in this light,” said Crowther, +“it is curious what an explanation it affords to many things that used to +puzzle me formerly: all that coldness and reserve towards Carew that his +neighbors showed; the way his former acquaintances fell off from him, one +by one; and, lastly, those strange hints about him in the newspapers. I +suppose we should see the meaning of every one of them now easily enough?” + </p> +<p> +Fagan made no reply; his mind was travelling along over the road it had +entered upon, and would not be turned away by any call whatsoever. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” muttered he to himself, “the little cottage at Fallrach, in the +Killeries,—that's the place! and the only thing now is to get him +down there. I must go up and see how he gets on, Crowther. I 'm half +afraid that he ought to see a surgeon.” And, so saying, he arose and left +the room. +</p> +<p> +My father was still sleeping as he entered, but less tranquilly than +before, with a feverish flush upon his face, and his lips dry and +dark-colored. +</p> +<p> +With a noiseless hand, Fagan drew back the curtain, and, seating himself +close to the bed, bent down to gaze on him. The uneasy motions of the +sleeper denoted pain; and more than once his hand was pressed against his +side, as if it was the seat of some suffering. Fagan watched every gesture +eagerly, and tried, but in vain, to collect some meaning from the low and +broken utterance. Rapidly speaking at intervals, and at times moaning +painfully, he appeared to labor either under some mental or bodily agony, +in a paroxysm of which, at last, he burst open his vest, and clutched his +embroidered shirt-frill with a violence that tore it in fragments. +</p> +<p> +As he did so, Fagan caught sight of a handkerchief stained with blood, +which, with cautious gesture, he slowly removed, and, walking to the +window, examined it carefully. This done, he folded it up, and, enveloping +it in his own, placed it in his pocket. Once more he took his place at the +bedside, and seemed to listen with intense anxiety for every sound of the +sleeper's lips. The fever appeared to gain ground, for the flush now +covered the face and forehead, and the limbs were twitched with short +convulsive motions. +</p> +<p> +At last, as the paroxysm had reached its height, he bounded up from the +bed and awoke. +</p> +<p> +“Where am I?” cried he, wildly. “Who are all these? What do they allege +against me?” + </p> +<p> +“Lie down; compose yourself, Mr. Carew. You are amongst friends, who wish +you well, and will treat you kindly,” said Fagan, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“But it was not of my seeking,—no one can dare to say so. Fagan will +be my back to any amount,—ten thousand, if they ask it.” + </p> +<p> +“That will I,—to the last penny I possess.” + </p> +<p> +“There, I told you so. I often said I knew the Grinder better than any of +you. You laughed at me for it; but I was right, for all that.” + </p> +<p> +“I trust you were right, sir,” said Fagan, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“What I said was this,” continued he, eagerly: “the father of such a girl +as Polly must be a gentleman at heart. He may trip and stumble, in his +imitations of your modish paces; but the soul of a gentleman must be in +him. Was I right there, or not?” + </p> +<p> +“Pray, calm yourself; lie down, and take your rest,” said Fagan, gently +pushing him back upon the pillow. +</p> +<p> +“You are quite right,” said he; “there is nothing for it now but +submission. MacNaghten, Harvey, Burton,—all who have known me from +boyhood,—can testify if I were one to do a dishonorable action. I +tell you again and again, I will explain nothing; life is not worth such a +price,—such ignominy is too great!” + </p> +<p> +He paused, as if the thought was too painful to pursue; and then, fixing +his eyes on Fagan, he laughed aloud, and added,— +</p> +<p> +“Eh, Fagan! that would be like one of your own contracts,—a hundred +per cent!” + </p> +<p> +“I have not treated you in this wise, Mr. Carew,” said he, calmly.. +</p> +<p> +“No, my boy! that you have not. To the last hour of my life—no great +stretch of time, perhaps—I 'll say the same. You have been a +generous fellow with me—the devil and yourself may perhaps know why,—I +do not; nay, more, Fagan—I never cared to know. Perhaps you thought +I 'd marry Polly. By George! I might have done worse; and who knows what +may be yet on the cards? Ay, just so—the cards—the cards!” + </p> +<p> +He did not speak again for several minutes; but when he did, his voice +assumed a tone of greater distinctness and accuracy, as if he would not +that a single word were lost. +</p> +<p> +“I knew your scheme about the Papists, Tony; I guessed what you were at +then. I was to have emancipated you!” + </p> +<p> +A wild laugh broke from him, and he went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Just fancy the old trumpeter's face, that hangs up in the dinner-room at +Castle Carew! Imagine the look he would bestow on his descendant as I sat +down to table. Faith! Old Noll himself would have jumped out of the canvas +at the tidings. If you cannot strain your fancy that far, Tony, think what +your own father would have said were his degenerate son to be satisfied +with lawful interest!—imagine him sorrowing over the lost precepts +of his house!” + </p> +<p> +“There; I'll close the curtains, and leave you to take a sleep,” said +Fagan. +</p> +<p> +“But I have no time for this, man,” cried the other, again starting up; “I +must be up and away. You must find some place of concealment for me till I +can reach the Continent. Understand me well, Fagan, I cannot, I will not, +make a defence; as little am I disposed to die like a felon! There's the +whole of it! Happily, if the worst should come, Tony, the disgrace dies +with me; that's something,—eh?” + </p> +<p> +“You will make yourself far worse by giving way to this excitement, Mr. +Carew; you must try and compose yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“So I will, Fagan; I'll be as obedient as you wish. Only tell me that you +will watch for my safety, assure me of that, and I 'm content.” + </p> +<p> +As though the very words he had just uttered had brought a soothing +influence to his mind, he had scarcely finished speaking when he fell off +into a deep sleep, unbroken by even a dream. Fagan stood long enough at +the bedside to assure himself that all was quiet, and then left the room, +locking the door as he passed out, and taking the key with him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE +</h2> +<p> +In these memoirs of my father, I have either derived my information from +the verbal accounts of his friends and contemporaries, or taken it from +his own letters and papers. Many things have I omitted, as irrelevant to +his story, which, in themselves, might not have been devoid of interest; +and of some others, the meaning and purport being somewhat obscure, I have +abstained from all mention. I make this apology for the incompleteness of +my narrative; and the reader will probably accept my excuses the more +willingly since he is spared the infliction of my discursiveness on topics +only secondary and adventitious. +</p> +<p> +I now, however, come to a period the most eventful of his story, but, by +an unhappy accident, the least illustrated by any record of its acts. +MacNaghten, my chief source of information hitherto, is here unable to +guide or direct me. He knew nothing of my father's movements, nor did he +hold any direct intercourse with him. Whatever letters may have been +written by my father himself, I am unable to tell, none of them having +ever reached me. My difficulty is therefore considerable, having little to +guide me beyond chance paragraphs in some of Fagan's letters to his +daughter, and some two or three formal communications on business matters +to my mother. +</p> +<p> +There is yet enough even in these scattered notices to show that Fagan's +hopes of realizing the great ambition of his life had been suddenly and +unexpectedly renewed. Not alone was he inclined to believe that my father +might become the political leader of his own peculiar party, and take upon +him the unclaimed position of an Irish champion, but, further still, he +persuaded himself that my father was not really married, and that the +present conjuncture offered a favorable prospect of making him his +son-in-law. +</p> +<p> +The reader has already seen from what a slight foundation this edifice +sprung,—a random word spoken by my father at a moment of great +excitement; a half-muttered regret, wrung from him in a paroxysm of +wounded self-love. +</p> +<p> +He was not the first, nor will he be the last, who shall raise up a +structure for which the will alone supplies material; mayhap, too, in his +case, the fire of hope had never been totally extinguished in his heart, +and from its smouldering embers now burst out this new and brilliant +flame. +</p> +<p> +It was about an hour after midnight that a chaise, with four horses, drew +up at Fagan's door; and, after a brief delay, a sick man was assisted +carefully down the stairs and deposited within the carriage. Raper took +his place beside him, and, with a speed that denoted urgency, the equipage +drove away, and, passing through many a narrow lane and alley, emerged +from the city at last, and took the great western road. +</p> +<p> +Fallrach, even in our own day of universal travel and research, is a wild +and lonely spot; but at the time I refer to, it was as utterly removed +from all intercourse with the world as some distant settlement of Central +America. Situated in a little bend or bight of coast where the Killeries +opens to the great ocean, backed by lofty mountains, and flanked either by +the sea or the still less accessible crags of granite, this little cottage +was almost concealed from view. Unpretending as it was without, its +internal arrangements included every comfort; and my father found himself +not only surrounded with all the appliances of ease and enjoyment, but in +the very midst of objects well known and dear to him from old +associations. It had been in our family for about a century; but up to +this moment my father had never seen it, nor was he aware of the singular +beauty of the neighboring coast scenery. +</p> +<p> +At first, he could do no more than sit at an open window that looked over +the sea, enjoying, with dreamy languor, the calm influences of a solitude +so thoroughly unbroken. To an overwrought and excited mind, this interval +of quiet was a priceless luxury; and far from experiencing weariness in +his lonely life, the days glided past unnoticed. +</p> +<p> +Raper was not of a nature to obtrude himself on any one; and as my father +neither sought nor needed a companion, they continued to live beneath the +same roof almost without meeting. While, therefore, there was the most +scrupulous attention to all my father's wants, and a watchfulness that +seemed even to anticipate a wish on his part, his privacy was never +invaded nor disturbed. A few words each morning between Raper and himself +provided for all the arrangements of the day, and there ended their +intercourse. +</p> +<p> +Leaving him, therefore, in the indulgence of this placid existence, I must +now turn to another scene, where very different actors and interests were +engaged. +</p> +<p> +The death of Barry Rutledge had created the most intense excitement, not +alone in Dublin, but throughout the country generally. He was almost +universally known. His acquaintanceship embraced men of every shade of +opinion, and of all parties; and if his character did not suggest any +feelings of strong attachment or regard, there were social qualities about +him which, at least, attracted admiration, and made him welcome in +society. +</p> +<p> +Such men are often regretted by the world more deeply than is their due. +Their amusing faculties are frequently traced back to some imaginary +excellence in their natures, and there mingles with the sorrow for their +loss a sort of tender compassion for the fate of abilities misapplied, and +high gifts wasted. This was exactly the case here. Many who did not rank +amongst his intimates while he lived, now affected to deplore his death +most deeply; and there was a degree of sympathy felt, or assumed to be +felt, for his fate, widely disproportioned to his claims upon real regard. +</p> +<p> +The manner of his death still remained a profound mystery. The verdict of +the coroner's jury was simply to the effect that “he had died of wounds +inflicted by a person or persons unknown,” but without an attempt at +explanation. The witnesses examined deposed to very little more than the +state in which the body was found, and the prints of footsteps discovered +in its vicinity. These, indeed, and other marks about the spot seemed to +indicate that a struggle had taken place; but a strange and unaccountable +apathy prevailed as to all investigation, and the public was left to the +very vaguest of speculations as they appeared from time to time in the +columns of the newspapers. +</p> +<p> +Amongst those who accompanied Rutledge into the street there was a +singular discrepancy of opinion, some averring that they heard him called +on by his name, and others equally positive in asserting that the +provocation was uttered only in the emphatic monosyllable, “a lie.” They +were all men of standing and position in the world; they were persons of +indisputable honor; and yet, strange to say, upon a simple matter of fact +which had occupied but a few seconds, they could not be brought to +anything like agreement. The most positive of all in maintaining his +opinion was a Colonel Vereker, who persisted in alleging that he stood +side by side with Rutledge the whole time he was speaking; that he could +swear not only to the words used by the unknown speaker, but that he would +go so far as to say, that such was the impression made upon his senses +that he could detect the voice were he ever to hear it again. +</p> +<p> +This assertion, at first uttered in the small circle of intimacy, at last +grew to be talked of abroad, and many were of opinion it would one day or +other give the clew to this mysterious affair. As to Vereker himself, he +felt that he was to a certain extent pledged to the proof of what he had +maintained so persistently. His opinions had gained currency, and were +discussed by the press, which, in the dearth of other topics of interest, +devoted a large portion of their columns to commentary on this event. +</p> +<p> +Any one now looking back to the pages of the Dublin “Express” or “Falkner” + of that date will scarcely fail to find that each day contributed some new +and ingenious suggestion as to the manner of Rutledge's death. Some of +these were arrayed with great details and the most minute arrangement of +circumstances; others were constructed of materials the least probable and +likely. Every view had, however, its peculiar advocates, and it was +curious to see to what violence was carried the war of controversy upon +the subject. +</p> +<p> +By the publicity which accompanies such events as these, the ends of +justice are mainly sustained and aided. Discussion suggests inquiry, and +by degrees the general mind is turned with zeal to an investigation which, +under ordinary circumstances, had only occupied the attention of the +authorities. +</p> +<p> +To any one who has not witnessed a similar movement of popular anxiety, it +would be difficult to believe how completely this topic engrossed the +thoughts of the capital; and through every grade of society the same +intense desire prevailed to unravel this mystery. Amongst the many facts +adduced, was one which attracted a large share of speculation, and this +was the track of footsteps from the very opposite corner of the “Green” to +the fatal spot, and their issue at the little wicket gate of which we have +already spoken. These traces were made by a large foot, and were +unmistakably those of a heavy man, wearing boots such as were usually worn +by gentlemen. One peculiarity of them, too, was, that the heels were +studded with large nails, rarely worn save by the peasantry. A shoemaker +who served on the inquest was heard to remark that a very few country +gentlemen still persisted in having their boots thus provided, and that he +himself had only one such customer, for whom he had just finished a new +pair that were then ready to be sent home. +</p> +<p> +The remark attracted attention, and led to an examination of the boots, +which, strange to say, were found exactly to correspond with the tracks in +the clay. This fact, coupled with another, that the person for whom they +were made, and who had been impatient to obtain them, had not even called +at the shop or made any inquiry since the night of Rutledge's death, was +of so suspicious a nature, that the boots were taken possession of by the +authorities, and the maker strictly enjoined to the most guarded secrecy +as to the name of him by whom they were ordered. +</p> +<p> +With every precaution to secure secrecy, the story of the boots got noised +about, and letters poured forth in print to show that the custom of +wearing such heels as were described was by no means so limited as was at +first assumed. In the very thick of discussion on this subject, there came +a post letter one evening to the bootmaker's house, requesting him to send +the boots lately ordered by an old customer, J. C, to the “Blue Balls,” at +Clontarf, addressed, “George J. Grogan, Esq.” + </p> +<p> +The shopkeeper, on receiving this epistle, immediately communicated it to +the authorities, who could not fail to see in it another circumstance of +deep suspicion. From the first moment of having learned his name, they had +prosecuted the most active inquiries, and learned that he had actually +been in town the evening of Rutledge's death, and suddenly taken his +departure on the morning after. The entire of the preceding evening, too, +he had been absent from his hotel, to which he returned late at night, and +instead of retiring to bed, immediately occupied himself with preparations +for his departure. +</p> +<p> +As the individual was one well known, and occupying a prominent position +in society, it was deemed to be a step requiring the very gravest +deliberation in what manner to proceed. His political opinions, and even +his personal conduct, being strongly opposed to the Government, rather +increased than diminished this difficulty, since the Liberal papers would +be sure to lay hold of any proceedings as a gross insult to the national +party. +</p> +<p> +The advice of the law officers, however, overruled all these objections; a +number of circumstances appeared to concur to inculpate him, and it was +decided on issuing a warrant for his arrest at the place which he had +named as his address. +</p> +<p> +Secrecy was now no longer practicable; and to the astonishment of all +Dublin was it announced in the morning papers that Mr. Curtis was arrested +the preceding night, on a judge's warrant, charged with the murder of +Barry Rutledge. +</p> +<p> +Terrible as such an accusation must always sound, there is something +doubly appalling when uttered against one whose rank in society would seem +to exempt him from the temptations of such guilt. The natural revulsion to +credit a like imputation is, of course, considerable; but, notwithstanding +this, there were circumstances in Curtis's character and habits that went +far to render the allegation not devoid of probability. He was a rash, +impetuous, and revengeful man, always involved in pecuniary difficulties, +and rarely exempt from some personal altercation. Harassed by law, +disappointed, and, as he himself thought, persecuted by the Government, +his life was a continual conflict. Though not without those who recognized +in him traits of warm-hearted and generous devotion, the number of these +diminished as he grew older, and, by the casualties of the world, he lived +to fancy himself the last of a bygone generation far superior in every +gift and attribute to that which succeeded it. +</p> +<p> +When arrested, and charged with the crime of wilful murder, so far from +experiencing the indignant astonishment such an allegation might naturally +lead to, he only accepted it as another instance of the unrelenting hate +with which the Government, or, as he styled it, “the Castle,” had, through +his life long, pursued him. +</p> +<p> +“Who is it,” cried he, with sarcastic bitterness, “that I have murdered?” + </p> +<p> +“You are charged with being accessory to the death of Mr. Barry Rutledge, +sir,” said the other. +</p> +<p> +“Barry Rutledge!—the Court-jester, the Castle-mimic, the tale-bearer +of the Viceroy's household, the hireling scoffer at honest men, and the +cringing supplicant of bad ones. The man who crushed such a reptile would +have deserved well of his country, if it were not that the breed is too +large to be extirpated.” + </p> +<p> +“Take care what you say, Mr. Curtis,” said the other, respectfully; “your +words may be used to your disadvantage.” + </p> +<p> +“Take care what I say! Who are you speaking to, sirrah? Is the caution +given to Joe Curtis? Is it to the man that has braved your power and +laughed at your Acts of Parliament these fifty years? Are you going to +teach me discretion now? Hark ye, my man, tell your employers not to +puzzle their heads with plots and schemes about a conviction; they need +neither bribe a witness, corrupt a judge, nor pack a jury. Familiar as +such good actions are to them, their task will still be easier here. Tell +them this; and tell them also that the score they must one day be prepared +to settle would be lighter if Joe Curtis was the last man they had sent +innocently to the scaffold.” + </p> +<p> +As though he had disburdened his mind by this bitter speech, Curtis never +again adverted to the dreadful accusation against him. He was committed to +Newgate; and while treated with a certain deference to his position in +life, he never relaxed in the stern and unbending resolve neither to +accept any favor, nor even avail himself of the ordinary means of legal +defence. +</p> +<p> +“Prison diet and a straw mattress!” cried he; “such you cannot deny me; +and they will be the extent of the favors I'll receive at your hands.” + </p> +<p> +As the day fixed for the trial approached, the popular excitement rose to +a high degree. Curtis was not a favorite even with his own party; his +temper was sour, and his disposition unconciliatory; so that even by the +Liberal press, his name was mentioned with little sympathy or regard. +Besides this feeling, there was another, and a far more dangerous one, +then abroad. The lower classes had been of late reflected on severely for +the crimes which disgraced the county calendars, and the opportunity of +retaliating against the gentry, by a case which involved one of their +order, was not to be neglected. While, therefore, the daily papers +accumulated a variety of strange and seemingly convincing circumstances, +the street literature did not scruple to go further, and Curtis was the +theme of many a ballad, wherein his guilt was depicted in all the glowing +colors of verse. +</p> +<p> +It is one of the gravest inconveniences which accompany the liberty of +free discussion that an accused man is put upon his trial before the bar +of public opinion, and his guilt or innocence pronounced upon, long before +he takes his place in presence of his real judges; and although, in the +main, popular opinion is rarely wrong, still there are moments of rash +enthusiasm, periods of misguided zeal or unbridled bigotry, in which such +decisions are highly perilous. Too frequently, also, will circumstances +quite foreign to the matter at issue be found to influence the opinions +expressed upon it. +</p> +<p> +So far had the popular verdict gone against the accused in the present +case that there was a considerable time spent on the morning of the trial, +before a jury could be empanelled which should not include any one who had +already pronounced strongly on the case. +</p> +<p> +Curtis, as I have mentioned, declined all means of defence; he thought, or +affected to think, that every member of the bar was open to Government +corruption, and that as the whole was an organized plot for his +destruction, resistance was perfectly vain and useless. When asked, +therefore, to whom he had intrusted his case, he advanced to the front of +the dock, and said: “Gentlemen of the jury, the disagreeable duties you +are sworn to discharge shall not be protracted by anything on my part. +Whatever falsehoods the counsel for the Crown may advance, and the +witnesses swear to, shall meet neither denial nor refutation from me. The +Castle scoundrels shall play the whole game themselves, and whenever you +agree 'what 's to pay,' I 'll settle the score without flinching.” + </p> +<p> +This extraordinary address, uttered in a tone of half-savage jocularity, +excited a strange mixture of emotion in those who heard it, which +ultimately ended in half-subdued laughter throughout the court, repressing +which at once, the judge gravely reprimanded the prisoner for the +aspersions he had thrown on the administration of justice, and appointed +one of the most distinguished members of the bar to conduct his defence. +</p> +<p> +It was late in the day when the Crown counsel rose to open his case. His +address was calm and dispassionate. It was divested of what might seem to +be any ungenerous allusion to the peculiar character or temperament of the +accused, but it promised an amount of circumstantial evidence which, were +the credit of the witnesses to stand unimpeached, would be almost +impossible to reconcile with anything short of the guilt of the prisoner +in the dock. +</p> +<p> +“We shall show you, gentlemen of the jury,” said he, “first of all that +there was a manifest motive for this crime,—at least, what to a man +of the prisoner's temper and passions might adequately represent a motive. +We shall produce evidence before you to prove his arrival secretly in +Dublin, where he lodged in an obscure and little-frequented locality, +avoiding all occasion of recognition, and passing under an assumed name. +We shall show you that on each evening he was accustomed to visit an +acquaintance—a solicitor, whom we shall produce on the table—whose +house is situated at the very opposite end of the city; returning from +which, it was his habit to pass through Stephen's Green, and that he took +this path on the night of the murder, having parted from his friend a +little before midnight. We shall next show you that the traces of the +footsteps correspond exactly with his boots, even to certain peculiarities +in their make. And, lastly, we shall prove his immediate and secret +departure from the capital on this very night in question; his retirement +to a distant part of the country, where he remained till within a few days +previous to his arrest. +</p> +<p> +“Such are the brief outlines of a case, the details of which will comprise +a vast number of circumstances,—slight, perhaps, and trivial +individually, but which, taken collectively, and considered in regard to +their bearing on the matter before us, will make up a mass of evidence +that the most sceptical cannot reject. +</p> +<p> +“Although it may not be usual to advert to the line of conduct which the +prisoner has adopted, in refusing to name a counsel for his defence, I +cannot avoid warning the jury that such a course may bear an +interpretation very remote from that which at first sight it seems to +convey. He would wish you to accept this position as the strongest +evidence of innocence; as if, relying on the justice of his cause, he +requires neither guidance nor counsel! +</p> +<p> +“It will be for you, gentlemen, to determine if the evidence placed before +you admit of such a construction; or whether, on the contrary, it be not +of such a nature that would foil the skill of the craftiest advocate to +shake, and be more effectually rebutted by a general and vague denial, +than by any systematic endeavors to impeach. +</p> +<p> +“You are not, therefore, to accept this rejection of aid as by any means a +proof of conscious innocence. Far from it. The more correct reading might +show it to be the crafty policy of a man who throughout his whole life has +been as remarkable for self-reliance as for secrecy; who, confiding in his +own skill to direct him in the most difficult circumstances, places far +more reliance on his personal adroitness than upon the most practised +advocacy; and whose depreciatory estimate of mankind is but the gloomy +reflection of a burdened conscience.” + </p> +<p> +It was so late when the counsel had concluded that the court adjourned its +proceedings till the following morning; and the vast assembly which +thronged the building dispersed, deeply impressed with the weighty charge +against the prisoner, and with far less of sympathy than is usually +accorded to those who stand in like predicament. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. AN UNLOOKED-FOR DISCLOSURE. +</h2> +<p> +On the second day of the trial, the court-house was even more densely +crowded than on the first. The rank and station which the accused had held +in society, as well as the mysterious character of the case itself, had +invested the event with an uncommon interest; and long before the doors +were opened, a vast concourse filled the streets, amidst which were to be +seen the equipages of many of the first people of the country. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had the judges taken their places, when every seat in the court +was occupied,—the larger proportion of which displayed the rank and +beauty of the capital, who now thronged to the spot, all animated with the +most eager curiosity, and speculating on the result in a spirit which, +whatever anxiety it involved, as certainly evinced little real sympathy +for the fate of the prisoner. The bold, defiant tone which Curtis had +always assumed in the world had made him but few friends, even with his +own party; his sneering, caustic manner had rendered him unpopular; few +could escape his censures,—none his sarcasms. It would, indeed, have +been difficult to discover one for whom less personal interest was felt +than for the individual who that morning stood erect in the dock, and with +a calm but stern expression regarded the bench and the jury-box. +</p> +<p> +As the court continued to fill, Curtis threw his eyes here and there over +the crowded assemblage, but in no wise disconcerted by the universal gaze +of which he was the object. On the contrary, he nodded familiarly to some +acquaintances at a distance; and, recognizing one whom he knew well in the +gallery over his head, he called out,— +</p> +<p> +“How are you, Ruxton? Let me advise you to change your bootmaker, or I +would n't say that the Crown lawyers won't put you, one day, where I stand +now!” + </p> +<p> +The laugh which followed this sally was scarcely repressed, when the trial +began. The first witness produced was a certain Joseph Martin, the +solicitor at whose house Curtis had passed the evening on which the murder +was committed. His evidence, of course, could throw little or no light +upon the event, and merely went to establish the fact that Curtis had +stayed with him till nigh midnight, and left him about that hour to +proceed to his home. When questioned as to the prisoner's manner and +general bearing during that evening, he replied that he could detect +nothing strange or unusual in it; that he talked pretty much as he always +did, and upon the same topics. +</p> +<p> +“Did he allude to the Government, or to any of its officials?” was then +asked; and, before a reply could be given, Curtis cried out,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I told Martin that if the scoundrels who rule us should only +continue their present game, nobody could regret the ruin of a country +that was a disgrace to live in. Did n't I say that?” + </p> +<p> +“I must remind you, sir,” interposed the judge, gravely, “how seriously +such conduct as this is calculated to prejudice the character of your +defence.” + </p> +<p> +“Defence! my Lord,” broke in Curtis, “when did I ever think of a defence? +The gentlemen of the jury have heard me more plainly than your Lordship. I +told them, as I now tell you, that innocence is no protection to a man +when hunted down by legal bloodhounds; that—” + </p> +<p> +“I must enforce silence upon you, sir, if I cannot induce caution,” said +the judge, solemnly; “you may despise your own safety, but you must +respect this court.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll find that even a more difficult lesson to teach me, my Lord. I +can remember some eight-and-forty years of what is called the +administration of justice in Ireland. I am old enough to remember when you +hanged a priest who married a Protestant, and disbarred the lawyer that +defended him.” + </p> +<p> +“Be silent, sir,” said the judge, in a voice of command; and with +difficulty was Curtis induced to obey the admonition. +</p> +<p> +As the trial proceeded, it was remarked that Colonel Vereker was seen in +close communication with one of the Crown lawyers, who soon afterwards +begged to tender him as a witness for the prosecution. The proposal itself +and the object it contained were made the subject of a very animated +discussion; and although the testimony offered seemed of the greatest +importance, the court decided that it was of a kind which, according to +the strict rules of evidence, could not be received. +</p> +<p> +“Then you may rely upon it, gentlemen of the jury,” cried Curtis, “it is +favorable to me.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me assure you, sir, to the contrary,” said the judge, mildly, “and +that it is with a jealous regard for your interest we have agreed not to +accept this evidence.” + </p> +<p> +“And have you had no respect for poor Vereker, my Lord? He looks as if he +really would like to tell the truth for once in his life.” + </p> +<p> +“If Colonel Vereker's evidence cannot be admitted upon this point, my +Lord,” said the Crown lawyer, “there is yet another, in which it is +all-essential. He was one of those who stood beside Rutledge on the +balcony when the words were uttered which attracted his notice. The tone +of voice, and the manner in which they were uttered, made a deep +impression upon him, and he is fully persuaded that they were spoken by +the prisoner in the dock.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us listen to him about that,” said Curtis, who now bestowed a more +marked attention to the course of the proceeding. Vereker was immediately +sworn, and his examination began. He detailed with great clearness the +circumstances which preceded the fatal event, and the nature of the +conversation on the balcony, till he came to that part where the +interruption from the street took place. “There,” he said, “I cannot trust +my memory as to the words employed by Rutledge, although I am confident as +to the phrase used in rejoinder, and equally certain as to the voice of +him who uttered it.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean to say,” said the judge, “that you have recognized that voice as +belonging to the prisoner.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean to say, my Lord, that were I to hear him utter the same words in +an excited tone, I should be able to swear to them.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a lie!” cried Curtis. +</p> +<p> +“These were the words, and that the voice, my Lord,” said Vereker; and as +he spoke, a deep murmur of agitated feeling rang through the crowded +court. +</p> +<p> +“By Heaven!” cried Curtis, in a tone of passionate excitement, “I hold my +life as cheaply as any man; but I cannot see it taken away by the breath +of a false witness: let me interrogate this man.” In vain was it that the +practised counsel appointed to conduct his case interposed, and entreated +of him to be silent. To no purpose did they beg of him to leave in their +hands the difficult game of cross-examination. He rejected their advice as +haughtily as he had refused their services, and at once addressed himself +to the critical task. +</p> +<p> +“With whom had you dined, sir, on the day in question,—the 7th of +June?” asked he of Vereker. +</p> +<p> +“I dined with Sir Marcus Hutchinson.” + </p> +<p> +“There was a large party?” + </p> +<p> +“There was.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell us, so far as you remember, the names of the guests.” + </p> +<p> +“Some were strangers to me,—from England, I believe; but of those I +knew before, I can call to mind Leonard Fox, Hamilton Gore, John +Fortescue, and his brother Edward, Tom Beresford, and poor Rutledge.” + </p> +<p> +“It was a convivial party, and you drank freely?” + </p> +<p> +“Freely, but not to excess.” + </p> +<p> +“You dined at five o'clock?” + </p> +<p> +“At half-after five.” + </p> +<p> +“And rose from table about eleven?” + </p> +<p> +“About that hour.” + </p> +<p> +“There were speeches made and toasts drunk, I believe?” + </p> +<p> +“There were,—a few.” + </p> +<p> +“The toasts and the speeches were of an eminently loyal character; they +all redounded to the honor and credit of the Government?” + </p> +<p> +“Highly so.” + </p> +<p> +“And as strikingly did they reflect upon the character of all Irishmen who +opposed the ministry, and assumed for themselves the position of patriots. +Come, sir, no hesitation; answer my question boldly. Is this not true?” + </p> +<p> +“We certainly did not regard the party you speak of as being true and +faithful subjects of the king.” + </p> +<p> +“You thought them rebels?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps not exactly rebels.” + </p> +<p> +“You called them rebels; and you yourself prayed that the time was coming +when the lamp-iron and the lash should reward their loyalty. Can you deny +this?” + </p> +<p> +“We had a great deal of conversation about politics. We talked in all the +freedom of friendly intercourse, and, doubtless, with some of that warmth +which accompanies after-dinner discussions. But as to the exact words—” + </p> +<p> +“It is the exact words I want; it is the exact words I insist upon, sir. +They were used by yourself, and drew down rounds of applause. You were +eloquent and successful.” + </p> +<p> +“I am really unable, at this distance of time, to recollect a word or a +phrase that might have fallen from me in the heat of the moment.” + </p> +<p> +“This speech of yours was made about the middle of the evening?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe it was.” + </p> +<p> +“And you afterwards sat a considerable time and drank freely?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“And although your recollection of what passed before that is so obscure +and inaccurate, you perfectly remember everything that took place when +standing on the balcony two hours later, and can swear to the very tone of +a voice that uttered but three words: 'That is a lie, sir!'” + </p> +<p> +“Prisoner at the bar, conduct yourself with the respect due to the court +and to the witness under its protection,” interposed the judge, with +severity. +</p> +<p> +“You mistake me, my Lord,” said Curtis, in a voice of affected +deprecation. “The words I spoke were not used as commenting on the witness +or his veracity. They were simply those to which he swore, those which he +heard once, and, although after a five hours' debauch, remained fast +graven on his memory, along with the very manner of him who uttered them. +I have nothing more to ask him. He may go down—down!” repeated he, +solemnly; “if there be yet anything lower that he can descend to!” + </p> +<p> +Once more did the judge admonish the prisoner as to his conduct, and +feelingly pointed out to him the serious injury he was inflicting upon his +own case by this rash and intemperate course of proceeding; but Curtis +smiled half contemptuously at the correction, and folded his arms with an +air of dogged resignation. +</p> +<p> +It is rarely possible, from merely reading the published proceedings of a +trial, to apportion the due degree of weight which the testimony of the +several witnesses imposes, or to estimate that force which manner and +conduct supply to the evidence when orally delivered. In the present case, +the guilt of the accused man rested on the very vaguest circumstances, not +one of which but could be easily and satisfactorily accounted for on other +grounds. He admitted that he had passed through Stephen's Green on the +night in question, and that possibly the tracks imputed to him were +actually his own; but as to the reasons for his abrupt departure from +town, or the secrecy which he observed when writing to the bootmaker,—these, +he said, were personal matters which he would not condescend to enter +upon, adding, sarcastically,— +</p> +<p> +“That though they might not prove very damning omissions in defence of a +hackney-coach summons, he was quite aware that they might prove fatal to a +man who stood charged with murder.” + </p> +<p> +After a number of witnesses were examined, whose testimony went to prove +slight and unimportant facts, Anthony Fagan was called to show that a +variety of bill transactions had passed between the prisoner and Rutledge, +and that on more than one occasion very angry discussions had occurred +between them in reference to these. +</p> +<p> +There were many points in which Fagan sympathized with the prisoner. +Curtis was violently national in his politics; he bore an unmeasured +hatred to all that was English; he was an extravagant asserter of popular +rights: and yet, with all these, and, stranger still, with a coarse +manner, and an address totally destitute of polish, he was in heart a +haughty aristocrat, who despised the people most thoroughly. He was one of +that singular class who seemed to retain to the very last years of the +past century the feudal barbarism of a bygone age. +</p> +<p> +Thus was it that the party who accepted his advocacy had to pay the price +of his services in deep humiliation; and many there were who felt that the +work was more than requited by the wages. +</p> +<p> +To men like Fagan, whose wealth suggested various ambitions, Curtis was +peculiarly offensive, since he never omitted an occasion to remind them of +their origin, and to show them that they were as utterly debarred from all +social acceptance as in the earliest struggles of their poverty. +</p> +<p> +The majority of those in court, who only knew generally the agreement +between Curtis and Fagan in political matters, were greatly struck by the +decisive tone in which the witness spoke; and the damaging character of +the evidence was increased by this circumstance. +</p> +<p> +Among the scenes of angry altercation between the prisoner and Rutledge, +Fagan spoke to one wherein Curtis had actually called the other a +“swindler.” Rutledge, however, merely remarked upon the liberties which +his advanced age entitled him to assume; whereupon Curtis replied, “Don't +talk to me, sir, of age! I am young enough and able enough to chastise +such as you!” + </p> +<p> +“Did the discussion end here?” asked the court. +</p> +<p> +“So far as I know, my Lord, it did; for Mr. Rutledge left my office soon +after, and apparently thinking little of what had occurred.” + </p> +<p> +“If honest Tony had not been too much engrossed with the cares of usury,” + cried out Curtis from the dock, “he might have remembered that I said to +Rutledge, as he went out, 'The man that injures Joe Curtis owes a debt +that he must pay sooner or latter.'” + </p> +<p> +“I remember the words now,” said Fagan. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and so have I ever found it,” said Curtis, solemnly. “There are few +who have gone through life with less good fortune than myself, and yet I +have lived to see the ruin of almost every man that has injured me!” + </p> +<p> +The savage vehemence with which he uttered these words caused a shudder +throughout the crowded court, and went even further to criminate him in +popular opinion than all that had been alleged in evidence. +</p> +<p> +When asked by the court if he desired to cross-examine the witness, +Curtis, in a calm and collected voice, replied: +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord; Tony Fagan will lose a hundred and eighty pounds if you hang +me; and if he had anything to allege in my favor, we should have heard it +before this.” Then, turning towards the jury-box, he went on: “Now, +gentlemen of the jury, there's little reason for detaining you any longer. +You have as complete a case of circumstantial evidence before you as ever +sent an innocent man to the scaffold. You have had the traits of my temper +and the tracks of my boots, and, if you believe Colonel Vereker, the very +tones of my voice, all sworn to; but, better than all these, you have at +your disposal the life of a man who is too sick of the world to stretch +out a hand to save himself, and who would even accept the disgrace of an +ignominious death for the sake of the greater ignominy that is sure to +fall later upon the unjust laws and the corrupt court that condemned him. +Ay!” cried he, with an impressive solemnity of voice that thrilled through +every heart, “you 'll array yourselves in all the solemn mockery of your +station; you 'll bewail my guilt, and pronounce my sentence; but it is I, +from this dock, say unto you upon that bench, the Lord have mercy upon +your souls!” + </p> +<p> +There was in the energy of his manner, despite all its eccentricity and +quaintness, a degree of power that awed the entire assembly; and more than +one trembled to think, “What if he really were to be innocent!” + </p> +<p> +While this singular address was being delivered, Fagan was engaged in deep +and earnest conversation with the Crown prosecutor; and from his excited +manner might be seen the intense anxiety under which he labored. He was +evidently urging some proposition with all his might, to which the other +listened with deep attention. +</p> +<p> +At this instant Fagan's arm was tapped by a hand from the crowd. He +turned, and as suddenly grew deadly pale; for it was Raper stood before +him!—Raper, whom he believed at that moment to be far away in a +remote part of the country. +</p> +<p> +“What brings you here? How came you to Dublin?” said Fagan, in a voice +tremulous with passion. +</p> +<p> +“We have just arrived; we heard that you were here, and he insisted upon +seeing you before he left town.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is he, then?” asked Fagan. +</p> +<p> +“In his carriage at the door of the court-house.” + </p> +<p> +“Does he know—has he heard of the case before the court? Speak, man! +Is he aware of what is going on here?” + </p> +<p> +The terrified eagerness of his whisper so overcame poor Raper that he was +utterly unable to reply, and Fagan was obliged to clutch him by the arm to +recall him to consciousness. Even, then, however, his vague and broken +answer showed how completely his faculties were terrorized over by the +despotic influence of his master. An indistinct sense of having erred +somehow overcame him, and he shrank back from the piercing glance of the +other, to hide himself in the crowd. Terrible as that moment of suspense +must have been to Fagan, it was nothing to the agony which succeeded It, +as he saw the crowd separating on either side to leave a free passage for +the approach of an invalid who slowly came forward to the side-bar, +casting his eyes around him, in half-bewildered astonishment at the scene. +</p> +<p> +Being recognized by the Bench, an usher of the court was sent round to say +that their Lordships would make room for him beside them; and my father—for +it was he—with difficulty mounted the steps and took his seat beside +the Chief Justice, faintly answering the kind inquiries for his health in +a voice weak and feeble as a girl's. +</p> +<p> +“You little expected to see me in such a place as this, Walter!” cried out +Curtis from the dock; “and I just as little looked to see your father's +son seated upon the bench at such a moment!” + </p> +<p> +“What is it? What does it all mean? How is Curtis there? What has +happened?” asked my father, vaguely. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Justice whispered a few words in reply, when, with a shriek that +made every heart cold, my father sprang to his feet, and, leaning his body +over the front of the bench, cried out,— +</p> +<p> +“It was I killed Barry Rutledge! There was no murder in the case! We +fought with swords; and there,” said he, drawing the weapon, “there's the +blade that pierced his heart! and here” (tearing open his vest and shirt)—“and +here the wound he gave me in return. The outrage for which he died well +merited the penalty; but if there be guilt, it is mine, and mine only!” + </p> +<p> +A fit of choking stopped his utterance. He tried to overcome it; he gasped +convulsively twice or thrice; and then, as a cataract of bright blood +gushed from nostrils and mouth together, he fell back and rolled heavily +to the ground—dead. +</p> +<p> +So exhausted was nature by this last effort that the body was cold within +an hour after. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/car0208.jpg" alt="car0208" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. A FRIEND'S TRIALS +</h2> +<p> +The day of my beloved father's funeral was that of my birth! It is not +improbable that he had often looked forward to that day as the crowning +event of his whole life, destining great rejoicings, and planning every +species of festivity; and now the summer clouds were floating over the +churchyard, and the gay birds were carolling over the cold grave where he +lay. +</p> +<p> +What an emblem of human anticipation, and what an illustration of his own +peculiar destiny! Few men ever entered upon life with more brilliant +prospects. With nearly every gift of fortune, and not one single adverse +circumstance to struggle against, he was scarcely launched upon the ocean +of life ere he was shipwrecked! Is it not ever thus? Is it not that the +storms and seas of adverse fortune are our best preservatives in this +world, by calling into activity our powers of energy and of endurance? Are +we not better when our lot demands effort, and exacts sacrifice, than when +prosperity neither evokes an ungratified wish, nor suggests a difficult +ambition? +</p> +<p> +The real circumstances of his death were, I believe, never known to my +mother, but the shock of the event almost killed her. Her cousin, Emile de +Gabriac, had just arrived at Castle Carew, and they were sitting talking +over France and all its pleasant associations, when a servant entered +hastily with a letter for MacNaghten. It was in Fagan's handwriting, and +marked “Most private, and with haste.” + </p> +<p> +“See,” cried Dan, laughing,—“look what devices a dun is reduced to, +to obtain an audience! Tony Fagan, so secret and so urgent on the outside, +will be candid enough within, and beg respectfully to remind Mr. +MacNaghten that his indorsement for two hundred and something pounds will +fall due on Wednesday next, when he hopes—” + </p> +<p> +“Let us see what he hopes,” cried my mother, snatching the letter from +him, “for it surely cannot be that he hopes you will pay it.” + </p> +<p> +The terrific cry she uttered, as her eyes read the dreadful lines, rang +through that vast building. Shriek followed shriek in quick succession for +some seconds; and then, as if exhausted nature could no more, she sank +into a death-like trance, cold, motionless, and unconscious. +</p> +<p> +Poor MacNaghten! I have heard him more than once say that if he were to +live five hundred years, he never could forget the misery of that day, so +graven upon his memory was every frightful and harrowing incident of it. +He left Castle Carew for Dublin, and hastened to the courthouse, where, in +one of the judge's robing-rooms, the corpse of his poor friend now lay. A +hurried inquest had been held upon the body, and pronounced that “Death +had ensued from natural causes;” and now the room was crowded with curious +and idle loungers, talking over the strange event, and commenting upon the +fate of him who, but a few hours back, so many would have envied. +</p> +<p> +Having excluded the throng, he sat down alone beside the body, and, with +the cold hand clasped between his own, wept heartily. +</p> +<p> +“I never remember to have shed tears before in my life,” said he, “nor +could I have done so then, if I were not looking on that pale, cold face, +which I had seen so often lighted up with smiles; on those compressed +lips, from which came so many words of kindness and affection; and felt +within my own that hand that never till now had met mine without the warm +grasp of friendship.” + </p> +<p> +Poor Dan! he was my father's chief mourner,—I had almost said his +only one. Several came and asked leave to see the body. Many were visibly +affected at the sight. There was decent sorrow on every countenance; but +of deep and true affliction MacNaghten was the solitary instance. +</p> +<p> +It was late on the following evening as MacNaghten, who had only quitted +the rooms for a few minutes, found on his return that a stranger was +standing beside the body. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” muttered he, solemnly, “the green and the healthy tree cut down, and +the old sapless, rotten trunk left to linger on in slow decay!” + </p> +<p> +“What! Curtis, is this you?” cried MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, and not mine the fault that I have not changed places with him +who lies there. He had plenty to live for; I nothing, nor any one. And it +was not that alone, MacNaghten!” added he, fiercely, “but think, reflect +for one moment on what might have happened had they condemned and executed +me! Is there a man in all Ireland, with heart and soul in him, who would +not have read that sentence as an act of Government tyranny and vengeance? +Do you believe the gentry of the country would have accepted the act as an +accident, or do you think that the people would recognize it as anything +else than a murder solemnized by the law? And if love of country could not +stimulate and awake them, is it not possible that fears for personal +safety might?” + </p> +<p> +“I have no mind for such thoughts as these,” said MacNaghten, sternly; +“nor is it beside the cold corpse of him who lies there I would encourage +them. If you come to sorrow over him, take your place beside me; if to +speculate on party feuds or factious dissensions, then I beg you will +leave me to myself.” + </p> +<p> +Curtis made him no reply, but left the room in silence. +</p> +<p> +There were some legal difficulties raised before the funeral could be +performed. The circumstances of Rutledge's death required to be cleared +up; and Fagan—to whom my father had made a full statement of the +whole event—underwent a long and close examination by the law +authorities of the Castle. The question was a grave one as regarded +property, since if a charge of murder could have been substantiated, the +whole of my father's fortune would have been confiscated to the Crown. +Fagan's testimony, too, was not without a certain disqualification, +because he held large liens over the property, and must, if the estate +were estreated, have been a considerable loser. These questions all +required time for investigation; but, by dint of great energy and +perseverance, MacNaghten obtained permission for the burial, which took +place with strict privacy at the small churchyard of Killester,—a +spot which, for what reason I am unaware, my father had himself selected, +and mention of which desire was found amongst his papers. +</p> +<p> +Fagan accompanied MacNaghten to the funeral, and Dan returned to his house +afterwards to breakfast. Without any sentiment bordering on esteem for the +“Grinder,” MacNaghten respected him generally for his probity, and +believed him to be as honorable in his dealings as usury and money-lending +would permit any man to be. He was well aware that for years back the most +complicated transactions with regard to loans had taken place between him +and my father, and that to a right understanding of these difficult +matters, and a satisfactory adjustment of them, nothing could conduce so +much as a frank intercourse and a friendly bearing. These were at all +times no very difficult requirements from honest Dan, and he did not +assume them now with less sincerity or willingness that they were to be +practised for the benefit of his poor friend's widow and orphan. +</p> +<p> +MacNaghten could not help remarking that Fagan's manner, when speaking of +my father's affairs, was characterized by a more than common caution and +reserve, and that he strenuously avoided entering upon anything which +bore, however remotely, upon the provision my mother was to enjoy, or what +arrangements were to be made respecting myself. There was a will, he +thought, in Crowther's possession; but it was of the less consequence, +since the greater part, nearly all, of the Carew property was under the +strictest entail. +</p> +<p> +“The boy will be rich, one of the richest men in Ireland, if he lives,” + said MacNaghten; but Fagan made no reply for some time, and at last said,— +</p> +<p> +“If there be not good sense and moderation exercised on all sides, the +Carews may gain less than will the Court of Chancery.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten felt far from reassured by the cautious and guarded reserve of +Fagan's manner; he saw that in the dry, sententious tone of his remarks +there lurked difficulties, and perhaps troubles; but he resolved to devote +himself to the task before him in a spirit of patience and calm industry +which, unhappily for him, he had never brought to bear upon his own +worldly fortunes. +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing either obtrusive or impertinent,” said he, at last, to +Fagan, “in my making these inquiries, for, independently of poor Walter's +affection for me, I know that he always expected me to take the management +of his affairs, should I survive him; and if there be a will, it is almost +certain that I am named his executor in it.” + </p> +<p> +Fagan nodded affirmatively, and merely said,— +</p> +<p> +“Crowther will be able to clear up this point.” + </p> +<p> +“And when shall we see him?” + </p> +<p> +“He is in the country, down south, I think, at this moment; but he will be +up by the end of the week. However, there are so many things to be done +that his absence involves no loss of time. Where shall I address you, if I +write?” + </p> +<p> +“I shall return to Castle Carew this evening, and in all probability +remain there till I hear from you.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do,” was the dry answer; and MacNaghten took his leave, more +than ever puzzled by the Grinder's manner, and wondering within himself in +what shape and from what quarter might come the storm, which he convinced +himself could not be distant. +</p> +<p> +Grief for my father's death, and anxiety for my poor mother's fate, were, +however, the uppermost thoughts in his mind; and as he drew nigh Castle +Carew, his heart was so much overpowered by the change which had fallen +upon that once happy home that he totally forgot all the dark hints and +menacing intimations of his late interview. +</p> +<p> +It was truly a gloom-stricken mansion. The servants moved about sadly, +conversing in low whispers; save in one quarter, all the windows were +closed, and the rooms locked up,—not a voice nor a footstep was to +be heard. Mourning and woe were imprinted on every face and in every +gesture. MacNaghten knew not where to go, nor where to stay. Every chamber +he entered was full of its memories of the past, and he wandered on from +room to room, seeking some spot which should not remind him of days whose +happiness could never return. In this random search he suddenly entered +the chamber where M. de Gabriac lay at full length upon a sofa, enjoying, +in all the ease of a loose dressing-gown, the united pleasures of a French +novel and a bottle of Bordeaux. MacNaghten would willingly have returned +at once. Such a scene and such companionship were not to his taste; but +the other quickly detected him, and called out,— +</p> +<p> +“Ah! M. MacNaghten, how delighted am I to see you again! What days of +misery and gloom have I been passing here,—no one to speak to, none +to sit with.” + </p> +<p> +“It is, indeed, a sad mansion,” sighed MacNaghten, heavily. +</p> +<p> +“So, then, it is all true?” asked the other. “Poor fellow, what a +sensitive nature,—how impressible. To die just for a matter of +sentiment; for, after all, you know it was a sentiment, nothing else. +Every man has had his affairs of this kind,—few go through life +without something unpleasant; but one does not die broken-hearted for all +that. No, <i>parbleu</i>, that is a very poor philosophy. Tell me about +the duel; I am greatly interested to hear the details.” + </p> +<p> +To escape as far as possible any further moralizings of his companion, Dan +related all that he knew of the fatal rencontre, answering, so well as he +might, all the Frenchman's questions, and, at the same time, avoiding all +reference to the provocation which led to the meeting. +</p> +<p> +“It was a mistake, a great mistake, to fight in this fashion,” said +Gabriac, coldly. “There is an etiquette to be observed in a duel, as in a +dinner; and you can no more hurry over one than the other, without +suffering for it afterwards. Maybe these are, however, the habits of the +country.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten calmly assured him that they were not. +</p> +<p> +“Then the offence must have been an outrage,—what was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Some expression of gross insult; I forget the exact nature of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said the other, sipping his wine, “with so much to live +for,—a magnificent château, a pretty wife, and a good fortune. What +folly, was it not?” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten afterwards acknowledged that even the Grinder's sententious +dryness was preferable to the heartless indifference of the Frenchman's +manner; but a deferential regard for her whose relative he was, restrained +him from all angry expression of feeling on the subject, and he suffered +him to discuss the duel and all its consequences, without the slightest +evidence of the suffering it cost him. +</p> +<p> +“Josephine will not be sorry to leave it,” said Gabriac, after a short +silence. “She told me that they never understood her, nor she them; and, +after all, you know,” said he, smiling, “there is but one France!” + </p> +<p> +“And but one Ireland!” said MacNaghten, heartily. +</p> +<p> +“Heureusement!” muttered the Frenchman, but employing a word which, +happily, the other did not understand. +</p> +<p> +“Her state is one of great danger still,” said Dan, alluding to my mother. +</p> +<p> +“They say so; but that is always the way with doctors. One may die of +violent anger, rage, ungratified vengeance, jealousy, but not of mere +grief. Sorrow is rather a soothing passion,—don't you think so?” + </p> +<p> +Had MacNaghten been in the mood, he might have laughed at the remark, but +now it only irritated and incensed him; and to such an extent did the +heartless manner of the Frenchman grate upon his feelings that he was in +momentary danger of including my poor mother in the depreciatory estimate +he conceived of France and all that belonged to it. Nor was his temper +improved by the inquiries of Gabriac concerning the property and estates +of my father; in fact, unable any longer to continue a conversation, every +portion of which, was an outrage, he arose abruptly, and, wishing him a +good night, left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Walter,” said he, as he slowly sauntered along towards his chamber, +“is it to such as these your memory is to be intrusted, and your name and +fortune bequeathed?” And with this gloomy reflection he threw himself upon +his bed, to pass a sad and a sleepless night. +</p> +<p> +It was in a curious reverie—a kind of inquiring within himself, “How +came it that qualities so calculated to make social intercourse delightful +in days of happiness, should prove positively offensive in moments of +trial and affliction?” for such he felt to be the case as regarded Gabriac—that +MacNaghten lay, when a servant came to inform him that Mr. Crowther had +just arrived at the Castle, and earnestly requested to see him. +</p> +<p> +“At once,” replied he, “show him up to me here;” and in a few moments that +most bland and imperturbable of solicitors entered, and, drawing a chair +to the bedside, sat down. +</p> +<p> +“This is a sad occasion, Mr. MacNaghten. I little thought when I last saw +you here that my next visit would have been on such an errand.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten nodded sorrowfully, and Crowther went on: +</p> +<p> +“Sad in every sense, sir,” sighed he, heavily. “The last of his name—one +of our oldest gentry—the head of a princely fortune—with +abilities, I am assured, of a very high order, and, certainly, most +popular manners.” + </p> +<p> +“You may spare me the eulogy,” said MacNaghten, bluntly. “He was a better +fellow than either you or I should be able to describe, if we spent an +hour over it.” + </p> +<p> +Crowther took the rebuke in good part, and assented to the remark with the +best possible grace. Still, he seemed as if he would like to dwell a +little longer on the theme before he proceeded to other matters. Perhaps +he thought by this to secure a more favorable acceptance for what he had +to say; perhaps he was not fully made up in mind how to approach the +subject before him. MacNaghten, who always acted through life as he would +ride in a steeplechase, straight onward, regardless of all in his way, +stopped him short, by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Carew has left a will in your hands, I believe?” + </p> +<p> +“You can scarcely call it a will, sir. The document is very irregular, +very informal.” + </p> +<p> +“It was his act, however; he wrote or dictated it himself?” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that, sir. He suggested parts of it, made trifling corrections +with his own pen, approved some portions, and left others for +after-consideration.” + </p> +<p> +“It is, at all events, the only document of the kind in existence?” + </p> +<p> +“That would be too much to affirm, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean that you, at least, know of no other; in fact, I want to hear +whether you conceive it to be sufficient for its object, as explaining +Carew's wishes and intentions.” + </p> +<p> +A dubious half-smile, and a still more dubious shake of the head, seemed +to infer that this view of the subject was far too sweeping and +comprehensive. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said Dan, good-humoredly, “I'm not the Chancellor, nor even +Master of the Rolls. Even a little indiscretion will never injure your +reputation in talking with me. Just tell me frankly what you know and +think about my poor friend's affairs. His widow, if she ever recover, +which is very doubtful, is but little suited to matters of business; and +as it is not a case where any adverse litigation is to be apprehended—What +do you mean by that shake of the head? You surely would not imply that the +estate, or any part of it, could be contested at law?” + </p> +<p> +“Who could say as much for any property, sir?” said Crowther, +sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“I know that; I am well aware that there are fellows in your tribe who are +always on the lookout for a shipwrecked fortune, that they may earn the +salvage for saving it; but here, if I mistake not very much, is an estate +that stands in need of no such aids. Carew may have debts.” + </p> +<p> +“Very large debts,—debts of great amount indeed!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, be it so; there ends the complication.” + </p> +<p> +“You have a very concise and, I must say, a most straightforward mode of +regarding a subject, sir,” said Crowther, blandly. “There is an admirable +clearness in your views, and a most business-like promptitude in your +deductions; but we, poor moles of the law, are condemned to work in a very +different fashion; and, to be brief, here is a case that requires the very +nicest management. To enable Madame Carew to take out letters of +administration to her late husband's property, we must prove her marriage. +Now, so far as I can see, sir, this is a matter of considerable +difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you would not dare to assert—to insinuate even—” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, sir. Pray be calm, Mr. Mac-Naghten. I am as +incapable of such a thought as yourself. Of the fact, I entertain no more +doubt than you do. The proof of it,—the legal proof,—however, +I am most anxious to obtain.” + </p> +<p> +“But, with search amongst his papers—” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, sir; it may be discovered. I have no doubt it will be +discovered. I only mean to say that such a document is not to be met with +amongst those in my hands, and I have very carefully gone over a large +packet, labelled 'Papers and letters relating to France during my last +residence there in '80-81,' which, you may remember, was the period of his +marriage.” + </p> +<p> +“But he alludes to that event?” + </p> +<p> +“Not once, sir; there is not a single passage that even bears upon it. +There are adventures of various kinds, curious incidents, many of them in +love, play, and gallantry; but of marriage, or even of any speculation on +the subject, not the remotest mention.” + </p> +<p> +“This is most singular!” + </p> +<p> +“Is it not so, sir? But I have thought, perhaps, that you, who were always +his most attached friend,—you, at least, possessed some letters +which should throw light upon this matter, even to indicate the exact date +of it, where it occurred, who the witnesses.” + </p> +<p> +“Not a line, not a syllable,” said MacNaghten, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“This is more unfortunate than I expected,” said Crowther. “I always said +to myself, 'Well, in his private correspondence, in the close relations of +friendship, we shall come upon some clew to the mystery.' I always +understood that with you he was frankness itself, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“So he was,” rejoined MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +“This reserve is therefore the more remarkable still. Can you account for +it in any way, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Why should I account for it?” cried Dan, passionately. “My friend had his +own reasons for whatever he did,—good and sufficient ones, I 'll be +sworn.” + </p> +<p> +“I feel assured of that, sir; don't mistake me for a moment, or suppose I +am impugning them. I merely desired to learn if you could, from your +intimate knowledge of your friend's character, trace this reserve on his +part to any distinct cause.” + </p> +<p> +“My knowledge of him goes this far,” said MacNaghten, haughtily, “that he +had an honorable motive for every aet of his life.” + </p> +<p> +It required some address on Crowther's part to bring back MacNaghten to +that calm and deliberate tone of mind which the subject demanded. After a +while, however, he perfectly succeeded; and Dan arose, and accompanied him +to the library, where they both proceeded to search among my father's +papers, with which several boxes were filled. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. DISAPPOINTMENTS +</h2> +<p> +The search for any document that could authenticate my father's marriage +proved totally unsuccessful, and although poor MacNaghten's zeal was +untiring and unwearied, all his efforts were fruitless. +</p> +<p> +Guided by the clew afforded in some of my father's letters, Dan proceeded +to Wales, ascertained the cottage where they had passed their first month +of married life, and found out many who had known them by sight; but could +chance upon nothing which should lead him to the important fact where, and +by whom, the marriage ceremony was solemnized. +</p> +<p> +The state of my mother's health was so precarious for a long time as to +render all inquiry from her impracticable; while there was also a very +natural fear of the consequences that might ensue, were she to suspect the +object of any investigation, and learn the perilous position in which she +stood. Her condition was, indeed, a pitiable one,—a young and +widowed mother; a stranger in a foreign land, of whose language she knew +scarcely anything; without one friend of her own sex, separated by what, +in those days, seemed an immense distance from all belonging to her. It +was a weary load of misfortune to be borne by one who till that moment had +never known a sorrow. +</p> +<p> +Nor was MacNaghten's lot more enviable as, day by day, he received packets +of letters detailing the slow but steady march of those legal proceedings +which were to end in the ruin of those whom he felt to have been +bequeathed to his friendship. Already two claimants for the estate had +appeared in the field,—one, a distant relation of my father, a very +rich southern baronet, a certain Carew O'Moore; the other, an unknown, +obscure person, whose pretensions, it was said, were favored by Fagan, and +at whose cost the suit was said to be maintained. With the former, +MacNaghten at once proceeded to open relations personally, by a letter +describing in simple but touching terms the sad state in which my poor +mother yet lay, and appealing to his feelings as a gentleman and a man of +humanity to stay the course of proceedings for a while, at least, and give +time to enable her to meet them by such information as she might possess. +</p> +<p> +A very polite reply was at once returned to this, assuring MacNaghten that +whatever delays could be accorded to the law proceedings—short of +defeating the object altogether—should certainly be accorded; that +nothing was further from Sir Carew's desire than to increase, in the +slightest, the sorrows of one so heavily visited; and expressing, in +conclusion, a regret that his precarious health should preclude him paying +his personal visit of condolence at the Castle, where, he trusted, the +lady would continue to reside so long as her health or convenience made it +desirable. If the expressions of the letter were not as hearty and +generous as honest Dan might have wished them, they were more gratifying +than the note he received from Fagan, written with all the caution and +reserve of the Grinder's manner; for, while not going so far as to admit +that he was personally interested and concerned for the new claimant, he +guardedly avoided giving any denial to the fact. +</p> +<p> +For three weeks did MacNaghten continue to search through immense masses +of papers and documents; he ransacked musty drawers of mustier cabinets; +he waded through piles of correspondence, in the hope of some faint +flickering of light, some chance phrase that might lead him to the right +track; but without success! He employed trusty and sharp-witted agents to +trace back, through England, the journey my father and mother had come by, +but so secretly had every step of that wedding-tour been conducted, that +no clew remained. +</p> +<p> +Amidst the disappointments of this ineffectual pursuit, there came, +besides, the disheartening reflection that from those who were most +intimately acquainted with my father's affairs he met neither counsel nor +co-operation. On the contrary, Crowther's manner was close and secret on +every matter of detail, and as to the chances of a suit, avowed how little +ground they had for resistance. Fagan even went further, and spoke with an +assumed regret that my father should have made no provision for those +belonging to him. +</p> +<p> +All these were, however, as nothing to the misery of that day in which +McNaughten was obliged to break the disclosure to my mother, and explain +to her the position of ruin and humiliation in which she was placed! She +was still weak and debilitated from her illness, her bodily strength +impaired, and her mind broken by suffering, when this new shock came upon +her; nor could she at first be made to understand the full measure of her +misfortune, nor to what it exactly tended. That the home of her husband +was no longer to be hers was a severe blow; it was endeared to her by so +many of the tenderest recollections. It was all that really remained +associated with him she had lost. “But perhaps,” thought she, “this is the +law of the country: such are the inevitable necessities of the land.” Her +boy would, if he lived, one day possess it for his own, and upon this +thought she fell back for consolation. +</p> +<p> +MacNaghten did not venture in his first interview to undeceive her; a +second and even a third passed over without his being equal to the task: +but the inexorable course of law gave, at last, no time for further delay. +The tenants of the estate had received formal notice to pay the amount of +their several holdings into court, pending the litigation of the property. +A peremptory order to surrender the house and demesne was also issued. The +servants talked openly of the approaching break-up of the household, and +already vague and shadowy rumors ran that my father had died intestate, +and that my mother was left without a shilling. +</p> +<p> +From early morning till late at night, MacNaghten had toiled without +ceasing. He had visited lawyers, attended consultations, instituted fresh +searches through Crowther's papers, but all with the same result. The most +hopeful counsels only promised a barren resistance, the less sanguine +advisers recommended any compromise that might secure to my mother some +moderate competence to live on. So much had the course of events preyed +upon his mind, and so dispirited had he grown that, as he afterwards +owned, he found himself listening to arguments, and willing to entertain +projects, which, had they been presented but a few weeks before, he had +rejected with scorn and indignation. It was then, too, and for the first +time, that the possibility struck him that my father's marriage might have +been solemnized without that formality which should make it good in law. +He remembered the reserve with which, in all their frank friendship, the +subject was ever treated. He bethought him of the reluctance with which my +father suffered himself to be drawn into any allusion to that event; and +that, in fact, it was the only theme on which they never conversed in +perfect frankness and sincerity. +</p> +<p> +“After all,” thought he, “the matter may be difficult of proof. There may +have been reasons, real or imaginary, for secrecy; there may have been +certain peculiar circumstances requiring unusual caution or mystery; but +Watty was quite incapable of presenting to his friends and to the world as +his wife one who had not every title to the name, while she who held that +place gave the best guarantee, by her manner and conduct, that it was hers +by right.” To this consolation he was obliged to fall back at each new +moment of discomfiture; but although it served to supply him with fresh +energy and courage, it also oppressed him with the sad reflection that +conviction and belief in his friend's honor would have no weight in the +legal discussion of the case, and that one scrawled fragment of paper +would be better in evidence than all the trustfulness that was ever +inspired by friendship. +</p> +<p> +If gifted with a far more than common amount of resolution and energy, +MacNaghten was by nature impulsive to rashness, and consequently not well +suited to deal with those who, more cautious by temperament, and less +given to exhibit their feelings, find their profit in trading upon the +warmer and less suspectful natures of others. In proportion as his daily +disappointment preyed upon him, he displayed the effect in his manner and +appearance, and at length, between mental agitation and bodily fatigue, +became the mere wreck of what he had been. It was thus that, after a long +day passed in toil and excitement, he strolled into one of the squares +after nightfall, to seek in the solitude of the spot some calm and +tranquillity for his harassed spirit. +</p> +<p> +It was the autumn,—that season when Dublin is almost deserted by its +residents, and scarcely any of those who constitute what is called society +were in the capital. Mac-Naghten, therefore, was not likely to find any to +interfere with the loneliness he sought for, and loitered unmolested for +hours through the lanes and alleys of the silent square. There was a +certain freshness in the night air that served to rally his jaded frame; +and he felt, in the clear and half* frosty atmosphere, a sense of +invigoration that made him unwilling to leave the spot. While thus +gathering strength for the coming day, he thought he heard footsteps in +the walk behind him; he listened, and now distinctly heard the sound of a +voice talking in loud tones, and the shuffling sounds of feet on the +gravel. Stepping aside into the copse, he waited to see who and for what +purpose might they be who came there at this unfrequented hour. +</p> +<p> +To his astonishment, a solitary figure moved past, walking with short, +hasty steps, while he talked and gesticulated to himself with every +appearance of intense excitement. Mac-Naghten had but to hear a word or +two, at once to recognize the speaker as Curtis—that strange, +half-misanthropic creature, who, partly from fault, and in part from +misfortune, now lived in a state of friendless isolation. +</p> +<p> +It was rumored that, although his bearing and manner before the Court +displayed consummate coolness and self-possession, that the effect of the +recent trial had been to shake his intellect seriously, and, while +impressing upon him more strongly the notion of his being selected and +marked out for persecution by the Government, to impart to him a kind of +martyr's determination to perish in the cause. At no time were he and Dan +congenial spirits. Their natures and their temperaments were widely +different; and, from the great disparity in their ages, as well as in all +their associations, there was scarcely one point of friendly contact in +common to them. +</p> +<p> +There is a companionable element in misfortune, however, stronger than +what we discover in prosperity; and partly from this cause, and partly +from a sense of compassion, MacNaghten followed him quickly, and hailed +him by his name. +</p> +<p> +“Joe Curtis!” repeated the old man, stopping suddenly. “I submit, my Lord, +that this is an insufficient designation. I am Joseph Curtis, Esquire, of +Meagh-valley House.” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” said MacNaghten, cordially taking his hand and +shaking it warmly, “though I think you'll suffer an old friend to be less +ceremonious with you.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! you here, Dan MacNaghten,—why, what in the name of all mischief +has led you to this place? I thought I was the only maniac in this ward;” + and he gave a harsh, grating laugh of irony at his own jesting allusion. +</p> +<p> +“I came here partly by accident, and have loitered from choice.” + </p> +<p> +“We must take care that no gentlemen have fixed this evening for a meeting +here,” said Curtis, in a low, guarded whisper. “You and I, MacNaghten, +would fare badly, depend upon it. What! with our known reputations, and +the nails in our boots,—eh! the nails in our boots,—they 'll +make what's called a strong case against us! You'd get off,—they 've +nothing against you; but they 'll not let me slip through, like last time. +Did you ever know such a close thing? The foreman, old Andrews, told me +since, 'We had quite made up our minds, sir. We 'd have said guilty +without leaving the box.' Just think of their dilemma if they had hanged +me! My papers, for I took care to leave all in writing, would have shown +up the whole conspiracy. I 've set forth the game they have been playing +since the year '42. I detailed all their machinations, and showed the +secret orders they had given to each successive Viceroy. There were three +men—only three men—in all Ireland that they dreaded! And that +blundering fool Carew must rush in with his rashness and absurdity! Who +ever heard or saw the like?” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” muttered MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +“'Poor fellow,' as much as you wish, sir; but remember that some degree of +consideration is due to me also! I was a prisoner seven weeks in Newgate; +I stood in the dock, arraigned for a murder; I was on the eve of a false +conviction and a false sentence; and there is no man living can say what +results might not have followed on my being falsely executed! Your +friend's stupid interference has spoiled everything, and you need n't ask +me, at least, to feel grateful to him.” + </p> +<p> +“There are men who, in your situation that day, would not hesitate to +acknowledge their gratitude, notwithstanding,” said MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +“There are poor-spirited, contemptible curs in every country, sir, if you +mean that!” said Curtis. “As for Carew, he was a gentleman by birth. He +had the fortune and the education of one. He might, if he had wished it, +have been one of the first, if not the very first, men in this country. He +thought it a finer thing to be a horse-racer and a gambler. He saw greater +distinction in being the dangler at the court of a foreign debauchee to +being the leading character in his own land. Don't interrupt me, sir,” + cried he, haughtily, waving his hand, while he went on, with increased +vehemence. “I tell you again that Walter Carew might now have been a great +living patriot—instead of—” + </p> +<p> +“If you utter one syllable of insult to his memory,” broke in MacNaghten, +boldly, “neither your age nor your folly shall save you; for, by Heaven—” + </p> +<p> +He stopped, for the aspect of the broken-down, white-' haired figure in +front of him suddenly overcame him with shame for his own violence. +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what then?” said Curtis, calmly. “Shall I finish your threat +for you? for, in truth, you seem quite unable to do so yourself. No, I 'll +not—Dan MacNaghten—never fear me. I 'm just as incapable of +defaming him who has left us as you are of offering insult to an old, +decrepit, half-crazed man, whose only use in life is to cast obloquy upon +those that have made him the thing he is.” + </p> +<p> +“Forgive me, Curtis; I am heartily sorry for my rude speech,” cried +MacNaghten. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive you, sir!” said he, already following out another and a very +different train of thought. “I have nothing to forgive. You were only +doing what all the world does; what your Government and its authorities +give the example of,—insulting one whom it is safe to outrage! You +treat me as you treat Ireland, that's all! Give me your hand, MacNaghten; +I think, indeed I always said, you were the best of those fellows about +Carew. If he had n't been away from you, probably he 'd not have fallen +into that stupid mistake,—that French connection.” + </p> +<p> +“His marriage, do you mean?” cried Dan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Marriage, if you like to call it so!” rejoined the other. +</p> +<p> +“Have you a single doubt that it was such?” + </p> +<p> +“Have I a single reason to believe it?” said Curtis, doggedly. “If a man +of fifteen thousand a-year takes a wife, he selects a woman whose rank and +station are at least equal to his own, and he takes care besides that the +world knows it. If she brings him no fortune, he makes the more fuss about +her family, and parades her high relations. He does n't wed in secret, and +keep the day, the place, the witnesses, a mystery; he doesn't avoid even a +chance mention of the event to his dearest friends; he does n't settle +down to live in an obscure retreat, when he owns a princely residence in +the midst of his friends. When he does come back amongst them, he does not +shrink from presenting her to the world; to be driven at last by necessity +to the bold course,—to fill his house with company, and see them +drop off,—fritter away one by one, distrustful, dissatisfied, and +suspecting. Don't tell me, sir, that if he had a good cause and a safe +cause behind him, that Walter Carew would n't have asked explanations, ay, +and enforced them, too, from some of those guests who rewarded his +hospitality so scurvily. You knew him well; and I ask you, was he the man +to suffer the insolent attacks of the public journals, if it were not that +he dreaded even worse exposures by provocation? You are a shrewd and a +clever fellow, MacNaghten; and if you don't see this matter as all the +world sees it—” + </p> +<p> +“And is this the common belief? Do you tell me that such is the impression +abroad in society?” + </p> +<p> +“Consult Matt Fosbroke. Ask Harvey Hempton what his wife says. Go to +George Tisdall and get his account of their departure from Castle Carew, +and the answer they sent when invited there a second time.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, all this is new to me!” cried MacNaghten, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, it's only circumstantial evidence,” broke in Curtis, with a +bitter laugh; “but that is precisely what the courts of law tell you is +the most unimpeachable of all testimony. It may fail to convince you, but +it would be quite sufficient to hang me!” + </p> +<p> +The bare recurrence, for a second, to this theme at once brought back the +old man to his own case, into which he launched with all the fervor of a +full mind; now sneering at the capacity of those before whom he was +arraigned, now detailing with delight the insolent remarks he had taken +occasion to make on the administration of justice generally. It was in +vain that MacNaghten tried to lead him away from the subject. It +constituted his world to him, and he would not quit it. A chance mention +of Fagan's name in the proceedings of the trial gave occasion at last for +interruption, and MacNaghten said,— +</p> +<p> +“By the way, Fagan is a difficult fellow to deal with. You know him well, +I believe?” + </p> +<p> +“Know him. Ay, that I do, sir. I have known that den of his since it was +an apple-stall. My first post-obit was cashed by his worthy father. My +last bill”—here he laughed heartily—“my last bill was +protested by the son! And yet the fellow is afraid of me. Ay, there is no +man that walks this city he dreads so much as me!” + </p> +<p> +Curtis was so much in the habit of exaggerating his own importance, and +particularly as it affected others, that MacNaghten paid but little +attention to this remark, when the other quickly rejoined,— +</p> +<p> +“If you want to manage Fagan, take me with you. He 'll not give you money +on my bond, nor will he discount a bill for my name's sake; but he 'll do +what costs him to the full as much,—he 'll tell you the truth, sir. +Mark that,—he 'll tell you the truth.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you accompany me to his house to-morrow?” asked Dan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, whenever you will.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll call upon you at ten o'clock, then, if not too early, and talk over +the business for which I want your assistance. Where are you stopping?” + </p> +<p> +“My town residence is let to Lord Belview, and to avoid the noise and +turmoil of a hotel, I live in lodgings,” said Curtis, slowly, and with a +certain pomposity of air and manner; suddenly changing which to his +ordinary jocular tone, he said: “You have, maybe, heard of a place called +Fum's Alley. It lies in the Liberty, and opens upon that classic precinct +called 'The Poddle.' There, sir, at a door over which a straw chair is +suspended,—it's the manufacture of the house,—there, sir, +lives Joe Curtis.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll be with you at ten,” said Dan; and, with some pass-ing allusion to +the lateness of the hour, he led the way back into the town, where they +parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. “FUM'S ALLEY, NEAR THE PODDLE” + </h2> +<p> +MacNaghten's object in seeking an interview with Fagan was to ascertain, +in the first place, who that claimant to the estate was whose views he +advocated; and, secondly, what prospect there might be of effecting some +species of compromise which should secure to my mother a reasonable +competence. Although, in his isolation, he had grasped eagerly even at +such co-operation as that of Curtis, the more he thought over the matter, +the less reason did he see to rejoice in the alliance. Even before +misfortune had affected his intellect, his temper was violent, and his +nature impracticable. Always yielding to impulse far more than to mature +judgment, he rushed madly on, scrambling from difficulty to difficulty, +and barely extricated from one mishap till involved in another. +</p> +<p> +Such aid as he could proffer, therefore, promised little, and Dan felt +more than half disposed to relinquish it. This, however, should be done +with all respect to the feelings of Curtis, and, reflecting in what way +the object could best be compassed, MacNaghten slowly sauntered onwards to +the appointed place. It was not without some difficulty that he at last +discovered the miserable lane, at the entrance to which a jaunting-car was +now waiting,—a mark of aristocratic intercourse which seemed, by the +degree of notice it attracted, to show that such equipages rarely visited +this secluded region. MacNaghten's appearance, however, soon divided +public curiosity with the vehicle, and he was followed by a ragged +gathering of every age and sex, who very unceremoniously canvassed the +object of his coming, and with a most laudable candor criticised his look +and appearance. Although poor and wretched in the extreme, none of them +asked alms, nor seemed in the slightest degree desirous of attracting +attention to their own destitution. +</p> +<p> +“Is it a lodgin' yer honer wants?” whispered an old fellow on crutches, +sidling close up to MacNaghten, and speaking in a confidential tone. “I +'ve a back room looks out on the Poddle, for two shillings a week, +furnished.” + </p> +<p> +“I've the elegant place Mary Murdoch lived in for ten months, yer honer, +in spite of all the polis', and might be livin' there yet, if she did n't +take into her head to go to Fishamble Street playhouse one night and get +arrested,” cried a one-eyed old hag, with a drummer's coat on. +</p> +<p> +“He does n't want a room,—the gentleman is n't the likes of them +that comes here,” growled out a cripple, who, with the sagacity that often +belongs to the maimed, seemed better to divine Dan's motives. +</p> +<p> +“You 're right, my lad; I was trying to find out where a friend of mine +lived,—Mr. Curtis.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, ould Joe has company this mornin',” said the first speaker. “It was +to see him that the fat man came on the jaunting-car.” + </p> +<p> +“Are yiz goin' to try him agen?” said a red-eyed, fierce-looking woman, +whose face was a mass of bruises. +</p> +<p> +“Sure the gentleman isn't a bailiff nor a polisman,” broke in the cripple, +rebukingly. +</p> +<p> +“There's not a man in the Poddle won't stand up for Joe Curtis, if he +needs it,” cried a powerfully built man, whose energy of manner showed +that he was the leader of a party. +</p> +<p> +“Yer honer's looking for Kitty Nelligan; but she's gone,” whispered a +young creature, with a baby at her breast; and her eyes overran with tears +as she spoke. “She died o' Friday last,” added she, in a still fainter +voice. +</p> +<p> +“Did n't ye hear him say it was Mister Joe he wanted? and there's the +house he lives in,” said another. +</p> +<p> +“Yis, but he can't go up to him now,” said the man who affected to assume +rule amongst them; “the one that came on the car said he was n't to be +disturbed on any account.” + </p> +<p> +“Begorra,” chimed in the cripple, “if it's a levee, yer honer must wait +yer turn!” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm quite willing,” said Dan, good-humoredly; “a man has no right to be +impatient in the midst of such pleasant company;” and as he spoke, he +seated himself on a low stone bench beside the house door, with, all the +ease of one bent on being companionable. +</p> +<p> +Had MacNaghten assumed airs of haughty superiority or insolent contempt +for that motley assembly, he never could have attained to the position to +which the last words, carelessly uttered as they were, at once raised him. +They not only pronounced him a gentleman, but a man of the world besides,—the +two qualities in the very highest repute in that class by which he was +surrounded. Instead, therefore, of the familiar tone they had previously +used towards him, they now stood silently awaiting him to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Do the people hereabouts follow any particular trade?” asked Dan. +</p> +<p> +“'T is straw chairs principally, your honer,” replied the cripple, “is the +manufacture of the place; but most of us are on the streets.” + </p> +<p> +“On the streets,—how do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“There's Billy Glory, there yonder, he sings ballads; that man with the +bit of crape round his hat hawks the papers; more of us cry things lost or +stolen; and a few more lives by rows and rucktions at elections, and the +like.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! and,” sighed the strong man, “the trade isn't worth the following +now. I remember when Barry O'Hara would n't walk the streets without a +body-guard,—five in front, and five behind him,—and well paid +they were; and I remember Hamilton Brown payin' fifty of us to keep +College Green against the Government, on a great Parliament night. Ay, and +we did it too!” + </p> +<p> +“They wor good times for more than you,” broke in the woman in the uniform +coat; “I made seven-and-sixpence on Essex Bridge in one night by the 'Shan +van voght.'” + </p> +<p> +“The grandest ballad that ever was written,” chimed in an old man with one +eye; “does yer honer know it?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm ashamed to say not perfectly,” said Dan, with an air of humility. +</p> +<p> +“Molly Daly's the one can sing it well, then,” cried he; a sentiment +re-echoed with enthusiasm by all. +</p> +<p> +“I'm low and down-hearted of a mornin',” said Molly, bashfully; “but maybe +after a naggin and a pint I'll be better.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me have the honor to treat the company,” said Dan, handing a +crown-piece to one near him. +</p> +<p> +“If your honor wants to hear Molly right, make her sing Tom Molloy's +ballad for the Volunteers,” whispered the cripple; and he struck up in a +hoarse voice,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Was she not a fool, +When she took off our wool, +To leave us so much of the +Leather—the leather! + +“'It ne'er entered her pate +That a sheepskin will 'bate,' +Will drive a whole nation +Together—together.'” + </pre> +<p> +“I'd rather she 'd sing Mosy Cassan's new song on Barry Rutledge,” growled +out a bystander. +</p> +<p> +“A song on Rutledge?” cried Dan. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. It was describin' how Watty Carew enticed him downstairs, to +kill him. Faix, but there's murder now goin' on upstairs; do ye hear ould +Joe, how he's cursin' and swearin'?” + </p> +<p> +The uproar was assuredly enough to attract attention; for Curtis was heard +screaming something at the top of his voice, and as if in high altercation +with his visitor. Mac-Naghten accordingly sprang from his seat, and +hurried up the stairs at once, followed by the powerful-looking fellow I +have already mentioned. As he came near Curtis's chamber, however, the +sounds died away and nothing could be heard but the low voices of persons +conversing in ordinary tones together. +</p> +<p> +“Step in here, sir,” said the fellow to Dan, unlocking a door at the back +of the house; “step in here, and I'll tell you when Mister Joe is ready to +see you.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten accepted the offer, and now found himself in a mean-looking +chamber, scantily furnished, and looking out upon some of those miserable +lanes and alleys with which the place abounded. The man retired, locking +the door after him, and leaving Dan to his own meditations in solitude. +</p> +<p> +He was not destined to follow these thoughts long undisturbed, for again +he could hear Curtis's voice, which, at first from a distant room, was now +to be heard quite close, as he came into the very chamber adjoining that +where Dan was. +</p> +<p> +“Come this way, come this way, I say,” cried the old man, in a voice +tremulous with passion. “If you want to seize, you shall see the chattels +at once,—no need to trouble yourself about an inventory! There is my +bed; I got fresh straw into the sacking on Saturday. The blanket is a +borrowed one; that horseman's cloak is my own. There 's not much in that +portmanteau,” cried he, kicking it with his foot against the wall. “Two +ragged shirts and a lambskin waistcoat, and the title-deeds of estates +that not even your chicanery could get back for me. Take them all, take +that old blunderbuss, and tell the Grinder that if I 'd have put it to my +head twenty years ago, it would have been mercy, compared to the slow +torture of his persecution!” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Mr. Curtis, my dear sir,” interposed a bland, soft voice that Dan +at once recognized as belonging to Mr. Crowther, the attorney, “you must +allow me once more to protest against this misunderstanding. There is +nothing farther from my thoughts at this moment than any measure of rigor +or severity towards you.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean, then, by that long catalogue of my debts? Why have you +hunted me out to show me bills I can never pay, and bonds I can never +release?” + </p> +<p> +“Pray be calm, sir; bear with me patiently, and you will see that my +business here this morning is the very reverse of what you suspect it to +be. It is perfectly true that Mr. Fagan possesses large, very large, +claims upon you.” + </p> +<p> +“How incurred, sir?—answer me that. Who can stand forty, fifty, ay, +sixty per cent? Has he not succeeded to every acre of my estate? Have I +anything, except that settle-bed, that is n't his?” + </p> +<p> +“You cannot expect me to go at length into these matters, sir,” said +Crowther, mildly; “they are now bygones, and it is of the future I wish to +speak.” + </p> +<p> +“If the past be bad, the future promises to be worse,” cried Curtis, +bitterly. “It is but sorry mercy to ask me to look forward!” + </p> +<p> +“I think I can convince you to the contrary, sir, if you vouchsafe me a +hearing. I hope to show you that there are in all probability many happy +years before you,—years of ease and affluence. Yes, sir, in spite of +that gesture of incredulity, I repeat it,—of ease and affluence.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, they think to buy me at last,” broke in the old man. “The +scoundrels must have met with few honest men, or they had never dared to +make such a proposal. What do the rascals think to bribe me with, eh? Tell +me that.” + </p> +<p> +“You persist in misunderstanding me, sir. I do not come from the +Government; I would not presume to wait on you in such a cause!” + </p> +<p> +“What's the peerage to me? I have no descendants to profit by my infamy. I +cannot barter my honor for my children's greatness! I 'm prouder with that +old hat on my head than with the coronet; tell them that. Tell them that +Joe Curtis was the only man in all Ireland they never could purchase; tell +them that when I had an estate I swore to prosecute for a poacher their +ducal Viceroy if he shot a snipe over my lands; and that I 'm the same man +now I was then!” + </p> +<p> +Crowther sighed heavily, like one who has a wearisome task before him, but +must go through with it. +</p> +<p> +“If I could but persuade you, sir, to believe that my business here has no +connection with politics whatever; that the Castle has nothing to do with +it—” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, I see,” cried Curtis, “it's Lord Charlemont sent you. It 's no use; I +'ll have nothing to say to any of them. He's too fond of Castle dinners +and Castle company for me! I never knew any good come of the patriotism +that found its way up Corkhill at six o'clock of an evening!” + </p> +<p> +“Once for all, Mr. Curtis, I say that what brought me here this morning +was to show you that Mr. Fagan would be willing to surrender all claim +against you for outstanding liabilities, and besides to settle on you a +very handsome annuity, in consideration of some concessions on your part +with respect to a property against which he has very large claims.” + </p> +<p> +“What's the annuity,—how much?” cried Curtis, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“What sum would you yourself feel sufficient, sir? He empowered me to +consult your own wishes and expectations on the subject.” + </p> +<p> +“If I was to say a thousand a-year, for instance?” said Curtis, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“I'm certain he would not object, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps if I said two, he 'd comply?” + </p> +<p> +“Two thousand pounds a-year is a large income for a single man,” replied +Crowther, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“So it is; but I could spend it. I spent eight thousand a-year once in my +life, and when my estate was short of three! and that 's what comes of +it;” and he gave the settle-bed a rude kick as he spoke. “Would he give +two? That's the question, Crowther: would he give two?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not feel myself competent to close with that offer, Mr. Curtis; but +if you really think that such a sum is necessary—” + </p> +<p> +“I do,—I know it; I could n't do with a shilling less; in fact, I'd +find myself restricted enough with that. Whenever I had to think about +money, it was hateful to me. Tell him two is the lowest, the very lowest, +I 'd accept of; and if he wishes to treat me handsomely, he may exceed it. +You 're not to judge of my habits, sir, from what you see here,” added he, +fiercely; “this is not what I have been accustomed to. You don't know the +number of people who look up to me for bread. My father's table was laid +for thirty every day, and it had been well for us if as many more were not +fed at our cost elsewhere.” + </p> +<p> +“I have often heard tell of Meagh-valley House and its hospitalities,” + said Crowther, blandly. +</p> +<p> +“'Come over and drink a pipe of port' was the invitation when I was a boy. +A servant was sent round to the neighborhood to say that a hogshead of +claret was to be broached on such a day, and to beg that the gentlemen +around would come over and help to drink it,—ay, to drink it out! +Your piperly hounds, with their two-bottle magnum, think themselves +magnificent nowadays; why, in my time they 'd have been laughed to scorn!” + </p> +<p> +“They were glorious times indeed,” cried Crowther, with mad enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“Glorious times to beggar a nation, to prostitute public honor and private +virtue,” broke in Curtis, passionately; “to make men heartless debauchees +first, that they might become shameless scoundrels after; to teach them a +youth of excess and an old age of venality. These were your Glorious +Times! But you, sir, may be forgiven for praising them; to you, and others +like you, they have been indeed 'Glorious Times'! Out of them grew those +lawsuits and litigations that have enriched you, while they ruined us. Out +of that blessed era of orgie and debauch came beggared families and +houseless gentry; men whose fathers lay upon down couches, and whose +selves sleep upon the like of that;” and the rude settle rocked as his +hand shook it. “Out upon your Glorious Times, say I; you might as well +call the drunken scene of a dinner-party a picture of domestic comfort and +happiness! It was a long night of debauchery, and this that we now see is +the sad morning afterwards! Do you know besides, sir,” continued he, in a +still fiercer tone, “that in those same 'Glorious Times,' you, and others +of your stamp, would have been baited like badgers if found within the +precincts of a gentleman's house? Ay, faith, and if my memory does not +betray me, I can call to mind one or two such instances.” + </p> +<p> +The violence of the old man's passion seemed to have exhausted him, and he +sat down on the bed, breathing heavily and panting. +</p> +<p> +“Where were we?” cried he at last. “What was it that we were arguing? Yes—ay—to +be sure—these bills—these confounded bills. I can't pay them. +I would n't if I could. That scoundrel Fagan has made enough of me without +that. What was it you said of an annuity? There was some talk of an +annuity, eh?” + </p> +<p> +Crowther bent down, and spoke some words in a low, murmuring voice. +</p> +<p> +“Well, and for that what am I to do?” cried Curtis, suddenly. “My share of +the compact is heavy enough, I'll be sworn. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“I think I can show you that it is not much of a sacrifice, sir. I know +you hate long explanations, and I 'll make mine very brief. Mr. Fagan has +very heavy charges against an estate which is not unlikely to be the +subject of a disputed ownership. It may be a long suit, with all the +delays and difficulties of Chancery; and in looking over the various +persons who may prefer claims here and there, we find your name amongst +the rest, for it is a long list, sir. There may be forty or forty-five in +all! The principal one, however, is a wealthy baronet who has ample means +to prosecute his claim, and with fair hopes of succeeding. My notion, +however, was that if Mr. Fagan could arrange with the several persons in +the cause to waive their demands for a certain consideration, that it +would not be difficult then to arrange some compromise with the baronet +himself,—he surrendering the property to Fagan for a certain amount, +on taking with it all its liabilities. You understand?” + </p> +<p> +“And who's the owner?” asked Curtis, shortly. +</p> +<p> +“He is dead, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Who was he when alive?” + </p> +<p> +“An old friend, or rather the son of an old friend of yours, Mr. Curtis!” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, Brinsley Morgan! I guess him at once; but you are wrong, quite wrong +there, my good fellow. I have n't the shadow of a lien on his estate. We +talked it over together one day, and Hackett, the Attorney-General, who +was in the house, said that my claim was n't worth five shillings. But I +'ll tell you where I have a claim,—at least Hackett said so, I have +a very strong claim—No, no; I was forgetting again,—my memory +is quite gone. It is so hard when one grows old to bear the last ten or +fifteen years in mind. I can remember my boyhood and my school-days like +yesterday. It is late events that confuse me! You 'll scarce believe me +when I tell you I often find myself going to dine with some old friend, +and only discover when I reach his door that he is dead and gone this many +a day! There was something in my mind to tell you, and it has escaped me +already. Oh! I have it. There are some curious old family papers in that +musty-looking portmanteau. I should like to find out some clever fellow +that would look them over without rushing me into a lawsuit, mind ye, for +I have no heart for that now! My brother Harry's boy is dead. India +finished him, poor fellow! That's the key of it,—see if it will open +the lock.” + </p> +<p> +“If you like I 'll take them back with me, sir, and examine them myself at +home.” + </p> +<p> +“Do so, Crowther. Only understand me well, no bills of costs, my worthy +friend; no searches after this, or true copies of that; I 'll have none of +them. As Dick Parsons said, I 'd rather spend my estate at the 'Fives' +than the 'Four' Courts.” + </p> +<p> +Crowther gave one of his complacent laughs; and having induced Curtis to +accept an invitation for the following day at dinner, he took the +portmanteau under his arm and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +He had scarcely descended the stairs when Dan found the door unlocked, and +proceeded to pay his visit to Curtis, his mind full of all that he had +just overheard, and wondering at the many strange things he had been a +listener to. +</p> +<p> +When MacNaghten entered, he found Curtis sitting at a table, with his head +resting on his hand, and looking like one deeply engaged in thought. Dan +saluted him twice, without obtaining a reply, and at last said,— +</p> +<p> +“They said that you had a visitor this morning, and so I have been waiting +for some time to see you.” + </p> +<p> +The other nodded assentingly, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“You are, perhaps, too much tired now,” said Dan, in a kind voice, “for +much talking. Come and have a turn in the open air; it will refresh you.” + </p> +<p> +Curtis arose and took his hat, without uttering a word. +</p> +<p> +“You are a good walker, Curtis,” said MacNaghten, as they reached the +street. “What say you if we stroll down to Harold's Cross, and eat our +breakfast at the little inn they call 'The Friar'?” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed,” muttered the other, and walked along at his side, without +another word; while Dan, to amuse his companion, and arouse him from the +dreary stupor that oppressed him, exerted himself in various ways, +recounting the popular anecdotes of the day, and endeavoring, so far as +might be, to entertain him. +</p> +<p> +It was soon, however, evident that Curtis neither heard nor heeded the +efforts the other was making, for he continued to move along with his head +down, mumbling at intervals to himself certain broken and incoherent +words. At first, MacNaghten hoped that this moody dejection would pass +away, and his mind recover its wonted sharpness; but now he saw that the +impression under which he labored was no passing or momentary burden, but +a heavy load that weighed wearily on his spirits. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid you are scarcely so well as usual to-day?” asked Dan, after a +long interval of silence between them. +</p> +<p> +“I have a pain hereabouts,—it is not a pain either, but I feel +uneasy,” said Curtis, pushing his hat back from his forehead, and touching +his temple with his finger. +</p> +<p> +“It will pass away with the fresh air and a hearty breakfast, I hope. If +not, I will see some one on our return. Who is your doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“My doctor! You ask a man who has lived eighty-four years who is his +doctor! That nature that gave him a good stout frame; the spirit that told +him what it could, and what it could not, bear,—these, and a hearty +contempt for physic and all that live by it, have guided me so far, and +you may call them my doctors if you wish.” + </p> +<p> +Rather pleased to have recalled the old man to his habitual energy, Dan +affected to contest his opinions, by way of inducing him to support them; +but he quickly saw his error, for Curtis, as though wearied by even this +momentary effort, seemed more downcast and depressed than before. +</p> +<p> +MacNaghten, therefore, contented himself with some commonplace remarks +about the country around and the road they were walking, when Curtis came +to a sudden halt, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“You would n't take the offer, I 'll be sworn. You 'd say at once: 'Show +me what rights I 'm surrendering; let me know the terms of the agreement.' +But what signifies all that at my age?—the last of the stock +besides! If I lay by what will pay the undertaker, it's all the world has +a right to demand at my hands.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's 'The Friar,'—this is our inn,” said MacNaghten. “Shall I be +the caterer, eh? What say you to some fried fish and a glass of Madeira, +to begin with?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll have a breakfast, sir, that suits my condition,” said Curtis, +haughtily. “Send the landlord here for my orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's our man, then,” said MacNaghten, humoring the whim, as he pushed +the innkeeper towards him. +</p> +<p> +“What's your name, my good fellow?” asked Curtis, with a supercilious look +at the short but well-conditioned figure before him. +</p> +<p> +“Billy Mathews, sir,” said the other, with difficulty restraining a smile +at the dilapidated look of his interrogator. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Mathews, keep the Billy for your equals, my good friend. Mathews, I +say, let us have the best your house affords, served in your best room and +in your best manner. If I ate prison fare for nine weeks, sir, it is no +reason that I am not accustomed to something different. My name is Joseph +Curtis, of Meagh-valley House; I sat in Parliament for eight-and-twenty +years, for the borough of Kilternon; and I was tried for a murder at the +last commission. There, sir! it's not every day you have a guest who can +say as much.” + </p> +<p> +As the landlord was moving away to give his orders, Curtis called out once +more:— +</p> +<p> +“Stay, sir; hear me out. There are spies of the Castle wherever I go. Who +have you here just now? Who's in this house?” + </p> +<p> +“There's but one gentleman here at present, sir. I've known him these +twenty years, and I 'll vouch for it he's neither a Government spy nor an +informer.” + </p> +<p> +“And who will be satisfied with your guarantee, sir?” cried Curtis, +insolently. “It's not a fellow in your position that can assure the +scruples of a man in mine. Who is he? What's his name?” + </p> +<p> +“He's a respectable man, sir, well known in Dublin, and the son of one +that held a good position once.” + </p> +<p> +“His name,—his name!” cried Curtis, imperiously. +</p> +<p> +“It's no matter about his name!” replied the host, sulkily. “He has come +to eat his breakfast here, as he does once or twice a week, and that's all +that I have to say to him.” + </p> +<p> +“But I 'll have his name,—I 'll insist upon it,” shouted out Curtis, +in a voice of high excitement; “persecuted and hunted down as I am, I'll +defend myself. Your Castle bloodhounds shall see that Joe Curtis will not +run from them. This gentleman here is the son of MacNaghten of Greenan. +What signifies it to you if he be ruined! What affair is it of yours, I +ask, if he has n't a sixpence in the world?—I'll pay for what he +takes here. I'm responsible for everything. I have two thousand a year +secured on my life,”—he stopped, and seemed to reflect for a moment, +then added,—“that is, I may have it if I please.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten made a signal for the innkeeper to serve the breakfast, and not +notice any of the extravagances of his strange companion. Mathews was +about to obey, when Curtis, recurring to his former thought, cried out,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, this fellow's name?” + </p> +<p> +“Tell him who it is,” whispered Dan, secretly; and the host said,— +</p> +<p> +“The gentleman is one Mr. Raper, sir, head clerk to Mr. Fagan, of Mary's +Abbey.” + </p> +<p> +“Leave the room—close the door,” said Curtis, with an air of +caution. “I saw the signal you gave the innkeeper a moment ago, +MacNaghten,” said he, in the same low and guarded tone. “I read its +meaning perfectly. You would imply: The old fellow is not right—a +crack in the upper story—humor him a bit. Don't deny it, man; you +acted for the best; you thought, as many think, that my misfortunes had +affected my intellect and sapped my understanding; and so they had done +this many a day,” added he, fiercely, “but for one thing. I had one grand +security against madness, Dan; one great barrier, my boy: shall I tell it +you? It was this, then: that if my head wandered sometimes, my heart never +did—never! I hated the English and their party in this country with +a hate that never slept, never relaxed! I knew well that I was the only +man in Ireland that they could not put down. Some they bought—some +they ruined—some they intimidated—some they destroyed by +calumny. They tried all these with me, and at last were driven to a false +accusation, and had me up for a murder! and that failed them, too! Here I +stand, their opponent, just as I did fifty-two years ago, and the only man +in all Ireland that dares to brave and defy them. They 'd make me a peer +to-morrow, Dan; they 'd give me a colonial government; they 'd take me +into the Cabinet; there is not a demand of mine they 'd say 'No' to, if I +'d join them; but my answer is, 'Never! never!' Go down to your grave, Joe +Curtis, ruined, ragged, half-famished, mayhap. Let men call you a fool, +and worse! but the time will come, and the people will say: There was once +a man in Ireland that never truckled to the Castle, nor fawned on the +Viceroy; and that when he stood in the dock, with his life on the venture, +told them that he despised their vengeance, though he knew that they were +covering it with all the solemnity of a law-court; and that man his +contemporaries—ay, even his friends—were pleased to call Mad!” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Curtis, you know well this is not my impression of you; you +only say so jestingly.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a sorry theme to crack jokes upon,” said the other, sadly. He +paused, and seemed to reflect deeply for some minutes, and then, in a +voice of peculiar meaning, and with a look of intense cunning in his small +gray eyes, said, “We heard the name he mentioned,—Raper, Fagan's man +of business. Let 's have him in, MacNaghten; the fellow is a half +simpleton in many things. Let's talk to him.” + </p> +<p> +“Would you ask Mr. Raper to join our breakfast?” asked Dan of the +innkeeper. +</p> +<p> +“He has just finished his own, sir; some bread and watercresses, with a +cup of milk, are all that he takes.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Dan, “I see him yonder in the summer-house; he appears +to be in hard study, for he has not raised his head since we entered the +room. I 'll go and ask him how he is.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten had not only time to approach the little table where Raper was +seated unobserved, but even to look over the object of his study, before +his presence was recognized. +</p> +<p> +“German, Mr. Raper; reading German?” cried MacNaghten. “I know the +characters, at least.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, it is German; an odd volume of Richter that I picked up a few +days ago. A difficult author at first, somewhat involved and intricate in +construction: here, for instance is a passage—” + </p> +<p> +“My dear friend, it is all a Greek chorus to me, or anything else you can +fancy equally unintelligible.” + </p> +<p> +“It is the story of an humble man, a village cobbler, who becomes by an +accident of fortune suddenly rich. Now, the author, instead of describing +the incidents of life and the vicissitudes that encounter him, leaves us +only to guess, or rather to supply them for ourselves, by simply dwelling +upon all the 'Gedänkskriege,' or mental conflicts, that are the +consequences of his altered position. The notion is ingenious, and if not +overlayed with a certain dreamy mysticism, would be very interesting.” + </p> +<p> +“I,” said Dan, “would far rather hear of his acts than his reflections. +What he did would amuse me more to know than to learn why.” + </p> +<p> +“But how easy to imagine the one!” exclaimed Raper. “Wealth has its habits +all stereotyped: from Dives to our own days the catalogue has been ever +the same, 'purple and fine linen.' And if some have added to the mere +sensual pleasures the higher enjoyments derivable from objects of art and +the cultivation of letters, has it not been because their own natures were +more elevated, and required such refinements as daily necessaries? The +humble man, suddenly enriched, lives no longer in the sphere of his former +associates, but ascends into one of whose habits he knows nothing; and +Jean Paul condemns him for this, and reminds him that when a river is +swollen by autumn rains it does not desert its ancient channel, but +enlarges the sphere of its utility, by spreading fertilization on each +side of it, seeming to think: I may, by the accidents of life, grow small +and humble again; it is as well that I should not quit the tiny course I +have followed in my humble fortunes.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you agree with him?” asked Dan, more amazed by the enthusiasm of +his companion than by the theme that suggested it. +</p> +<p> +“I do so in everything; I speak, of course, as one who knows nothing of +those ambitions by which wealthy men are encompassed; I am not in the +position of one who has seen and felt these fascinations, and who emerges +from his poverty to re-assume a former station. Take the case of Mr. +Curtis, for instance.” + </p> +<p> +“What! old Curtis—Joe Curtis?” asked Dan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Curtis, formerly of Meagh-valley. Well, if his claim be as good as +they suppose, he 'll not only inherit the great Wicklow estates, but the +Western property so long in Chancery.” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten saw that Raper was pouring forth this knowledge without being +conscious that he was making an important revelation, and gave a dry, +commonplace assent. +</p> +<p> +“Who can say what may not be his income?” exclaimed Raper, thoughtfully; +“twenty thousand a-year, at the least.” + </p> +<p> +“And his prospects are good, you say,—his chances of success?” + </p> +<p> +“The marriage certificate of Noah Curtis and Eleanor Carew has been +discovered, sir, and if the will of Fownes Carew be authentic, the case, I +believe, is clear.” + </p> +<p> +“What Carews were these?” + </p> +<p> +“The ancestors of Walter Carew, sir, whose estates now descend to the +heirs of the female branch.” + </p> +<p> +“And Curtis will inherit these?” + </p> +<p> +The tone in which Dan uttered these words so startled Raper that he +suddenly recovered his self-possession, and remembered how unguardedly he +had related this mysterious piece of intelligence. +</p> +<p> +“When was this discovery made?—who chanced to trace this +relationship between Curtis and the Carew family?” cried MacNaghten, in +intense anxiety. +</p> +<p> +A signal from Raper suddenly suggested caution and reserve; but Dan, too +much excited to attend it, went on: +</p> +<p> +“Sir, never believe it! It is some infernal scheme concocted between Fagan +and the lawyers. They have put forward this wretched old man, half-witted +as he is—” + </p> +<p> +A hand grasped Dan's arm as he said this; he turned, and there stood +Curtis beside him! +</p> +<p> +“I 've heard you both!” said the old man, dryly. “To you, sir,” said he to +Raper, “I owe my thanks for a piece of welcome news; to you, MacNaghten, I +feel grateful for all your candor!” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Curtis; be angry with me, if you will; but for Heaven's sake +do not lend yourself to these base plots and schemes. If there be a +conspiracy to rob poor Walter's widow and her child, let not one of his +oldest, best friends have any share in it.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll maintain my rights, sir, be assured of that!” said Curtis, with a +degree of resolution strangely different from his former manner. “Mr. +MacNaghten's impression of my competence to conduct my own affairs may +possibly be disparaging, but, happily, there is another tribunal which +shall decide on that question. Raper, I 'm going into town,—will you +accompany me? Mr. MacNaghten, I wish you a good morning.” And with these +words he took Raper's arm, and retired, leaving Dan still standing, mute, +overwhelmed, and thunderstruck. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY +</h2> +<p> +What I have heretofore mentioned of the events which followed immediately +on my father's death were all related circumstantially to me by MacNaghtan +himself, who used to dwell upon them with a most painfully accurate +memory. There was not an incident, however slight, there was not a scene +of passing interest, that did not leave its deep impression on him; and, +amid all the trials of his own precarious life, these were the events +which he recurred to most frequently. +</p> +<p> +Poor fellow, how severely did he reproach himself for calamities that no +effort of his could avert! How often has he deplored mistakes and errors +which, though they perhaps hastened, by no means caused, the ruin that +imperilled us. The simple fact was, that in his dread of litigation, from +which almost all his own misfortunes had sprung, he endeavored to conduct +affairs which required the most acute and subtle intelligence to guide. He +believed that good sense and good intentions would be amply sufficient to +divest my father's circumstances of all embarrassment; and when, at last, +he saw two claimants in the field for the property—immense, almost +fabulous, demands from Fagan—and heard, besides, that no provision +was made for my mother, whose marriage was utterly denied and disbelieved,—then +he appears to have lost all self-control altogether, and in his despair to +have grasped at any expedient that presented itself; one day addressing a +confidential letter to Sir Carew O'Moore, whom he regarded as the rightful +heir to the property; the next, adventuring to open relations with Curtis, +through the mediation of Fagan. Every weak point in my mother's position +became, of course, exposed by these fruitless communications; while, by +his own change of purpose, he grew to be distrusted by each in turn. +</p> +<p> +It was a theme that he avoided speaking on; but when questioned closely by +me, he has owned that Curtis exercised a kind of sway, a species of +terror-like influence, over him that totally overcame him. +</p> +<p> +“That old, besotted, crazy intellect,” said he, “appeared to have +recovered freshness and energy with prosperity; and, animated with almost +diabolical acuteness, to profit by every weakness of my own nature. Even +Fagan, with all his practised craft, had to succumb to the shrewd and +keenwitted powers of the old man; and Crowther owned that all his +experience of life had not shown him his equal in point of intelligence.” + </p> +<p> +A misanthropic, bitter spirit gave him a vigor and energy that his years +might have denied him; and there was a kind of vindictive power about him +that withstood all the effects of fatigue and exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +The law had now begun its campaign in right earnest. There were two great +issues to be tried at bar, and a grand question, involving any amount of +intricacy, for the Chancery Court. The subject was the possession of a +large estate, and every legal celebrity of the day was engaged by one side +or the other. Of course such an event became the general topic of discussion +in all circles, but more particularly in those wherein my father had once +moved. Alas for the popularity of personal qualities,—how +short-lived is it ever! Of the many who used to partake of his generous +hospitality, and who benefited by his friendship, how few could now speak +even charitably of his acts! Indeed, it would appear, from the tone in +which they spoke, that each, even the least observant or farseeing, had +long anticipated his ruin. Such absurd extravagance, such pretension! A +house fit for a sovereign prince, and a retinue like that of royalty! And +then the daily style of living,—endless profusion and waste! The +“French connection”—none would say marriage—also had its share +of reprobation. The kindly disposed only affected to deplore and grieve +over the unhappy mistake. The rigidly right seemed to read in his own +downfall a justice for a crime committed; while another section, as large +as either, “took out” their indignation at his insolence in having dared +to present her to the world as his wife! +</p> +<p> +And yet his once warm heart was scarcely cold when they said these things +of him. And so it is to this day and to this hour: the same code of +morality exists, and the same set of moralizers are to be met with +everywhere. Far be it from me to say that faults and follies should pass +unnoticed and unstigmatized; but, at least, let the truth-teller of to-day +not have been the tuft-hunter of yesterday,—let the grave monitor +who rebukes extravagance, not once have been the Sybarite guest who +provoked excess; but least of all let us hear predictions of ruin from the +lips that only promised long years of happiness and enjoyment. +</p> +<p> +Events moved rapidly. The Chancellor appointed a receivership over the +property, and an order from the Court required that immediate possession +should be taken of the house and demesne. My father's balance at his +bankers' amounted to some thousand pounds. This, too, was sequestered by a +judge's order, “awaiting proceedings.” An inventory of everything, even to +the personal effects of my mother, the jewellery she had brought with her +from France, her very wardrobe, was taken. The law has a most microscopic +eye for detail. Carriages, horses, servants' liveries, were numbered, the +very cradle in which lay her baby was declared to belong to some unknown +owner; and a kind of mystical proprietorship seemed to float unseen +through the chambers and corridors of that devoted dwelling. +</p> +<p> +My poor mother!—removed from room to room, with good-natured care, +to spare her the shock of proceedings which even her ignorance of the +world might have taken alarm at; weak, scarcely able to walk; only half +conscious of the movement around her; asking every moment for explanations +which none had courage to give her; agitated with vague terror; a sense of +some misfortune lowering over her, and each moment nearer; catching at a +chance word dropped here; eagerly watching at every look there,—what +misery, what suffering was yours, poor, friendless, forsaken widow! +</p> +<p> +Where was MacNaghten, her one faithful friend and counsellor? He had gone +to town early that morning, and had not yet returned. One last but +fruitless effort to induce Curtis to come to terms had led him again to +seek an interview. Her cousin De Gabriac, who had been ill for several +days, had by a mere accident, from expressions picked up by his valet in +the household, learned the nature of the allegation against my mother,—that +her marriage was denied, and my illegitimacy declared. Almost driven to +madness by what sounded like an outrage to his pride, he had set out for +Dublin to fasten upon some one—any one—a personal quarrel in +the vindication of my mother's honor. Fagan's address was known to him, by +frequent mention of his name, and thither he accordingly hastened. The +Grinder was from home; but to await his return, De Gabriac was ushered +upstairs into the drawing-room, where an elderly man was seated writing at +a table. The old man lifted his head and slightly saluted the stranger, +but continued his occupation without any further notice, and De Gabriac +threw himself into a chair to wait, with what patience he could, for +Fagan's coming. +</p> +<p> +There was a newspaper on the table, and De Gabriac took it up to spell as +he could the intelligence of the day. Almost the very first lines which +caught his eye were an announcement of an “Extensive sale of valuable +furniture, plate, and household effects, late the property of Walter +Carew, Esq.” Certain enigmatical words that headed the advertisement +puzzled the foreigner, and, unable to restrain his eagerness to unravel +their meaning, he advanced to the table where the old man was writing, and +in a polite tone asked him to explain what meant such phrases as “<i>In re</i> +Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House, and others, petitioners.” + </p> +<p> +The other, thus addressed, looked from the newspaper to the inquirer, and +back again to the paper, and then to the astonished face of the Frenchman, +without a word. “I have to hope,” said De Gabriac, “that nothing in my +question may appear rude or uncivil. I merely wished to know—” + </p> +<p> +“To know who Joseph Curtis is!” broke in the old man, quickly. “Then I 'll +tell you, sir. He is the only surviving son of Robert Harrison Curtis and +Eleanor Anne, his wife, born at Meagh-valley House, in the parish of +Cappagh, barony of Ivrone, Anno Domini 1704. Served in Parliament for +twenty-eight years, and commanded the militia of his native county till +deprived of that honor by a rascally Government and a perjured Viceroy.” + Here his voice grew loud, and his manner violent and excited. “Since when, +sir, harassed, persecuted, and tortured, he has been robbed of his +estates, stripped of his property, and left houseless and friendless,—ay, +sir, friendless, I say; for poverty and want attract no friendship,—and +who would still be the victim of knavery and scoundrelism if Providence +had not blessed him with a clear head as well as a strong heart. Such he +is, and such he stands before you. And now, sir, that I have answered your +question, will you favor me with a reply to mine: what are you called?” + </p> +<p> +“I am the Count Emile de Gabriac,” said the Frenchman, smiling; “I will +spare you the pedigree and the birthplace.” + </p> +<p> +“Wisely done, I've no doubt, sir,” said Curtis, “if, as I surmise, you are +the relative of that French lady whom I met at Castle Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“You speak of my cousin, sir,—Madame de Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“I do not recognize her as such, sir, nor does the law of this country.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean, sir,—not married? Is it such you would imply?” + cried De Gabriac, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“Never imagine that your foreign airs can terrify me, young gentleman,” + said Curtis, insolently. “I 've seen you in your own country, and know +well the braggadocio style you can assume. If you ask me for information, +do so with the manner that beseems inquiry. If you are for a quarrel, it's +not Joe Curtis will balk your good intentions.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor old fool,” said De Gabriac, contemptuously. “If you had a grandson +or a nephew to answer for your insolence—” + </p> +<p> +“But I have neither, I want neither; I am ready, willing, and able to +defend my own honor; and this is exactly what I suspect you are unable to +say.” + </p> +<p> +“But you do not suppose that I can cross a weapon with the like of you!” + said De Gabriac, with an insolent laugh. +</p> +<p> +“You would n't be a Frenchman if you had n't a subterfuge to escape a +meeting!” cried Curtis, with a most taunting impertinence of manner. +</p> +<p> +“This is pushing insolence too far, old man,” said De Gabriac, barely able +to restrain himself. +</p> +<p> +“And yet not far enough, it would seem, to prompt you to an act of +manhood. Now hear me, Monsieur Count. I am no admirer of your country, nor +its ways; but this I will say, that a French gentleman, so far as I have +seen of them, was always ready to resent an insult; and whenever a slight +was passed by unnoticed, the presumption ever was that he who endured it +was not a gentleman. Is it to some such explanation you wish to conduct me +in the present case?” + </p> +<p> +A contemptuous exclamation and a glance of ineffable disdain was all the +reply the Count vouchsafed to this outrageous appeal; and probably by no +means could he so effectually have raised the old man's anger. Any +allusion to his age, to the infirmities that pertained to it, he bore +always with the greatest impatience; but to suppose that his time of life +placed him beyond self-vindication was an insult too great to be endured, +and he would have braved any peril to avenge it. His sudden access to +wealth, far from allaying the irritabilities of his nature, had increased +and exaggerated them all. The insolence of prosperity was now added to the +querulous temperament that narrow fortune had engendered, and the +excitement of his brain was little short of actual frenzy. To what extent +of outrage passion might have carried him there is no saying, for he was +already hurriedly advancing towards the Count, when the door opened, and +Polly Fagan entered. She had overheard from an adjoining room the words of +high altercation, and recognizing Curtis as one of the speakers, +determined, at any cost, to interfere. +</p> +<p> +“I am sure, sir,” said she, addressing the old man, while she courtesied +deeply to the stranger, “that you will forgive my intrusion; but I only +this moment learned that you were here writing, and I thought that +probably the quiet seclusion of my room would suit you better: may I make +bold to offer it to you?” + </p> +<p> +“Thanks, madam; but, with your leave, this is quite to my taste,” said he, +stiffly. +</p> +<p> +“It is so comfortable, sir, and looks out upon our little garden!” said +Polly, coaxingly. +</p> +<p> +“I am certain, madam, that it has every attraction, and only needs your +presence there to be incomparable.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, sir,” said she, laughing, “I'll not take your innuendo, save in its +flattering sense.” + </p> +<p> +“I never flatter, madam, for I would n't try to pass on another the base +coinage I 'd reject myself. Others, however,” and here he glanced towards +the Frenchman, “may not have these scruples; and I am sure the charms of +your apartment will be fully appreciated elsewhere.” + </p> +<p> +Polly blushed deeply, not the less so that the Frenchman's eyes were bent +upon her during the delivery of the speech with evident admiration. +</p> +<p> +“If mademoiselle would permit me, even as a sanctuary—” began the +Count. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, Miss Polly,” broke in Curtis; “let him take refuge there, as he +tells you, for he feels very far from at his ease in my company.” + </p> +<p> +Polly's quick intelligence read in these few words the real state of the +case; and, resolved at all hazards to prevent untoward consequences, she +made a sign to the Frenchman to follow her, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +It was in vain that the old man re-seated himself at the writing-table; +all his efforts at composure were fruitless, and he muttered to himself +threats of vengeance and imprecations till he worked his mind up to a +state of ungovernable fury. It was in the very paroxysm of this passion, +and while he was pacing the chamber with hasty steps, that Fagan entered. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing unpleasant has occurred, sir, I trust,” exclaimed the Grinder, as +he beheld the agitated face, and watched the lips that never ceased to +mutter unintelligibly. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, sir,” cried he, advancing up to Fagan, and placing one hand upon +his shoulder, “tell me, sir, what is there in my age and appearance that +should exclude me from exacting the satisfaction in vogue amongst +gentlemen? I ask you, sir, in plain language,—and you have a right +to answer me, for it was in your house and under your roof that I have +received this outrage,—where and what is my disqualification?” + </p> +<p> +“Pray explain yourself, Mr. Curtis. I trust I have n't heard you aright, +and that any one had dared to offend you within these walls!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, in the very room where we stand, not half an hour ago, an +insolent scoundrel of a foreigner—a French lackey, a hairdresser, +perhaps—has had the insolence to talk to me, a gentleman of fortune +and position, a man whose estate places him in the first rank of this +country's gentry. You said so yesterday. Don't deny it, sir; I quote your +own very words.” + </p> +<p> +“I am most ready and willing to repeat them, Mr. Curtis,” said Fagan, +humbly; “pray go on.” + </p> +<p> +“You said yesterday,” continued Curtis, “in the presence of two others, +that, except Lord Kiltimon's, there was not so large a property in the +country; did you, sir, or did you not?” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly did say so, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And now, sir, you would go back of it,—you had some reservation, +some qualifying something or other, I'll be bound; but I tell you, Mr. +Anthony Fagan, that though these habits may suit an apple-stall in Mary's +Abbey, they are unbecoming when used in the presence of men of rank and +fortune. I believe that is plain speaking, sir; I trust there may be no +misconception of my meaning, at least!” + </p> +<p> +Fagan was not, either by nature or by disposition, disposed to submit +tamely to insult; but whether it was from some strong reason of policy, or +that he held Curtis as one not fully responsible for his words, he +certainly took no steps to resent his language, but rather seemed eager to +assuage the violence of the old man's temper. +</p> +<p> +“It's all very well, sir,” said Curtis, after listening with considerable +show of impatience to these excuses; “it's all very well to say you regret +this, and deplore that. But let me tell you there are other duties of your +station beside apologies. You should take measures that when persons of my +rank and station accept the shelter of your roof, they are not broken in +upon by rascally foreigners, vile adventurers, and swindlers! You may be +as angry as you please, sir, but I will repeat every word I have said. +Yes, Mr. Fagan; I talk from book, sir,—I speak with knowledge; for +when you were serving out crab-apples, in a check-apron, at your father's +stall, I was travelling on the Continent as a young gentleman of fortune!” + </p> +<p> +“Until you tell me how you have been insulted, and by whom,” said Fagan, +with some warmth, “I must hope that there is some easily explained +mistake.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! this is better and better,” exclaimed Curtis. “No, sir, you mistake +me much; you entirely misunderstand me. I should most implicitly accept +your judgment as to a bruised peach or a blighted pear; but upon a +question of injured honor or of outraged feeling, I should scarcely defer +to you so humbly!” and as he said these words, with an air of most +exaggerated self-importance, he put on his hat and left the room, without +once noticing the respectful salutation of the Grinder. +</p> +<p> +When Fagan entered his daughter's room, he was surprised at the presence +of the stranger, whom she presented to him as the Count de Gabriac, and +who had so far profited by the opportunity as to have already made a most +favorable impression upon the fair Polly. +</p> +<p> +Polly rapidly told her father that the stranger, while awaiting his +return, had been accidentally exposed to the most outrageous treatment +from Curtis, to shelter him from a continuance of which she had offered +him the hospitality of her own apartment. +</p> +<p> +“He came in,” resumed she, “to learn some tidings of his cousin's affairs; +for it appears that law proceedings of the most rigorous kind are in +operation, and the poor widow will be obliged to leave Castle Carew.” + </p> +<p> +Polly spoke with true feelings of regret, for she really now learned for +the first time that my mother's position was involved in any difficulty, +though from what precise cause she was still in ignorance. +</p> +<p> +“Leave me to speak with the Count alone, Polly; I can probably afford him +the information he seeks.” + </p> +<p> +The interview was not of long duration; but Fagan acquitted himself with a +degree of tact and delicacy that scarcely seemed native to him. It is +difficult to guess at his real motives in the matter. Perhaps he +entertained some secret doubts that my mother's marriage might one day or +other admit of proof; perhaps he felt some touch of gratitude for the +treatment his daughter had experienced when a guest at Castle Carew. +Indeed, he spoke of this to the Count with pride and satisfaction. +Whatever the reasons, he used the greatest and most delicate reserve in +alluding to my mother's situation, and told De Gabriac that the +proceedings, however rigorous they might appear, were common in such +cases, and that when my mother had sufficiently recovered herself to give +detailed information as to the circumstances of her marriage, there would +be ample time and opportunity to profit by the knowledge. He went even +further, and suggested that for the present he wished to place his little +cottage at the Killeries at her disposal, until such time as she could fix +upon a residence more to her taste. In fact, both his explanations and his +offers were made so gracefully and so kindly that De Gabriac assented at +once, and promised to come to dinner on the following day to complete all +the arrangements. +</p> +<p> +When MacNaghten came to hear of the plan, he was overjoyed, not only +because it offered a home to my mother in her houseless destitution, but +as evidencing a kind spirit on Fagan's part, from which he augured most +favorably. In fact, the arrangement, while relieving them from all present +embarrassment, suggested also future hope; and it was now determined that +while De Gabriac was to accompany my mother to the far west, Dan himself +was to set out for France, with a variety of letters which might aid him +in tracing out the story of my father's marriage. +</p> +<p> +It was at an humble little hotel in Stafford Street, a quaint old house +called “The Hart,” that they passed the last evening together before +separating. Polly Fagan came over to drink tea with my mother, and they +chatted away in sombre mood till past midnight. MacNaghten was to sail +with an early tide, and they agreed to sit up till it should be his time +to depart. Often and often have I heard Dan speak of that evening. Every +incident of it made an impression upon his memory quite disproportioned to +their non-importance, and he has taken pains even to show me where each of +them sat. The corner where my mother's chair stood is now before me, and I +fancy I can bring up her pale young widow's face, tear-furrowed and sad, +trying to look interested where, with all her efforts, her wandering +thoughts were ever turning to the past, and where by no exertion could she +keep pace with those who “sorrowed not as she sorrowed.” + </p> +<p> +“We did not dare to talk to her of the future,” said poor MacNaghten,—“her +grief was too holy a thing to be disturbed by such thoughts; but amongst +ourselves we spoke whisperingly of when we were all to meet again, and she +seemed to listen to us with interest. It was strange enough,” remarked he, +“how sorrow had blended all our natures,—differing and discordant as +Heaven knows they were—into some resemblance of a family. I felt +towards Polly as though she had been my sister, and totally forgot that +Gabriac belonged to another land and another people: so humanizing is the +touch of affliction!” + </p> +<p> +It struck three; and at four o'clock Dan was to sail. As he stood up, he +caught sight of my mother, and saw that her eyes were full of tears. She +made a signal to him to approach, and then said, in a fervent whisper,— +</p> +<p> +“Come and see him before you go;” and led the way to the adjoining room, +where her baby lay asleep. “I know,” said she, in broken accents, “that +you will be a friend to him always; but if aught were to befall you—” + </p> +<p> +MacNaghten cast his eyes heavenward, but made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” cried she, “I have that hope;” and, so saying, she knelt down +beside the little cot to pray. +</p> +<p> +“It was odd,” said he, when telling me this. “I had never heard words of +prayer in the French language before; but they struck upon my heart with a +power and significance I cannot explain. Was it some strange inward +consciousness of the power of Him before whom I was standing, and who +knows every tongue and every people, and to whom all hearts are open, let +their accents be ever so unlike or so various? I was in the street,” added +he, “without knowing how I came there, for my brain was turning with a +thousand thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“'Where to, sir?' said the carman. +</p> +<p> +“'The Pigeon House,' said I, seating myself on the vehicle. +</p> +<p> +“'Ain't you Mr. MacNaghten, sir?' asked a large, well-dressed man, in a +civil voice, as he touched his hat respectfully to me. +</p> +<p> +“'That is my name,' replied I. +</p> +<p> +“'Mr. Daniel MacNaghten, of Garrah Lynn?' asked he, again. +</p> +<p> +“'When I owned it,' rejoined I, trying to smile at a sad recollection. +</p> +<p> +“'Then I have a writ against you, sir,' continued he, 'and I'm sorry I +must execute it, too.' +</p> +<p> +“'At whose suit, and for what sum?' asked I, trying to be calm and +collected. He answered my last question first, by saying it was for an +acceptance for twelve hundred and seventy-six pounds odd; and, after a +little pressing, added,— +</p> +<p> +“'At the suit of Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House.' +</p> +<p> +“'What's to be done?' said I. 'I cannot pay it.' +</p> +<p> +“'Come over to Green Street for the present, anyhow,' said he, civilly; +'there are plenty of houses.' +</p> +<p> +“'No, no; to jail, if I must,' said I, boldly. 'It's not myself I was +thinking about.' +</p> +<p> +“Just as day was breaking, I passed into the prison; and when I thought to +be looking upon the mountains of the bay slowly fading behind me, I was +ushered into the debtors' yard, to wait till my future dwelling-place +should be assigned me.” + </p> +<p> +I copy this incident in the very words he himself related it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. AT REST +</h2> +<p> +Having already acquainted my reader with the source from which I have +derived all these materials of my family history, he will not be surprised +to learn that MacNaghten's imprisonment leaves a blank in this part of my +narrative. All that I know, indeed, of these early years can be told in a +few lines. My mother repaired with me to the cottage in the Killeries, to +which also came De Gabriac shortly after, followed by Polly Fagan, whose +affection for my mother now exhibited itself most remarkably. Not vainly +endeavoring to dam up the current of a grief that would flow on, she tried +to interest my mother in ways and by pursuits which were totally new to +her, and, consequently, not coupled with painful recollections. She taught +her to visit the poor in their cabins; to see them, in the hard struggle +of their poverty, stoutly confronting fortune day by day, carrying the +weary load of adversity, without one hope as to the time when they might +cease to labor and be at rest. These rambles through wild and unvisited +tracts rewarded them well in the grand and glorious objects of scenery +with which they became acquainted. It was everlasting discovery,—now +of some land-locked little bay, half-hid among its cliffs; now some lone +island, with its one family for inhabitants; or now some picturesque bit +of inland scenery, with wood and mountain and waving grass. Occasionally, +too, they ventured out to sea, either to creep along the coast, and peep +into the rocky caverns with which it is perforated, or they would set sail +for the distant islands of Arran,—bleak and desolate spots on the +wide, wild ocean. The charms of landscape in its grandest features were, +however, the least of the benefits these excursions conferred, at least on +my poor mother. She learned then to see and to feel that the sorrows of +life fall uniformly; that few, indeed, are singled out for especial +suffering; and that the load is apportioned to the strength that is to +bear it. She saw, besides, how the hard necessities of existence formed in +themselves a barrier against the wearing influence of grief: the hands +that must labor for daily bread are not wrung in the wild transports of +misery! It is the law of human nature, and the claims of the living are +the counterpoise to the memory of the dead. +</p> +<p> +Neither her early education nor her habits disposed her to any exertion. +All her ideas of life were circumscribed within the limits of certain +pleasures and enjoyments. From her infancy she had never known any other +care than how to make time pass swiftly and agreeably: now she had to +learn the more rewarding lesson that life can be profitably passed; and to +this task she addressed herself, I believe, with a hearty earnestness. +</p> +<p> +It is only by estimating the change which took place in her character at +this time, and which marked it during the short remainder of her life, +that I am led to speculate upon the cause. Her days were passed in +intercourse with the peasantry, whom, at last, she began to understand, +through all the difficulties of their strange temperament and all the +eccentricities of their habits. There was not a cabin for miles round, +with every one of whose inmates she was not acquainted, and of whose joys +and sorrows, whose hopes and cares, she was not in some shape the +participator. +</p> +<p> +When the sea was too rough and the weather too wild for the fishermen to +venture out, she was constantly amongst them with some material for home +occupation; and it was curious to see those fingers, which had never been +used to harder toil than the mock labor of the embroidery frame, +ingeniously moving through the mazes of a fishing-net, while in her +foreign English she would relate some story of her Breton countrymen, +certain to interest those who sat admiringly around her. +</p> +<p> +How singular it is that the experience and the habits which are destined +to guide us through the great trials of life are frequently acquired in +scenes and amongst people the very opposite to those wherein the lesson is +to be profitable! And yet so it was. In exhorting and cheering others she +elevated the tone of her own mind; in suggesting exertion to the +faint-hearted, she imbibed courage herself; and when teaching them to be +of good cheer, she spoke the language of encouragement to herself. Her +bodily health, too, kept pace with her mental. She who rarely had ventured +out if the weather merely were threatening, could now face the stormiest +seasons of that wild west. The darkest day of winter would see her abroad, +braving with an almost childish excitement the beating rain and wind, or +fighting onward to some lone cabin amongst the hills, through sleet and +snowdrift, undeterred! +</p> +<p> +I have heard but little of the life they led within doors, but I believe +that the evenings were passed pleasantly with books and conversation, De +Gabriac reading aloud, while my mother and Polly worked; and thus the +winter glided easily over, and spring was now approaching ere they were +well aware that so many months had gone by. If my mother wondered at times +why they never heard from MacNaghten, De Gabriac and Polly, who were in +the secret for his mishap, would frame various excuses to account for his +silence. Meanwhile they heard that such was the complication of the law +proceedings which concerned the estate, so intricate the questions, and so +puzzling, that years might pass in litigation ere any decision could be +come to. A reserved offer came at this time from Sir Carew O'Moore to +settle some small annuity on my mother if she would relinquish all claim +to the estate in his favor; but Fagan hesitated to acquaint her with a +proposal which he well knew she would reject, and the very fact of which +must be an insult to her feelings. This the Grinder commented on in a +letter to his daughter, while he also avowed that as he saw no prospect of +anything favorable to my mother likely to issue from the course of law, he +must press upon her the necessity of her seeking an asylum in her own +country and amongst her own friends. +</p> +<p> +I have never been able to ascertain why my mother herself did not at once +determine on returning to France after my father's death. Perhaps the +altered circumstances of her fortune deterred her. There might have been +reasons, perhaps, on the score of her birth. My impression is, that De +Gabriac had quitted the Continent overwhelmed with debt, and dared not +return there, and that, as his counsels greatly swayed her, she was +influenced by whatever arguments he adduced. +</p> +<p> +So little was my mother acquainted with the details of her altered +condition in life, that she still believed a small but secure income +remained to her; and it was only by a few lines addressed to her, and +inclosed in a letter to Polly, that she was at length brought to see that +she was actually without means of support for a single day, and that +hitherto she had been a dependent on Fagan's kindness for a home. +</p> +<p> +I believe that this communication was not made with any harshness or want +of feeling; on the contrary, that it was conveyed with whatever delicacy +the writer could summon to so ungracious a task. It is more than probable, +besides, that Fagan would not have made it at all, or at least not for a +considerable time, had he not at that moment been involved in an angry +correspondence with Polly, who had flatly refused to quit my mother and +return home. Irritated at this, and driven to extremities, he had +determined in this last course to accomplish his object. +</p> +<p> +My mother was so much overwhelmed by the tidings that she thought she +could not have understood them aright, and hastened to Polly's room, with +the letter in her hand. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me,” cried she, “what this means. Is it possible—can it be +true—that I am actually a beggar?” + </p> +<p> +Polly read the lines with a flashing eye and heightened color, but never +uttered a word. +</p> +<p> +“Speak, Polly, dearest, and relieve me of this terrible fear, if you can,” + cried my mother, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“I understand what this means,” said Polly, crushing the note in her hand; +“this is a question that requires explanation. You must leave it to me. +I'll go up to town this evening, and before the end of the week I 'll be +back with you. My father is mistaken,—that's all; and you have +misunderstood him!” + </p> +<p> +And thus planning, and excusing and contradicting herself, she at last +succeeded in allaying my mother's fears and assuring her that it was a +mere misapprehension, and that a few days would suffice to rectify it. +</p> +<p> +My mother insisted that Polly should not travel alone, and that Gabriac +should be her companion,—an arrangement to which she acceded with +comparative ease and willingness. Had Polly Fagan and Gabriac merely met +as people meet in society, with no other opportunities of knowing each +other than are presented by the ordinary intercourse with the world, the +great likelihood is that they should have conceived for each other a +rooted dislike. There was scarcely one single subject on which they +thought in common. They differed in ideas of country and people. Their +tastes, their prejudices, their ambitions, all took opposite directions; +and yet such is the effect of intimacy, such the consequence of daily, +hourly communion, that each not only learned to tolerate, but even to +imbibe, some of the notions of the other; and an imperceptible compromise +was at length entered into, by Which individuality became tempered down, +and even the broad traits of nationality almost effaced. The Count came to +perceive that what he had at first regarded as coarse and inelegant was in +reality the evidence of only a bold and vigorous spirit, exulting in its +own energy, and confident of its power; and Polly began to recognize that +remarkable truth, that a coxcomb need not necessarily be a coward, and +that the most excessive puppyism can consort with even a chivalrous +courage and daring. Of these qualities—the very first in Polly's +estimation—he had given several proofs in their adventures by sea +and land, and under circumstances, too, where the very novelty of the +peril to be surmounted might have suggested some fear. +</p> +<p> +There is a generous impulse usually to exalt in our esteem those whom we +had once held cheaply, when on nearer intimacy we discover that we had +wronged them. We feel as if there was a debt of reparation due to them, +and that we are unjust till we have acquitted it. It may chance that now +and then this honorable sentiment may carry us beyond reasonable bounds, +and that we are disposed to accord even more than is due to them. +</p> +<p> +I have no means of knowing if such were the case here: I can but surmise +from other circumstances the causes which were in operation. It is enough, +however, if I state that long before Gabriac had passed the limit of +admiration for Polly, she had conceived for him a strong sentiment of +love; and while he was merely exerting those qualities which are amongst +the common gifts of his class and his country, she was becoming impressed +with the notion of his vast superiority to all of those she had ever met +in society. It must be taken into account that his manner towards her +evinced a degree of respect and devotion which, though not overpassing the +usual observance of good manners in France, contrasted very favorably with +the kind of notice bestowed by country gentlemen upon “the Grinder's +daughter.” Those terrible traditions of exorbitant interest, those fatal +compacts with usury, that had made Fagan's name so dreadfully notorious in +Ireland, were all unknown to Gabriac. He only saw in Polly a very handsome +girl, of a far more than common amount of intelligence, and with a spirit +daringly ambitious. As the favored friend and companion of his cousin, he +took it for granted that the peculiar customs of Ireland admitted such +intimacies between those socially unequal, and that there was nothing +strange or unusual in seeing her where she was. He therefore paid her +every attention he would have bestowed on the most high-born damsel of his +own court; he exhibited that deference which his own language denominated +homage; and, in fact, long before he had touched her affections, he had +flattered her pride and self-love by a courtesy to which she had never, in +all her intercourse with the world, been habituated. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps my reader needs not one-half of the explanation to surmise why two +young people—both good-looking, both attractive, and both idle—should, +in the solitude of a country cottage, fall in love with each other. That +they did so, at all events,—she first, and he afterwards,—is, +however, the fact; and now, by the simple-hearted arrangement of my poor +mother,—whose thoughts had never taken in such a casualty,—were +they to set off together as fellow-travellers for Dublin. So far, indeed, +from even suspecting such a possibility, it was only a few days previously +that she had been deploring to Polly her cousin's fickleness in breaking +off his proposed marriage in France, on the mere ground that his absence +must necessarily have weakened the ties that bound him to his betrothed +What secret hopes the revelation may have suggested to Polly's mind is +matter that I cannot even speculate on. +</p> +<p> +It was with a heavy heart my poor mother saw them drive from the door, and +came back to sit down in solitude beside the cradle of her baby. It was a +dark and rainy day of winter; the beating of the waves against the rocky +shore, and the wailing winds, made sad chorus together; and without, as +well as within, all was cheerless and depressing. Dark and gloomy as was +the landscape, it was to the full as bright as the scene within her own +heart; for now that she began to arrange facts and circumstances together, +and to draw inferences from them, she saw that nothing but ruin lay before +her. The very expressions of Fagan's letter, so opposite to the almost +submissive courtesy of former times, showed her that he no longer +hesitated to declare her the dependent on his bounty. “And yet,” cried +she, aloud, “are these the boasted laws of England? Is the widow left to +starve?—is the orphan left houseless, except some formality or other +be gone through? To whom descends the heritage of the father, while the +son is still living?” From these thoughts, which no ingenuity of hers +could pierce, she turned to others not less depressing. What had become of +all those who once called themselves her husband's friends? She, it is +true, had herself lived estranged and retired from the world; but Walter +was everywhere,—all knew him, all professed to love him. Bitter as +ingratitude will ever seem, all its poignancy is nothing compared to the +smart it inflicts when practised towards those who have gone from us +forever; we feel then as though treachery had been added to the wrong. +“Oh!” cried she, in her anguish, “how have they repaid him whose heart and +hand were ever open to them!” A flood of recollections, long dammed up by +the habits of her daily life, and the little cares by which she was +environed, now swept through her mind, and from her infancy and her +childhood, in all its luxurious splendor, to her present destitution, each +passage of her existence seemed revealed before her. The solitude of the +lonely cottage suggesting such utter desolation, and the wild and +storm-lashed scene without adding its influence to her depression, she sat +for some time still and unmoved, like one entranced; and then, springing +to her feet, she rushed out into the beating rain, glad to exchange the +conflict of the storm for that more terrible war that waged within her. +</p> +<p> +Like one flying from some terrific enemy, she ran with all her speed +towards the shore. The sea was now breaking over the rocks with tremendous +force, and sending vast clouds of spray high into the air, while whole +sheets of foam were wildly tossed about by the wind. Through these she +struggled on; now stumbling or falling, as her tender feet yielded to the +sharp rocks, till she reached a little promontory over the sea, on which +the waves struck with all their force; and there, with streaming hair and +dripping garments, she sat braving the hurricane, and, in a wild paroxysm +of imagined heroism, daring fortune to her worst. +</p> +<p> +Physical ills are as nothing to those that make the heart their +dwelling-place; and to her there seemed an unspeakable relief in the +thundering crash of the storm, as compared with the desolate silence of +her lonely house. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/3self-same_spot.jpg" alt="3self-same_spot" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +The whole of that day saw her on the self-same spot; and there was she +discovered at nightfall by some fishermen, propped up in a crevice of the +rock, but cold, and scarcely conscious. They all knew her well, and with +the tenderest care they carried her to her cottage. Even before they +reached it, her mind began to wander, and wild and incoherent words +dropped from her. That same night she was seized with fever; the +benevolent but simple people about her knew not what to do; the nearest +medical aid was many miles off; and when it did arrive, on the following +morning, the malady had already attacked the brain. +</p> +<p> +The same sad, short series of events so many have witnessed, so many have +stood by, with breaking hearts, now occurred. To wild delirium, with all +its terrible excesses, succeeded the almost more dreadful stupor; and to +that again the brief lucid moment of fast-ebbing life; and then came the +sleep that knows no waking—and my mother was at rest! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. THE VILLAGE OF REICHENAU. +</h2> +<p> +I must now ask of my reader to clear at a bound both time and space, and +stand beside me some years later, and in a foreign land. +</p> +<p> +The scene is at the foot of the Splugen Alps, in a little village begirt +with mountains, every crag and eminence of which is surmounted by a ruined +castle. There is a grandeur and solemnity in the whole landscape, not +alone from its vast proportions, but from the character of impregnability +suggested by those fastnesses and the gray, sad-colored tint of hill and +verdure around. +</p> +<p> +There is barely space for the# village in the narrow glen, which is +traversed by two streams,—the one, yellow, turbid, and sluggish; the +other, sparkling, bright, and impetuous. These are the Rhines, which, +uniting below the village of Reichenau, form that noble river whose +vine-clad cliffs and castled crags are lyrical in every land of Europe. +</p> +<p> +I scarcely know a spot throughout the whole Continent more typical of +isolation and retirement than this. There is no entrance to it from the +north, save by a wooden bridge over the torrent; towards the south it is +only accessible by the winding zig-zag of the “Via Mala;” east and +westward rise gigantic mountains untraversed by even the chamois-hunter; +and yet there is no appearance of that poverty and destitution so usually +observable in remote and unvisited tracts. Many of the houses are large +and substantially built, some evince a little architectural pretension in +the way of ornament, and one, which occupies a little terrace above the +river, has somewhat the air of a chateau, and in its windowed roof and +moated gardens shows that it aspired to the proud distinction of a +seignorial residence. +</p> +<p> +It might be difficult to ascertain how an edifice of this size and +pretension came to be built in such a place; at the time I speak of, it +was a school, and a modest-looking little board affixed to a pear-tree at +the gate announced, “The Academy of Monsieur Jost.” In my boyish eyes, +this château, its esplanade above the stream, the views it embraced, and +the wild, luxuriant orchard by which it was begirt, comprised an amount of +magnificence and beauty such as no stretch of imagination could surpass. +In respect to its picturesque site, my error was probably not great: the +mountain scene, in all its varied tints of season and sunlight, is still +before me, nor can I remember one whose impression is more pleasing. +</p> +<p> +The château, for so it was called, lost nothing in my estimation by any +familiarity with its details. I only knew of the large school-room with +its three windows that opened on the terrace, the smaller chamber where +the classical teacher held his more select audience, and a little den, +fitted up with cases of minerals, insects, and stuffed birds, which was +denominated Monsieur Jost's cabinet, and where that worthy man sat, weeks, +mouths, I believe years long, microscope in eye, examining the intricate +anatomy of beetles, or poring over some singular provisions in the eyelids +of moths. Save when “brought up” for punishment, we rarely saw him. +Entirely engrossed with his own pursuits, he seldom bestowed a thought +upon us; and when, by any untoward incident such as I have alluded to, we +were thrust into his notice, the presence of a strange-looking butterfly, +a brilliant dragon-moth, a spider even, would be certain to divert his +thoughts into a new channel, and ourselves and our derelictions be utterly +forgotten. Need I say that no culprit ever appeared in the dock without +some such recommendation to mercy, nor was there one of us ever unprepared +with some specimen of the insect tribe, ready to be produced at any moment +of emergency? +</p> +<p> +It is but fair to say that the other masters—there were but two—were +singularly forbearing and indulgent. Monsieur Gervois, who “taught” the +little boys, was a quaint-looking, venerable old gentleman, with a queue, +and who wore on fête-days a ribbon in his button-hole. He was, it was +said, originally a French noble of large fortune, but who had lost +everything by the extravagance of an only son, and had sought out, in +voluntary exile, this remote spot to end his days in. His manners were +always marked with a tinge of proud reserve which none ever infringed +upon, nor, out of school-hours, did any one ever presume to obtrude upon +his retirement. +</p> +<p> +The classical teacher was a foreigner, we knew not of what nation; we +called him sometimes a Pole, now a Spaniard, now an Irishman,—for +all these nationalities only to us expressed distant and unknown lands. He +was small almost to dwarfishness, and uniformly dressed in a suit of +peculiarly colored brown cloth; his age might have been fifty, sixty, or +even more, for there was little means of deciphering the work of time in a +face sad and careworn, but yet un wrinkled, and where sorrow had set its +seal in early life, but without having worn the impress any deeper by +time. Large spectacles of blue glass concealed his eyes, of which, the +story ran, one was sightless; and his manner was uniformly quiet and +patient,—extending to every one the utmost limit of forbearance, and +accepting the slightest efforts to learn, as evidences of a noble +ambition. To myself he was more than generous,—he was truly and +deeply affectionate. I was too young to be one of his class, but he came +for me each morning to fetch me to the school; for I did not live at the +château, but at a small two-storied house abutting against the base of the +mountain. There we lived; and now let me explain who we were. +</p> +<p> +But a peep within our humble sitting-room will save both of us much time. +I have called it humble,—I might have used a stronger word; for it +was poor almost to destitution. The wooden chairs and tables; the tiled +floor; the hearth, on which some soaked branches of larch are smoking; the +curtainless window; as well as the utter absence of even the very cheapest +appliances of comfort,—all show indigence; while a glance at the +worn form and hollow cheek of her who now bends over the embroidery-frame +attests that actual want of sustenance is there written. Haggard and thin +as the features are, it needs no effort to believe that they once +constituted beauty of a high order. The eye, now sunken and almost +colorless, was once flashing in its brilliancy; and that lip, indrawn and +bloodless, was full and rounded like that of a Grecian statue. Even yet, +amidst all the disfigurement of a coarse dress, the form is graceful, and +every motion and gesture indicate a culture that must have been imbibed in +a very different sphere. +</p> +<p> +How I have her before me at this instant, as, hearing my childish footstep +at the door, she pulls the string to admit me, and then, turning from her +frame, kneels down to kiss me! Monsieur Joseph, for so is the Latin master +called, stands just within the doorway, as if waiting to be invited to +come further. +</p> +<p> +“And how has he been to-day,—a good boy?” asks she. +</p> +<p> +Monsieur Joseph smiles, and nods his head. +</p> +<p> +“I'm glad of it; Jasper will always behave well. He will know that to do +right is a duty, and a duty fulfilled is a blessing. What says Monsieur +Gervois,—is he content too?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite so,” I reply. “He said I knew my hymn perfectly, and that if I +learned the two pages that he showed me, off by heart, I should be made +'elite' of my class.” + </p> +<p> +“And what will that be?” + </p> +<p> +“I shall be above them all, and they must salute me when we meet out of +school and in play-hours.” + </p> +<p> +“Let them do so in affection, but not for coercion, Jasper; he who is +cleverer than his fellows ought to be humbler, if he would be as happy.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true, Polly, quite true; you never said anything more just. The +conscious power of intellect tells its possessor of his weakness as well +as of his strength. Jasper, my child, be humble.” + </p> +<p> +“But when I said humble,” broke in she again, “I meant in self-esteem; for +there is a kind of pride that sustains and elevates us.” + </p> +<p> +Monsieur Joseph only sighed gently, but never spoke. +</p> +<p> +After a few words like these, I was usually dismissed to my play-room, a +little corner eked out of an old tower which had been accidentally joined +to the house after it was built, but which to me was a boon unspeakable, +for it was all my own; but can I revel in the delight of that isolation +which each afternoon saw me enjoy? I would briefly tell my reader, if so +be that he need the information, that she who in that worn attire bends +over her task is Polly Fagan, and that Monsieur Joseph is no other than +our old acquaintance Joe Raper! +</p> +<p> +De Gabriac had married Polly secretly, Joe Raper alone being admitted to +their confidence. For months long they had watched for some favorable +opportunity of breaking the event to the old man; and at last, worn out by +care and anxiety, Polly could refrain no longer, but made the avowal +herself, and, in a few brief words, told her fault and her sorrow. +</p> +<p> +The Grinder heard her with the stern impassiveness that he ever could +summon in any dread emergency. He had that species of courage that can +surmount every peril, only let its full extent be known; and although it +was true that the announcement of the loss of all he was worth in the +world would have been lighter tidings than those he now listened to, he +heard her to the end without interruption. There was that in his calm, +cold face which smote her to the very heart; the very way he drew back his +hand, as she tried to grasp it in her own, was a shock to her; and ere she +finished her sad story, her voice was broken, and her lips tremulous. +</p> +<p> +Terrible conflict was it between father and child! between two natures +each proud as the other,—each bold, stern, and unforgiving! +</p> +<p> +“The date of this event?” asked he, as she concluded. +</p> +<p> +“The ninth of October.” + </p> +<p> +“Where?” + </p> +<p> +“At a chapel in Cullenswood Avenue.” + </p> +<p> +“Who witnessed it?” + </p> +<p> +“Raper.” + </p> +<p> +“Any other?” + </p> +<p> +“No other.” + </p> +<p> +“The ninth of October fell on a Tuesday; it was then, or the day after, +that I gave you a diamond clasp, a present?” + </p> +<p> +“It was.” + </p> +<p> +“Who performed this ceremony?” + </p> +<p> +“A priest, but I am not at liberty to tell his name,—at least, +without the assurance of your forgiveness.” + </p> +<p> +“Then do not tell it! The man is still living?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so.” + </p> +<p> +“And your husband,—where is he?” + </p> +<p> +“In the city. He is waiting but to be received by you ere he return to +France to arrange his affairs in that country.” + </p> +<p> +“He need not long delay his departure, then: tell him so.” + </p> +<p> +“You forgive us, then?” cried she, almost bursting with gratitude. +</p> +<p> +“No!—never!” + </p> +<p> +“Not forgive us!—not acknowledge us!” + </p> +<p> +“Never! never!” reiterated he, with a thick utterance that sounded like +the very concentration of passion. The words seemed to have a spell in +them to conjure up a feeling in her who heard, as deeply powerful as in +him who spoke them. +</p> +<p> +“Am I no longer your daughter, sir?” asked she, rising and drawing herself +to her full height before him. +</p> +<p> +“You are a Countess, madam,” said he, with a scornful irony; “I am but an +humble man, of obscure station and low habits. I know nothing of nobility, +nor of its ways.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask again, do you disown me?” said she, with a voice as calm and +collected as his own. +</p> +<p> +“For ever and ever,” said he, waving his hand, as though the gesture was +to be one of adieu. “You are mine no longer,—you had ceased to be so +ere I knew it. Go to your home, if you have one; here, you are but an +intruder,—unasked, unwished for!” + </p> +<p> +“Bitter words to part with! but hear me, sir. He who has joined his lot to +mine should not pay the penalty of my fault. Against him you can bear no +malice; he at least does not merit the reproach you have cast on me. Will +you see him,—may he speak with you?” + </p> +<p> +“Whenever he pleases,—provided it be but once. I will not be +importuned.” + </p> +<p> +“You will bear in mind, sir, that he is a man of birth and station, and +that to his ears words of insult are a stranger.” + </p> +<p> +“I will treat him with all the deference I owe to his rank, and to the +part he has performed towards myself,” said Fagan, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“It were, perhaps, better, then, that you should not meet?” + </p> +<p> +“It were, perhaps, better so!” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, sir. I have no more to say.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, madam. Tell Raper I want to speak to him, as you pass out.” + </p> +<p> +With Raper the interview was briefer still. Fagan dryly informed his old +follower that he no longer needed his services. And although Joe heard the +words as a criminal might have listened to those of his last sentence, he +never uttered a syllable. Fagan was brief, though bitter. He reproached +him with the long years he had sheltered him beneath his roof, and reviled +him for ingratitude! He spoke of him as one who had eaten the bread of +idleness, and repaid an existence of ease by treachery. Once, and only +once, did the insulting language he lavished on him seem to sting him +beyond further endurance. It was when Fagan said: +</p> +<p> +“You think me in your power, sir; you fancy that amid that mass of rubbish +and confusion my affairs have been involved in, that you alone can be the +guide. But I tell you here now that were it even so, I 'd rather heap them +on the fire, and stand forth a beggar to the world, than harbor within my +doors a man like you!” + </p> +<p> +The struggle that it cost poor Joe to hear this, without reply, was great; +but a sense of the deference that throughout a long life he had ever +rendered to his master, overpowered all considerations of self. He indeed +felt that he had been wronged; he knew all the injustice of the reproach; +but he also bethought him of the many years in which that house had been +his home, and that hearth his own. He was not one to remember what he had +rendered in return, nor think of the long existence of toil by which he +had earned his livelihood. The settled humility which was the basis of his +whole character made him esteem himself as one whose station excluded all +thought of those relations that exist between members of the same +community; and that his conduct should be arraigned, argued that his acts +possessed a degree of importance he had never attributed to them. +</p> +<p> +He heard Fagan, therefore, throughout, without any effort at reply; and, +heaving a faint sigh, withdrew. +</p> +<p> +I have no means of knowing how Gabriac behaved in this trying emergency. +All that I have heard came from Raper; and poor Joe was neither shrewd in +his observation of character, nor quick to appreciate motives. The Count +decided at once on a return to the Continent: perhaps he thought there +might arise some chance of reconciliation with the father if Polly, for a +time, at least, were withdrawn from his sight; perhaps, too, some hope +there might be of arrangement of his own affairs. Raper was also to +accompany them, in the prospect of finding some clerkship in an office, or +some employment in a mercantile house abroad, where his knowledge of +languages might be available. At all events, his protection and +companionship would be useful to Polly, whenever the Count would be +compelled to absent himself from home; and, lastly, the funds for the +enterprise were all supplied by Joe, who contributed something under four +hundred pounds,—the savings of a whole life of labor! +</p> +<p> +As for Polly, to the humblest ornament she had ever worn, to the meanest +gift she had received in childhood,—she left all behind her. Her +jewels were worth some thousands,—her wardrobe was even splendid; +but she went forth without a gem, and with barely what sufficed her in +dress. +</p> +<p> +“And what is this?” said the Count, half disdainfully touching with his +foot what seemed to be an oblong basket of colored straw. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Josephine's baby!” said Polly, with eyes swimming in tears. +</p> +<p> +“And is he, is she,—whichever it be,—to form one of the +party?” asked he, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Can you ask it, Emile? You remember the last words she ever spoke to us +on the morning we left the Killeries.” + </p> +<p> +“That unlucky journey!” muttered he; but fortunately not loud enough for +her to catch the words. +</p> +<p> +“The little fellow will soon be able to walk, and to mutter some words; he +will be company for me when you are away!” said she, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“L'Ami Joseph ought to fill up that void,” said De Gabriac, laughing. “I +think myself the very paragon of husbands to accede to the arrangement!” + </p> +<p> +Strange words were these for her to hear,—nor, indeed, could she +penetrate their meaning; but Polly's cares at that moment gave little time +for thought, for every detail of preparation was left to her. Raper, it is +true, did his utmost to aid her; but already De Gabriac had assumed a +manner of superiority and command towards Joe which greatly embarrassed +Polly, and compelled her to use every means of keeping them apart. +</p> +<p> +Thus were they started on the sea of life: does it need much foresight to +predict the voyage? +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. A MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE +</h2> +<p> +Why do we all refer to the period of boyhood as one of happiness? It is +not that it had not its own sorrows, nor that they were really so light,—it +is simply because it was the season of hope. In after-life, as deception +after deception has checked us, when disappointment has dulled expectancy, +we become more practical, less dreamy, and, alas! less happy. The possible +and the probable of youth are not the possible and the probable of +manhood, still less those of riper age. The realms of boyish fancy are as +wide as the great ocean; and we revel in them in all the plenitude of +unrestricted power. There is not a budding effort of intellect that we do +not magnify to ourselves as the origin of future distinction. We exalt our +feats of strength and courage into deeds of heroic daring; and we fancy +that the little struggles and crosses we meet with are like the great +trials and reverses of after-life; and in our pride of success, we deem +ourselves conquerors. Oh for one day, for even one short hour, of that +time of glorious delusions! Oh that I could once more look out upon the +world as one gazes at a sunset at sea, wondering what beauteous lands lie +afar off in the distance, and imagining the time when we should be +journeying towards them, buoyant, high-hearted, hopeful! Who has ever +achieved any success that equalled his boyish ambitions? Who has ever been +as great or as good as his early visions have pictured him? +</p> +<p> +I have already told my reader that my youth was not passed in affluence. +Our means were limited to the very merest requirements of existence; our +food and our clothing were humble as our dwelling; and I believe that many +a sore privation was needed to escape the calamity of debt. Of all these +hardships I knew nothing at the time; my experience pointed out none who +seemed to possess an existence happy as my own. I had all that unvarying +affection and devoted love could bestow. My little turret in winter, the +fields and the mountains in summer, made up a glorious world, full of +interest; and the days seemed never long enough for all my plans of +pleasure. +</p> +<p> +I had no companions of my own age, nor did I feel the want of them; for +when my school hours were over I was free to follow the caprices of my own +fancy. There was in my isolation a sort of independence that I gloried in. +To be alone with my own day-dreams—my own ambitious hopes—my +own high-soaring thoughts—was an ecstasy of delight that I would not +have exchanged for any companionship. The very indulgence of these humors +soon rendered me unsuited for association with others, whose ideas and +habits appeared to me to be all vain, and trifling, and contemptible. The +books of travel and discovery which I loved to read, had filled my mind +with those stories of adventure which attend the explorer of unknown +lands,—the wonders of scenery, and the strange pictures of life and +people. There was in the career itself that blending of heroism and +philanthropy, that mingled courage and humanity, which appealed to my +heart by its very strongest sympathies; and I felt for these noble and +devoted adventurers not less admiration than love. All my solitary rambles +through the wild valleys of the neighborhood, all my lonely walks over +mountains, were in imitation of these wanderers, whose hardships I envied, +and whose perils I longed to share. Not a rugged crag nor snow-capped +summit that I did not name after some far-away land; and every brook and +rippling stream became to me the Nile, the Euphrates, or the Ganges. The +desolate character of the scenery amidst which we lived, the wide tracts +of uninhabited country, favored these illusions; and for whole days long +not an incident would occur to break the spell which fancy had thrown +around me. +</p> +<p> +My kind mother—for so Polly always taught me to call her—seemed +to take delight in favoring these self-delusions of mine, and fell readily +into all my caprices about locality. +</p> +<p> +She made me, too, with her own hands, a little knapsack to wear; bought me +an iron-shod staff such as Alpine travellers carry; and made me keep a +kind of journal of these wanderings, noting down all my accidents and +adventures, and recording even the feelings which beset me when afar off +and alone in the mountains. So intent did I become at last on these +imaginings that the actual life of school and its duties grew to seem +visionary and unreal, and my true existence to be that when wandering +through the lonely valleys of the Alps, or sitting in solitude in some +far-away gorge of the mountains. +</p> +<p> +As I grew older I pushed my journeys further, and carried my explorings to +the very foot of the Splugen, through that dreariest of all mountain +passes, the “Verlohrnes Loch.” The savage grandeur of this desolate spot, +its gloom, its solitude, its utter desertion, its almost uninhabitable +character, gave it a peculiar attraction in my eyes, for there nothing +ever occurred to dispel the colorings of my imagination. There I revelled +at will amidst the wildest flights of my fancy. An old castle, one of the +many feudal remains of this tract of country, stood upon a lone crag to +the centre of the valley. It seemed as if Nature herself had destined the +rock for such a structure, for while there was barely space sufficient at +the top, the approach lay by a zig-zag: path, rugged and dangerous, cut in +the solid granite. When I first saw this rude old tower, the melting snows +of early summer had flooded a small rivulet at the base of the crag, and +the stream, being divided in its course against the rock, swept along on +either side, leaving the castle, as it were, on an island. +</p> +<p> +I had long resolved to scale this cliff, the view from the summit of which +I knew would be magnificent, extending for miles both up and down the +valley; and at last, took advantage of my first holiday from school to +accomplish my purpose. The Forlorn Glen, as the translation of the name +would imply, lay about thirteen miles away by taking the mountain paths, +though its distance by road was more than double, and to go and return in +the same day required an early start. I set out before daybreak, having +packed my knapsack with food to last me while I should be away. +</p> +<p> +I never remember to have felt a greater degree of exhilaration than as I +set forth that morning. It was in the month of June, that season of all +others the most beautiful in Alpine scenery, since it combines all the +charms of spring with the balmy air and more genial atmosphere of summer. +The cherry-trees were all in blossom in the glens, and the rich pink of +the apricot peeped out from many a little grove. I went along, happy and +light-hearted, passing many a spot to which I had given some name of a +far-away scene, and recognizing places which once had been to me the +utmost limits of my wanderings. So, thought I, shall it be in after-life, +and we can look back upon efforts that we once deemed stupendous, and +regard them as mere tiny steps in the great steep we are climbing. +</p> +<p> +I breakfasted at a little waterfall in the midst of the wildest mountain, +not a sound save the plashing waters to break the stillness; the birds +gathered round me for the crumbs of my meal, and ate them within a few +paces of where I sat. There was something that I felt as indescribably +touching, in the trustfulness of the humbler creation, in scenes deserted +and forsaken of men; and musing on the theme, I arose and pursued my way. +</p> +<p> +When I reached the Verlohrnes Loch it was still early, and I was delighted +to find that the stream at the foot of the castle rock was dwindled down +to a mere rivulet, and fordable with ease. I crossed, and at once began +the ascent of the crag. Before I had spent half an hour at my task, +however, I found that its difficulties were far greater than I had +anticipated. The path was often interrupted by masses of fallen rock, and +frequently, from long disuse, difficult to hit upon when once lost. +Brambles and prickly pears, too, formed terrible obstacles at some places, +while at others the rocks were rendered slippery by dripping water, and +the danger of a false step was very great. In no wise discouraged, I +struggled on; but to my astonishment I could perceive that it was wearing +nigh to noon before I had accomplished more than half the ascent. I had +therefore to take counsel with myself whether I should abandon my +enterprise at once, or resolve to pass the night on the crag, for I +readily saw that before I could reach the level plain again it would be +too late to resume my homeward road over the mountain, many parts of which +required daylight to traverse. Although I had never passed a night away +from home, I had often told my mother that I should probably be led to do +so, and that she should not feel any alarm at my absence; and she, who +well knew the honest character of the mountaineers, also knew that I was +known to them for miles far around. My resolve was at length taken to pass +the night in the shelter of the old castle, and take the following morning +for my return. +</p> +<p> +As the day wore on, the heat grew more and more oppressive; occasional +gusts of wind would sweep past, followed by a dead, unbroken stillness, in +which not a leaf moved. It seemed as though mysterious spirits of the +elemental world were conversing together in this lone region, and the +thought impressed me more powerfully as at intervals a low, half-subdued +murmuring seemed to rise from the deep glens around me. At first I deemed +they were self-delusions; but as I listened I could distinctly trace the +sounds as they rose and fell, swelling now to a deep rolling noise, and +then dying away in soft fading cadences. +</p> +<p> +My mind was stored with stories of supernatural interest, and if I did not +implicitly believe the existence of such agencies, yet I cannot affirm +that I altogether rejected them. I was in that state in which, while +reason is unconvinced, the imagination is still impressed, and fears and +terrors hold sway, when the very causes of them were stoutly denied +reality. One of the commonest of all the superstitions of mountain regions +is the belief in a certain genius who invariably resists the intrusion of +mortals within the precincts of his realm. The terrible tales of his +vengeance form the subject of Alpine horrors, and the dreadful miseries of +those who have incurred his displeasure point the moral of many a story, +and “the Kobold of the Lost Glen” held a proud pre-eminence among such +narratives. The heat, as I have said, grew oppressive; it became at last +almost stifling, for the clouds descended near the earth, and the +atmosphere became dense and suffocating. A few heavy drops of rain then +fell, pattering slowly and lazily on the leaves; and then, as if at the +word of some dread command, the thunder rolled forth in one long, loud, +continuous peal that seemed to shake the very mountains. Crash after crash +followed, till the very rocks seemed splitting with the loud artillery, +while through the darkness of the murky air great sheets of yellow +lightning gleamed, and long chains of the bright element zig-zagged +through the sky; the rain, too, began to fall in torrents, and almost at +once the mountain streams swelled and bounded in foamy cataracts from +cliff and precipice. The din was deafening; and the loud crashing thunder +with the hissing rain, the rushing rivers, and the dense shaking forests +made up a grand and awful chorus. For a while I found a shelter beneath +the thick foliage of the hollies, but the sweeping wind at last rent this +frail sanctuary in twain, and in a moment I was drenched thoroughly. +</p> +<p> +Although still early in the afternoon, a premature night seemed to have +set in, for the air grew darker and darker, till at length the mountains +at either side of the glen were lost to sight, and a dense watery vapor +surrounded the crag on which I stood. My position was not without peril, +since if the waters did not abate at the end of some hours, I should be +left to starve on the rock. This danger at once occurred to me, and my +mind was already overcome by gloomy forebodings. One thing was, however, +certain,—I must endeavor to reach the castle before nightfall; for +to pass the dark hours where I was would be impossible. The difficulty of +the ascent was now increased fourfold; the footing was less secure on the +rocks, and dashing torrents tore past with a force that strength like mine +could never have combated. It is with pride that I remember to have looked +all those perils boldly in the face; it is, I say, a proud thought to me, +even now, that as a mere boy I could meet danger boldly and undauntedly. +More than once, indeed, the fatal terrors of my position stood arrayed +before me, and I thought that I had seen my dear home and my kind mother +for the last time; I could even speculate upon poor Raper's affliction +when he came to hear of my calamity. With thoughts like these I wended my +way along, ever upwards and ever more steep and difficult. Although the +storm had spent much of its fury, the rain continued to fall in torrents, +and the roar of the swollen streams almost equalled the deafening clamor +of the thunder. The sudden transition from unbroken silence to the crash +and tumult of falling waters is one of the most striking features of +Alpine scenery, and suggests, even at moments of the greatest calm and +quiet, a sense of foreboding peril. The sudden change of temperature, too, +from intense heat to an almost biting cold, induces terrific storms of +wind, almost tornadoes, by whose violence great trees are torn up by the +roots, and vast rocks hurled down from crag and precipice. In turning the +angle of a cliff, I came suddenly upon one of these gusts, which carried +me completely off my legs, and swept me into a low copse of brushwood, +stunned and senseless. I must have remained a considerable time +unconscious, for when I came to myself the stars were shining in the dark +blue sky of night, and the air calm, serene, and summer-like. It was with +difficulty I could remember where I was, and by what chances I had come +there; and it was indeed with a sinking heart that I arose, not knowing +whither to turn my steps, nor whether my chance of safety lay above or +below me. +</p> +<p> +I was sorely bruised besides, and one of my arms severely injured by my +fall, as I discovered in attempting to use my staff. It was at that +moment, thoughts of my home came full and forcibly before me; the little +chamber where I used to sit for hours in happy occupation; my seat beside +the hearth; my place at my mother's wheel, for she used to spin during the +hazy days of winter; and, in my despair, I burst into a flood of tears. +The excess of grief passed off, and there now succeeded a dogged resolve +to accomplish my first purpose, and I again set out for the summit. +</p> +<p> +I had not proceeded far, when on looking upward towards the sky I saw, or +thought I saw, a light twinkling through the trees above me. The foliage +was dense and thick, and grew around the base of the rock which formed the +immediate foundation of the castle, so that it was only at certain spots a +light, if such there was, could be visible. Onward I pushed now, with a +new impulse given by hope; and to my inexpressible joy, as I rounded the +corner of a crag, I came full in sight of the old tower, and saw, from one +of the narrow windows, the sparkle of a bright light that, streaming +forth, formed a long line upon the grass. +</p> +<p> +The window was fully twenty feet from the ground, nor was the entrance +door more than a few feet lower,—being one of those fastnesses to +which access was had by a ladder, drawn up for safety after entering. Many +of these ruined castles in the valley of the Reichenau were, I knew, +occupied by the shepherds; some indeed had been converted into +refuge-houses for lost travellers, and supplied by the government of the +canton with some few appliances of succor. The situation of this one, +however, refuted all such possibility, since its very difficulty of +approach would have rendered it unavailable for either purpose. As I stood +on the little level tableland in front of the old ruin, and gazed upwards +at the narrow window from which gleamed the light, all my former +superstitious terrors returned, and I felt that cold shrinking of the +heart that comes of a danger undefined and incomprehensible; nor am I +certain that I would not rather have looked upon the ruin dark and +desolate, than with that yellow streak that told of some inhabitant +within. +</p> +<p> +The northern side of the Alpine ranges have few, if any, traditions of +robbers. The horrors with which they are peopled are all those of an +immaterial world, so that my mind ranged over the tales of wood-demons, +Kobolds, and mountain imps, without one single thought of the perils of +banditti; nor was I altogether without a strong prompting of eager +curiosity to know what precise shape and semblance these strange creatures +wore. Thus impelled, I set about examining the spot, and seeing in what +way I might be able to approach the window. The trees on either side were +too low, and the ivy which grew against the ruined wall itself offered the +only means of ascent. I was an expert climber, and well knew that, though +the ivy will often afford good and safe footing, it will always give way +beneath the grasp of the hand, and that the stones of the wall would +afford me the only security. In this wise it was, therefore, I began the +ascent, and, with slow and careful steps, I arrived at last within a few +feet of the window-sill. My impatience at this moment overcame all my +prudence, and, with an eager spring, I tried to catch the stone. I missed +it, and grasping the ivy in my despair, the branches gave way, and, after +a brief struggle, and with a loud cry of terror, I fell backwards to the +ground. +</p> +<p> +The stars seemed to flit to and fro above me; trees, mountains, and rocks +seemed to heave in mad commotion around; my brain was filled with the +wildest images of peril and suffering; and then came blank +unconsciousness. +</p> +<p> +I was sitting rather than lying on a low pallet-bed stretched against the +wall; in front of me a window curtained with a worn horseman's cloak; and +around me in the room, which was lofty and spacious, were a few rudely +fashioned articles of furniture, and two or three utensils for cooking,—all +of the very meanest kind. My arm was bound with a bandage where I had been +bled, and my great debility, and a sense of half-incoherence in all my +thoughts, told of severe illness. At a table beneath the window, and bent +over it as if writing, sat a tall, very old man, in a coarse woollen +blouse of red-brown stuff, with a cap of the same color and material; +sandals, fastened round the ankles with leather thongs, formed the +protection of his feet; these, and a belt with a gourd for carrying water +attached to it, made up his whole costume. +</p> +<p> +His face, when he seemed to look towards me, was harshly lined and severe; +the lower jaw projected greatly, and the character of the whole expression +was cold and stern: but the head was lofty and capacious, and indicated +considerable powers of thought and reflection. +</p> +<p> +There was over me a sense of weakness so oppressive and so overwhelming +that though I saw the objects I have here mentioned, and gazed on them for +hours long, yet I made no effort to speak, nor ask where I was, nor to +whom I was indebted for shelter and succor. This apathy—for it was, +indeed, such—held me entranced, even when the old man would approach +the bed to feel my pulse, to bathe my temples with water, or wet my lips +with a drink. After these visits he would take his staff from the corner, +and leave the room, to which he frequently did not return for many hours. +Thus went day after day, monotony over everything, till my head ached with +very weariness, as the lazy hours went by. Where was I? Was this a state +of suffering malady? Or was it imprisonment? Why was I thus? How long +should I still continue so? Such were the puzzling questions which would +present themselves before me,—never to be solved—never replied +to. +</p> +<p> +In my dreamy debility, when my faculties tottered like wearied limbs, I +often wondered if I might not have entered upon some new kind of +existence, in which long years of such wakeful sorrow should be gone +through; and in a mood like this was it that I lay one day all alone, when +from the open window there came the thrilling notes of a blackbird which +sat ou a tree close by. Not even the kindest words of a fellow-creature +could have filled my heart with more ecstasy than those sounds reminding +me of my once happy life, my home, the little garden of the château, and +its tangled alleys of fruit-trees and flowering shrubs. I struggled to +arise from my bed, and after some efforts I succeeded, and with weak step +and trembling limbs I reached the window and looked out. +</p> +<p> +Sudden as the change from blackest night to the light of breaking day was +the effect that came over me as I gazed down the valley, and recognized +each well-known crag, and cliff, and mountain peak of the Verlohrnes Loch. +At once now came back all memory of my adventure and the night of the +storm; and at once I saw that I was standing at the window of that old +ruin which had been the goal of my wandering. +</p> +<p> +How I longed to learn what interval of time had gone over! I tried to +calculate it by remembering that it was early summer when I came, but +still the trees wore no tokens of coming autumn. They were bright in +foliage, and leafy, and the streams that traversed the valley were small +and tiny rills that showed no touch of the season of rains. From these +observations I now addressed myself to an inspection of the interior. Well +used as I had been to habits of poverty, the aspect of this chamber still +struck me with astonishment. The only thing like food was some Indian +cornmeal carefully covered up in an iron vessel, and a jar of water; of +clothing, the cloak which formed the window-curtain, and a sheepskin +fashioned into a rude resemblance to a coat, were all that were to be +seen. The furniture consisted of a low stool and a single chair, the trunk +of an elm-tree representing a table. On this, however, an attempt at a +desk had been made, and here, to my astonishment, were now masses of +papers covered with figures from top to bottom,—algebraic signs and +calculations without end! Not one word of writing, not a phrase in any +language, was to be met with, but page after page of these mystical sums, +which seemed to be carried on from one sheet of paper to the other. How +eagerly I sought out something which might give me a clew to the writer of +these figures, but in vain; I pored over them long and carefully, I +studied their form and their size. I tried—how hopelessly!—to +trace out some purpose in the calculations, and to divine their object and +end; but to no avail! I had heard tell of persons whose intellects had +been deranged by the intense study of a difficult problem, the search +after some unattainable object in science. I had read wonderful stories of +long years of toilsome labor,—whole lives passed in an arduous +struggle, till death had at last relieved them from a contest with the +“impossible.” Could the writer of these be the victim of such a delusion? +Might he have sought out this lone spot, to live apart and away from all +the distracting influences of life, and to devote himself to some such +task? Had his mind given way under this pressure, or had weakened +faculties first led to this career? All these doubts presented themselves +to me in turns; and again I turned to the complex pages of figures to +assist my conjectures. +</p> +<p> +Alas! they could convey nothing to me,—they were symbols only of so +much toil and labor, but to what end or object I could not guess. As I sat +thus, I thought that I detected an error in one of the calculations. It +was an algebraic quantity misstated; and, on looking down, I remarked that +the mistake was repeated over and over, through a long series of figures. +Any proficiency I had ever attained at school was in matters of this kind, +owing, as I did, everything to Raper's guidance and instruction; so that I +found little difficulty in ascertaining that this error had really +occurred, and in all likelihood marred all the deductions to be hoped from +the calculation. +</p> +<p> +To escape from the dreamy vacuity of my late life, by an actual +occupation, was an unspeakable relief; and I felt in the pursuit all the +interest of an adventurer. There was something positive, tangible, real, +as it were, here, instead of that boundless expanse of doubt over which my +mind had been wandering, and I addressed myself to the task with +eagerness. The error first discovered had led to others, and I diligently +traced out all its consequences; and making the fitting corrections, I set +forth the results on a slip of paper that I found, happily, clear of +figures. +</p> +<p> +So tired was I with the unaccustomed exertion that, when I had done, I had +barely reached my bed ere I fell off in a deep and heavy sleep. I awoke +late in the night, for so I judged it from the starry sky which I could +see through the open window. The old man sat at his usual seat beside the +desk, and, with his head supported by his hands, seemed to study the pages +before him. The flickering lamplight that fell upon his worn features, his +snow-white beard, his wrinkled forehead and thick-veined hands, together +with the heavy folds of the cloak which, for warmth, he had thrown over +his shoulders, made him resemble one of those alchemists or astrologers we +see in Dutch pictures. I had not looked long at him till I saw that he was +pondering over the corrections I had made, and trying to remember if they +were by his own hand. At last he turned suddenly round, and fixed his eyes +on me. Mine met the glance, and thus we remained for some seconds staring +steadily at each other. He then rose slowly like one fatigued from +exertion, and, with the paper in his hand, approached the bed. How my +heart beat as he drew nigh! how I wondered what words he would utter, what +accents he would speak in, and in what mood of mind! +</p> +<p> +He came slowly forward, and, seating himself beside my bed on the low +stool, he pointed to the figures on the paper, and said, in the Romaic +dialect of the mountaineers, the one word, “Yours?” Though the word was +uttered in the peasant dialect, the tone of the voice was not that of a +“Bauer;” and, reassured by thinking that he might be of superior +condition, I answered him at once in French. +</p> +<p> +“Is that your native tongue?” said he, replying to me in the same +language. +</p> +<p> +I shook my head in negative. +</p> +<p> +“You are a German boy, then?” said he. +</p> +<p> +“Nor that either,” replied I. “I am English.” + </p> +<p> +“English! you English, and in this place!” cried he, in astonishment. +“From what part of England do you come?” said he, in English, which he +spoke as a native. +</p> +<p> +“I came from Ireland. My father was of that country. My mother, I have +heard, was French.” + </p> +<p> +“You have heard! So that you do not know it of yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“I never remember to have seen either of them.” + </p> +<p> +“Your name?” + </p> +<p> +“Carew—Jasper Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“I recollect one of that name,” said he, pondering for some time. “But he +could not have been your father. And how came you here?” + </p> +<p> +In a few words I told him of my adventure, and in doing so revealed such +habits as appeared to interest him, for he questioned me closely about my +wanderings, and the causes which at first suggested them. In turn I asked +and learned from him that several weeks had elapsed since my accident; +that numerous scouts had traversed the glen, evidently sent in search of +me, but that for reasons which regarded himself he had not spoken with, +nor, indeed, been seen by any of them, but still had written a few lines +to the Curé of Reichenau to say that I was in safety, and should be soon +restored to my friends. This he had conveyed to the post by night, but +without suffering any clew to escape from whence it came. +</p> +<p> +“And these figures are yours?” said he, referring to the paper. +</p> +<p> +I nodded, and he went on:— +</p> +<p> +“What toilsome nights, boy, had I been spared if I had but detected this +error! These mistakes have marred whole weeks of labor. I must have been +ill. My head must have been suffering, to have fallen into error like +this; for see, here are far deeper and more abstruse calculations,—all +correct, all accurate. But who can answer for moments of weakness!” + </p> +<p> +He sighed heavily, and the stern expression of his features assumed a look +of softened, but suffering meaning. +</p> +<p> +“I have often thought,” said he, hastily, “that if another were joined +with me in this task, its completeness would be more certain; while to +trust myself alone with this secret is both unwise and unjust. Human life +is the least certain of all things. To-morrow I may be no more. I have +already passed through enough to have brought many to the grave. You, +however, are young. You have yet, in all likelihood, long years of life +before you. What if you were to become my associate?” + </p> +<p> +I gave no reply for some seconds. When he repeated his words still more +forcibly,— +</p> +<p> +“I should first learn what it is I should be engaged in,” said I. “I +should be satisfied that the object was just, reasonable, and, above all, +practicable.” + </p> +<p> +“You speak like a sage, boy,” cried he. “Whence came such wisdom as this?” + </p> +<p> +“All my teachings of this kind,” said I, “have come from her who now calls +herself my mother, and whom I love with a son's affection.” + </p> +<p> +“And how is she called?” + </p> +<p> +I could not tell him. I only knew her as one who was as a mother to me, +and yet said she had no title to that name. Once or twice I had heard her +addressed as the Countess. There ended my knowledge of her condition. +</p> +<p> +“She is rich, then?” asked be. +</p> +<p> +“Far from it,” said I, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“Then can I make her so!” exclaimed he. “Joined with me in this mighty +enterprise, you can be the richest and the greatest man of the age. Nay, +child, this is not matter to smile at. I am no dreamer, no moon-struck +student of the impossible. I do not ponder over those subtle combinations +of metals that are to issue forth in yellow gold, nor do I labor to distil +the essences which are to crystallize into rubies. What I strive at has +been reached already,—the goal won, the prize enjoyed! Ay, by my own +father. By him was this brilliant discovery proclaimed triumphantly before +the face of Europe.” + </p> +<p> +The exultation with which he uttered these words seemed to carry him away +in thought from the scene wherein he stood, and his eyes gleamed with a +strange fire, and his lips continued to mutter rapidly. Then, ceasing of a +sudden, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I must seek her; she will recognize me, for she will have heard our +history. She will give her permission, too, to you to join me in my great +design. The fate that sent you hither was no accident. Boy, there are none +such in life. Our passions in their wilfulness color destiny with fitful +changes, and these we call chance; but in nature all is predetermined, and +by plan.” + </p> +<p> +Now rambling on this wise, now stopping to question me as to who we were, +whence we came, and with what objects, he continued to talk till, fairly +overcome by weariness, I dropped off to sleep, his loud tones still +ringing in my ears through my dreams. +</p> +<p> +The following day he never left me; he seemed insatiable in his desire to +learn what progress I had made in knowledge, and how far my acquirements +extended. For classical learning and literature he evinced no respect. +These and modern languages, he said, were mere accomplishments that might +adorn a life of ease and luxury; but that to a man who would be truly +great there was but one subject of inquiry,—the source of wealth, +and the causes which make states affluent. These, he said, were the +legitimate subjects for high intelligence to engage upon. “Master these,” + said he, “and monarchs are your vassals.” I was amazed to discover that +amid the mass of prejudices which encumbered his mind, it was stored with +information the most various and remarkable. It was evident, too, that he +had lived much in the great world, and was familiar with all its habits +and opinions. As time wore on, I learned from him that his present life, +with all its privations, was purely voluntary; that he possessed +sufficient means to support an existence of comfort and ease. “But,” added +he, “if you would give the intelligence a supremacy, it must be done at +the cost of animal enjoyment. If the body is to be pampered, the brain +will take its ease. To this end came I here; to this end have I lived +fourteen years of toil and isolation. I have estranged myself from all +that could distract me; friendships, pleasures, the great events of the +age,—I know none of them! I am satisfied to toil and think now that, +in after ages, men should hold my name in reverence, and regard my memory +with affection.” + </p> +<p> +Although he constantly made allusions of this kind, he never proceeded to +give me any closer insight into his designs; and if at moments the +reasonableness of his manner and the strong force of his remarks impressed +me favorably with regard to his powers of mind, at others I was induced to +think that nothing short of erring faculties could have condemned a man to +a voluntary life of such abject want and of such cruel privation as he +endured. +</p> +<p> +It was still some weeks before I had strength to return home; but he +permitted me to write every second day to my mother and Raper, from whom I +heard in return. If at first my ardent longing to be once more at home—to +be with those who made up the whole world of my existence—surpassed +all other thoughts, I grew day by day to feel the strange fascination of +an unknown interest in the subject of his talk, and to experience an +intense anxiety to know his secret. +</p> +<p> +It was evident that he felt the influence he had obtained over me, and was +bent on extending and enlarging it; for constantly would he dwell upon the +themes which attracted me and fascinated my attention. Shall I confess +what these were? The brilliant pictures of courtly life, the splendor and +fascination of a palace, where all that could charm and captivate +abounded, and all were at the feet of one who, not a king, was yet greater +than a king, and who in the mighty power of his intellect held kings and +kaisers as his bond-slaves. +</p> +<p> +That these were not mere fancies he assured me by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“This has been witnessed by all Europe; it is not more than fifty years +ago that the world has seen all that I tell you. When I can convince you +of this, will you pledge yourself to be my follower?” + </p> +<p> +I at once gave my promise, and ratified it by a solemn row. +</p> +<p> +The next day we started on our return to Reichenau. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. “THE HERR ROBERT” + </h2> +<p> +I will not attempt to describe the welcome that met me on my return, nor +the gratitude with which my mother overwhelmed my kind protector. The +whole school, and no inconsiderable part of the village itself, had gone +forth to meet us, and we were conducted back in a sort of triumph. Over +and over again was I obliged to recount my story, of which the mystery +still remained unexplained. Who and what was the strange recluse who so +long had inhabited the castle of the Forlorn Glen, and who now stood +before them, old and simply clad, but still bearing unmistakable marks of +having been a person of some condition? +</p> +<p> +As Mr. Robert he desired to be known by me, and as such was he received by +my mother. He declined the offer she freely made him of a room in her own +small house, and hired a little lodging in the toll-house on the bridge, +and which he said was convenient to the garden of the château, where he +obtained the liberty of walking. If the interest which he manifested in me +was at first a cause of anxiety to my mother, not knowing what it +portended, nor how far it might contribute to withdraw my affection from +herself, it was clear that she soon became satisfied with whatever +explanation he afforded, and that those long conversations, frequently +prolonged to a late hour of the night, which they held together, had the +effect of reconciling her to his views and intentions. +</p> +<p> +Thus was a new individual introduced into the little circle of our family +party, and each Sunday saw him seated at our dinner-table, of which his +conversation formed the great charm. It was not alone that his mind was +stored with varied information the most rare and curious, but his +knowledge of the world itself and of mankind seemed more remarkable still; +and frequently, after he had left us of an evening, have I overheard my +mother express her wonder to Raper who and what he had been, and by what +strange events he was reduced to his present condition. These remarks of +hers at first showed me that whatever revelations he might have made in +his long interviews with her, he had told little or nothing of his own +story. Such was indeed the case, and I can remember well a little scene, +in itself unimportant and of no consequence, which can both portray my +mother's intense curiosity on this theme, and display some traits of him +for whom it was excited. +</p> +<p> +It happened that at the period when her little quarterly pittance came +due, my mother was confined to home by a slight feverish cold, and Herr +Klann, the banker and moneychanger of the village, was condescending +enough to come in person and hand her the amount. In spite of her narrow +fortune, my mother had always been treated with a marked deference by the +village, and Herr Klann demeaned himself on the occasion with every show +of courtesy and politeness. He indeed did not scruple to display that he +was the great depositary of riches for miles and miles around; that all +the relations of trade and commerce, all the circumstances of family +fortune,—the dowries of brides, the portions of younger sons,—were +in his charge and keeping. He talked much of the responsibility of his +station and its requirements, and, like many others, while encomiumizing +his secrecy, he exhibited the very opposite quality. There was not a house +in the village or its neighborhood of which he did not incidentally relate +some story or incident. He became, in fact, candor itself in his +confessions. It is but fair to own that my mother looked most becomingly +in her half invalid costume, and that the little straw-wrapped flask of +“Sieben-berger” with which she regaled him was excellent. Herr Klann was a +man to acknowledge both such influences. He possessed the Hebrew +weaknesses both as regards gold and beauty. He therefore became largely +confidential,—taking a survey of the whole neighborhood, and +revealing their circumstances with the minute anatomy that a surgeon might +have employed in displaying their structure. My mother heard him with no +peculiar interest till by accident he alluded to the “Herr Robert;” it was +a mere reference to the toll-house where he lived, but the name at once +awakened her attention. +</p> +<p> +“With him, I conclude,” said she, “your money dealings are few. He does +not appear to be wealthy.” + </p> +<p> +“He is a mystery in every way, madam,” replied Klann, “his very cash does +not come through a banker or an agent; he has no credit, no bills—nothing. +He comes down to me at times, say once a month or so, to change a few gold +pieces,—they are always 'Louis.' I remark, and sometimes of the time +of the late reign. They are good money, and full weight invariably, that I +must say.” + </p> +<p> +“And what may be your own opinion of all this?” + </p> +<p> +“I can form none,—positively none, madam. Of course I need not say +that I regret the vulgar notion in the village that he is in communication +with supernatural agencies; neither you nor I, madam, are likely to fall +into this absurd mistake.” + </p> +<p> +“And so you rather incline to suppose—” She drew out the words +tardily, and fixed on Herr Klann a look of ineffable softness and +intelligence together. +</p> +<p> +“I do, madam,—that is my private opinion,” said he, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“Would that account for the life he has been leading for some years back,—should +we have found him passing such a long term in isolation from all the +world?” asked she. +</p> +<p> +“I think so, madam, and I will tell you why. The agents employed by the +regency, and in the beginning of the present reign in France, were all men +of certain condition,—many of them belonged to high families, and, +having ruined their fortunes by extravagance, were fain to take any +occupation for mere subsistence. Some of them resided as nobles in Vienna, +and were received at the court of the Empress. Others gained admittance to +St. James's. They were supplied with money, both for purposes of play and +bribery; and that they used such means to good account is now matter of +history. When the game was played out, and they were no longer needed by +the government, such men were obliged to retire from the stage whereon +they had only played a part. The Duc de Senneterre went into a monastery; +Count Leon de Rhode set off for the New World; and there was one taken ill +in this very village, whose name I now forget, who had gone into the +priesthood, and was head of a seminary in Flanders. What more likely, +then, than that our friend at the bridge yonder was some great celebrity +of those times, of which I hear he loves to talk and declaim?” + </p> +<p> +The hint thus thrown out made a deep impression on my mother. It served to +explain not only many circumstances of Herr Robert's position, but also to +account for the strange glimpses of a great and glorious future, in which +at moments of excitement he would indulge. A life of intrigue and plot +would naturally enough suggest ambitious hopes, and conduce to the very +frame of mind which he appeared to reach. That I should become the +follower of such a man, and the disciple of such a school, revolted +against all her feelings. The spy, no matter how highly accredited and how +richly rewarded, was, in her eyes, the most ignoble of all careers; and +she would rather have seen me clad in the sheepskin of an Alpine shepherd +than wearing, in this capacity, the decorations of every order of Europe. +</p> +<p> +From the moment, therefore, the suspicion crossed her mind that Herr +Robert had been such, she firmly determined to withdraw me altogether from +his intimacy. Nor was the step an easy one. He had become a recognized +member of our little household; each evening saw him seated at our hearth +or board; on every Sunday he dined with us. His little presents of wine +and fruit, and occasionally of books, showed that he intended reciprocity +to be a basis of our intercourse, of which, indeed, the balance lay in our +favor. How, therefore, was such a state of things to be suddenly arrested? +How bring to an abrupt conclusion an intimacy of which nothing had +hitherto interrupted the peaceful course? This was a matter of no common +difficulty, and for several days did she ponder over it to herself. +</p> +<p> +It chanced that, for the first time since her arrival at Reichenau, Herr +Robert had been slightly indisposed, and being unable to come and see us, +had sent for me to come each evening and read to him. At any other moment +my mother would have thought no more of this, but coming now, at the very +time when her feelings of doubt and suspicion were torturing her, she +regarded the circumstance with actual apprehension. +</p> +<p> +At first, she thought of sending Raper along with me, in the guise of +protector; but as Herr Robert had not requested his company, there seemed +an awkwardness in this; then she half resolved to refuse me permission, on +pretence of requiring my presence at home: this, too, would look +ungracious; and when at last she did accord her leave, it was for a very +limited time, and with strict injunctions to be back by an early hour. +</p> +<p> +It chanced that Herr Robert felt on this evening a more than ordinary +desire to be frank and confidential. He related to me various anecdotes of +his early days, the scenes he had mixed in, and the high associates with +whom he was intimate; and when he had excited my curiosity and wonderment +to a high degree, by gorgeous narratives of the great world, he stopped +short and said: “I would not have you think, Jasper, that these dukes and +princes were more gifted or more endowed than other men; the only real +difference between them is, that they employ their faculties on great +events, not little ones; and all their pleasures, their amusements, their +very vices, react upon the condition of mankind in general, and +consequently whatever goes forward in their society has a certain amount +of importance, not for itself, but for what may follow it.” + </p> +<p> +These words made a profound impression upon me, leading to the conviction +that out of this charmed circle life had no ambition worth striving for, +no successes that deserved a struggle. From my mother I had no +concealment, and before I went to my bed I told her all that the Herr +Robert had said to me, and showed how deeply this sentiment had sunk into +my mind. +</p> +<p> +I conclude that it must have been from some relation to her former fears +she took immediate alarm at the possible bent my mind was receiving. +Assuredly she deemed that his influence over me was not without peril, and +resolved the following morning to send for the Herr Robert, and in all +frankness avow her fears, and appeal to his friendship to allay them. +</p> +<p> +I was about to set off for school when the old man was ascending the +stairs, and taking me by the hand he led me back again into the little +chamber, where my mother awaited him. +</p> +<p> +“Let Jasper remain with us, madam,” said he; “the few words of your note +have shown me what is passing in your mind, and it will save you and me a +world of explanation if he be suffered to be present.” + </p> +<p> +My mother assented, not over willingly, perhaps, and the old man, taking a +seat, at once begun,— +</p> +<p> +“If I had ever suspected, madam, that my history could have possibly +possessed any interest for you, you should certainly have heard it ere +now. My opinion was, however, different; and I thought, moreover, that as +I had strictly abstained from encroaching upon your confidence, an equal +reserve might have protected mine. Forgive me if by any accident the +slightest word should escape me to cause you pain or displeasure. Nothing +can be further from my thoughts than this intention, and I beg of you so +to receive whatever I say. +</p> +<p> +“Some years ago, a physician, in whom I had and have the fullest +confidence, forewarned me that if certain symptoms which I then labored +under should ever recur, my case would be beyond remedy, and my life could +not be prolonged many days. Two days since, the first signs of these +became evident; yesterday the appearance became more palpable; to-day I +recognize them in full force. When a man of my age talks of his +approaching death, he only speaks of what has been before his thoughts +every day and every night for years back. Whatever benefit I was ever +capable of rendering my fellow-men in my younger days, I have been +latterly a useless and profitless member of the guild, and for this +reason, that though time had not effaced my powers of intellect, the +energy and the force that should develop them was gone. Without youth +there is no vitality; without vitality, no action; without action, no +success. I often fancied what results might arise if to the mature +thoughts and experience of age were to be added the fire, the energy, and +the passion of youth. If caution and rashness, reserve and intrepidity, +the distrust that comes of knowing men, with that credulous hope that +stirs the young heart, were all to centre in one nature, what might we not +effect? The fate that brought Jasper and myself together whispered to me +that he might become such! I pictured to my mind the training he should go +through, the hard discipline of work and labor, and yet without impairing +in the slightest that mainspring of all power, the daring courage and +energy of a young and brave spirit. To this end, he should incur no +failures in early life, never know a reverse till it could become to him +the starting-point for higher success. And thus launched upon life with +every favoring breeze of fortune, what might not be predicted of his +course? +</p> +<p> +“He who would stand high among his fellow-men, and be regarded as their +benefactor and superior during his lifetime, must essentially be a man of +action! The great geniuses of authorship, the illustrious in art, have +received their best rewards from posterity; contemporaries have attacked +them, depreciated and reviled them; the very accidents of their lives have +served to injure the excellence of their compositions. But the man of +action stands forth to his own age great and distinguished; the world on +which his services have bestowed benefits is proud to reward him! and +either as a legislator, a conqueror, or a discoverer, his claims meet full +acknowledgment. +</p> +<p> +“Who would not be one of these, then?—who would not aspire to win +the enthusiasm that tracks such a career, and makes a mere mortal godlike? +</p> +<p> +“To be such I possessed the secret! Nay, madam, this is not the weakness +of faltering intellect, nor the outpouring of a silly vanity. Hear me out +with patience but a very little longer. It is not of some wonder of +science or of mystery, of occult art, that I speak; and yet the power to +which I allude is infinitely greater than any of these were ever fancied +to bestow. Imagine an engine by which the failing energies of a whole +nation can be rallied, its wasting vigor repaired, its resources +invigorated. Fancy a nation—millions—brought out of poverty, +debt, and distress, into wealth, affluence, and abundance; the springs of +their industry reinforced, the sources of their traffic refreshed. Picture +to your mind the change from an embarrassed government, a ruined +aristocracy, an indebted, poverty-stricken people, to a full treasury, a +splendid nobility, and a prosperous and powerful nation. Imagine all this; +and then, if you can ascribe the transformation to the working of one +man's intelligence, what will you say of him? +</p> +<p> +“I am not conjuring up a mere visionary or impossible triumph; what I +describe has been actually done, and he who accomplished it was my own +father! +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam, the mightiest financial scheme the world has ever witnessed, +the grandest exemplification of the principle of credit that has ever been +promulgated by man, was his invention. He farmed the whole revenues of +France, and at one stroke annihilated the peculation of receivers-general, +and secured the revenue of the nation. He fructified the property of the +state by employing its vast resources in commercial speculations; from the +east to the west, from the fertile valley of the Mississippi to the golden +plains of Asia, he opened every land to the enterprise of Frenchmen. Paris +itself he made the capital city of the world. Who has not heard of the +splendor of the regency, of Chantilly, the gorgeous palace of the Duc +d'Orléans, the very stables more magnificent than the residences of many +princes? The wealth and the rank of Europe flocked thither; and in the +pleasures of that paradise of capitals lies the history of an age! He who +did all this was my own father, and his name was John Law, of Lauriston! +Ay, madam, you see before you, poor, humbly clad, and gray-haired, going +down to the grave in actual want, the son of a man who once counted his +revenue by millions, whose offerings to the Church of St. Roch would have +made a meet dowry for a princess, and whose very menials acquired fortunes +such as modern nobility cannot equal.” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, he drew forth a large silver-clasped pocket-book, and, +opening it, took out a mass of papers. +</p> +<p> +“I do not ask you to take any part of this on trust,” continued he. +“There, with the seal of the chancellor, and the date, January the 5th, +1720, is his patent as comptroller-general of France. Here are letters +from the Regent, the Prince of Deux-Ponts, the Duke of Rohan; I leave them +in your hands, and will send you others that authenticate all I have +stated. Of my own life, humble and uneventful, I have no wish to speak; +more than this I know, for I have long studied the great principles of my +father's secret. The causes of his reverses I have thoroughly +investigated; they are not inherent in the system, nor are they reasonably +attributable to it in any way. His discovery must not be disparaged by the +vices of a profligate prince, a venal administration, and an ignorant +cabinet; nor must the grandeur of his conception be charged with the rash +infatuation of a nation of gamblers. Law's system stands free from every +taint of dishonesty, when dissociated with the names of those who +prostituted it. For years long have I studied the theory, and tested it by +every proof within my power. To make the fact known to the world; to +publish abroad the great truth, that credit well based and fortified is +national wealth, and that national wealth, so based, is almost boundless,—this +became the object of my whole life. I knew that a certain time must elapse +ere the disasters that followed my father's downfall were forgotten, and +that I should, in all likelihood, never live to see the day when his +glorious system would be revived, and his memory vindicated; but I hoped +to have found one worthy to inherit this secret, and in whose keeping it +might be transmitted to after ages. I will not weary you with the story of +all my disappointments, the betrayals, and the treachery, and the +falsehoods I have endured. Enough! I became a recluse from mankind. I gave +myself up to my old pursuits of calculation and combination, undisturbed; +and I have lived on, to this hour, with one thought ever before me, and +one fear,—is this great secret to die out with me? and are countless +millions of men destined to toil and slavery, while this vast source of +affluence and power shall lie rusting and unused?” + </p> +<p> +The intense fervor of his voice, and his tone of self-conviction as he +spoke, had evidently impressed my mother strongly in his favor; and when +she turned over one by one the letters before her, and read passages +penned by the hand of Du Pin, the chief secretary of the Regent, +D'Argen-son, Alberoni the Cardinal, and others of like station, and then +turned to look on the feeble and wasted figure of the old man, her eyes +filled with tears of pity and compassion. +</p> +<p> +“My heart is now relieved of a weary load,” said he, sighing. “Now I shall +go back to my home, and to-morrow, if I be not able to come here, you and +Jasper will visit me, for I have still much to tell you.” + </p> +<p> +My mother did her utmost to detain him where he was. She saw that the +excitement of his narrative had greatly increased the symptoms of fever +upon him, and she wished to tend and watch over him; but he was resolute +in his determination, and left us, almost abruptly. +</p> +<p> +Raper and myself went several times that evening to see him, but he would +not receive us. The reply to our inquiries was, that he was deeply +engaged, and could not be disturbed. I remember well how often during the +night I arose from my bed to look out at the little window of the +tollhouse, which was that of Herr Robert's room. A light burned there the +whole night through, and more than once I could see his figure pass +between it and the window. Poor old man!—was it that he was devoting +the last few hours of his life to the weary task that had worn him to a +very shadow? Towards daybreak I sank into a heavy sleep, from which I was +suddenly awakened by Raper calling on me to get up and dress at once. +</p> +<p> +“Herr Robert is dying!” said he, “and wishes to see you and speak with +you. Be quick, for there is not a moment to lose.” + </p> +<p> +I dressed myself as speedily as my trembling limbs would permit, and +followed Raper down the stairs and into the street. My mother was already +there, waiting for us, and we hurried along towards the toll-house without +a word. +</p> +<p> +The toll-keeper's wife beckoned to us impatiently as we came in sight, and +we pressed eagerly on, and entered the little chamber where Herr Robert +lay half-dressed upon his bed. He knew us, and took each of us by the hand +as we came forward. His face was greatly flushed, and his eyes stared +wildly, and his dry, cracked lips muttered frequently and fast. Several +large packages of papers lay beside him, sealed and addressed, and to +these he made a motion with his hand, as if he would speak of them. +</p> +<p> +“Tell us of yourself, Herr Robert,” said my mother, in a kind voice, as +she sat down beside him. “Do you feel any pain?” + </p> +<p> +He seemed not to hear her, but muttered indistinctly to himself. Then, +turning short round to me, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I have forgotten the number of the house, but you can't mistake it. It is +the only one with a stone balcony over the entrance gate. It was well +enough known once. John Law's house,—the 'Rue Quincampoix.' The room +looks to the back—and the safe—Who is listening to us?” + </p> +<p> +I reassured him, and he went on:— +</p> +<p> +“The ingots were forged as if coming from the gold mines of Louisiana. +D'Argenson knew the trick, and the Regent too. They it was who wrecked +him,—they and Tencivi.” + </p> +<p> +His eyes grew heavy, and his voice subsided to a mere murmur after this, +and he seemed to fall off in a drowsy stupor. The whole of that day and +the next he lingered on thus, breathing heavily, and at intervals seeming +to endeavor to rally himself from the oppression of sleep; but in vain! +Exhaustion was complete, and he passed away calmly, and so quietly that we +did not mark the moment when he ceased to breathe. +</p> +<p> +My mother led me away weeping from the room, and Raper remained to look +after his papers and make the few arrangements for his humble burial. +</p> +<p> +The same day that we laid him in the earth came a letter from the Count de +Gabriac to say that he would be with us on the morrow. It was the only +letter he had written for several months past, and my mother's joy was +boundless at the prospect of seeing him. Thus did sunshine mingle with +shadow in our life, and tears of happiness mingle with those of sorrow! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. THE COUNT DE GABRIAC +</h2> +<p> +I had often heard that the day which should see the Count restored to us +would be one of festivity and enjoyment. Again and again had we talked +over all our plans of pleasure for that occasion; but the reality was +destined to bring back disappointment! We were returning in sadness from +the toll-house, when a messenger came running to tell of the Count's +arrival; and my mother, leaving me with Raper, to whom she whispered a few +hurried words, hastened homewards. +</p> +<p> +I thought it strange that she had not taken me along with her; but I +walked along silently at Raper's side, lost in my own thoughts, and not +sorry to have for my companion one little likely to disturb them. We +sauntered onward through some meadows that skirted the river; and at last, +coming down to the stream, seated ourselves by the brink, each still sunk +in his own reflections. +</p> +<p> +It was a bright day of midsummer: the air had all that exhilaration +peculiar to the season in these Alpine districts. The stream ran clear as +crystal at our feet; and the verdure of grass and foliage was in its full +perfection. But one single object recalled a thought of sorrow, and that +was the curtained window of the little chamber wherein Herr Robert lay +dead. +</p> +<p> +To this spot my eyes would return, do what I could; and thither, too, sped +all my thoughts, in spite of me. The influence which for some time back he +had possessed over me was perfectly distinct from that which originates in +affectionate attachment. Indeed, all his appeals to me were the very +reverse of such. His constant argument was, that a man fettered by +affection, and restricted by ties of family, was worthless for all +purposes of high ambition, and that for the real successes of life, one +must sacrifice everything like individual enjoyment. So far had he +impressed me with these notions that I already felt a kind of pleasure in +little acts of self-denial, and rose in my own esteem by slight traits of +self-restraint. The comparative isolation in which I lived, and my +estrangement from those of my own age, favored this impression, and I grew +by degrees to look upon the sports and pleasures of boyhood with all the +disdainful compassion of an old ascetic. +</p> +<p> +I remember well how, as I lay in the deep grass and watched the rippling +circles of the fast-flowing river, that a sudden thought shot through me. +What if all this theory should prove but a well-disguised avarice,—that +this passion for distinction be only the thirst for wealth,—these +high purposes of philanthropy but another scheme for self-advancement! Is +it possible that for such a price as this I would surrender all the +enjoyments of youth, and all the budding affections of coming manhood? +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Joseph,” said I, suddenly, “what is the best life?” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean, Jasper? Is it, how shall a man do most good to others?” + said he. +</p> +<p> +“Not alone that; but how shall he best employ his faculties for his own +sake?” + </p> +<p> +“That may mean for his personal advancement, Jasper, for objects purely +selfish, and be the reverse of what your first question implied.” + </p> +<p> +“When I said the best, I meant the wisest,” replied I. +</p> +<p> +“The wisest choice is that of a career, every duty of which can be +fulfilled without the sacrifice of kindly affections or the relinquishment +of family ties. He who can adopt such is both wise and happy.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you happy, Mr. Joseph?” asked I; “for I know you are wise.” + </p> +<p> +“Far more happy than wise, Jasper,” said he, smiling. “For one like me, +life has borne many blessings.” + </p> +<p> +“Like you!” exclaimed I, in surprise, for to my thinking he was a most +enviable mortal; I knew of no one so learned, nor of such varied +acquirements. “Like you, Mr. Joseph!” + </p> +<p> +“Just so, Jasper; I, who have had neither home nor family, have yet found +both; I, whom no ties of affection encircled, have lived to feel what it +is to be cared for; and I, that almost despaired of being aught to any +one, have found that I can be of use to those whom it is my chief +happiness to love.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me your history, Mr. Joseph, or at least tell me something about +yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“My story, my dear Jasper, is but the history of my own day. The least +eventful of lives would be adventurous if placed alongside of mine. I +began the world such as you see me, poor, humble-minded, and lowly. I +continue my journey in the same spirit that I set out. The tastes and +pursuits that then gave me pleasure are still the same real sources of +enjoyment to me. What were duties are now delights. Your dear mother was +once my pupil, as you are now; and it is my pride to see that she has +neither forgotten our old lessons, nor lived to think them valueless. Even +here have I seen her fall back upon the pursuits which occupied her +childhood—ay, and they have served to lighten some gloomy hours +too.” + </p> +<p> +Raper quickly perceived, from the anxiety with which I had listened, that +he had already spoken too much; and he abruptly changed the topic by +saying,— +</p> +<p> +“How we shall miss the poor Herr Robert! He had grown to seem one of +ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“And is my mother unhappy, Mr. Joseph?” said I, recurring to the former +remarks. +</p> +<p> +“Which of us can claim an exemption from sorrow, Jasper? Do you not think +that the little village yonder, in that cleft of the mountain—secluded +as it looks—has not its share of this world's griefs? Are there not +the jealousies, and the rivalries, and the heartburnings of large +communities within that narrow spot?” + </p> +<p> +While he was yet speaking, a messenger came to summon me home. The +Countess, he said, was waiting dinner for me, and yet no invitation came +for Raper. He seemed, however, not to notice the omission, but, taking my +hand, led me along homeward. I saw that some strong feeling was working +within, for twice or thrice he pressed my hand fervently, and seemed as if +about to say something; and then, subduing the impulse, he walked on in +silence. +</p> +<p> +“Make my respectful compliments to the Count, Jasper,” said he, as we came +to the door, “and say that I will wait upon him when it is his pleasure to +see me.” + </p> +<p> +“That would be now, I 'm sure,” said I, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not so soon; he will have so much to say to your mother. Another +time;” and, hurriedly shaking my hand, he retired. +</p> +<p> +As I slowly, step by step, mounted the stair, I could not help asking +myself, was this the festive occasion I had so often pictured to myself?—was +this the happy meeting I had looked forward to so longingly? As I drew +near the door, I thought I heard a sound like a. heavy sob; my hand +trembled when I turned the handle of the lock and entered the room. +</p> +<p> +“This is Jasper,” said my mother, coming towards me, and trying to smile +through what I could see were recent tears. +</p> +<p> +The Count was seated on an easy-chair, still dressed in the pelisse he had +worn on the journey, and with his travelling-cap in his hand. He struck me +as a handsome and distinguished-looking man, 'but with a countenance that +alike betrayed passion and intemperance. The look he turned on me as I +came forward was assuredly not one of kindness or affection, nor did he +extend his hand to me in sign of salutation. +</p> +<p> +“And this is Jasper!” repeated he slowly after my mother. “He is n't tall +of his age, I think.” + </p> +<p> +“We have always thought him so,” said my mother, gently, “and assuredly he +is strong and well grown.” + </p> +<p> +“The better able will he be to brave fatigue and hardship,” said he, +sternly. “Come forward, sir, and tell me something about yourself. What +have they taught you at school?—has Raper made you a bookworm, +dreamy and good-for-nothing as himself?” + </p> +<p> +“Would that he had made me resemble him in anything!” cried I, +passionately. +</p> +<p> +“It were a pity such a moderate ambition should go unrewarded,” replied +he, with a sneer. “But to the purpose: what do you know?” + </p> +<p> +“Little, sir; very little.” + </p> +<p> +“And what can you do?” + </p> +<p> +“Even less.” + </p> +<p> +“Hopeful, at all events,” rejoined he, with a shrug of the shoulders. +“They haven't made you a scholar: they surely might have trained you to +something.” + </p> +<p> +My mother, who seemed to suffer most acutely during this short dialogue, +here whispered something in his ear, to which he as hastily replied,— +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it. I know him better than that; better than you do. Come, +sir,” added he, turning to me, “the Countess tells me that you are +naturally sensitive, quick to feel censure, and prone to brood over it. Is +this the case?” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely know if it be,” said I. “I have but a slight experience of +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, that's more like the truth,” said he, gayly. “The language of blame +is not familiar to him. So, then, from Raper you have learned little. Now, +what has the great financier and arch-swindler Law taught you?” + </p> +<p> +“Emile, Emile,” broke in my mother, “this is not a way to speak to the +boy, nor is it by such lessons he will be trained to gratitude and +affection.” + </p> +<p> +“Even there, then, will my teaching serve him,” said he, laughingly. “From +all that I have seen of life, these are but unprofitable emotions.” + </p> +<p> +I did not venture to look at my mother; but I could hear how her breathing +came fast and thick, and could mark the agitation she was under. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Jasper,” said he, “sit down here beside me, and let us talk to each +other in all confidence and sincerity. You know enough of your history to +be aware that you are an orphan, that both your parents died leaving you +penniless, and that to this lady, whom till now you have called your +mother, you owe your home.” + </p> +<p> +My heart was full to bursting, and I could only clasp my mother's hand and +kiss it passionately, without being able to utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“I neither wish to excite your feelings nor to weary you,” said he, +calmly; “but it is necessary that I should tell you we are not rich. The +fact, indeed, may have occurred to you already,” said he, with a +disdainful gesture of his hand, while his eye ranged over the +poverty-stricken chamber where we sat. “Well,” resumed he, “not being +rich, but poor,—so poor that I have known what it is to feel hunger +and thirst and cold, for actual want! Worse again,” cried he, with a wild +and savage energy, “have felt the indignity of being scoffed at for my +poverty, and seen the liveried scullions of a great house make jests upon +my threadbare coat and worn hat! It has been my own choosing, however, all +of it!” and as he spoke, he arose, and paced the room with strides that +made the frail chamber tremble beneath the tread. +</p> +<p> +“Dearest Emile,” cried my mother, “let us have no more of this. Remember +that it is so long since we met. Pray keep these sad reflections for +another time, and let us enjoy the happiness of being once more together.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no time for fooling, madame,” said he, sternly. “I have come a +long and weary journey about this boy. It is unlikely that I can afford to +occupy myself with his affairs again. Let him have the benefit—if +benefit there be—of my coming. I would relieve you of the burden of +his support, and himself of the misery of dependence.” + </p> +<p> +I started with surprise. It was the first time I had ever heard the word +with reference to myself, and a sense of shame, almost to sickness, came +over me as I stood there. +</p> +<p> +“Jasper is my child; he is all that a son could be to his mother,” cried +Polly, clasping me in her arms, and kissing my forehead; and I felt as if +my very heart was bursting. “Between us there is no question of burden or +independence.” + </p> +<p> +“We live in an age of fine sentiments and harsh actions,” said the Count. +“I have seen M. de Robespierre shed tears over a dead canary, and I +believe that he could control his feelings admirably on the Place de +Grève. Jasper, I see that we must finish this conversation when we are +alone together. And now to dinner.” + </p> +<p> +He assumed a half air of gayety as he said this; but it was unavailing as +a means of rallying my poor mother, whose tearful eyes and trembling lips +told how sadly dispirited she felt at heart. +</p> +<p> +I had heard much from my mother about the charms of the Count's +conversation, his brilliant tone, and his powers of fascination. It had +been a favorite theme with her to dilate upon his wondrous agreeability, +and the vast range of his acquaintance with popular events and topics. She +had always spoken of him, too, as one of buoyant spirits, and even boyish +light-heartedness. She had even told me that he would be my companion, +like one of my own age. With what disappointment, then, did I find him the +very reverse of all this! All his views of life savored of bitterness and +scorn; all his opinions were tinged with scepticism and distrust; he +sneered at the great world and its vanities, but even these he seemed to +hold in greater estimation than the humble tranquillity of our remote +village. I have him before me this instant as he leaned out of the window +and looked down the valley towards the Splugen Alps. The sun was setting, +and only the tops of the very highest glaciers were now touched with its +glory; their peaks shone like burnished gold in the sea of sky, azure and +cloudless. The rest of the landscape was softened down into various +degrees of shade, but all sufficiently distinct to display the wild and +fanciful outlines of cliff and crag, and the zigzag course by which the +young Rhine forced its passage through the rocky gorge. Never had the +scene looked in greater beauty,—never had every effect of light and +shadow been more happily distributed; and I watched him with eagerness as +he gazed out upon a picture which nothing in all Europe can surpass. His +countenance for a while remained calm, cold, and unmoved; but at last he +broke silence and said: +</p> +<p> +“This it was, then, that gave that dark coloring to all your letters to +me, Polly; and I half forgive you as I look at it. Gloom and barbarism +were never more closely united.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Emile, you surely see something else in this grand picture?” cried +she, in a deprecating voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, slowly, “I see poverty and misery; half-fed and half-clad +shepherds; figures of bandit rugged-ness and savagery. I see these, and I +feel that to live amongst them, even for a brief space, would be to endure +a horrid nightmare.” + </p> +<p> +He moved away as he spoke, and sauntered slowly out of the room, down the +stairs, and into the street. +</p> +<p> +“Follow him, Jasper,” cried Polly, eagerly; “he is dispirited and +depressed,—the journey has fatigued him, and he looks unwell. Go +with him; but do not speak till he addresses you.” + </p> +<p> +I did not much fancy the duty, but I obeyed without a word. He seemed to +have quickened his pace as he descended; for when I reached the street, I +could detect his figure at some distance off in the twilight. He walked +rapidly on, and when he arrived at the bridge, he stopped, and, leaning +against the balustrade, looked up the valley. +</p> +<p> +“Are you weary of this, boy?” asked he, while he pointed up the glen. +</p> +<p> +I shook my head in dissent. +</p> +<p> +“Not tired of it,” he exclaimed, “not heartsick of a life of dreary +monotony, without ambition, without an object! When I was scarcely older +than you I was a garde du corps; at eighteen I was in the household, and +mixing in all the splendor and gayety of Paris; before I was twenty I +fought the Duc de Valmy and wounded him. At the Longchamps of that same +year I drove in the carriage with La Marquese de Rochvilliers; and all the +world knows what success that was! Well, all these things have passed +away, and now we have a republic and the coarse pleasures and coarser +tastes of the 'canaille.' Men like me are not the 'mode,' and I am too old +to conform to the new school. But you are not so; you must leave this, +boy,—you must enter the world, and at once, too. You shall come back +with me to Paris.” + </p> +<p> +“And leave my mother?” + </p> +<p> +“She is not your mother,—you have no claim on her as such; I am more +your relative than she is, for your mother was my cousin. But we live in +times when these ties are not binding. The guillotine loosens stronger +bonds, and the whisper of the spy is more efficacious than the law of +divorce. You must see the capital, and know what life really is. Here you +will learn nothing but the antiquated prejudices of Raper, or the weak +follies of—others.” + </p> +<p> +He only spoke the last word after a pause of some seconds, and then +moodily sank into silence. +</p> +<p> +I did not venture to utter a word, and waited patiently till he resumed, +which he did by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“The Countess has told you nothing of your history,—nothing of your +circumstances? Well, you shall hear all from me. Indeed, there are facts +known to me with which she is unacquainted. For the present, Jasper, I +will tell you frankly that the humble pittance on which she lives is +insufficient for the additional cost of your support. I can contribute +nothing; I can be but a burden myself. From herself you would never hear +this; she would go on still, as she has done hitherto, struggling and +pinching, battling with privations, and living that fevered life of combat +that is worse than a thousand deaths. Raper, too, in his own fashion, +would make sacrifices for you; but would you endure the thought of this? +Does not the very notion revolt against all your feelings of honor and +manly independence? Yes, boy, that honest grasp of the hand assures me +that you think so! You must not, however, let it appear that I have +confided this fact to you. It is a secret that she would never forgive my +having divulged. The very discussion of it has cost us the widest +estrangements we have ever suffered, and it would peril the continuance of +our affection to speak of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I will be secret,” said I, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Do so, boy; and remember that when I speak of your accompanying me to +Paris, you express your wish to see the capital and its brilliant +pleasures. Show, if not weary of this dreary existence here, that you at +least are not dead to all higher and nobler ambitions. Question me about +the life of the great world, and in your words and questions exhibit the +interest the theme suggests. I have my own plan for your advancement, of +which you shall hear later.” + </p> +<p> +He seemed to expect that I would show some curiosity regarding the future, +but my thoughts were all too busy with the present. They were all turned +to that home I was about to leave, to the fond mother I was to part from, +to honest Joseph himself,—my guide, my friend, and my companion; and +for what? An unknown sea, upon which I was to adventure without enterprise +or enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +The Count continued to talk of Paris and his various friends there, with +whom he assured me I should be a favorite. He pictured the life of the +great city in all its brightest colors. He mentioned the names of many who +had entered it as unknown and friendless as myself, and yet, in a few +years, had won their way up to high distinction. There was a vagueness in +all this which did not satisfy me; but I was too deeply occupied with +other thoughts to question or cavil at what he said. +</p> +<p> +When we went back to supper, Raper was there to pay his respects to the +Count. De Gabriac received his respectful compliments coldly and +haughtily; he even interrupted the little address poor Joseph had so +carefully studied and committed to memory, by asking if he still continued +to bewilder his faculties with Greek particles and obsolete dialects; and +then, without waiting for his reply, he seated himself at the table, and +arranged his napkin. +</p> +<p> +“Master Joseph,” said he, half sarcastically, “the world has been pleased +to outlive these follies; they have come to the wise resolve that, when +languages are dead, they ought to be buried; and they have little sympathy +with those who wish to resuscitate and disinter them.” + </p> +<p> +“It is but an abuse of terms to call them dead, Count,” replied Joseph. +“Truth, in whatever tongue it be syllabled, does not die. Fidelity to +nature in our age will be acknowledged as correct in centuries after.” + </p> +<p> +“Our own time gives us as good models, and with less trouble to look for +them,” said the Count, flippantly. “Your dreamy bookworm is too prone to +delve in the earth, and not to coin the ore that he has discovered. Take +Jasper there: you have taught him diligently and patiently; I 'll be sworn +you have neglected him in nothing, so far as your own knowledge went; and +yet, before he shall have been three months in Paris, he will look upon +you, his master, as an infant. The interval between you will be wide as +the broad Atlantic; and the obstacles and crosses, to overcome which will +be with him the work of a second, would be to you difficulties +insurmountable.” + </p> +<p> +“To Paris! Jasper go to Paris!” exclaimed my mother, as she grew deadly +pale. +</p> +<p> +“Jasper leave us!” cried Raper, in a tone of terror. +</p> +<p> +“And why not?” replied the Count. “Is it here you would have him waste the +best years of youth? Is it in the wild barbarism of this dreary valley +that he will catch glimpses of the prizes for which men struggle and +contend? The boy himself has higher and nobler instincts; he feels that +this is but the sluggish existence of a mere peasant, and that yonder is +the tournament where knights are jousting.” + </p> +<p> +“And you wish to leave us, Jasper?” cried my mother, with a quivering lip, +and a terrible expression of anxiety in her features. +</p> +<p> +“To forsake your home!” muttered Raper. +</p> +<p> +“Ask himself; let him be as frank with you as he was half-an-hour ago with +me, and you will know the truth.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Jasper, speak!—leave me not in this dreadful suspense!” cried +my mother; “for in all my troubles I never pictured to my mind this +calamity.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no!” said Raper; “the boy 's nature has no duplicity,—he never +thought of this!” + </p> +<p> +“Ask him, I say,” cried the Count; “ask him if he wish not to accompany me +to Paris.” + </p> +<p> +I could bear no longer the power of the gaze that I felt was fixed upon +me, but, falling at her feet, I hid my face in her lap, and cried +bitterly. My heart was actually bursting with the fulness of sorrow, and I +sobbed myself to sleep, still weeping through my dreams, and shedding hot +tears as I slumbered. +</p> +<p> +My dream is more graven on my memory than the events which followed my +awaking. I could recount the strange and incoherent fancies which chased +each other through my brain on that night, and yet not tell the actual +occurrences of the following day. +</p> +<p> +I do remember something of sitting beside my mother, with my hand locked +in hers, and feeling the wet cheek that from time to time was pressed +against my own; of the soft hand as it parted the hair upon my forehead, +and the burning kiss that seemed to sear it. Passages of intense emotion—how +caused I know not—are graven in my mind; memories of a grief that +seemed to wrench the heart with present suffering, and cast shadows of +darkest meaning on the future. Oh, no, no!—the sorrows—if they +be indeed sorrows—of childhood are not short-lived; they mould the +affections, and dispose them in a fashion that endures for many a year to +come. +</p> +<p> +While I recall to mind these afflictions, of the actual events of my last +hours at Reichenau I can relate but the very slightest traits. I do +remember poor Raper storing my little portmanteau with some of the last +few volumes that remained to him of his little store of books; of my +mother showing me a secret pocket of the trunk, not to be opened save when +some emergency or difficulty had presented itself; of my astonishment at +the number of things provided for my use, and the appliances of comfort +and convenience which were placed at my disposal; and then, more forcibly +than all else, of the contemptuous scorn with which the Count surveyed the +preparation, and asked “if my ward robe contained nothing better than +these rags?” + </p> +<p> +Of the last sad moment of parting,—the agony of my mother's grief as +she clasped me in her arms, till I was torn away by force, and with my +swimming faculties I thought to have seen her fall fainting to the ground,—of +these I will not speak, for I dare not, even now! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. PARIS IN '95 +</h2> +<p> +Our journey was a dreary and wearisome one. The diligence travelled +slowly, and as the weather was dull and rainy, the road presented nothing +of interest, at least of interest sufficient to combat the grief that +still oppressed me. We were upwards of a week travelling before we reached +Paris, which I own presented a very different aspect from what my ardent +imagination had depicted. The narrow streets were scarcely lighted,—it +was night,—the houses seemed poor and mean and dilapidated, the +inhabitants rude-looking and ill-dressed. The women especially were +ill-favored, and with an air of savage daring and effrontery I had never +seen before. Gangs of both sexes patrolled the streets, shouting in wild +chorus some popular chant of the time; and as the diligence did not +venture to pierce these crowds, we were frequently delayed in our progress +to the “bureau,” which was held in the Rue Didier of the Battignolles; for +it was in that unfashionable quarter in which my first impressions of the +capital were conceived. +</p> +<p> +“Remember, boy, I am no longer a Count here,” said my companion, as we got +out of the conveyance, “I am the citizen Gabriac; and be careful that you +never forget it. Take that portmanteau on your shoulder, and follow me!” + </p> +<p> +We treaded a vast number of streets and alleys, all alike wretched and +gloomy, till we entered a little “Place” which formed a “cul de sac” at +the end of a narrow lane, and was lighted by a single lantern, suspended +from a pole in the centre. This was called the Place de Trieze, in memory, +as I afterwards learned, of thirteen assassins who had once lived there, +and been for years the terror of the capital. It was now but scantily +tenanted, none of the rooms on the ground-floor being inhabited at all; +and in some instances an entire house having but one or two occupants. The +superstitious terrors that were rife about it (and there were abundance of +ghost stories in vogue) could scarcely account for this desertion, for +assuredly the fears of a spiritual world could not have proved formidable +to the class who frequented it; but an impression had got abroad that it +was a favorite resort of the spies of the police, who often tracked the +victims to this quarter, or at least here obtained information of their +whereabouts. Plague itself would have been a preferable reputation to such +a report, and accordingly few but the very poorest and most destitute +would accept the shelter of this ill-omened spot. +</p> +<p> +A single light, twinkling like a faint star, showed through the gloom as +we entered, where some watcher yet sat; but all the rest of the “Place” + was in darkness. Gabriac threw some light gravel at the window, which was +immediately opened, and a head enveloped in a kerchief, by way of +nightcap, appeared. +</p> +<p> +“It is I, Pierre,” cried he; “come down and unbar the door!” + </p> +<p> +“Ma foi,” said the other, “that is unnecessary. The commissaire broke it +down yesterday, searching for 'Torchon,' and the last fragment cooked my +dinner to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“And Torchon, did they catch him?” + </p> +<p> +“No, he escaped, but only to reach the Pont Neuf, where he threw himself +over the balustrade into the river.” + </p> +<p> +“And was drowned?” + </p> +<p> +“Doubtless, he was.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely regret him,” said Gabriac. +</p> +<p> +“And I not at all,” replied the other. “Good night;” and with this he +closed the window, leaving us to find our way as best we could. +</p> +<p> +I followed Gabriac as he slowly groped his way up the stairs and reached a +door on the third story, of which he produced the key. He struck a light +as he passed in, and lighted a small lamp, by which I was enabled to see +the details of a chamber poorer and more miserable than anything I had +ever conceived. A board laid upon two chairs served for a table, and some +wood-shavings, partially covered by a blanket, formed a bed; a couple of +earthenware pipkins comprised the cooking utensils, and a leaden basin +supplied the provisions for the toilet. +</p> +<p> +“Lie down there and take a sleep, Jasper, for I have no supper for you,” + said Gabriac; but his voice had a touch of compassionate gentleness in it +which I heard for the first time. +</p> +<p> +“And you, sir,” said I, “have you no bed?” + </p> +<p> +“I have no need of one. I have occupation that will not admit of sleep,” + said he. “And now, boy, once for all, never question me, nor ask the +reasons of what may seem strange or odd to you. Your own faculties must +explain whatever requires explaining—or else you must remain in +ignorance;” and with these words he passed into an inner chamber, from +which he speedily issued forth to descend the stairs into the street, +leaving me alone to my slumbers. And they were heavy and dreamless ones, +for I was thoroughly wearied and worn out by the road. +</p> +<p> +I was still asleep, and so soundly that I resisted all efforts to awake me +till a strong shake effectually succeeded, and, on looking up, I saw +Gabriac standing by my side. +</p> +<p> +“Get up, boy, and dress. These are your clothes,” said he, pointing to a +uniform of dark green and black, with a sword-belt of black leather, from +which hung a short, broad-bladed weapon. The dress was without any +richness, still a becoming one, and I put it on without reluctance. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to be a soldier, then?” asked I, in half shame at disobeying his +injunction of the night before. +</p> +<p> +“All Paris, all France, is arrayed at one side or the other just now, +Jasper,” said he, as he busied himself in the preparation of our coffee. +“The men who have ruled the nation by the guillotine have exhausted its +patience at last. A spirit, if not of resistance, of at least +self-defence, has arisen, and the little that remains of birth and blood +amongst us has associated with the remnant of property to crush the +hell-hounds that live by carnage. One of these bands is called the +battalion of 'La Jeunesse Dorée,' and into this I have obtained your +admission. Meanwhile, you will be attached to the staff of General +Danitan, who will employ you in the 'secrétariat' of his command. +Remember, boy, your tale is, you are the son of parents that have died on +the scaffold. You are the nephew of Emile de Gabriac, brother of Jules +Louis de Gabriac, your father, whom you cannot remember. Your life in +Switzerland you can speak of with safety. You will not talk of these +matters save to the General, and to him only if questioned about them.” + </p> +<p> +“But is this disguise necessary, sir? May I not assume the name I have a +right to, and accept the fate that would follow it?” + </p> +<p> +“The guillotine,” added he, sarcastically. “Are you so ignorant, child, as +not to know that England and France are at war, and that your nationality +would be your condemnation? Follow my guidance or your own,” said he, +sternly, “but do not seek to weld the counsels together.” + </p> +<p> +“But may I not know in what service I am enrolled?” + </p> +<p> +“Later on, when you can understand it,” was the cold reply. +</p> +<p> +“I am not so ignorant,” said I, taking courage, “as not to be aware of +what has happened of late years in France. I know that the king has been +executed.” + </p> +<p> +“Murdered!—martyred!” broke in Gabriac. +</p> +<p> +“And monarchy abolished.” + </p> +<p> +“Suspended—interrupted,” added he, in the same voice. “But I will +not discuss these matters with you. When you have eaten your breakfast, +take that letter to the address in the Rue Lepelletier, see the General, +and speak with him. As you go along the streets you will not fail to meet +many of those to whom your duty will at some later period place you in +opposition. If they by look, by dress, by bearing and manner captivate +your imagination and seduce your allegiance to their ranks, tear off your +colors then, and join them, boy; the choice is open to you. My charge is +then ended; we are not, nor ever can be, aught to each other again.” + </p> +<p> +I saw that he would not be questioned by me, and, forbearing at once, from +the risk of offending him, I ate my meal in silence. +</p> +<p> +“I am ready now, sir,” said I, standing up in front of him. +</p> +<p> +He wheeled me round by the arm to look at me in my new dress. He adjusted +my belt, and arranged my sword-knot more becomingly, muttering to himself +a few words of approval at my appearance, and then said aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Salute all whom you see in this uniform, boy, and bear yourself haughtily +as you pass the 'canaille.' Remember that between you and them must be the +struggle at last, and show that you do not blink it.” + </p> +<p> +He patted me good-naturedly on the shoulder as he said this, and, with the +word “Go,” half-pushed me from the room. +</p> +<p> +I soon found myself in the open air, and, having inquired my way to the +Rue Lepelletier, walked rapidly along, endeavoring, as best I might, to +disguise the astonishment I felt at so many new and wonderful objects. As +I emerged from the meaner quarter of the Battignolles, the streets grew +finer and more spacious, and the dress of the people and their appearance +generally improved also. Still, there was none of that splendor of +equipage of which I had heard so much. The carriages were few, and neither +rich nor well-appointed. The horses were poor-looking, and seemed all +over-worked and exhausted. The same tired and worn-out air pervaded the +people too. They all looked as though fatigue and excitement had finally +conquered them, and that they were no longer capable of endurance. At the +bakers' shops that I passed, great crowds were assembled, waiting for the +distribution of bread which the Government each morning doled out to the +population. I watched these, and saw, to my amazement, that the ration was +a small piece of black and coarse bread, weighing two ounces, and for this +many were content to wait patiently the entire day. In my curiosity to see +this, I had approached an old man of a strong, athletic appearance, who, +leaning on his staff, made no effort to pierce the crowd, but waited +calmly till his name was called aloud, and even then received his pittance +as it was passed to him from hand to hand. There was something of dignity +in the way he subdued every trace of that anxious impatience so +perceptible around him, and I drew nigh to speak to him, with a sense of +respect. +</p> +<p> +“Is that meant for a day's subsistence?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +He stared at me calmly for a few seconds, but made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“I asked the question,” began I, with an attempt to apologize, when he +interrupted me thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Are you one of the Troupe Dorée, and ask this? Is it from you, who live +in fine houses and eat sumptuously, that comes the inquiry, how men like +me exist?” + </p> +<p> +“I am newly come to Paris; I am only a few hours here.” + </p> +<p> +“See here, comrades,” cried the old man, in a loud and ringing voice to +the crowd, “mark what the 'Sections' are doing: drafting the peasants from +the Provinces, dressing them in their livery, and arming them to slaughter +us. Starvation marches too slowly for the wishes of these aristocrats!” + </p> +<p> +“Down with the 'aristos,' down with the 'Troupe!'” broke in one wild yell +from the multitude, who turned at once towards me with looks of menace. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” continued the old man, waving his hand to maintain silence, “he +dared to taunt me with the pittance we receive, and to scoff at our +mendicancy!” + </p> +<p> +“Down with him! down with him!” cried the crowd; but, interposing his +staff like a barrier against the mob, the old fellow said,— +</p> +<p> +“Spare him, comrades; he is, as you see, only a boy; let him live to be +wiser and better. Come, lad, break that sword upon your knee, tear off +that green cockade, and go back to your village again!” + </p> +<p> +I stepped back, and, drawing my sword, motioned to those in front to give +way. +</p> +<p> +“I'll cut down the first that opposes me!” cried I, with a wave of the +steel round my head; and at the same instant I dashed forward. +</p> +<p> +The mass fell back, and left me a free passage, while a chorus of the +wildest yells and screams burst around and about me. Mad with the +excitement of the moment, I shook my sword at them as I went, in defiance, +and even laughed my scorn of their cowardice. My triumph was brief; a +stunning blow on the back of the head sent me reeling forwards, and at the +same instant the ranks of the mob closed in, and, hurling me to the +ground, trampled and jumped upon me. Stunned, but not unconscious, I could +perceive that a battle was waged over me, in which my own fate was +forgotten, for the multitude passed and repassed my body without +inflicting other injury than their foot-treads. Even this was brief, too, +and I was speedily raised from the earth, and saw myself in the arms of +two young men in uniform like my own. One of them was bleeding from a +wound in the temple, but seemed only to think of me and my injuries. We +were soon joined by several others of the troop, who, having returned from +a pursuit of the mob, now pressed around me with kindest questions and +inquiries. My name, whence I came, and how long I had been in Paris, were +all asked of me in a breath; while others, more considerate still, sought +to ascertain if I had been wounded in the late scuffle. Except in some +bruises, and even those not severe, I had suffered nothing; and when my +clothes were brushed, and shako readjusted, and a new cockade affixed to +it, I was as well as ever. From the kind attentions we met with in the +shops, and the sympathy which the better-dressed people displayed towards +us, I soon gathered that the conflict was indeed one between two classes +of the population, and that the Troupe were the champions of property. +</p> +<p> +“Show him the Rue Lepelletier, Guillaume,” said an officer to one of the +youths; and a boy somewhat older than myself now undertook to be my guide. +</p> +<p> +I had some difficulty in answering his questions as to the names and the +number of my family who were guillotined, and when and where the execution +had occurred; but I was spared any excessive strain on my imagination by +the palpable indifference my companion exhibited to a theme now +monstrously tiresome. He, however, was communicative enough on the subject +of the Troupe and their duties, which he told me were daily becoming more +onerous. The Government, harassed by the opposition of the National Guards +and the Jeunesse Dorée together, had resorted to the terrible expedient of +releasing above a thousand prisoners from the galleys; and these, he +assured me, were now on their way to Paris, to be armed and formed into a +regiment. +</p> +<p> +Though he told this with a natural horror, he still spoke of his own party +with every confidence. They comprised, he said, the courage, the property, +and the loyalty of France. The whole nation looked to them as the last +stay and succor, and felt that the hope of the country was in their +keeping. +</p> +<p> +I asked him what was the number now enrolled in the Troupe? and, to my +astonishment, he could not tell me. In fact, he owned that many had of +late assumed the uniform as spies, and General Danitan had resolved that +each volunteer should present himself to him for acceptance before +receiving any charge, or being appointed to any guard. +</p> +<p> +I had not time for further questioning, when we arrived at the hôtel of +the general, when my companion, having given me full directions for my +guidance, shook my hand cordially, and departed. +</p> +<p> +As I ascended the stairs I overtook an elderly gentleman in a gray +military frock, who was slowly making his way upwards by the aid of the +balustrade. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your arm, lad,” said he, “for this stair seems to grow steeper +every day. Thanks; now I shall get on better. What has torn your +coat-sleeve?” + </p> +<p> +I told him in a few words what had just occurred in the streets, and he +listened to me with a degree of interest that somewhat surprised me. +</p> +<p> +“Come along, my lad. Let General Danitan hear this from your own lips;” + and with an agility that I could not have believed him capable of, he +hurried up the stairs, and, crossing a kind of gallery crowded with +officers of different grades, he entered a chamber where two persons in +military undress were writing. +</p> +<p> +“Can I see the general, François?” said he, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +The officer thus addressed, coolly replied that he believed not, and went +on with his writing as before. +</p> +<p> +“But I have something important to say to him,—my business is of +consequence,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“As it always is,” muttered the other, in a tone of sarcasm that +fortunately was only overheard by myself. +</p> +<p> +“You will announce me, then, François?” continued he. +</p> +<p> +“My orders are not to admit any one, Captain.” + </p> +<p> +“They were never meant to include me, sir,—of that I 'm positive,” + said the old man; “and if you will not announce me, I will enter without +it;” and, half dragging me by the arm, he moved forward, opened the door, +and passed into an inner room. +</p> +<p> +General Danitan, a small, dark-eyed, severe-looking man, was standing with +his back to the fire, and in the act of dictating to a secretary, as we +entered. An expression of angry impatience at our unauthorized appearance +was the only return he vouchsafed to our salute; and he continued his +dictation, as before. +</p> +<p> +“Don't interrupt me, sir,” said he, hastily, as the old captain made an +effort to address him. “Don't interrupt me, sir.—'Which +difficulties,'” continued he, as he took up the thread of his dictation,—“'which +difficulties are considerably increased by the obtrusive habit of +tendering advice by persons in whose judgment I place no reliance, and +whose conduct, when they leave me, is open to the suspicion of being +prejudicial to the public service. Amongst such offenders the chief is a +retired captain of the 8th regiment of Chasseurs, called Hugues Le Bart—'” + </p> +<p> +“Why, General, it is of me—me myself—you are speaking!” broke +in the captain. +</p> +<p> +“'An officer,'” continued the other, perfectly heedless of the +interruption, “'into whose past services I would strenuously recommend +some inquiry; since neither from the information which has reached me with +regard to his habits, nor from the characters of his intimates, am I +disposed to regard him as well affected to the Government, or in other +respects trustworthy.' How do you do, Captain? Who is our young friend +here?” continued he, with a smile and a bow towards us. +</p> +<p> +“In what way am I to understand this, General? Is it meant for a piece of +coarse pleasantry—” + </p> +<p> +“For nothing of the kind, sir,” interrupted the other, sternly. “That you +have been a witness to the words of a confidential communication is +entirely attributable to yourself; and I have only to hope you will +respect the confidence of which an accident has made you a participator. +Meanwhile, I desire to be alone.” + </p> +<p> +The manner in which these words were uttered was too decisive for +hesitation, and the old man bowed submissively and withdrew. As I was +about to follow him, the general called out,— +</p> +<p> +“Stay: a word with you. Are you the captain's protégé, boy?” + </p> +<p> +I told him that our first meeting only dated a few moments back, and how +it had occurred. +</p> +<p> +“Then you are not of the 'Troupe'? You have never worn the uniform till +this morning?” said he, somewhat severely. +</p> +<p> +I bowed assent. +</p> +<p> +He turned hastily about at the moment, and said something to his secretary +in a low voice, of which I just could catch the concluding words, which +were far from flattering to the corps in whose livery I was dressed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, boy, go back and take off those clothes,” said he, sternly; “resume +your trade or occupation, whatever it be, and leave politics and state +affairs to those who can understand them. Tell your father—” + </p> +<p> +“I have none, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Your mother, then, or your friends, I care not what they be. What letter +is that you are crumpling in your fingers?” broke he in, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“To General Danitan, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Give it me,” said he, half snatching it from me. +</p> +<p> +He tore it hastily open and read it, occasionally looking from the paper +to myself, as he went on. He then leaned over the table where the +secretary sat, and, showed him the letter. They conversed eagerly for some +seconds together, and then the general said,— +</p> +<p> +“Your friends have recommended you for a post in the 'chancellerie +militaire': is that your liking, lad?” + </p> +<p> +“I should be proud to think myself capable of doing anything for my own +support,” was my answer. +</p> +<p> +“D'Artans, see to him; let him be enrolled as a supernumerary, and lodged +with the others.—This gentleman will instruct you in your duty,” + added he to me, while, with a slight nod towards the door, he motioned me +to withdraw. +</p> +<p> +I retired at once to the antechamber, where I sat down to think over my +future prospects, and canvass in my mind my strange situation. +</p> +<p> +Troops of officers in full and half dress, orderlies with despatches, +aides-de-camp in hot haste, came and went through that room for hours; and +yet there I sat, unnoticed and unrecognized by any, till I began to feel +in my isolation a sense of desertion and loneliness I had never known +before. +</p> +<p> +It was already evening when D'Artans joined me, and taking my arm +familiarly within his own, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Come along, Jasper, and let us dine together.” + </p> +<p> +The sound of my own name so overcame me that I could scarcely restrain my +tears as I heard it. It was a memory of home and the past too touching to +be resisted! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. THE BATTLE OF THE SECTIONS +</h2> +<p> +There could not have been a readier process of disenchantment to me, as to +all my boyish ambitions and hopes, than the routine of my daily life at +this period. I was lodged, with some fourteen others, in an old Pension in +the Rue des Augustines, adjoining the bureau in which we were employed. We +repaired each morning at an early hour to our office, and never left it +till late in the evening,—sometimes, indeed, to a late hour of the +night. Neither the manners nor the habits of my companions inspired me +with a desire to cultivate their intimacy. They were evidently of a low +class by birth, and with tastes even inferior to their position. They +construed my estrangement to the true cause, and did not scruple to show +that I was not a favorite amongst them. In ridicule of my seeming +pretensions, they called me the “Count,” and never passed me without an +obsequious mock salutation, which I returned as punctiliously, and not +appearing to detect its sarcasm. With experience of life and mankind, +isolation is probably a condition not devoid of certain pleasures,—it +may minister to a kind of proud self-reliance and independence of spirit; +but to a boy it is one of unalloyed misery. There is no heavier infliction +than the want of that free expansion of the heart that comes of early +friendship. Youth is essentially the season of confidence; and to restrain +its warm impulses, and dam up the flow of its affections, is to destroy +its best and highest charm. I will not venture to assert that I was not +myself much to blame for the seclusion in which I lived. I probably +resented too forcibly what I need scarcely have noticed, and felt too +acutely what, at worst, were but trifling annoyances. Some of this may be +attributed to me constitutionally, but even more to the nature of my +bringing up. All my boyish impulses were stimulated by affection; whatever +I attempted was in a wish to gain praise; all my ambitions were to be +loved the more. In my loneliness I sought out M. de Gabriac, but in vain. +His lodging on the Place was now occupied by another, who could give no +tidings of him whatever. I wrote to my mother and to Raper, but without +receiving a reply. I then tried M. Jost, and received a few lines to say +that my friends had taken their departure some months before from +Reichenau, but in what direction he knew not. This letter put the +finishing stroke to my sense of utter desolation. It was indeed not +possible to conceive a more forlorn and friendless being than I now was. +By my superior in the office I was held in little favor or esteem. I was +indeed, in many respects, less capable than many of my colleagues, and it +is not impossible that my apparent pride may have contrasted with my real +deficiency. All these causes pressed upon me together, and made up a +series of annoyances which came very little short of downright +unhappiness. +</p> +<p> +My circumstances, too, were not calculated to dispel these gloomy +tendencies. Beyond our maintenance, which was of the very humblest kind, +our whole pay was five hundred francs yearly; and as this was paid in +paper money, it reduced the actual amount more than one-fourth. By the +very strictest economy, and by many an act of self-denial, I was enabled +to keep myself out of debt; but it was an existence of continued +watchfulness and care, and in which not even the very cheapest pleasure +found a place. My colleagues, indeed, talked of cafés, restaurants, +excursions, and theatres, as of matters of daily habit; but in what way +they compassed such enjoyments I knew not. The very freedom of their +language on these themes cast an air of contemptuous mockery over my +humbler existence that assuredly did not diminish its bitterness. +</p> +<p> +My inexpertness frequently compelled me to remain in the office long after +the rest. The task allotted to me was often of greater length, and many +times have I passed a considerable part of the night at my desk. On these +occasions, when I had finished, my head was too much excited for sleep, +and I then sat up and read—usually one of the volumes Raper had +given me—till morning. These were my happiest hours; but even they +were alloyed by the weariness of an exhausted and tired intellect. So +thoroughly apart from the world did I live, so completely did I hug my +solitary existence at this period, that of the events happening around I +positively knew nothing. With cafés and their company, or with newspapers, +I had no intercourse; and although at moments some street encounter, some +collision between the mob and the National Guard, would excite my +curiosity, I never felt interest enough to inquire the cause, or care for +the consequences. +</p> +<p> +Such incidents grew day by day more common; firing was frequently heard at +night in different parts of the capital, and it was no rare occurrence to +see carts with wounded men conveyed to hospital through the streets, at +early morning. That the inhabitants were fully alive to the vicinity of +some peril was plain to see. At the slightest sign of tumult, at the least +warning, shops were closed and shutters fastened, doors strongly +barricaded, and armed figures seen cautiously peering from casements and +parapets. At one time a single horseman at full gallop would give the +signal for these precautions; at others, they seemed the result of some +instinctive apprehension of danger, so rapidly and so silently were they +effected. Amid all these portents, the daily life of Paris went on as +before. It was just as we hear tell of in the countries where earthquakes +are frequent, and where in almost every century some terrible convulsion +has laid a whole city in ruins, the inhabitants acquire a strange +indifference to peril till the very instant of its presence, and learn to +forget calamities when once they have passed. +</p> +<p> +As for myself, so accustomed had I become to these shocks of peril that I +no longer went to the window when the uproar beneath betokened a conflict, +nor even cared to see which side were conquerors in the affray. It was in +a mood of this acquired indifference that I sat reading one evening in my +office long after the others had taken their departure; twice or thrice +had loud and prolonged shouts from the street disturbed me, but without +exciting in me sufficient of curiosity to see what was going forward, when +at last, hearing the rumbling sound of artillery trains as they moved +past, I arose and went to the window. To my surprise, the streets were +densely crowded, an enormous concourse filling them, and only leaving a +narrow lane through which the wagons could pass. That it was no mere +procession was clear enough, for the gunners carried their matches +lighted, and there was that in the stern air of the soldiery that bespoke +service. They wheeled past the church of St. Roch, and entered a small +street off the Rue St. Honoré called La Dauphine, where, no sooner had +they passed in, than the sappers commenced tearing up the pavement in +front of the guns, and speedily formed a trench of about five feet in +depth before them. While this was doing, some mounted dragoons gave orders +to the people to disperse, and directed them to move away by the side +streets,—an order so promptly obeyed that in a few minutes the long +line of the Rue St. Honoré was totally deserted. From the position at La +Dauphine to the Tuileries I could perceive that a line of communication +was kept open, and orderlies passed at a gallop frequently from one side +to the other. Another circumstance, too, struck me: the windows, instead +of being crowded by numbers of eager spectators, were strongly shuttered +and barred; and when that was impossible, the glass frames were withdrawn, +and bed-mattresses and tables placed in the spaces. Along the parapets, +also, vast crowds of armed men were to be seen, and the tower and +battlements of St. Roch were studded over with soldiers of the National +Guard, all armed and in readiness. From the glances of the artillerymen +beneath to the groups above, it required no great prescience to detect +that they stood opposed to each other as enemies. +</p> +<p> +It was a calm mellow evening of the late autumn. The air was perfectly +still; and now the silence was unbroken on all sides, save when, from a +distance, the quick tramp of cavalry might be momentarily heard, as if in +the act of forcing back a crowd; and then a faint shout would follow, +whose accents might mean triumph or defiance. +</p> +<p> +I was already beginning to weary of expectancy, when I perceived, from the +movement on the house-tops and the church tower, that something was going +forward within the view of those stationed there. I had not to look long +for the cause, for suddenly the harsh, sharp beat of a drum was heard, and +immediately after the head of a column wheeled from one of the side +streets into the Rue St. Honoré. They were grenadiers of the National +Guard, and a fine body of men they seemed, as they marched proudly forward +till they came to a halt before the steps of St. Roch. Handkerchiefs were +waved in salutation to them from windows and housetops, and cheering +followed them as they went. A single figure at the entrance of La Dauphine +stood observing them with his glass: he was an artillery officer, and took +a long and leisurely survey of the troops, and then directed his eyes +towards the crowded roofs, which he swept hastily with his telescope. This +done, he sauntered carelessly back, and disappeared. +</p> +<p> +The grenadiers were soon followed by the line, and now, as far as my eye +could carry, I beheld vast masses of soldiery who filled the street in its +entire breadth. Up to this all was preparation. Not a sight, or sound, or +gesture indicated actual conflict, and the whole might have meant a mere +demonstration on either side, when suddenly there burst forth a crash like +the most terrific thunder. It made the very street tremble, and the houses +seemed to shake as the air vibrated around them; a long volley of musketry +succeeded, and then there arose a din of artillery, shouts, and small-arms +that made up the infernal chaos. This came from the quarter of the river, +and in that direction every eye was turned. I hurried to the back of the +house in the hope of being able to see something; but the windows only +looked into a court surrounded by tall buildings. Ere I returned to my +place the conflict had already begun. The troops of the National Guard +advanced, firing by sections, and evidently bent on forcing their passage +up the street; and their firing seemed as if meant in declaration of their +intentions rather than aggressively, since no enemy appeared in front; +when, no sooner had the leading files reached the opening of La Dauphine, +than the artillery opened with grape and round shot. The distance could +scarcely have exceeded forty yards, and the withering fire tore through +the dense ranks, forming deep lanes of death! Smoke soon enveloped the +masses, and it was only at intervals I could catch sight of the moving +body, which still moved up! There was something indescribably dreadful in +seeing the steady march of men to inevitable destruction; and even their +slow pace (for such was it of necessity, from the numbers of dead and +dying that encumbered their path) increased the horror of the spectacle. A +deadly musketry poured down from the tower of St. Roch upon the gunners. +</p> +<p> +The whole fire from housetops and windows was directed at them; but fast +as they fell, others took their places, and the roll of the artillery +never slackened nor ceased for an instant. The shot rattled like hail on +the walls of the houses, or crashed through them with clattering +destruction. Wild and demoniac yells, death-shouts, and cries of triumph +mingled with the terrible uproar. Above all, however, roared the dread +artillery, in one unbroken thunder. At last the column seemed to waver—the +leading files fell back—a moment's hesitation ensued—a fresh +discharge of grape, at less than pistol range, tore through them; and now +the word was given to retire. Shouts and cries poured from the housetops +and parapets. Were they of encouragement or derision?—who can tell? +The street now presented the horrid spectacle of indiscriminate carnage; +the guns were wheeled forward as the troops retired, cavalry charging on +the broken masses while the guns were reloading; the cavalcade of death +rode past at a walk, the gunners firing steadily on, till the word was +given to cease. The smoke cleared lazily away at last, and now no living +thing was seen to stir in front: the long line of the Rue St. Honoré +presented nothing but the bodies of the dead. The housetops and parapets, +too, were speedily deserted; for the houses were now forced by the +infantry of the line, who at every moment appeared at the windows and +waved their shakos in token of victory. As I looked, a crash recalled my +attention behind me; and now the door of the bureau was in ruins, and four +soldiers, with their bayonets at the charge, dashed forward. On seeing me +alone and unarmed, they only laughed, and passed on to the upper story. +</p> +<p> +“Are you in charge here?” asked a young corporal of me. +</p> +<p> +“I belong to the bureau,” said I, in reply. +</p> +<p> +“Place your books and papers under lock and key, then,” said he, “and make +your way to headquarters.” + </p> +<p> +“Where?” + </p> +<p> +“At the Tuileries. There goes the Commander-in-Chief,” added he, +mechanically saluting, as a staff of officers rode by beneath. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that pale man in front, with the long hair?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“General Bonaparte,” was the answer; “and few can handle artillery like +him.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. AN EPISODE OF MY LIFE +</h2> +<p> +If I could have turned my thoughts from my own desolate condition, the +aspect of Paris on the morning after the battle might well have engaged my +attention. The very streets presented a scene such as never can be +forgotten! The Government had adventured on the bold experiment of +employing the masses to control the few, and the fruits of this dangerous +alliance might be seen in the various groups that passed along. Officials +wearing their badges of duty, officers in full uniform, walked arm in arm +with leaders of the popular party; men high in the state talked familiarly +in the midst of little groups of working-men; parties of the popular +force, rudely armed, ill-dressed, and disorderly, presented arms as some +officer of rank rode by. All attested the existence of that strange +compact by which the nation was again to be subjugated, and terror made +the active principle of a government. The terrific songs of the bloody +days of the Revolution were once more heard, and the cruel denunciations +of the mob again rang aloud in the open streets! I heard and saw all these +like one in a dream, as, with my portfolio of office-papers under my arm, +I held my way to the Tuileries; nor was it till I had reached the wooden +stockade in front of that palace that I became collected enough to ask +myself whither I was going, and for what. +</p> +<p> +The machinery of government to which I belonged was annihilated and +destroyed; they who had guided and controlled it were gone; and there I +stood alone, friendless, and without a home in that vast city, not knowing +which way to turn me. I wandered into the garden of the Tuileries, and sat +down upon a bench in one of the less-frequented alleys. The cries and +shouts of the populace rung faintly in my ear, and the noises of the city +came dulled and indistinct by distance. From the quiet habits of my simple +life, I had scarcely learned anything whatever of Paris. My acquaintances +were limited to the few I had seen at the bureau, and these I only met +when there. My means were too scanty to admit of even the cheapest +pleasures; and up to this my existence had been one uniform but contented +poverty. Even this humble provision was now withdrawn from me. What was I +to do? Was there a career by which I could earn my bread? I knew of none +save daily labor with my hands; and where to seek for even this I did not +know. In my little lodging behind the bureau I possessed a few articles of +clothes and some books; these, if sold, would support me for a week or +two; and then—ay, then! But who can tell? thought I: a day has +marred,—who knows but another day may make my fortune? +</p> +<p> +It was night when I turned homeward. To my surprise, the stair was not lit +up as usual, and it was only after repeated knockings that the door was +opened to me, and old Lizette, my landlady's servant, with a voice broken +by sobs, bade me pass in quietly, and to make no noise. I asked eagerly if +any misfortune had occurred, and heard that Monsieur Bernois, my landlord, +had been mortally wounded in the affray of the night before, and was then +lying at the point of death. +</p> +<p> +“Is it the surgeon, Lizette?” cried Marguerite, a little girl of about +fourteen, and whose gentle “Good-day” had been the only thing like welcome +I had ever heard during my stay there; “is it the surgeon?” + </p> +<p> +“Hélas, no, mademoiselle, it is the lodger!” + </p> +<p> +I had not even a name for them! I was simply the occupant of a solitary +chamber, for whom none cared or thought; and yet at that instant I felt my +isolation the greatest blessing of Heaven, and would not have exchanged my +desolate condition for all the ties of family! +</p> +<p> +“Oh, sir,” cried Marguerite, “have pity on us, and come to papa. He is +bleeding on the bed here, and none of us know how to aid him!” + </p> +<p> +“But I am no less ignorant, mademoiselle,” said I; “would that I could be +of any use to you!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, come,” cried she, “come; and Heaven may direct you how to succor us, +for we are utterly deserted!” + </p> +<p> +Scarcely knowing what I did, I followed the little girl into a darkened +room, where the long-drawn breathings of the wounded man were the only +sounds. By the dim half-light I could see a figure seated at the foot of +the bed. It was my hostess, pale, stern-looking, and collected; there she +sat, gazing at the gasping object before her, with a terrible composure. +</p> +<p> +“Mamma, it is monsieur; monsieur who lives here is come to see papa,” + whispered Marguerite, timidly. +</p> +<p> +The mother nodded her head, as if to imply that she had heard her, but +never spoke. I drew nigh the bed, the rather to show my sympathy with the +sorrow, than that I could be of any service; and the dying man's eyes met +mine. Glazed and filmy as they seemed at first, I fancied they grew bright +and lustrous as he continued to stare. Such, at all events, was their +fascination that I could not look away from them, and so I stood under +that steadfast gaze forgetful even of the state of him who bestowed it. At +last the orbs slowly turned, at first towards where his wife sat, then to +Marguerite as she knelt by the bedside, and then back again to me, with an +expression that needed no words to convey. I took the clammy hand in my +own, and felt the fingers give a faint pressure. I squeezed them gently, +and saw that his lips parted; they moved, too, as though with an effort to +speak, but without avail. The attempt had evidently cost him a severe +pang, for his features were convulsed for a few seconds, at the end of +which he gently drew me a little towards him, and with a sigh so faint as +to be scarcely heard, uttered the words, “Pauvre femme!” + </p> +<p> +It was not until some minutes had elapsed that I saw he had ceased to +breathe, for his eyes seemed to stare with meaning on me, and his +countenance remained unchanged. At length, however, I became conscious +that the struggle was over, and his spirit had passed away forever. The +stillness of the room was terrible, for not a stir broke it; and I knelt +down beside Marguerite to pray. +</p> +<p> +“Here is the surgeon, mademoiselle,” said Lizette, hurriedly; and an old +man drew nigh the bed and touched the wrist of the dead man. +</p> +<p> +“Ma foi!” said he, “this is the fourth time I have been sent for to-day on +a like errand;” and, so saying, he tapped me on the shoulder, and motioned +me to follow him. +</p> +<p> +I obeyed at once. +</p> +<p> +“Are you his son?” asked he, briefly. +</p> +<p> +“No,” I replied. +</p> +<p> +“His nephew?—his clerk, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Neither; I am a lodger here, and do not even claim acquaintance with the +family.” + </p> +<p> +“No matter,” resumed he, dryly, “you will do as well as another; give me +pen and paper.” + </p> +<p> +I took some from an open portfolio on the table and laid it before him, +and he wrote rapidly a few lines in a straggling hand:— +</p> +<p> +“The citizen Louis Bernois, age—; domiciled, Rue Neuve de Viardot, +No. 318, avocat,”—“we may call him <i>avocat</i>, though he was only +a writer,” said he, looking up,—“wounded fatally in the lungs and +heart, and attended till his death, on this morning, by the doctor Joseph +Caillot, surgeon and licentiate. The above verified by me.”—“Sign +here,” added he, handing me the pen, “and put your quality. Say, 'Friend +of the family.'” + </p> +<p> +“But I never knew them; I have only lodged in the house for some months +back.” + </p> +<p> +“What signifies that? It is a mere form for the authorities, to whom his +death must be reported, or his family exposed to trouble and annoyance. I +will take it to the bureau myself.” + </p> +<p> +I signed my name, therefore, as he directed me, and sealed the “act” with +a seal I found on the table. The doctor pocketed the paper and withdrew, +not even bestowing on me a good-bye as he left the room. +</p> +<p> +Lizette came to me for instructions as to what was to be done. Madame had +never recovered consciousness from the very first moment of the +misfortune; mademoiselle was too young and too inexperienced to be +consulted on the occasion. The family, too, had only been a few months in +Paris, and had no acquaintance save with the tradespeople they dealt with. +</p> +<p> +I asked the name of the <i>avocat</i> for whom he usually transcribed the +deeds and papers, and learned that it was a certain Monsieur le Monnier, a +lawyer of high standing at the bar of Paris, and who lived in the Rue +Quincampoix! With what a strange sensation I heard the name of that +street, which was the same that Herr Robert spoke of as inhabited by his +father in the days of his greatest prosperity! The thought merely shot +through my head rapidly, for other and far more pressing considerations +demanded all my attention. I resolved at once to call on Monsieur le +Monnier and ask his advice and guidance in the difficult position I then +found myself. Dressing myself with all the care my scanty wardrobe +permitted, I set out for the Rue Quincampoix, and soon found the house, +which was a large and spacious though somewhat sombre-looking hôtel, with +a half-effaced shield over the doorway. The porter inquired if I came on +business; and on my saying “Yes,” informed me that I must call on the +following morning, from eleven to two o'clock,—that the “bâtonnier,” + for such was his rank, did not transact affairs in the evening. +</p> +<p> +I argued and pressed my suit with all zeal; but it was only when I +produced a piece of two francs that he consented to present my card, on +which I had written a few lines to explain the urgent cause of my visit. +</p> +<p> +After a long and most impatient waiting a servant came to Bay that +monsieur would receive me, and I followed him up a spacious but dimly +lighted stair, and across a long dreary gallery, where a single lamp +shone, into a small chamber fitted up like a study. Here, although it was +autumn, the “bâtonnier” was seated beside a brisk fire, enjoying his +coffee. He was a small man, with a massive, well-shaped head covered with +a profusion of snow-white hair, which he wore in such careless fashion as +to make his head appear even much larger than it was; his features were +pleasing, and his eyes were singularly soft and gentle-looking. With a +voice of peculiar sweetness, and in a low tone, he welcomed me and desired +me to be seated. This done, he begged me to state the object of my visit. +</p> +<p> +In the very fewest words I could relate it, I mentioned the sad +circumstances about which I came, told my own difficulty in the matter, +and asked for advice. +</p> +<p> +“At any other moment,” said he, when I concluded, “your task would be an +easy one. You could report the event to the 'commissaire' of the +'Quarter,' state what you know, and withdraw from the affair altogether. +Now, however, the troubles in which we live excite suspicions in every +mind. Your name will be associated with the opinions for which this poor +man has given his life. The authorities will be on your track at every +moment, and every act of your life watched and reported. With whom were +you acquainted in Paris?” + </p> +<p> +“With none.” + </p> +<p> +He stared with some surprise; and I told him briefly the circumstances of +my own situation. +</p> +<p> +“A strange story indeed!” said he, taking up my card from the +chimney-piece. “And your name, for I cannot decipher it here, is—” + </p> +<p> +“Carew,—Jasper Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“That name is Irish, if I mistake not,” said he; “at least I remember, +some twenty years ago, we had here a distinguished stranger who came from +Ireland, and was called Carew. He was the fashionable celebrity of a very +famous period.” + </p> +<p> +“He was my father, sir.” + </p> +<p> +The old lawyer bowed and smiled; but though the gesture was eminently +polite, the shrewd twinkle of his eyes bespoke incredulity. I saw this, +and said at once,— +</p> +<p> +“I have many letters of his, dated from the 'Place Vendôme,' No. 13, where +he lived.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” cried he, in astonishment. “You possess these at present?” + </p> +<p> +“Some few I have with me; others, a large number, are in the keeping of my +friends, as well as notes and papers in the hand of the late Duc +d'Orléans, with whom my father appeared to live on considerable intimacy.” + </p> +<p> +“That I can vouch for myself,” said the <i>avocat</i>, hastily; then, +suddenly correcting himself, added,—“Perhaps you would give me a +sight of some of these documents. I do not ask from any impertinent +curiosity, but with the conviction that I can be of some service to you.” + </p> +<p> +I readily promised to do so, and the following day was named for the +purpose. +</p> +<p> +“Now, for the present case,” said he. “I know nothing of Monsieur Bernois +beyond what a client of mine from the Auvergnat told me. He was the son of +a poor farmer near Linange, who studied the law at Paris, went back to his +native village and married, and, after some years of failure at home, came +here to make his fortune. I employed him partly from motives of charity, +for he was irregular in his habits of work, and seemed overcome by a +depression that rendered him often incapable of all exertion. Make what +arrangements you think suitable for his burial, and then induce his poor +widow and daughter to return home. Call upon me for any expenses that may +be needed, and say that I will send one of my clerks to make an inventory +of his effects and draw up the 'procès' the law requires.” + </p> +<p> +There was a mingled kindness and commonplace in the way he spoke this that +left me in doubt which of the two frames of mind predominated in his +nature. At all events, I had good reason to be satisfied with my +reception, and, resisting his invitation to stay to supper, I hastened +back to the Rue de Viardot. +</p> +<p> +The poor widow still remained in the state of stupor in which I first saw +her; but Marguerite's grief had taken a more violent form, and the +terrible shock had brought on brain-fever,—at least, so Lizette +pronounced it. My sad duties were thus multiplied by the cares of the +sick-room, for Lizette threw all upon me, and would do nothing without my +guidance and advice. +</p> +<p> +By great exertions, and by working all night through, I reduced the +affairs of the family to a condition of order; and when Monsieur le +Monnier's clerk appeared in the morning, I had already compiled the +inventory and drawn up the “acte de décès,” as it is called, for the +authorities. +</p> +<p> +By searching amongst papers I also found the address of the widow's +father, who lived in the village of “Linange,” and to him I wrote a few +lines, acquainting him with what had occurred, and asking his counsel with +regard to the family. Though Lizette had accompanied them from their +native village to Paris, she was greatly indisposed to afford any +information as to their circumstances or condition in life, and seemed +only eager to complete all the formalities of the law and quit the +capital. I certainly did not impose any unfair burden upon her +incommunicative disposition. I asked a few questions,—none that were +not in a measure indispensable. +</p> +<p> +I suppose my reserve in this wise impressed her favorably, for she grew +gradually more and more open, dropping hints of sad circumstances and +calamities, in a way that seemed half to invite inquiry on my part. I was +resolved, however, not to make any advances, and left her entirely to her +own choice as to what revelations she might make me. I have no doubt that +had my object been to gratify my curiosity, I could not have hit upon any +surer means of success. +</p> +<p> +We laid the remains of poor Bernois in a little graveyard outside the +Porte St. Denis; Lizette and myself the only mourners that followed the +bier! As I slowly ascended the stairs towards my room, I said,— +</p> +<p> +“Come to me this evening, Lizette, and say if I can be of any further +service to you, since I mean to leave Paris to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“To leave Paris!” cried she; “Grand Dieu!—why, and for where?” + </p> +<p> +“For Switzerland,” replied I. “My friends there have not answered my +letters for some time back, and I have determined to set off and see +them.” + </p> +<p> +“But why not write again? Think of what a journey it is!” + </p> +<p> +“I have written till I have lost all hope. I must satisfy myself by going +in person.” + </p> +<p> +“But you will not leave us helpless, friendless, as we are!” cried she. +</p> +<p> +Never till that moment had it occurred to me that my assistance could +avail to any one, or that there existed one in the world humble enough to +be benefited by my guidance. The appeal, however, gave me a +self-confidence and an energy which I had not felt before, and I listened +to the explanations of the old servant with every desire to aid her. +</p> +<p> +She judged rightly enough that as soon as removal were possible, the +safest course would be for the widow and her daughter to return to their +village. +</p> +<p> +“I know,” added she, “that this is not to be effected without difficulty. +'Madame' will oppose it to the last; and it may be that nothing short of +force will accomplish it.” + </p> +<p> +I asked the reason of this repugnance, and she only gave me a vague, +unmeaning answer. It was clear to me there was a mystery in the affair; +and though piqued that I was not intrusted with the secret, I felt that to +withdraw my aid from them on such grounds would be both selfish and +unworthy. +</p> +<p> +“I will consult M. le Monnier,” said I, at last; “he shall decide what is +best to be done;” and at once set out for the Rue Quincampoix. +</p> +<p> +The old lawyer received me blandly as before, and gave me a few lines for +his family physician, who would see the widow and Marguerite, and +pronounce his opinion on their fitness for removal. Le Monnier seemed +pleased with the interest I manifested for these poor friendless people, +and readily promised to aid me in their behalf. +</p> +<p> +The doctor, too, was no less benevolently disposed, and came at once with +me to the house. His visit was a long one,—so long that more than +once I asked Lizette if she were quite certain that he had not taken his +departure. At length, however, he came forth, and, leading me into a room, +closed the door behind us with all the air of great secrecy. +</p> +<p> +“There is some sad story,” said he, “here, of which we have not the clew. +This is a serious affair.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“I mean that the state in which I find this woman is not attributable to +the recent shock. It is not her husband's death has caused these +symptoms.” + </p> +<p> +“And what are they? Do they threaten her life?” + </p> +<p> +“No, certainly not; she may live for years.” + </p> +<p> +“What then? They will cause great suffering, perhaps?” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that, but worse than that. It is her intelligence is lost; she +has been stunned by some terrible shock of calamity, and her mind is gone, +in all likelihood forever!” + </p> +<p> +To my eager questioning he replied by explaining that these cases were far +less hopeful than others in which more palpable symptoms manifested +themselves; that they were of all others the least susceptible of +treatment. +</p> +<p> +“When we say,” continued he, “that 'time' is the best physician for them, +we declare in one word our own ignorance of the malady; and yet such is +the simple truth! A course of years may restore her to reason,—there +is no other remedy.” + </p> +<p> +“And her daughter?” + </p> +<p> +“That is not a case for apprehension,—it is a common fever, the +result of a nervous impression; a few days will bring her completely +about.” + </p> +<p> +I mentioned to the doctor my belief that Lizette could probably impart +some explanation of the mystery; but the old woman was proof against all +cross-examination, and professed to know nothing that could account for +her mistress's condition. The question was now how to act in this +emergency? and the doctor pronounced that there was no other course than +to obtain her admission into some <i>maison de santé</i>: if her fortune +permitted, to one of the better class; if not, there were various humbler +houses, where the patients were treated well and skilfully. As a +preliminary step, however, he requested me to write again to her family, +to state the opinion he had come to, and ask for their advice. +</p> +<p> +“It is little other than a form to do so,” added he, “for we live in times +when the state is everything, family nothing. If I report this case +to-morrow to the Bureau of Health of the 'Quarter,' a commission will +assemble, examine, and decide upon it at once. The measures adopted will +be as imperatively executed as though the law were in pursuit of a +criminal; and though this be so, and we cannot help it, it will have the +semblance of consideration for the feelings of her relatives, if we +consult them.” + </p> +<p> +He left me, therefore, to make this sad communication, and promised to +repeat his visit on the following day. By way of extorting some confession +from old Lizette, I told her the course the doctor had resolved upon; but, +far from exhibiting any repugnance to it, she briefly said, “It was all +for the best.” + </p> +<p> +It was not till after repeated efforts I could satisfy myself with the +terms of my letter. The occasion itself was a difficult one; but my sense +of a mystery of which I knew nothing, added immensely to the +embarrassment. I was, moreover, addressing persons I had never seen, and +of whose very condition in life I was ignorant. This in itself was a +circumstance that required consideration. I thought I would read my letter +to Lizette, and sent for her to hear it. She listened attentively as I +read it, but made no other remark than, “Yes; that will be sufficient.” + </p> +<p> +On the fourth day after I despatched this, came a letter in reply, the +handwriting, style, and appearance of which were all superior to what I +had expected. It was from an unmarried sister of Madame Bernois, who +signed herself “Ursule,” that being the name by which she had “professed” + formerly in a convent, destroyed in the early days of the Revolution. The +writer, after expressing deep gratitude for the part I had taken, went on +to speak of the subject of my communication. Her father's infirmities had +rendered him bedridden, and so utterly incapable of affording any help or +even counsel that she hesitated about informing him of the terrible +calamity that had befallen them. She perfectly concurred in the advice +given by the doctor, if “only that it saved her poor sister from a return +to a home now associated with nothing but sorrow, and where, of course, +her chances of recovery would be diminished.” These strange expressions +puzzled me much, and led me at first to suppose that Ursule believed I +knew more of her sister's story than I really was acquainted with; but as +I read them again, I saw that they might possibly only have reference to +her father's sad condition. Margot, for so she called her niece, “would, +of course, come back to them;” and she charged me to despatch her, under +Lizette's care, by the diligence, as soon as she was judged sufficiently +well to encounter the fatigue of the journey. With regard to any property +or effects belonging to them, she left all implicitly at my own +discretion, believing, as she said, the same kindness that had hitherto +guided me would also here suggest what was best for the interests of the +widow and her child. +</p> +<p> +Some days of unremitting exertion succeeded the receipt of this letter, +for there was no end to the formalities requisite before I could obtain +admission for the widow into a small <i>maison de santé</i>, at Mont +Martre. It was, indeed, a moment at which the authorities were overwhelmed +with business, and many of the public functionaries were new to office, +and totally ignorant of its details. The public, too, were under the +influence of a terror that seemed to paralyze all powers of reason. In my +frequent visits to the commissaire of the “Quarter,” when waiting for +hours long in his antechamber, I had abundant opportunity to measure the +extent of the fear that then dominated the mind of the capital, since +every trifling incident evidenced and betrayed it. +</p> +<p> +Ladies of rank and condition would come, earnestly entreating that they +might obtain leave to attend the sick in the hospitals, and nurse the +“dear brothers” who had fallen in the cause of liberty. Others, of equal +station, requested that materials might be distributed to them to knit +stockings for the soldiers of the republic, regretting their poverty at +not being able to supply them from their own resources. Shopkeepers +besought the authorities that their taxes might be doubled, or even +trebled; and some professed to hope that the maladies which incapacitated +them from military service might be compensated by works of charity and +benevolence. There was an abject meanness in the character of these +petitions too revolting to endure the thought of. The nation seemed +prostrated by its' terror, and degraded to the very deepest abyss of shame +and self-contempt. The horrible scenes of blood through which they had +passed might, indeed, excuse much, but there were proofs of national +cowardice at this juncture such as scarcely any suffering could justify or +palliate. +</p> +<p> +For these considerations I had but a passing thought. My whole attention +was devoted to the little circle of cares and sorrows around me; and, in +addition to other calamities, poor old Lizette, my aid and help throughout +all difficulties, was seized with a violent fever, and obliged to be +conveyed to hospital. I do not believe that anything can sustain mere +bodily strength more powerfully than the sense of doing a benevolent +action. Fatigue, weariness, exhaustion, sickness itself, can be combated +by this one stimulant. For myself, I can aver that I scarcely ate or slept +during the ten days that these events were happening. Never had any +incident of my own life so much engrossed me as the care of these unhappy +people; and when once or twice Le Monnier adverted to my own story, I +always replied that for the moment I had no thoughts, nor hopes, nor +fears, save for the widow and her orphan daughter. +</p> +<p> +The old lawyer's benevolence enabled me to meet all the expenses which +from day to day were incurred. He supplied me with means to pay the +charges of the <i>maison de santé</i> and the fees to the physicians, and +enabled me to procure some articles of mourning for poor “Margot,” who had +now sufficiently recovered from her illness to comprehend her bereavement +and the desolate condition in which she was placed. It was, indeed, a sad +lesson to teach the poor child; nor did I, in my own forlorn and isolated +state, know what consolations to offer, nor what hopes to set before her. +I could but tell her that I too was an orphan, friendless,—nay, far +more so than herself; that for me the world had neither home nor country; +and yet that each day, glimpses of bright hopes gleamed upon me, kind +words and acts met me, and that as I lived I learned to feel that there +was a brotherhood in humanity, and that amidst all the adverse incidents +of fortune, warm hearts and generous natures were scattered about to +sustain the drooping courage of those deserted as we were. +</p> +<p> +“And be assured, Margot,” said I, “the time will come yet when you and I +will recall these dark hours with a sense of not unpleasant sorrow, to +think how patiently we bore our ills, how submissively and how trustfully. +Then shall we teach others, young as we are now, that even the humblest +has a duty to do in this life, and that he who would do it well must bring +to his task a stout heart and a steady will, and with these there are no +failures.” + </p> +<p> +I do not think that Margot derived much hope from all my efforts at +consolation, but she certainly felt a strong interest in the similarity of +our fortunes. Again and again did she question me if I had seen and could +remember my mother, and asked me a thousand questions about the dear +friend whom I had ever called by that name. We talked of no other theme +than this, and our isolation served to link us together, as that of two +beings deserted by all, and only cared for by each other. There was a +character of depression about her that seemed to come of a life of +habitual gloom; the ordinary state of her mind was sad, and yet her dark, +lustrous eyes could flash with sudden brilliancy; her deep color knew how +to heighten; and I have seen her lip tremble with proud emotion at moments +of excitement. +</p> +<p> +When sufficiently recovered to bear the journey, Le Monnier counselled me +to convey her to her friends; and I yielded—shall I own it?—reluctantly; +for of all the world, Margot was now the only one to whom I could speak, +as youth loves to speak, of all my hopes and my dreads, my ambitions and +my aspirings. So long as my duty each day revolved round her, I had no +time to think of my own fate, save as a thing to weave fancies about, to +speculate on a brilliant future, and imagine incidents and events at +random. With what enthusiasm was I often carried away by these +self-wrought fancies!—with what a sense of triumph have I seen +Margot, forgetting for the instant the sad realities of her lot, listen +breathlessly to me as I told of my ambitious plans! To her I was already a +hero; and oh! the glorious fascination with which one first feels the +thought that another's heart has learned to beat highly for our successes, +and to throb with eagerness for our triumph! I was but a boy, Margot was a +child; and of love, as poets describe it, there was none between us. +Still, in my devotion there was nothing I would not have dared, to please +her,—nothing I would not have braved, to make her think more highly +of me. It was self-love, but self-love ennobled by generous wishes and +high ambitions. I strove to be worthy of her affection, that so I might be +capable of doing more still to deserve it! +</p> +<p> +Is it to be wondered at if I dreaded to break this spell, and to awaken +from a trance of such fascination? But there was no alternative; Margot +must go, and I must address myself to the stern business of life, for I +had my bread to earn! How ardently I wished it was to my dear mother's +arms that I should consign her, that her home could be that same humble +home I had just quitted, and that poor Joseph could have been her teacher +and her guide! Alas! I no longer knew in what part of the world to look +for them, and I could only speak of these things as I spoke of the +dream-wrought fancies that my hopes called up! +</p> +<p> +It was on a bright November morning, clear, sharp, and frosty, that we +left Paris in the diligence for Lyons. M. le Monnier had accompanied us +himself to the bureau, and given the <i>conducteur</i> directions to show +us every attention in his power. Three days' and nights' travelling +brought us to Valence, where poor Margot, completely worn out, was obliged +to repose for some hours, during which time I strolled through the town to +see its churches and other remarkable monuments. It was the hour of the +table-d'hôte as I regained the inn, and the hostess advised that we should +dine at the public table, as less expensive than in private. I remember +well with what mingled bashfulness and pride I entered the room, with +Margot holding my hand. The company was a numerous one, comprising, +besides many of the townspeople, several officers of the garrison, all of +whom stared with undisguised astonishment at the aspect of two travellers +of our youth and palpable inexperience, while the contrast between the +deep mourning of her dress and the gay colors of mine at once showed that +we were not brother and sister. To my respectful salute on entering, few +deigned to reply; my companion's beauty had arrested every attention, and +all eyes were turned towards her as she took her place at table. +</p> +<p> +For the incident which succeeded, I must devote a short chapter. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE INN AT VALENCE +</h2> +<p> +Preceded by the waiter, who was about to point out the places destined for +us at the table, I walked up the room, holding Margot by the hand. The +strangers made way for us as we went, not with any of the deferential +politeness so usual in France, but in a spirit of insolent astonishment at +our presence there. Such, at least, was the impression their behavior +produced on me; and I was only anxious that it should not be so felt by my +companion. +</p> +<p> +As I drew back my chair, to seat myself at her side, I felt a hand placed +on my arm. I turned, and saw an officer, a man of about six or seven and +twenty, with a bushy red beard and moustache, who said,— +</p> +<p> +“This place is mine, citizen; you must go seek for one elsewhere.” + </p> +<p> +I appealed to the waiter, who merely shrugged his shoulders, and muttered +something unintelligible; to which I replied by asking him to show me +another place, while I assisted Margot to rise. +</p> +<p> +“La petite shall stay where she is,” broke in the officer, bluntly, as he +brushed in front of me; and an approving laugh from his comrades at once +revealed to me the full meaning of the impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“This young lady is under my care, sir,” said I, calmly, “and needs no +protection from you.” + </p> +<p> +“The young lady,” cried he, with a burst of coarse laughter at the words, +“knows better how to choose! Is it not so, citizen? I look a more +responsible guardian than that thin stripling with the pale cheek.” + </p> +<p> +“I appeal to this company, to the superiors of this officer,—if +there be such present,—to know are these the habits of this place, +or have I been singled out specially for this insolence?” + </p> +<p> +“Insolence! insolence!” repeated every voice around me, in accents of +astonishment and reprobation; while suddenly above the clamor a deep voice +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Lieutenant Carrier, take a place at the foot of the table!” + </p> +<p> +“Oui, mon Colonel!” was the reply; and he who accosted me so rudely, now +moved away, and I seated myself at Margot's side. +</p> +<p> +I believe that during this brief scene the poor girl knew little or +nothing of what was going forward. The fatigue, from which she had not yet +recovered; the novelty of the place in which she found herself; the +confusion natural to mixing with a strange company,—all contributed +to engage her attention and occupy her thoughts. It was only by the deadly +paleness of my features that she at last guessed that something had gone +wrong. I tried by every means in my power to reassure her. I affected, as +well as I might, to seem easy and unconcerned. I even essayed, by way of +showing my self-possession, to engage the person next me in conversation; +but a cold stare of surprise arrested the attempt, and I sat abashed and +ashamed at the rebuke. +</p> +<p> +I do not know if in my whole life, I ever passed an hour of greater misery +than the time of that dinner. Had I been there alone, I could have +confronted manfully whatever threatened me; but the thought of involving +Margot in any scene of shame—of exposing her to the rude insolence +of which I saw myself the mark—was insupportably painful. I felt, +besides, that I had a character to support in her eyes; nor could I yet +divine what adverse turn affairs might take. If I looked down the table, +it was to meet, on every side, glances of haughty or insolent meaning. It +was easy to perceive, too, that the whole company was under the impression +of the disagreeable incident which had occurred before sitting down to +table, and which none believed was yet concluded. Instead of the noisy +chit-chat so usual in such places, there was either a perfect silence, or +the low murmuring sounds of a conversation maintained in whispers. At last +the colonel and those around him stood up, and gathered in a group at one +of the windows. The civilians of the party broke into knots, conversed for +a few seconds, and separated; and, taking Margot's hand, I arose, and +prepared to withdraw. As I was leaving the room the officer who first +accosted me, whispered in my ear,— +</p> +<p> +“You will come back again, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly, if you want me,” said I. +</p> +<p> +He nodded, and I passed out. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad it is over,” said Margot, pressing my hand; “that dinner was a +tiresome affair!” + </p> +<p> +“So it was,” said I; “and I am well pleased that it is finished. I 'll go +down now and look after this calèche they promised me they should have +ready for us by this time;” and with this excuse I quitted her, and +hastened downstairs again. +</p> +<p> +I was just making for the door of the <i>salle-à-manger</i> when the +hostess overtook me. +</p> +<p> +“A word with you, monsieur,—one word!” cried she. +</p> +<p> +“At another moment, madam,” said I, trying to pass on; “I am greatly +pressed for time just now.” + </p> +<p> +“It is exactly for that reason I must speak with you,” said she, firmly; +and at the same instant she seized my arm and drew me into a room, of +which she closed the door at once. “I suspect the object you have in view, +young man,” said she, boldly, to me. “You are eager for a quarrel. The +waiters have told me all that has occurred at table; and I can guess what +is likely to follow. But surely it is not for one in <i>her</i> position +that you will risk your life, or rather sell it; for Carrier would surely +kill you!” + </p> +<p> +“In <i>her</i> position!” said I. “What do you mean? You cannot dare to +throw an imputation on one who is little more than a child!” + </p> +<p> +“True; but a child of shame and infamy,” said she, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“It is a falsehood,—a damnable falsehood!” cried I. “I knew both her +parents: her father died almost in my arms.” + </p> +<p> +“It is as likely that you never saw her father in your life,” rejoined +she, calmly. “I see that you know little of her history; but she comes +from the village of Linange, and we Auvergnats are well acquainted with +her.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, Linange is her native village,—that is true,” cried I, in a +vague terror of some dreadful tidings. “Tell me, I beseech you, whatever +you know of her story.” + </p> +<p> +“It is soon told, though the tale be sad enough,” said she, after a pause. +“Her mother was a Mademoiselle Nipernois. She called herself De Nipernois, +and not without reason; for the family had been of rank, and were Grand +Seigneurs once on a time. Her father had, however, fallen into poverty, +and for a livelihood was obliged to become a <i>pharmacien</i> in the +little village of Linange, every house of which had once belonged to his +family. They said he was a great chemist, which he had become for his own +amusement in his prosperous days; and fortunately he could now practise +the art for his support. At all events, the Blues wrecked his château, +burned his books, melted down his plate, and left him penniless; so that +he was fain to seek shelter amidst what once he would have styled his own +'vilains,' but who were now, thanks to the glorious fruits of the +Revolution, his equals. That was not to be his only humiliation, however. +A young noble that was betrothed to his eldest daughter, Hortense, and was +to have married her just before 'the troubles,' joined the mildest party +of the anarchists, and actually assisted at the sack of the château. Some +said that he had had a dreadful altercation and quarrel with the father; +some averred that he had met a contemptuous refusal from the daughter: +either, or both, may have been the truth. What is certain is, that he +exacted a vengeance far heavier than any injury he could have received. On +the pretence of seeking for some concealed royalist, a party of the Blues, +headed by the count, in disguise, broke into the old man's house in the +village, and carried off his eldest daughter,—indeed, the only child +that remained to him; for his second girl was an admitted nun of the +Chaise Dieu, which had hitherto escaped pillage and destruction. From that +hour no trace of her could ever be obtained; but on the same day +twelvemonths, as morning broke, she was found on the steps of her father's +door, with a baby in her arms. I have heard, for I have often spoken with +those who discovered her, that her reason was shattered, and her memory so +completely lost that she did not know her own name. An unbroken apathy +settled down on her from that time. +</p> +<p> +“She cared for nothing, not even her child; and though Margot was very +beautiful, and so engaging that all the neighbors loved and caressed her, +her mother saw her without the slightest touch of interest or affection! +After the lapse of thirteen, or almost fourteen years, a young man of the +village named Bernois, who had just returned from studying at Paris, +proposed to marry her. Some are of opinion that he had never heard her +real history, nor knew of the relationship between her and Margot; others +think differently, and say that he was aware of all, and acquitted her of +everything save the misfortune that had befallen her. By what persuasion +she was induced to accept him I never knew, but she did so, and +accompanied him to Paris; for, strangely enough, they who had hitherto +treated her with all the respect due to undeserved calamity, no sooner +beheld her as a married woman, and lifted into a position of equality with +them, than they vented a hundred calumnies upon her, and affected to think +her beneath their condition. This persecution it was which drove Bernois +to seek his fortune in Paris, where he has now met his death! The <i>conducteur</i> +who arrived here last night told who had accompanied him from Paris, and +the officers, who are all familiar with her mother's story, were curious +to see the girl. They induced me to advise you to dine at the public +table, and unhappily I yielded to their solicitations, not suspecting what +might ensue. The only reparation in my power now is to tell you this whole +story; for of course, having heard it, you will perceive how fruitless and +vain it would be for you to oppose yourself to the entire force of public +opinion. +</p> +<p> +“And is it the custom of the world to insult those situated as she is?” + asked I, in a voice that plainly showed I put the question in all +sincerity and ignorance. +</p> +<p> +“It is assuredly the habit of young men, and more especially soldiers, to +treat them with less deference than the daughters of honest women; and you +must have seen but little of life, or you had not asked the question.” + </p> +<p> +I sat silent for some seconds, revolving in my mind the sad history I had +just listened to, and comparing the events with what I had myself +witnessed of her who had been their victim. The hostess cut short my +musing by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“There, I see the calèche has just driven into the <i>cour</i>: lose no +time in getting away at once. The officers are now at coffee in the +garden, and you can escape unobserved.” + </p> +<p> +So engrossed was I by thoughts of Margot, and the necessity of shielding +her from insult, that I forgot totally all about myself, and what bore +reference to my own feelings exclusively. I therefore hastened from the +room to make the preparations for our departure. While I was thus engaged, +and occupied with seeing our luggage tied on, a young officer, touching +his cap in salute, asked if I was not the stranger who dined that day at +the table-d'hôte, in company with a young lady; and on my replying, “Yes,” + added,— +</p> +<p> +“Are you not aware, sir, that we have been expecting the pleasure of your +society in the garden for some time back?” + </p> +<p> +I answered that I was totally ignorant of their polite intentions +respecting me; that I was anxious to reach my destination, still twelve +leagues away, and unable to accept of their hospitality. +</p> +<p> +He gave a faint smile as I said this, and then rejoined: +</p> +<p> +“But you can surely spare a few moments to make your apologies to our +colonel?” + </p> +<p> +“They must be, then, of the very briefest,” said I. “Will you kindly guide +me to where he is?” + </p> +<p> +With a slight bow he walked on, and, crossing the courtyard, entered a +garden; on traversing a considerable portion of which, we came out upon a +kind of terrace, where a large party of officers were seated around a +table, smoking, and drinking coffee. Some, too, were engaged playing at +chess or dominoes, some reading, and some apparently asleep; but, however +occupied, no sooner had I made my appearance than all, forgetting +everything but my presence, turned their eyes upon me. +</p> +<p> +“The citizen,” cried out my guide, as we came up, “the citizen tells me +that he was quite unconscious of our polite intentions in his behalf; and +I can fully believe him, for he was on the eve of departure when I caught +him!” + </p> +<p> +“What does he think a French soldier is made of?” shouted out the colonel, +with a blow of his closed fist on the table. “He dares to make use of an +expression insulting to every officer of my regiment, and then says he is +unaware of any claim we have upon him!” + </p> +<p> +A new light broke upon me at these words, and, for a moment, the sense of +shame at my mistake nearly overcame me. I rallied, however, enough to say,— +</p> +<p> +“It is quite as you say, Monsieur le Colonel; I was really unaware that +you or your officers had any claim upon me! I had been the subject of a +rudeness to-day, at the table-d'hôte, which, in my little knowledge of the +world, I attributed to the underbred habits of a coarse school of manners. +I now perceive that I was too lenient in my judgment.” + </p> +<p> +“Are we to listen to any more of this, messieurs?” said the colonel, +rising; “or is it from me that chastisement is to come?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I have the right, I claim the place, I am the youngest subaltern, I +am the 'cadet of the corps,'” cried half-a-dozen in a breath; but +Carrier's voice overbore the others, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Comrades, you seem to forget that this is my quarrel; I will not yield my +right to any one!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” exclaimed several voices together; “Carrier says truly. The +affair is his. We fight with the sabre, citizen, in the +Chasseurs-à-Cheval. Is the weapon to your liking?” + </p> +<p> +“One arm is the same to me as another,” replied I; and unfortunately this +was too literally the case, since I was equally inexpert in all! +</p> +<p> +“You can claim the pistol, if you wish it,” whispered an old captain, with +a snow-white moustache. “The challenged chooses his weapons.” + </p> +<p> +“The sabre be it, then,” exclaimed Carrier, catching me up at once. +</p> +<p> +“Not if the citizen prefer the pistol,” interposed the captain. +</p> +<p> +“He has already made his choice: he said all weapons were alike to him.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true,” said I; “I did say so!” + </p> +<p> +“The greater fool you, then!” murmured the captain, between his teeth. +“You might just as well have given yourself your chance. Carrier won't be +so generous to you!” + </p> +<p> +“Will you be my second?” asked I of him. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Ma foi!</i> if you wish it,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders +and a glance of such tender pity that could not be mistaken. “Let us +follow them!” + </p> +<p> +And so saying, we strolled leisurely on after the others, who, now passing +through a small wicket, entered a little wood that adjoined the garden. A +few minutes more brought us to an open space, which I rightly guessed had +been often before the scene of similar affairs. +</p> +<p> +I had never witnessed a duel in my life. I knew nothing of the formalities +which were observed in its arrangement; and the questions which I asked +the captain so palpably betrayed my ignorance that he stared at me with +mute astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any friends, boy,” asked he, after a pause, “to whom I can write +for you?” + </p> +<p> +“Not one,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“All the better!” rejoined he, tersely. +</p> +<p> +I nodded an assent; and from that moment we understood each other +perfectly. No lengthy explanation could more plainly have declared that he +thought I was doomed, and that I concurred in the foreboding. +</p> +<p> +“My sabre will be too heavy for you, boy,” said he; “I 'll see and borrow +a lighter one from one of my comrades. Chasteler, will you lend me yours?” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu!</i> that will I not. I'd never wear it again if used in such +a quarrel.” + </p> +<p> +“Right, Chasteler,” cried another; “I hope there is only one amongst us +could forget an insult offered to the whole regiment.” + </p> +<p> +“I wore my epaulette when you were in the cradle, Lieutenant Hautmain,” + said the old captain; “so don't pretend to teach me the feelings that +become a soldier. There, boy,” he added, drawing his sabre as he spoke, +“take mine.” + </p> +<p> +By this time my antagonist had divested himself of coat and neckcloth, and +stood, with open shirt-breast and the sleeve of his sword-arm rolled up to +the shoulder, before me. +</p> +<p> +He was as much an overmatch for me in strength and vigor as in skill, and +I felt an acute sense of shame in pitting myself against him. As he swung +his sabre jauntily to and fro with the dexterous facility of a practised +swordsman, I could read the confidence with which he entered upon the +encounter. +</p> +<p> +“It is the first time you ever handled a sword, I think?” said the +captain, as he assisted me off with my coat. +</p> +<p> +“The very first,” said I, endeavoring, I know not how successfully, to +smile. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu!</i>” cried he, aloud. “This is no better than a murder! The +boy knows nothing of fencing; he never had a sabre in his hands till now.” + </p> +<p> +“He should have thought of that before he uttered an insult,” said +Carrier, placing himself <i>en garde</i>. “Come on, boy!” + </p> +<p> +The offensive look and manner in which he spoke so carried me away that I +rushed in, and aimed a cut at his head. He parried it, and came down with +a sharp stroke on my shoulder, exclaiming, “<i>Ça!</i>” as he did it. The +same word followed every time that he touched me; nor did it require the +easy impertinence of the glances he gave towards his comrades to show that +he was merely amusing himself; as, at one moment, he covered my face with +blood, and at another disarmed me by a severe wound on the wrist. +</p> +<p> +“Enough of this,—too much of it!” cried the captain, as the blood +streamed down my cheeks from a cut on the forehead, and almost blinded me. +</p> +<p> +“When <i>he</i> says so, it will be time to stop,—not till then,” + said Carrier, as he gave me a sharp cut on the neck. +</p> +<p> +My rage so overpowered me at this that I lost all control over myself; +and, resolving to finish the struggle at once, I sprang at him, and, with +both hands on my sword, made a cut at his head. The force was such that +the blow broke down his guard and felled him to the earth, with a +tremendous wound of the scalp; and there he lay, stunned and senseless, +while, scarcely more conscious, I stood over him. Passion had up to that +sustained me; but loss of blood and exhaustion now succeeded together, and +I reeled back and fainted. +</p> +<p> +Though terribly hacked and sorely treated, none of my wounds were +dangerous; and after being bandaged, and stitched, and plastered in +various ways, I was able—or at least insisted that I was able—to +pursue my journey that evening; and away we drove, with no very grateful +recollection of Valence, except, indeed, towards the old captain, who saw +us off, and took a most affectionate leave of us at parting. +</p> +<p> +Margot had heard from the hostess enough to show her that I had been her +champion and defender, though in what cause she could not possibly divine. +Whatever her anxiety to learn the facts, she never put a single question +to me as we went along, her sole care being to do whatever might assuage +my pain and alleviate my suffering. Thanks to this kindness, and the cool +air of an autumn night, I travelled with comparatively little uneasiness; +and as day was breaking we entered the quiet street of the little village. +</p> +<p> +“There, yonder is our house,—the porch with the jasmine over it. Oh, +how the rose-trees have grown!” + </p> +<p> +Such was Margot's exclamation, as we drew up at the door. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. LINANGE +</h2> +<p> +I do not know how far other men's experiences will corroborate the +opinion, but for myself I will say that more than once has it occurred to +me to remark that some of the most monotonous periods of my life have been +those to which I often look back with the greatest pleasure, and love to +think over as amongst the happiest. The time I passed at Linange was one +of these. Nothing could be more simple, nothing more uniform than our life +there. The unhappy circumstance to which I have already alluded had +completely estranged from the family any of those with whom they might +have associated. From some, the former rank and condition of the house +separated them; from others they were removed by political bias; and to +the rest, the event of which I have already spoken was the barrier. Thus, +then, was our life passed within the limits of an humble household of four +persons. The old Marquis—for such was he still styled by us—was +a fine specimen of the class to which he belonged: proud and stately in +manner, but courteous almost to humility in his bearing to one beneath his +roof. Unbroken by misfortune, he trusted that—although not in his +time—the world would yet return to its ancient course, and the good +king “have his own again.” His personal calamities sat lightly on him, or, +rather, he bore them bravely. If he spoke of his former state and +position, it was in regret for those faithful followers he could no longer +support,—not for himself, whose wants were few, and whose habits +demanded no luxuries. In the calling that he practised for his +maintenance, he saw rather an occasion for pride than humiliation. There +was but one topic from which he shrunk back; nor could all his courage +enable him to approach that. When I first saw him, it was after a severe +attack brought on by the dreadful tidings from Paris; and yet his +composure seemed to me almost bordering on indifference, and I half +revolted against the calm elegance of a good-breeding that seemed above +the reach of all feeling. Ursule was a “nun;” and whether the walls around +her were those of a cloister or a cottage, her heart was enclosed within +the observances of the convent. She rose hours before daybreak, to pass +her time in prayer and solitude. She fasted, and toiled, and observed +penances, exactly as if beneath the rule of the Superior. She had been +singularly handsome, and there was still a character of beauty in her +features, to which her devotional life imparted an expression of sublimity +such as I have never seen even in a “Raphael.” Suffering and sorrow seemed +so blended with hopefulness—present agony so tinctured with a +glorious future—that, to me at least, she appeared almost angelic. +</p> +<p> +As for “Margot,” child as she was, the whole care of the household +devolved upon her. The humblest <i>ménage</i> is not without its duties, +and to these she addressed herself at once. It was on the day after my +arrival, and while just meditating a return to Paris, that symptoms of +fever first showed themselves, and a severe shivering, followed by intense +headache, showed me that I was not to escape the consequences of my +unhappy encounter. Ursule, whose experience in hospital life had been +considerable, was the first to see the mischief that threatened, and at +once persuaded me to submit to treatment. The old Marquis was soon at my +bedside, but as quickly did he perceive that the case was beyond his +skill. The surgeon of the village was now sent for; he bled me largely, +dressed my wounds, administered some cooling drink, and then left me to +that terrible interval which precedes mania, and when the enfeebled +intellect struggles for mastery against the force of wandering faculties. +</p> +<p> +In my wild fancies, all the incidents of my early days, the little +adventures of boyhood, my mountain ramble, and my life in Paris, came +back, and I talked with intense eagerness to those around me of them all. +Short intervals of consciousness, like gleams of sunlight in a lowering +sky, would break through these, and then I saw beside the bed the kind +faces, and heard the gentle accents, of my friends. “Ursule” and, “Margot” + scarcely ever left me. In the dark hours of the long night, if a weary +sigh escaped me, one of them was sure to be near to ask if I was in pain +or if I needed anything. How often have I turned away from these gentle +questionings to hide my face within my hands and cry, not in sorrow, but +in a thankful outpouring of emotion, that I, the poor unfriended, +uncared-for orphan, should be thus watched, and tended, and loved! +</p> +<p> +It was not till after a lapse of weeks that I was pronounced out of +danger, nor even till long after that that I could arise from my bed. +Shall I ever forget the strange confusion of ideas that beset me as I +first found myself alone one morning in the little garden, scarcely +knowing if I was still dreaming, or if all was reality around me! Where +was I? how came I there? were questions that I could not follow to a +solution. Some resemblance in the scenery with the country around +Reichenau assisted the mystification, and from the entanglement of my +thoughts no effort could rescue me. As, one by one, memories of the past +came up, there came with them the sad reflection of my own lonely, +isolated condition in life. The humblest had a home—had those around +them to whose love and affection they could lay claim as from blood and +kindred—who bore the same name, were supported by the same hopes, +cheered by the same joys, and sorrowed for the same sufferings! It was +true that no affection a sister could bestow could exceed that I had met +with where I was. There was not a kindness of which I had not been the +object. Was I, could I, be ungrateful for these? Far from it!—my +melancholy lay in the thought that these were the very evidences of my own +forlorn lot, and that compassion and pity were the sentiments that +prompted them in my behalf. +</p> +<p> +I knew, besides, that in my long illness I must have proved a grievous +burden to those whose own circumstances were straitened to the utmost +limit of narrow fortune. I saw about me comforts, even luxuries, that must +have cost many a privation to acquire. I felt that, in succoring me, they +had imposed upon themselves the weight of many a future want. These were +afflicting considerations, nor could all my ingenuity discover one +resource against them. I was still too weak to walk; my limbs tottered +under me as I went. Perhaps it were better it had been so, since I really +believe if I had had strength sufficient for the effort, notwithstanding +all the shame that might attach to my ingratitude, I should have fled from +the house that moment, never to return! It was in the abandonment of grief +arising from these thoughts that “Ursule” discovered me. With what +tenderness did she rally my drooping spirits; how gently did she chide my +faint-heartedness! +</p> +<p> +“You must rise above these things, Jasper,” said she to me. “You must +learn to see that the small ills of life are difficult to be borne just +because they suggest no high purpose.” + </p> +<p> +And from this she went on to tell me of the noble devotion of the +missionary, the splendid enthusiasm that elevated men above every thought +of peril, and taught them to court danger and confront suffering. How mean +and sordid did she represent every other ambition in comparison with this! +How ignoble was the soldier's heroism when placed beside the martyrdom of +the priest! With consummate art she displayed before my boyish fancy all +that was attractive, all that was picturesque, in the missionary's life. +To glowing descriptions of scenery and savage life succeeded touching +episodes of deep interest and passages of tenderest emotions, the power of +the Church—whether as consoler or comforter, as healing the sick or +supporting the weak-hearted—being never forgotten. If she saw that +my mind dwelt with pleasure on pictures of splendor, she lingered on +scenes of greatness and royal power, when priests associated with monarchs +as their guides and counsellors. If, at another moment, the romance seemed +to engage my attention, she narrated incidents of the most affecting kind. +At these moments it was strange to mark how the cold and almost stern +reserve of the cloister seemed lost in the glowing enthusiasm of the +devotee. It was not the nun broken down by fasting, wasted by penance, and +subdued by prayer, but the almost inspired daughter of the Church, +glorying and exulting in its triumph. She gave me books to read,—lives +of saints and martyrs, of devoted missionaries and pious fathers. If in +some instances the sufferings they endured seemed more than mere humanity +could support, the triumphant joy of their victories appeared to partake +of a celestial brilliancy. Day by day, hour by hour, did she pursue the +theme, till the subject, like a river fed by a thousand rills, overflowed +all else in my mind, and left no room for aught but itself. +</p> +<p> +It was not difficult for her to show that the frightful condition of +France at the period—its lawless confiscations, its pillage, and its +bloodshed—all dated from the extinction of the Church. The task was +an easy one to contrast past peace and happiness with present anarchy and +suffering. I reflected long and deeply on the subject. If doubts assailed +me, I came to her to solve them; if difficulties embarrassed me, I asked +her to explain them. I applied the question to the circumstances of my own +position in life, and began to believe that it was exactly the career to +suit me. I eagerly inquired, next, how the fitting education might be +obtained, and learned that since the destruction of the religious +societies of France and the Low Countries, many had emigrated to Spain and +Italy, and some to England. Sister “Ursule” was in correspondence with +more than one of these, and promised to obtain all the information I +sought for; meanwhile, she besought me to devote my whole mind and +thoughts to these sacred subjects, withdrawing, so far as I might, all my +desires and ambition from the world. +</p> +<p> +Margot, I am obliged to own, contributed but little to aid my pious +purpose; her gay and joyous nature had no sympathy with asceticism and +restraint. The poets and dramatists, whose works she read in secret, +inspired very different thoughts from the subject of my studies; her +childish buoyancy could not endure the weight of that gloom which a life +of denial imposes; and whenever we were alone together, she rallied me on +my newly assumed seriousness as on a costume which I would soon discover +to be insufferable. +</p> +<p> +I dwell on these things, trifling as they are, because they convey the +curious conflict which my mind sustained at this time, and the struggle +that went on within me between the tendencies natural to my age, and the +impulses that grew out of a sudden enthusiasm. Perhaps I might not care to +recall them, if it was not that they remind me of Margot such as I then +remember her. I see her before me: her dark eyes, flashing with daring +brilliancy, dropped in a half-rebellious submission, her changing color, +her fair and open brow, her beautiful mouth, with all its varying +expression, her very gait, haughty even in its girlish gayety,—all +rise to my mind's eye; and I feel even yet within me the remembrance of +that strange distrust and bashfulness with which I endeavored to reply to +her witty sallies, and recall her to a seriousness like my own I I was no +hypocrite, and yet she half hinted that I was; neither was it a dash of +thoughtless enthusiasm that carried me away, though she often said so. It +was the very reverse of vanity or self-exaltation,—it was humility +that prompted me to devote myself to a career from which others might have +been withheld by the ties of home and affection. +</p> +<p> +“You forget, Margot,” cried I one day, when she bantered me beyond +endurance, “that I am already an idle and homeless being, without one on +earth to love me!” + </p> +<p> +“But I love you, Jasper!” said she, seizing my hand and pressing it to her +lips; and then, as suddenly dropping it, she became pale as death, and +staggered as if falling. I caught her in my arms; but she disengaged +herself at once, and, with her hands pressed closely over her face, fled +from the spot. +</p> +<p> +From that day she never jested with me, nor even alluded to my choice of a +career. She, I fancied, even avoided being alone with me as she used to +be; the playful tricks she had indulged in of hiding my serious books, or +substituting for them others of a very different kind, were all abandoned. +Her whole manner and bearing were changed, nor could I fail to see that +there was no longer between us the cordial frankness that hitherto united +us. If this were, in one respect, a source of sorrow to me, in another +there was a strange, secret charm in that reserve so full of meaning,—in +that shyness so suggestive! +</p> +<p> +Up to that time I had been in the habit of reading with her some part of +every day. My school-learning, such as it was, was yet fresh in my memory, +and I was delighted to have a pupil so gifted and intelligent; but from +this time forth she never resumed her studies, but pretended a variety of +occupations as excuses. I know not, I cannot even speculate, on how this +might have ended, when a sudden change of events gave a decisive turn to +my destinies. +</p> +<p> +The bâtonnier who had so kindly undertaken to look after the little +remnant of Monsieur Bernois' fortune was no less prompt than he had +promised. He made all the arrangements required by law, and corresponded +with me on each step of the proceedings. In one of these letters was a +postscript containing these words: “Is it true that you have had a serious +rencontre with a captain of the Chasseurs-à-Cheval who is still in danger +from the wound he received?” Before my reply to this question could have +reached him, came the following brief note:— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Monsieur Carew,—I learned late last night the whole +circumstances of the adventure of which I had asked an explanation from +you by my letter of Tuesday. The affair is a most unhappy one on every +account, but on none more than the fact that your antagonist was Captain +Carrier, the brother of the celebrated member of the Constituent of that +name. I need scarcely remind you that his friends, numerous and +influential as they are, are now your bitterest enemies. They are at this +moment busily employed in making searches into your previous life and +habits; and should all other sources of accusation fail, will inevitably +make your nationality the ground of attack, and perhaps denounce you as a +spy of the English Government. The source from which I obtained this +information leaves no doubt of its correctness, as you will acknowledge +when I add that it enables me to forward to you, by this enclosure, a +passport for England, under the name of Bernard. I also transmit a bank +order for one thousand francs, which I beg you will use freely, as if your +own, and part of a fund, the remainder of which I will take an early +opportunity of placing in your hands. The hurried nature of my present +communication prevents me adding more than that I am, very faithfully, +your friend.” + </p> +<p> +His initials alone were inscribed at the foot of this most extraordinary +epistle. I hastened to show it to the Marquis, who, on learning the name +of the writer, pronounced him one of the first men at the French bar. +</p> +<p> +“The warning of such a man,” said he, “must not be neglected; and although +Carrier's faction have fallen, who can answer what to-morrow may bring +forth? At all events, your position as an alien is highly perilous, and +you must see to your safety at once.” + </p> +<p> +As for the concluding portion of the letter, he could not assist me to any +explanation of it. The nearest approach to elucidation was, that many of +the leading lawyers of Paris were frequently selected by their clients as +depositaries of property, and that it was just possible such had been the +case here. +</p> +<p> +With this meagre suggestion he left me, and I proceeded, with a heavy +heart, to make my preparations for departure. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. HAVRE. +</h2> +<p> +The diligence passed our door, and the conductor had orders to stop and +take me up, as he went by. That supper was a sorrowful meal to all of us. +They had come to think of me as one of themselves, and I felt as if I was +about to part with the last who would ever befriend me. +</p> +<p> +There was but little said on any side, and none of us ventured on a word +alluding to my departure. At last the old Marquis, laying his hand on my +shoulder, said,— +</p> +<p> +“These are not days in which one can trust to the post, Jasper; but if +ever the occasion offer of letting us hear of you by other means, you 'll +not neglect it.” + </p> +<p> +“The Père Tonsurd will manage this for you,” broke in Ursule. “He knows +how to communicate, when, and with whom he pleases.” + </p> +<p> +“But how am I to meet with him?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“This is his address, and this letter will introduce you,” said she, +giving me a carefully-folded and well-sealed packet. “Make a friend of +him, Jasper, and your happiness will be the reward.” + </p> +<p> +I thought that Margot's lip was upturned at these words, with a faint +expression of disdainful meaning; but I may easily have been deceived, for +as I looked again, her features were calm and unmoved. +</p> +<p> +“The Père,” resumed Ursule, “was superintendent of the 'Chaise Dieu,' and +removed to be a Professor at Namur. He is a man of high acquirements and +sincere piety, but his great characteristic is his humility. With a tenth +of the ambition that others possess, he had been a Prince of the Church.” + </p> +<p> +Margot's eyes were downcast as this was spoken, so that I could not detect +how the speech affected her; but again it struck me that her mouth was +moved with an expression of scorn. +</p> +<p> +“There! I hear the horn of the postilion; you have n't a moment to lose!” + cried Ursule. +</p> +<p> +A fond, close embrace with each in turn, and a whispered word from Margot +which I tried in vain to catch, and I was gone! I buried my head between +my hands in shame, for I was crying bitterly, and never looked up till we +were far away from the village, and traversing a wide, open country, with +great undulating fields of corn, and few traces of habitation. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, be a man,” broke in the <i>conducteur</i>, with a rough +good-humor. “You 're not the first who had to leave his home for the +conscription, and some have gone back <i>chefs-d' escadron</i>, +afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +I accepted the part he thus erringly assigned me, and let him run on about +all the fortunes and chances of a soldier's life. +</p> +<p> +If his conversation did not divert my thoughts, it at least suffered me to +pursue them unmolested; and so I travelled along through the whole of that +night and the following day, seldom speaking, or only in half mechanical +assent to some remark of my companion. +</p> +<p> +“They 'll want to see your passport here, citizen,” said he, as we +approached the gate of a fortified town; “so get it ready, and don't delay +the authorities.” + </p> +<p> +A few minutes more brought us to the outworks of a fortification, passing +through which, we crossed a drawbridge, over a deep moat, and entered a +long, dark archway. Here the diligence drew up, and the passengers were +ordered to descend. I overheard the <i>conducteur</i> say the word +“conscript,” and began to fear that he used it in relation to me, when +suddenly the official, opening my passport, called out: +</p> +<p> +“Which of you is the citizen Bernard?” + </p> +<p> +I at once remembered that it was the name I had recruited under, and +answered, “It is I.” + </p> +<p> +“Step inside here,” said he, civilly; “I have some directions with respect +to you.” + </p> +<p> +I walked into a small chamber off the public room, when, having carefully +closed the door, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“So you are going over to England, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> +The last word was accented deeply, and with an emphasis meant to show that +he who used it proclaimed himself no partisan of republican principles, +but one who held to the ancient habits of the monarchy. +</p> +<p> +The manners of the time suggested distrust on all sides, and I answered, +guardedly, that I had some intention of visiting England. +</p> +<p> +“You will see them, then,” resumed he, “and even that much is a blessing +in itself! How do I envy you! Ah, monsieur, if the name should not escape +you, will you try and remember Claude Mirepois? My father was head +postilion in the royal stables, and enjoyed his pension to his death; and +I was educated by order of the princes, and was to have been in the +household too.” + </p> +<p> +“Are we all right and regular, citizen?” broke in the <i>conducteur</i>, +putting in his head. +</p> +<p> +“All right—quite right, citizen Guichemar,” said the other, in some +confusion. “These are ticklish times; I was anxious to see that this +youth's pass was regular.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu!</i> a conscript is always <i>en règle</i>,” said the other, +laughing, and so hurried me away to the diligence; and once more we +rattled along on our journey. +</p> +<p> +The whole of that night my mind dwelt upon this incident. Amongst the +various parties that disputed for preeminence in the country, I had never +heard of any professing royalist principles, except the Vendeans; nor had +I the slightest suspicion that many concealed monarchists held places of +trust under the government of the republic. +</p> +<p> +At Havre, I discovered that the measures of the police were of the very +strictest kind, and that to obtain a permission to embark, it was +necessary to have a reference to some citizen of the town, who should +stand guarantee for your loyalty and integrity. Now, I had never been +there before; I knew none, not even by name; and what was I to do? Great +as my difficulty was, I did not suffer it to appear so to the commissary, +but calmly said that I 'd return to my hotel, and run my eye over a list +of the merchants for one to be my bail. +</p> +<p> +The packet was to sail that evening with the tide; and as the office of +the commissaire closed at four o'clock, there was little time to lose. I +wandered on “from street to street; I walked into cafés; I sat down in the +most public places, scanning with eagerness every face that passed me, and +straining my eyes to try and detect the features of an acquaintance. The +pursuit became at length a perfect farce, and I hurried to and fro with a +burning brain, and a restless impatience that was almost maddening. +</p> +<p> +“Parbleu! this is the fourth time you've been in here to-day,” cried a +short, thickset man, past the prime of life, and who kept a sort of +slop-shop near the quay. “What do you want with me, my lad?” + </p> +<p> +I was turning to leave the spot without replying, when he closed the +half-door of his shop, and placed his back against it. +</p> +<p> +“Come, my friend, you shall certainly say what has brought you here, ere +you get away this time.” + </p> +<p> +“I am in search of some one,—I am looking for one of my +acquaintances,” said I, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“And expected to find him here?” added he, half sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“Here—anywhere,” said I, recklessly. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; I thought as much. Well, my lad, you had better give a more +satisfactory account of yourself to the commissary. Come along with me to +the police.” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart,” cried I. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you? Whence do you come?” asked he, with somewhat of kindliness +in his voice. +</p> +<p> +“These are questions you have no right to ask me, citizen,” replied I. +</p> +<p> +“Well, have I not a right to know why you have been four several times in +my shop this forenoon, and never bought nor asked for anything?” + </p> +<p> +“That you shall hear freely and frankly,” said I; “I have a passport made +out for England, whither I wish to go. The authorities require that I +should have some reference to a citizen of Havre before they allow me to +depart. I am a stranger here,—I know of no one, not even by name. +The whole of this morning I have spent hurrying hither and thither to find +out some one I have seen before, but in vain. All are strangers to me; +none know me. In my wanderings, it may be that I have chanced to come here +as often as you say,—perhaps I have done so in twenty places; for my +head is distracted, and I cannot collect my thoughts. There, then, is the +answer to your inquiry.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you a trade or a handicraft, lad?” + </p> +<p> +“Not either.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor any means of support?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite sufficient for all my wants,” replied I, boldly; and at the same +time producing my purse, well stored as it was with five-franc pieces. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, then, you belong to some of the <i>émigrés?</i> You are going to join +your family?” asked he, but in a lower and more cautious voice. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think that I have been candid enough already, friend?” said I; +“and do you not know sufficient of my affairs, without asking me more?” + </p> +<p> +“Not if it be for more than mere curiosity,” said he, drawing nearer to +me; “not if I ask from a sincere interest in you.” + </p> +<p> +“But I ought, perhaps, to hear something of him that questions me,” said +I, affecting an amount of circumspection that was far from natural to me. +</p> +<p> +“Then go out upon the quay yonder, and ask who is Pierre Dubos. My +character and my name are well known in Havre; you 'll not have to ask +often without an answer.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, citizen, tell me what more you wish to learn about me. I 'll +tell you whatever you like, if I only know it.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you dined yet, lad?” asked he, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“No; I have not had time.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, then, and partake of mine;” and, without waiting for an answer, he +let down the shutter that closed the entrance to his shop, and led me by +the arm into a room behind it. +</p> +<p> +Pierre Dubos, though nearer to sixty than fifty, was only a short time +married to a very pretty and young woman who, as he entered the room, was +arranging the table for dinner. She received me with much courtesy, +scarcely heeding, if she even heard, the explanation her husband gave to +account for my presence. +</p> +<p> +The meal was an excellent one, and passed off with all that easy +conviviality that every class of Frenchmen know how to display. Monsieur +Dubos seemed somewhat of a character, and rather piqued himself on doing +things that others might never have thought of. His marriage appeared to +have been one of these; his invitation to myself was another. +</p> +<p> +“You know, Jeanette,” said he, “we might never have met if it had not been +for the ferry being delayed at Honfleur. We made acquaintance on the steps +of the pier; and see what has come of it! Now, I have come to know Bernard +here by a similar accident. Who knows what may arise out of that?” + </p> +<p> +Madame smiled benignly in assent to the theory, the happy results of which +she seemed to acknowledge. +</p> +<p> +Coffee came after dinner; and then I began to think how I should take my +leave. Ere I could solve the problem to my satisfaction, Dubos said,— +</p> +<p> +“Shall we all go to the comedy this evening? They play a grand piece, one +of Beaumanhui's,—and it will amuse us.” + </p> +<p> +Madame hailed the proposition with delight; and I really felt sorry as I +said,— +</p> +<p> +“But this will never bring me to England.” + </p> +<p> +“What need to go there? Why not stay in France? Was it not a pleasanter +country and a better climate? At all events, what urgent haste was there? +Would not to-morrow serve as well as to-day?” + </p> +<p> +These and such-like arguments were showered upon me, and not a little +aided by many little coquetries of look and gesture. +</p> +<p> +“One thing is quite certain,” said Dubos: “it is now three,—the +bureau closes at four o'clock; and if you know of any one in Havre who +will be your sponsor, the sooner you find him the better.” + </p> +<p> +This speech was uttered with so much gravity that it completely mystified +me; nor did the next remark serve greatly to elucidate matters, as his +wife said she hoped “I 'd have a pleasant voyage.” After enjoying my +astonished and puzzled look for a second or two, they both burst into a +roar of laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see, Bernard,” said the man, “that you have no other +acquaintance in the city than ourselves; and if we have a fancy for your +company, and do not care to part with it, the option is with us?” + </p> +<p> +“But if you really do feel an interest for me, you would befriend me,” + said I. “Is not that so?” + </p> +<p> +“And so I 'm ready to do,” said he, rising. “Say the word, and I 'll go +with you this moment to the commissary.” + </p> +<p> +I arose too. Already the syllables were on my lips, when the sudden +thought flashed across me: Whither am I hurrying, and for what? Was I +returning to home and family and country? Was I going back to kind and +loving friends, whose hearts were yearning for my coming? I paused, and at +the same instant the laughing eyes of the young Frenchwoman seemed to read +my embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” cried Dubos, “how is it to be?” + </p> +<p> +“Sit down, Pierre, and take your coffee,” said she, smiling. “Citizen +Bernard has not the slightest intention of leaving us. He knows, besides, +that you will be just as ready to serve him any other day, and not the +less so when you will have been better acquainted.” + </p> +<p> +“She is right,” said he, pressing me down into my seat again. “Let's have +a <i>chasse</i> in ease, and quick.” + </p> +<p> +I did not stop to reason the question. If I had, perhaps I should only +have seen stronger cause to concur with my kind hosts. The world was a +wide and trackless ocean before me, and even the humblest haven was a +welcome harbor to me for a day or two. +</p> +<p> +I stayed accordingly, and went to the theatre with them. The following day +was Sunday, and we went over to Honneur, and dined at the “Trois Pigeons;” + and Pierre showed me the spot where he first saw his pretty wife, and +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Who knows but some day or other I may be telling of the day and the hour +and the way I became acquainted with you?” + </p> +<p> +As I parted with them each night, some little plan or project was always +struck out for the morrow; and so I lingered on from day to day, half +listless, and half pleased. At length, as I was proceeding one morning +towards the house, I saw a crowd in front of a café all busily engaged in +reading a large placard which had just been affixed to the wall. It was an +account of the seizure by the English of the very vessel I had intended to +have taken my passage in; for, strangely enough, though the countries were +at war, a species of half intercourse was kept up between them for some +time, and travellers often passed from one shore to the other. This system +was now, it seemed, to have an end; and it was curious to remark how +bitter were the commentaries the change excited. +</p> +<p> +Pierre had learned the news by the time I reached his house, and +laughingly remarked on the good luck that always attended his +inspirations. +</p> +<p> +“But for me,” said he, “and my wise counsels, you had been a prisoner now, +and all your claims to nationality would only have got you hanged for a +traitor. From the first moment I saw you, something whispered me that we +were destined to know more of each other; and now I perceive that the +impression was-well founded.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you infer that?” asked I, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Because my instincts have never betrayed me yet.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is to be the upshot of our acquaintance, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you ask this seriously, Bernard, or are you only jesting at my +presentiments?” + </p> +<p> +“In all seriousness and in all trustfulness,” replied I. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll stay here in Havre—join me in my business—make money—be +a rich man—and—” he paused. +</p> +<p> +“Go on; I like the prophecy,” said I, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“And I was going to say, just as likely to lose it all, some fine morning, +as easily as you earned it.” + </p> +<p> +“But I have not a single requisite for the part you assign me. I am +ignorant of every branch of trade and traffic; nor, if I know myself, do I +possess one single quality that insures success in them.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll teach you, Bernard! There are few secrets in my craft. We deal with +smugglers,—we buy from them, and sell to them! For the pedler that +comes to us in our shop in the 'Rue des Sol,' we care little; for our +customers who drop in after nightfall, we have a sincere affection. You +have hitherto regarded them in the light of visitors and friends. You +little suspected that through them we carried on all our business; and +just as little did it ever occur to you that you yourself are already a +great favorite with them. Your stories, your remarks, the views you take +of life, all your observations, are quite novel and amusing to poor +fellows whose whole experience of the world is picked up in stormy nights +in the Channel, or still more perilous adventures on shore. Many have +already asked me when you would be with me of an evening, that they might +come; others have begged they might bring friends along with them; and, in +short, they like you; and they are fellows who, when they have fancies, +don't grudge the price they pay for them.” + </p> +<p> +I laughed heartily as I heard this. Assuredly it had never occurred to +myself to observe the circumstance, still less to make it a matter of +profit or speculation; but, somehow, the coarse flattery of even such +admiration was not without a certain charm for my mind. +</p> +<p> +Still, it was a part I could not have condescended to practise for gain, +nor, perhaps, had such been my intention, could I have been equally +successful. +</p> +<p> +Dubos, however, assigned me a duty which made a happy compromise between +my self-esteem and my desire for employment. This was to make acquaintance +with all of that adventurous race comprised between the buccaneer and the +smuggler; to learn their various wants, when they voyaged, and for what, +became my province. They were a wild, wasteful, and reckless class, who +loved far better to deal with one who should stand to them in the relation +of a companion than as a chapman or a dealer. +</p> +<p> +If I am free to own that my occupation was not very dignified, I am +equally able to assert that I never prostituted any influence I obtained +in this way to personal objects of profit. On the contrary, I have +repeatedly been able to aid, by good counsel and advice, men whose +knowledge of adventurous life was far greater than my own; and oftentimes +has it occurred to me to obtain for them quadruple the value they had +themselves set upon objects they possessed. +</p> +<p> +I can scarcely account to myself for the extraordinary interest the +pursuit engendered,—the characters, the places they frequented, the +habits, were all of the strangest, and might reasonably have amused one +ardently fond of adventure; but there was, besides all this, a degree of +danger in the intercourse that imparted a most intense degree of interest +to it. +</p> +<p> +Many of these men were great criminals. Many of the valuables confided to +my keeping were obtained by the most questionable means. They trafficked +not alone in articles of contraband, but they dealt in the still more +dangerous wares of secret information to governments; some were far less +smugglers than spies. All these curious traits became revealed to me in +our intercourse; and I learned to see by what low and base agencies are +often moved the very greatest and most momentous incidents of the world. +It was not alone that many of these men were employed by persons high in +station, but they were really often intrusted with functions very +disproportionate to their own claim for either character or fitness. At +one time it would be a state secret; at another, some dark piece of +treacherous vengeance, or some scarcely less dark incident of what fashion +calls “gallantry;” while occasionally a figure would cross the scene of a +very different order, and men of unquestionable station be met with in the +garb and among the haunts of the freebooter. +</p> +<p> +There was scarcely a leader of the republican party with whom some member +of the exiled family had not attempted the arts of seduction. With many of +them, it was said, they really succeeded; and others only waited their +opportunity to become their partisans. Whether the English Government +actually adopted the same policy or not, they assuredly had the credit of +doing so; and the sudden accession to wealth and affluence of men who had +no visible road to fortune, greatly favored this impression. My friend +Pierre Dubos troubled his head very little about these things. So long as +his “brandies could be run” upon the shores of England, and his bales of +silk find their way to London without encountering a custom-house, he +cared nothing for the world of politics and statecraft; and it is not +impossible that his well-known indifference to these matters contributed +something to the confidence with which they were freely imparted to +myself. Whatever the cause, I soon became the trusted depositary of much +that was valuable, not alone in actual wealth, but in secret information. +Jewels, sums of money, securities to a great amount, papers and documents +of consequence, all found their way to my hands; and few went forth upon +any expedition of hazard without first committing to my keeping whatever +he possessed of worth. +</p> +<p> +I was now living in privacy and simplicity, it is true, but in the +enjoyment of every comfort; but, still, with all the sense of a precarious +and even a perilous existence. More than once had I been warned that the +authorities entertained suspicion of me; and although the police, even to +its highest grades, was in our pay, it was yet possible that they should +find it their interest to betray us. It was just at this time that a +secret envoy arrived from Paris at Havre, en route for England, and was +arrested on entering the town. His papers were all seized, except one +small packet which was conveyed by a safe hand to myself, and my advice +and counsel requested on the subject of it. The address was simply “W. +P.,” and marked, “with the greatest speed.” There was an enclosure that +felt like a locket-case or a medallion, inside, and three large seals +without. +</p> +<p> +The envoy, who had contrived to disburden himself of this in the very +moment of his arrestation, at once made a signal indicative of its +pressing emergency; and his own rank and position seemed to guarantee the +fact. One of our luggers was only waiting for the tide to weigh anchor and +sail for England; and the sudden resolve struck me to take charge of the +letter, and see if I could not discover for whom it was meant. Both Dubos +and his wife did all in their power to dissuade me from the project. They +spoke of the great peril of the attempt, and its utter fruitlessness +besides; but for the former I had not many fears, and as to the latter +consideration, I was fortified by a strong and deep-felt conviction that +the locket was intended for no less a personage than the head of the +English ministry, and that “William Pitt” was designated by the initials +of the direction. I own that the conjecture was mainly suggested to me by +the constant reference made to his name, and the frequent allusions I had +heard made to him by many of the secret emissaries. +</p> +<p> +If I did not impart this impression to Dubos, it was simply because I knew +how little interest the subject would have for him, and that I should +frame very different reasons for my journey if I looked for his +concurrence. I need not stop to record the discussion that ensued between +us. Enough if I say that honest Pierre made me an offer of partnership +with him if I consented to forego my journey, from which he steadily +predicted that I should return no more. This prophecy had no power to +deter me,—nay, I half suspect that it furnished an additional +argument for my going. +</p> +<p> +Having consigned to him, therefore, all the objects of value that had been +left with me, and taking nothing but the few papers and letters belonging +to myself, I sailed that evening; and, as day was breaking, I saw looming +through the distance the tall and chalky cliffs of England. We were a long +way to the northward of the part usually frequented by our skipper, and it +was not without difficulty that I persuaded him to land me in a small bay, +in which a solitary cottage was the only sign of habitation. +</p> +<p> +By noon I gained the hut of a fisherman, who, though he had seen me put +out from a craft that he knew to be French, yet neither expressed any +surprise at my appearance, nor thought it a matter for any questioning. +The shoal water and the breakers, it is true, could have prevented the +spot being selected as a landing-place for troops; but nothing was easier +than to use it to disembark either secret emissaries, or even a small body +of men. I walked from this to a small town about eight miles inland, +whence I started the same night by coach for London. I cannot convey my +notion of the sense of freedom I felt at wandering thus at will, +unquestioned by any one. Had I but travelled a dozen miles in France, I +should have been certain of encountering full as many obstacles. Here none +troubled their heads about me; and whence I came, or whither I went, were +not asked by any. Some, indeed, stared at my travel-worn dress, and looked +with surprise at my knapsack, covered with undressed calf-skin; but none +suspected that it was French, nor that he who carried it had landed, but a +few hours before, from the land of their dread and abhorrence. In fact, +the England and France of those days were like countries widely separated +by distance, and the narrow strip of sea between them was accounted as a +great ocean. No sooner had I arrived in London than I inquired for the +residence of the Prime Minister. It was not a period when the Parliament +was sitting. They told me that I should rarely find him in town, but was +sure of meeting with him at Hounslow, where he had taken a house for his +health, then much broken by the cares and fatigues of office. +</p> +<p> +It was evening—a fine, mellow autumn evening—as I found myself +in front of a large, lonely house, in the midst of a neglected-looking +garden, the enclosure of which was a dilapidated wall, broken in many +places, and admitting glimpses of the disorder and decay within. I pulled +the string of the bell, but it was broken; and while I stood uncertain +what course to pursue, I caught sight of a man who was leaning over a +little balustrade, and apparently watching some fish in a pond at his +feet. He was thin and spare-looking, with somewhat the air of premature +age; and though dressed in the very simplest manner, there was the +unmistakable mark of a gentleman in his appearance. +</p> +<p> +He seemed to have observed me, but made no sign of recognition as I came +towards him. He even turned his head to look at me, and then resumed his +former attitude. I believe that I would willingly have retreated at that +moment, if I knew how. I felt that my presence there was like an +intrusion, and was already ashamed of it. But it was now too late; for, +standing erect, and with his hands behind him, he fixed his eyes steadily +on me, and asked me my business there. I replied that I wished to speak +with Mr. Pitt. +</p> +<p> +“Do so, then,” rejoined he; “I am he.” + </p> +<p> +I hesitated for a second or two how to open my communication; but he +waited for me without the slightest show of impatience, till, gaining +courage, I told him in a few words by what means I had become possessed of +a letter, the contents of which I had surmised might by possibility have +been intended for him. Short as was my explanation, it seemed to suffice, +for he nodded twice or thrice in assent as I went on, and then, taking the +letter from my hand, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, this is for me.” + </p> +<p> +So saying, he turned away into an alley of the garden to peruse the letter +at his leisure. +</p> +<p> +I remember as well as though it were but yesterday the strange crowd of +sensations that pressed upon my mind as I stood there waiting for his +return. Astonishment at finding myself in such a presence was the first of +these; the second was a surprise to see with how little of awe or +embarrassment I bore myself before one whose haughty bearing was the +terror of his contemporaries. I did not know enough of life to be aware +that the very fact of my humble station was the levelling influence that +operated in my favor, and that if, instead of an unknown emissary, I had +been the deputed envoy of a great government, I should have found the +minister as coldly haughty as I had heard him described. +</p> +<p> +While I was yet surmising and reasoning with myself, he came up to me, +saying,— +</p> +<p> +“They have arrested Monsieur Ducoste, you said. Is the affair like to be +serious?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe not, sir; his only paper of consequence was this.” + </p> +<p> +He opened the letter again, and seemed lost in contemplation of something +it contained; at length he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Have you brought any newspapers or journals with you?” + </p> +<p> +“None, sir; I came away at a moment's warning.” + </p> +<p> +“You are an Englishman. How came it that you have been a resident in +France?” + </p> +<p> +For the first time his face assumed an expression of severity as he said +this, and I could not but feel that the inquiry was one that touched my +personal honor. I replied, therefore, promptly that I had come abroad from +causes of a family nature, and that they were matters which could not +interest a stranger. +</p> +<p> +“They do interest me, sir,” was his reply, “and I have a right to know +them.” + </p> +<p> +If my first impulse was to resent what I conceived to be a tyranny, my +second was to clear myself from any possibility of an imputation. I +believe it was the wiser of the two; at all events, I yielded to it, and, +apologizing for the intrusion upon time valuable as his, I narrated, in a +few minutes, the leading features of my history. +</p> +<p> +“A singular story,” said he, as I concluded: “the son of an Irish +Opposition leader reduced to this! What proofs have you of the correctness +of your account? Have you acquaintances? Letters?” + </p> +<p> +“Some letters, but not one acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me see some of these. Come here to-morrow, fetch your papers with +you, and be here at eleven o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“But excuse me, sir,” said I, “if I ask wherefore I should do this? I came +here at considerable personal hazard to render you a service. I have been +fortunate enough to succeed. I have also made known to you certain +circumstances of a purely private nature, and which only can concern +myself. You either believe them or you do not.” + </p> +<p> +“This is precisely the difficulty that I have not solved, young +gentleman,” said he, courteously; “you may be speaking in all the +strongest conviction of truthfulness, and yet be incorrect. I desire to be +satisfied on this head, and I am equally ready to assure you that the +inquiry is not prompted by any motive of mere curiosity.” + </p> +<p> +I remained silent for a minute or two; I tried to weigh the different +reasons for and against either course in my mind, but I was too much +agitated for the process. He seemed to guess what was passing within me, +and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Don't you perceive, sir, that I am your debtor for a service, and that +before I attempt to acquit the obligation I ought to know the rank and +station of my creditor? You would not accept of a pecuniary reward?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not, and as little any other.” + </p> +<p> +“But I might possibly present my thanks in a form to be acceptable,” said +he, blandly; “and I wish you would give me the opportunity!” + </p> +<p> +And with that he bowed deeply, and walked slowly away. I returned to +London with a head full of my interview. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. MY REWARD +</h2> +<p> +I had taken up my quarters in one of the small streets which lead from the +Strand to the river; a very humble abode it was, and such as suited very +humble fortune. When I arrived there, after the interview I have related, +I sat down and wrote a short account of the events of my life, so far as +they were known to me. I subjoined any letters and documents that I +possessed which gave confirmation to my statement, addressing the entire +to the minister, with the request that if my capacity could fit me for any +employment in the public service, he would graciously make a trial of me; +and if not, that he would enable me to return to France, where a +livelihood at least was procurable. +</p> +<p> +This I despatched on a Tuesday morning, and it was not until the following +Saturday that I obtained my reply. I cannot think of that painful interval +even now without a shudder. The torture of suspense had risen to a fever, +and for the last day and night I neither ate nor slept. On Saturday came a +brief note, in these words: “J. C. may call at Hounslow before ten +to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +It was not signed, nor even dated; and so I was left to surmise if it had +reached me in fitting time. It was scarcely eight o'clock on Sunday +morning as I found myself standing beside the wicket of the garden, which +seemed as deserted and desolate as before. At an open window, however, on +the ground floor I saw a breakfast-table laid out; and as I looked, a lady +and gentleman entered, and took their places at it. One was, I knew, the +minister. The lady, who was a tall and dignified person rather than a +handsome one, bore some resemblance to him. Her quick glance detected me +from afar, and as quickly she called attention to my presence there. Mr. +Pitt arose and beckoned me to come forward, which I did, with no small +shame and embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +While I stood at the hall-door, uncertain whether to knock or wait, it was +opened by the minister himself, who kindly wished me good-morning, and +desired me to follow him. +</p> +<p> +“This is the youth himself, Hester,” said he, as we entered the room; “and +I have no doubt he will be happy to answer any questions you may put to +him.” + </p> +<p> +The lady motioned to me to be seated, and in a grave, almost severe tone, +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Who composed this paper,—this narrative of yours?” + </p> +<p> +“I did, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“The whole of it?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, madam, the whole of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Where have you been educated?” + </p> +<p> +“At Reichenau, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is that?” + </p> +<p> +“In Switzerland, on the frontiers of the Vorarlberg.” + </p> +<p> +“And your parents are both dead, and you have actually none in the shape +of relatives?” + </p> +<p> +“Not one, madam.” + </p> +<p> +She whispered something here to the minister, who quickly said,— +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, if you wish it.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me, sir,” said she, addressing me again, “who is this same Count de +Gabriac, of whom mention is made here. Is he the person called Couvre-Tête +in the circles of the Jacobins?” + </p> +<p> +“I never have heard him so called, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“You know him at least to be of that party?” + </p> +<p> +“No, madam. The very little I do know of him personally would induce me to +suppose the opposite.” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head, and gave a faint supercilious smile, as though in +total disbelief of my words. +</p> +<p> +“If you have read my memoir, madam,” said I, hastily, “you will perceive +how few have been the occasions of my meeting with the Count, and that, +whatever his politics, I may be excused for not knowing them.” + </p> +<p> +“You say that you went along with him to Paris?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, madam, and never saw him afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“You have heard from him, however, and are, in fact, in correspondence +with him?” + </p> +<p> +“No, madam, nothing of the kind.” + </p> +<p> +As I said this, she threw the paper indignantly on the table, and walked +away to the window. The minister followed her, and said something in a low +whisper, to which she replied aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's not my opinion. Time will tell which of us was more right.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me something of the condition of parties in France,” said he, +drawing his chair in front of mine. “Are the divisions as wide as +heretofore?” + </p> +<p> +I will not go over the conversation that ensued, since I was myself the +principal speaker. Enough if I say that I told him whatever I knew or had +heard of the various subdivisions of party: of the decline of the +terrorists, and the advent to power of men who, with equal determination +and firmness, yet were resolute to uphold the laws and provide for the +security of life and property. In the course of this I had to speak of the +financial condition of the country; and in the few words that fell from +me, came the glimpses of some of that teaching I had obtained from the +Herr Robert. +</p> +<p> +“You appear to have devoted attention to these topics,” said he, with a +smile. “They are scarcely the subjects most attractive to youth. How came +that to pass?” + </p> +<p> +“By an accident, sir, that made me acquainted with the son of one who, if +not a great financier, was at least the most notorious one the world has +ever seen,—Robert Law, of Lauriston.” And at a sign from him to +continue, I related the whole incident I referred to. He listened to me +throughout with deep attention. +</p> +<p> +“These papers that you speak of,” said he, interrupting, “would certainly +be curious, if not actually valuable. They are still at the Rue +Quincampoix?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, the day may come when they may be obtainable. Meanwhile, of this +Count, this Monsieur de Gabriac,—for I want to hear more of him,—when +did he arrive in England?” + </p> +<p> +“I did not know that he was here, sir.” + </p> +<p> +He looked at me calmly, but with great intentness, as I said this; and +then, as if satisfied with his scrutiny, drew a small case from his +pocket, and, opening it, held it before me. +</p> +<p> +“Is this a portrait of the Count de Gabriac?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, and a striking likeness,” replied I, promptly. +</p> +<p> +“And you know his business in England, young man?” said the lady, turning +suddenly from the window to address me. +</p> +<p> +“I do not, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I will tell you,” said she. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Hester,” said the minister; “this is not necessary. You say that +this is like him,—like enough to lead to his recognition; that is +quite sufficient. Now, for yourself, Mr. Carew, for it is time I should +speak of you. You have rendered a very considerable service to this +Government, and I am ready to requite it. What are your own wishes in this +respect?” + </p> +<p> +I bethought me for a moment what reply to make; but the more I considered, +the more difficult became the reply. I might, by possibility, look too +highly; or, by an equally probable error, I might place myself on too +humble a level. He waited with courteous patience while this struggle +lasted; and then, as if seeing all the force of my embarrassment, he +hastened to relieve it. +</p> +<p> +“My question was perhaps ill-judged,” said he, kindly. “I should have +remembered that your knowledge of this country and its habits is +necessarily limited; and, consequently, that to choose a career in it must +be difficult. If you will permit me, I will myself make the choice for +you; meanwhile, and until the opportunity offer, I will employ you. You +speak foreign languages—at least, French and German—fluently. +Well, these are exactly the qualifications I desire to find at this +moment.” + </p> +<p> +He paused for a second or two, and then, as though abandoning some +half-formed intention, he named a day for me to wait on him at his +official residence, and dismissed me. +</p> +<p> +I have now come to a portion of my history of which I scruple to follow +rigorously the details. I cannot speak of myself without introducing +facts, and names, and events which became known to me, some in strict +confidence, some under solemn pledges of secrecy, and some from the +accident of my position. I have practised neither disguise nor mystery +with my reader, nor do I desire to do so now. No false shame, as regards +myself, would induce me to stoop to this. But as I glance over the notes +and journals before me, as I read, at random, snatches of the letters that +litter my table, I half regret that I have been led into revelations which +I must necessarily leave incomplete, or rashly involve myself in +disclosures which I have no right to publish to the world. +</p> +<p> +So far as I can venture, however, I will dare to go. And to resume where I +left off: From the time I saw the minister at Hounslow, I never beheld him +again. A certain Mr. Addington—one of his secretaries, I believe—received +me when I called, and was the means of intercourse between us. He was +uniformly polite in his manner, but still cold and distant with me; +treating me with courtesy, but strenuously declining all intimacy. For +some weeks I continued to wait in expectancy of some employment. I sat my +weary hours in the antechamber, and walked the lobbies with all the +anxiety of a suitor; but to all appearance I was utterly forgotten, and +the service I had rendered ignored. At last (it was about ten weeks after +my interview), as I was proceeding one morning to my accustomed haunt,—hope +had almost deserted me, and I persisted, more from habit than any prospect +of success,—a servant, in the undress livery of one of the +departments of state, met me in the street. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Carew, I believe?” said he, touching his hat. “I have been over half +the town this morning, sir, in search of you. You are wanted immediately, +sir, at the Foreign Office.” + </p> +<p> +How my heart jumped at the words! What a new spring of hope burst up +within me! I questioned and cross-questioned the man, in the foolish +expectation that he could tell me anything I desired to know; and in this +eager pursuit of some clew to the future, I found myself ascending the +stairs to Mr. Addington's office. No sooner had I appeared in the +antechamber than I was ushered into the presence of the secretary. There +were several persons—all strangers to me—present, who were +conversing so eagerly together that my entrance was for some minutes +unnoticed. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! here is Carew,” said Mr. Addington, turning hastily from the rest. +“He can identify him at once.” + </p> +<p> +A large elderly man, who I afterwards learned was a city magistrate, came +up at this, and, regarding me steadily for a few seconds, said,— +</p> +<p> +“You are well acquainted with the person of a certain Count de Gabriac?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And could swear to his identity, if required?” + </p> +<p> +“I could.” + </p> +<p> +How long I had known him, where, and under what circumstances, were also +asked of me; and, finally, what space of time had elapsed since I had last +seen him. +</p> +<p> +While this inquiry was going forward, I was not unmindful of the remarks +and observations around me, and, although apparently only occupied with my +own examination, was shrewdly attending to every chance word that fell at +either side of me. I collected quite enough from these to perceive that +the Count was at that moment in England, and in custody under some very +weighty charge; that the difficulty of identification was one of the +obstacles to his committal; and that this was believed to be surmountable +by my aid. Now, I never loved him, nor did he me; but yet I could not +forget how every care of my infancy and childhood was owing to her who +bore his name and shared his fortunes, and that for me to repay such +kindness with an injury would have been the very blackest ingratitude. +</p> +<p> +These thoughts passed rapidly through my mind, and as hastily I determined +to act upon them. I asked Mr. Addington to give me a couple of minutes' +audience in private, and he at once led me into an inner room. In scarcely +more words than I have used here to mention the fact, I told him in what +relationship I stood towards the Count, and how impossible it would be for +me to use any knowledge I might possess, to his detriment. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think that you have much option in the matter, sir,” was his cold +reply. “You can be compelled to give the evidence in question, so that +your very excellent scruples need in no wise be offended.” + </p> +<p> +“Compelled to speak, sir!” cried I, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” said he, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“And if I still refuse, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Then the law must deal with you. Have you anything more to say to me?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing,” said I, resolutely; for now my mind was determined, and I no +longer hesitated what course to pursue. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Addington now returned to the adjoining room, and I followed him. For +a few moments a whispered conversation was maintained between him and one +or two of the others, after which the magistrate, a certain Mr. Kirby, +said to me,— +</p> +<p> +“It appears, young man, that you have a reluctance, from conscientious +scruples, about giving your evidence in this case; but probably when I +tell you all that is required of you is a simple act of identification, +and, moreover, that the charge against the prisoner is the very weightiest +in the catalogue of crime, you will not any longer hesitate about your +obvious duty.” + </p> +<p> +He waited for a few seconds; but as I made no reply, he went on:— +</p> +<p> +“This Frenchman is accused of nothing less than the premeditation of a +murder; that he is, in fact, a hired assassin, paid for the crime of +murdering the exiled King of France. The evidence against him is +exceedingly strong; but, of course, the law will place within his reach +every possible means of defence. It is needless to say that no private or +personal feeling can exist in such a case, and I really do not see how you +can decline your aid to the cause of justice.” + </p> +<p> +I was still silent; my difficulties were increasing every moment; and as +they thickened around me, I needed time to decide how to proceed. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps my anxious appearance may have struck him, for he quickly said,— +</p> +<p> +“You will be specially warned against saying anything which might +criminate yourself, so that you need have no fears on that account.” + </p> +<p> +These words at once suggested my course to me; and whatever peril there +might lie in the way, I determined to take shelter under the pretence that +I was myself implicated in the conspiracy. I do not seek to excuse myself +for such a subterfuge; it was the last refuge I saw in the midst of my +difficulties, and I sought it in all the misery of half-desperation. +</p> +<p> +“I am not going to betray my confederates, sir,” was my dogged reply to +his appeal; and no other could all their argument and entreaties obtain +from me. +</p> +<p> +Some of those present could not believe me guilty, and warmly pressed me +to rescue myself, ere too late, from the odious imputation; others but saw +their previous impressions confirmed by what they called my confession; +and, between them, my poor head was racked and tortured by turns. The +scene ended at last by my being committed to Newgate, under suspicion, and +till further evidence could be adduced against me. +</p> +<p> +It was clear that either they greatly doubted of my guilt, or were +disposed to regard me as very slightly implicated, for I was not confined +in a cell or with the other prisoners, but accommodated with a room in the +jailer's own apartment, and received as a guest at his table. +</p> +<p> +I was not only treated with kindness and attention here, but with a degree +of candor that amazed me. The daily papers were freely placed before me, +and I read how a well-known member of the “French Convention,” popularly +called Couvre-Tête, but styling himself the Count de Gabriac, had been +brought up before the magistrates under a charge of a grave description, +which, for the ends of justice, had been investigated with closed doors. +Several others were in custody for their implication in the same charge, +it was added, and great hopes maintained that the guilty parties would be +made amenable to the law. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Holt, the jailer, spoke of all the passing events of the day freely in +my presence, and discussed the politics and position of France, and the +condition of parties, with all the ease of old intimacy between us. At +first, I half suspected this to be a mere artifice to lure me on to some +unguarded expression, or even some frank admission about myself; but I +gradually grew out of this impression, and saw him as he really was, a +straightforward, honorable man, endeavoring to lighten the gloom of a +dreary duty by acts of generosity and benevolence. Save that it was +captivity, I really had nothing to complain of in my life at this period. +Mr. Holt's family was numerous, and daily some two or three guests, +generally persons in some degree placed similarly to myself, were present +at his table; and with these my time passed smoothly and even swiftly +along. +</p> +<p> +The confinement, however, and a depression, of which I was not conscious +myself, at length made their impression on my health, and one morning Mr. +Holt remarked to me that I was scarcely looking so well as usual. +</p> +<p> +“It is this place, I have no doubt,” said he, “disagrees with you; but you +will be liberated in a day or two.” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” asked I, in some surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Have you not heard of Gabriac's death,” said he, “by suicide? He was to +have been brought up a second time for examination on Friday last, but he +was found dead in his cell, by poison, on Thursday evening.” + </p> +<p> +I scarcely heard him through the details which followed. I only could +catch a stray expression here and there; but I collected enough to learn +that he had written a full exculpation of all the others who had been +accused with himself, and specially with regard to me, of whom, also, it +was said, he forwarded some important papers to some one high in station. +</p> +<p> +This conversation occurred on a Saturday, and on the following Monday I +was liberated. +</p> +<p> +“I told you how it would be, Mr. Carew,” said Holt, as he read me out the +order, “and I hope sincerely there are now better and pleasanter days +before you. More prosperous ones they are likely to be, for I have a +Secretary of State's order to hand you one hundred pounds, which, I can +assure you, is a rare event with those who leave this.” + </p> +<p> +While I stood amazed at this intelligence, he went on: +</p> +<p> +“You are also requested to present yourself at Treverton House, Richmond, +to-morrow, at eleven o'clock, where a person desires to see and speak with +you. This comes somewhat in the shape of a command, and I hope you'll not +neglect it.” + </p> +<p> +I promised rigid obedience to the direction; and after a very grateful +recognition of all I owed my kind host, we parted, warm and cordial +friends, and as such I have never ceased to believe and regard him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. A GLIMPSE OF A NEW PATH +</h2> +<p> +Shall I own it that when I once more found myself at liberty, and with +means sufficient for the purpose, my first thought was to leave England +forever? So far as I was concerned, my country had shown herself anything +but a kind mother to me. It was an impulse of patriotism—a vague +desire to serve her—had brought me to her shores; and yet my +requital had been at first neglect, and at last imprisonment. Had I the +very slightest clew to where “my mother” and Raper were, I should +inevitably have set out to seek them; but of the track I knew nothing +whatever. I ransacked my few letters and papers, amongst which I found the +yet undelivered note to the Père Tonsurd; and this I determined to present +on that very day. The mere thought of meeting with one to whom I could +speak of my kind friends at Linange was a comfort in the midst of all my +desolation. +</p> +<p> +On arriving at his lodgings, however, I learned that he had gone to +Richmond; and as suddenly I bethought me of my own visit, the hour for +which had already gone by. Determining to repair my fault as well as I +could, I set out at once, and by three o'clock in the afternoon arrived at +a neat-looking house, standing in a small park that descended to the +river, and which, they told me, was Treverton. All I could ascertain of +the proprietor was that he was a French gentleman, an <i>émigré</i>, who +had lived there for two years, and was popularly known as the “General,” + his servants always giving him that title. I presented myself at his door +and sent in my card, with the request that I might be admitted to an +interview. +</p> +<p> +Before I could well believe that my message was delivered, the servant +returned to say that the General was expecting me since morning, and +desired to see me at once. I followed him through two or three rooms till +we reached a door covered with green cloth, and which concealed another +behind it, on opening which I found myself in a small chamber fitted up +like a library, where two gentlemen were seated at a table. One arose as I +entered, and in a polite, but somewhat haughty, tone said,— +</p> +<p> +“You are scarcely as punctual, sir, as I had hoped. Eleven o'clock was, I +think, the hour mentioned.” + </p> +<p> +As the appointment had not been of my seeking, I returned a very cold and +half-careless apology for my tardy appearance; but he stopped me quietly, +saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Apparently, then, you have not been informed as to the object of this +visit, nor by whom—” + </p> +<p> +A hasty gesture from the other interrupted his speech, and he stopped +short. +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” added he, “that you are unaware of the reason for which your +presence here has been requested.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not the slightest knowledge of it, sir,” was my reply. +</p> +<p> +“We wished to see and speak with you about many things in France, sir. You +have latterly been there? We are given to understand that you are a shrewd +observer, and we desire to learn your views of events, and of the people +who direct them. Our own informant induces us to believe that the tide of +popular favor is turning against the men of violent opinions, and that a +wiser and healthier tone pervades the nation. Does that agree with your +experience?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite so, sir; there cannot be a second opinion on the question.” + </p> +<p> +“And the old attachment to the monarchy is again displaying itself, far +and near, through the country?” added he, warmly. +</p> +<p> +“There I cannot go with you, sir,” was my answer; and although his look +was a fierce, almost an angry one, I continued: “The military spirit is +that which now sways the nation, and he who can best gratify the thirst of +glory will be the ruler. The kings of France have been but pageants of +late.” + </p> +<p> +“Be discreet, sir. Speak of what you know, and do not dare to insult—” + he paused, and then added, “an ancient follower of his sovereign.” + </p> +<p> +His age and his fervor repressed any resentment the speech might have +suggested, and I only said,— +</p> +<p> +“You asked me for opinions, sir, and I gave you mine frankly. You must not +be displeased if they do not always chime with your own.” + </p> +<p> +“Monsieur is perfectly right. His remark is a just one,” said the other, +who now spoke for the first time. +</p> +<p> +“I think he is mistaken, though,” replied the former. “I fancy that he is +led away by that vulgar cant which sees in the degradation of one solitary +individual the abasement of his whole class and order. By the way, you +knew that same Count de Gabriac?” + </p> +<p> +I bowed my assent. +</p> +<p> +“You may speak freely of him now he is past the consequences of either our +censure or our praise. You know, perhaps, that he completely exonerated +you from all share in his odious scheme, and at the same time communicated +certain particulars about yourself which suggested the desire to see you +here.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, with a faint but very pleasing smile. “We are +relatives, Monsieur Carew; and if all that I hear of you be true, I shall +not disown the relationship.” + </p> +<p> +“You knew my dear mother, then,” cried I, wild with the glad thought. +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me,” said he, slowly, “I had not that honor. I have, however, +frequently heard of her beauty and her fascination; but I never saw her.” + </p> +<p> +The General here whispered a few words, to which the other replied aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, then. My friend here,” resumed he, addressing me, “is of +opinion that your information and habits would well fit you for a task +which will be at once one of emolument and trust. The English minister has +already pointed you out as a suitable agent, and nothing but your own +concurrence is now needed.” + </p> +<p> +I begged for a further explanation; and he briefly told me that the +Royalist party, not alone throughout France, but in different parts of the +Continent, where they had sought refuge, were distracted and broken up for +want of due intercourse with each other and with the head of their party; +that false intelligence and fictitious stories had been circulated +industriously to sow discord and disunion amongst them; and that nothing +but an actual, direct, and personal agency could efficiently counteract +this peril and restore confidence and stability to the party. Many—some +of them men of the highest rank—had taken service in this way; some +had condescended to accept of the very humblest stations, and almost +menial duties, where they could obtain information of value; and all we're +ready to risk life and fortune for the Prince to whom they owed their +allegiance. +</p> +<p> +“But you forget, sir, that the loyalty which reflects such honor on them +would be wanting in my case: I am not a Frenchman.” + </p> +<p> +“But your mother was French,” said he who sat at the table, “and of the +best blood of France too. I have told you we are relations.” + </p> +<p> +A gesture of caution from the General stopped him here, and he was silent. +I saw there was embarrassment somewhere; but on what ground I knew not. +More to relieve the awkwardness of the moment than from any other +intention, I asked what my duties might be in this capacity. +</p> +<p> +“On that head you will receive the fullest instructions,” said the +General. “Once say that you are ready and at our disposal, and we shall +supply you with every means and every knowledge you can wish for.” + </p> +<p> +“May I have a little time to consider of it, sir?” asked I. “A night, for +instance?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, a night,—certainly; only remember that whether you accept or +refuse, this interview is a secret, and not to be divulged to any one.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall so consider it,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“You will, then, be here to-morrow at ten,—at ten, remember, and +this time punctually.” And with that he bowed me ceremoniously to the +door, the other waving his hand more familiarly, and wishing me a good-bye +as I passed out. +</p> +<p> +As I reached the outer gate of the lawn, a servant hastily overtook me. It +was a gentleman, he said, who wished to return to London, begged +permission to accompany me, if I would so far oblige him. +</p> +<p> +“With pleasure,” said I. “Will you favor me with his name?” + </p> +<p> +“The Abbé Tonsurd.” + </p> +<p> +“The Abbé Tonsurd!—the very man of all others I wished to meet!” And +while I was just rejoicing over my good fortune on the occurrence, he came +hurrying forward to offer me his thanks. +</p> +<p> +“Chance has favored me for once, Monsieur l'Abbé,” said I, “since I have +the good fortune to see one to whom I have a letter of introduction. I +called this very morning at your lodgings to deliver this.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, the rare good luck indeed,” cried he, breaking open the seal and +rapidly perusing the contents. “That dear Ursule,” said he, with something +very near to a smile, “always so good and so confiding, trusts even after +hope has departed. But tell me rather of themselves; for this is the theme +she has not spoken of.” + </p> +<p> +I rapidly related all that I knew of the family. I saw, however, that his +mind was wandering from the subject ere I had finished. +</p> +<p> +“And you,” said he, suddenly, “when do you set out on your mission?” + </p> +<p> +“I have not decided on accepting it.” + </p> +<p> +“Not decided! Can you hesitate, can you waver for a moment? Has not the +Count himself charged you with his commands?” + </p> +<p> +“And who may the Count be?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“His Majesty the rightful king of France. You cannot be well versed in +physiognomy, or you must have recognized the royal features of his race. +He is every inch a Bourbon.” + </p> +<p> +“He who sat at the table?” + </p> +<p> +“The same. The General Guerronville is reckoned handsome; but he is vulgar +and commonplace when seen beside his Majesty.” + </p> +<p> +The Abbé, to whom, doubtless, the letter imparted sufficient to give him +full confidence in me, spoke frankly and openly of the Royalist party, +their hopes and fears and future prospects. He even went so far as to say +that they were losing confidence in the English Government, of whose +designs for a peace they entertained deep suspicion. Turning hastily from +this, he urged me earnestly not to decline the duty proposed to me, and +said at last,— +</p> +<p> +“That if no other argument could weigh with me, personal advantage might, +and that success in my enterprise was my fortune made forever.” + </p> +<p> +While he was thus speaking, I was only dwelling upon what I could recall +of my late scene with the King of France, and wondering what he possibly +could mean by a relationship between us. The Abbé explained the difficulty +away by a careless reply as to the various small channels into which the +royal blood had been diverted, by obscure marriages and the like. +</p> +<p> +“At all events,” said he, “if his Majesty could remember the tie, it would +come badly from you to forget it. Accept this offer, therefore, and be +assured that you will serve yourself even more than his cause.” + </p> +<p> +It was not very difficult to persuade me; and even where his arguments +failed, my own necessities urged me to accept the offer. I therefore +agreed, and, charging the Abbé to convey my sentiments of gratitude for +the trust reposed in me, I stated my readiness to set out at once wherever +it was deemed necessary to employ me; and with this I lay down to rest, +more at ease in heart than I had felt for months long. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. SECRET SERVICE +</h2> +<p> +When I come to reflect over the space I have devoted in these memoirs of +my life to slight and unimportant circumstances,—the small incidents +of a purely personal character,—I feel that I owe my readers an +apology for passing rapidly over events of real moment. My excuse, +however, is, the events were such as to render my share in them most +humble and insignificant. My figure was never a foreground one; and in the +great drama that Europe then played, my part was obscure indeed. It is +true, I was conversant with stirring themes. I had on many occasions +opportunities of meeting with the mighty intelligences that gave the world +its destiny for the time; but in no history will there ever be a record of +the humble name of Paul Gervois. Such I now found myself called; and the +passport delivered to me called me, in addition, “Agent secret.” It is +true, I had another, which represented me as travelling for a Dutch +commercial house; but the former was the document which, in my interviews +with prefects and men in authority, I made use of, and which at once +obtained for me protection and respect. +</p> +<p> +It is well known that the rightful king of France in his exile made a +personal appeal by letters to Bonaparte to induce him to devote his genius +and influence to the cause of the monarchy. The example of Monk was cited, +and the boundless gratitude of royalty pledged on the issue. The fact is +history. Of this memorable note I was the bearer. Looking back at the +wondrous destiny of that great man, such an overture may easily appear +vain and absurd to a degree; but it was by no means so destitute of all +chance of success at the time in which it was made. Of this I feel +assured, and for the following reason: There was a frequent interchange of +letters between the persons attached to the exiled family and leading +members of the then French Government. This correspondence was carried on +by secret agents, who were suffered to pass freely from capital to +capital, and more than once intrusted with even verbal communications. +These agents were rigidly instructed to limit themselves strictly to the +duty assigned to them, and neither to use their opportunities for personal +objects, nor for the acquirement of information on subjects foreign to +their mission. They were narrowly watched, and I believe myself that a +secret espionage was maintained expressly to observe them. The sudden +disappearance of more than one amongst them fully warrants the suspicion +that indiscretion had paid its greatest and last penalty. +</p> +<p> +By the means of these persons, then, a close and compact correspondence +was maintained,—a tone of familiarity, and even frankness, was, I am +assured, paraded in it; while, in reality, the object of each side was +purely treacherous. At one time it was a proposition to some high and +leading individual to desert his party and espouse that of its opponents; +at another, it was an artful description of the decline of revolutionary +doctrines, made purposely to draw from the Royalists some confession of +their own future intentions; while, more important than all, there came a +letter in Bonaparte's own hand, offering to Louis a sum of several +millions of francs, in return for a formal renunciation of all right to +that throne from which his destiny seemed sufficiently to exclude him. +What a curious page of history will it fill when this secret +correspondence shall one day see the light! I know, of my own knowledge, +that a great part of it is still in existence, though in the hands of +those who have solid reasons for not revealing it. +</p> +<p> +At the time when I first joined this secret service, the interchange of +letters was more than ordinarily great. The momentous change which had +taken place in France by the ascendancy of Bonaparte had imparted new +hopes to the Royalist party; and they were profuse in their expressions of +admiration for the man who of all the world was fated to be the deadliest +enemy of their race. Their gratitude was, indeed, boundless,—at +least, it transcended the usual limits of the virtue, since it went so far +as to betray the cause of the very nation to which they were at the very +same moment beholden for a refuge and an asylum! Secret information of the +views of the English cabinet; the opinions of statesmen about the policy +of the war; the resources, the plans, even the discontents, of the country +were all commented on and detailed; while carefully drawn-up statistics +were forwarded, setting forth the ships in commission or in readiness for +sea, with every circumstance that could render the information valuable. +</p> +<p> +I know not if the English Government looked with contempt on these +intrigues, or whether they themselves did not acquire information more +valuable than that they connived at; for assuredly every secret agent was +well known to them, and more than one actually in their pay. Of myself, I +can boldly say such was not the case. I traversed the Continent, from +Hamburg to Naples; I passed freely across Europe in every direction; and +on my return to England I met neither molestation nor hindrance, nor did I +attract any more attention than an ordinary traveller. If I owed this +immunity to a settled plan I had set down for my guidance, it is equally +true that it impeded my promotion, and left me in the rank of those who +were less secret agents than mere messengers. My plan was to appear +totally ignorant of the countries through which I journeyed, neither +remarking the events, nor being able to afford any tidings about them. I +was not ignorant of the injury this course of action inflicted on my +prospects. I saw myself passed over for others of less capacity; I noticed +the class with which I was associated as belonging to the humblest members +of the walk; and I even overheard myself quoted as unfit for this, and +unequal to that. Shall I own at once that the career was distasteful to me +in the highest degree? Conceal it how we could, wear what appellation we +might, we were only spies; and any estimation we were held in simply +depended on whatever abilities we could display in this odious capacity. +It was, then, in a sort of compromise with my pride that I stooped to the +lowest grade, rather than win my advancement by the low arts of the +eavesdropper. +</p> +<p> +If I seemed utterly incapable of those efforts which depended on tact and +worldly skill, my employers freely acknowledged that, as a messenger, I +had no equal. No difficulties could arrest my progress; the most arduous +journeys I surmounted with ease; the least-frequented roads were all +familiar to me. Three, four, and even five days consecutively have I +passed in the saddle; and whether over the rude sierras of Spain, the wild +paths of the Apennines, or the hot sands of the desert, no fatigue ever +compelled me to halt. The Royalist partisans were scattered over the whole +globe. Some of them had taken service in the German armies; some were in +the Neapolitan service; some had abjured their religion, and were high in +command over the Sultan's troops; and many had emigrated to America, where +they settled. Wherever they were, whatever cloth they wore, or the flag +they were ranged under, they had but one cause and one hope,—the +restoration of the Bourbons; and for this were they ever ready to abandon +any eminence they might have gained, or any fame or fortune they had +acquired, to rally at a moment beneath the banner of him they regarded as +their true and rightful sovereign. I knew them well, for I saw them near. +Their littleness, their jealousies, their absurd vanity and egregious +pretensions, were all well known to me; but many a time have I felt a sort +of contemptuous scorn of them repelled by reflecting over the heroic and +chivalrous loyalty which bound them to a cause so all but hopeless. If it +be asked why I remained in a career so distasteful to me, and served a +cause to which no sympathy bound me, my answer is, that I followed it with +an object which had engrossed every ambition and every wish of my heart; +and this was to find out “my mother” and Raper. I knew that the secrets of +my birth were known to them, and that with them alone, of all the world, +lay the clew to my family and kindred. While the Count lived, my mother—I +cannot call her by any other name—was fearful of revealing +circumstances to me, of which he would not suffer any mention in his +presence. This barrier was now removed. Besides, I had grown up to +manhood, and had a better pretension to ask for the satisfaction of my +curiosity. +</p> +<p> +This was, then, the stimulus that supported me in many a long and weary +journey; this the hope that sustained me through every reverse of fortune, +and through what is still harder to bear,—the solitude of my lonely, +friendless lot. By degrees, however, it began to fail within me; frequent +disappointment at last so chilled my ardor that I almost determined to +abandon the pursuit forever, and with it a career which I detested. The +slightest accident that foreshadowed a prospect of success was still +enough to make me change my resolve; and thus I lived on, vacillating now +to this side, now to that, and enduring the protracted tortures of +expectation. +</p> +<p> +It was in one of these moments, when despair was in the ascendant, that I +received an order to set out for Reichenau and obtain certain papers which +had been left there in the keeping of Monsieur Jost, the property of a +certain person whose initial was the letter C. I was given to understand +that the documents were of great importance, and the mission one to be +executed with promptitude. I had almost decided on abandoning this +pursuit. The very note in which I should communicate my resignation was +begun on the table, when the Abbé, who generally was the bearer of my +instructions, came to convey this order. He was in a mood of unusual +gayety and frankness; and after rallying me on my depression, and +jestingly pointing out the great rewards which one day or other would be +bestowed upon me, he told me that the tidings from France were of the very +best kind, that the insolent airs of Bonaparte were detaching from him +many of his stanchest adherents, that Pichegru openly, and Bernadotte +secretly, had abandoned him; Davoust had ceased to visit at his house; +while Lasalle and others of less note were heard to declare that if they +were to have a master, at least it should be one who was born to the +station that conferred command. +</p> +<p> +“We knew,” continued he, joyously, “that we had only to leave this man +alone, and he would be his own executioner; and the event has only come a +little earlier than we looked for. These papers for which you are now +despatched contain a secret correspondence between a great personage and +some of the most distinguished generals of the Republic.” + </p> +<p> +He said much more on this theme,—indeed, he sat late, and talked of +nothing else; but I paid little attention to the subject. I had over and +over again heard the same observation; and at least a dozen eventful +crises had occurred when the Republic was declared in its last struggle, +and the cause of the king triumphant. +</p> +<p> +“I perceive,” said he, at last, “you are less sanguine than I am. Is it +not so?” + </p> +<p> +“You mistake me, Monsieur l'Abbé,” said I; “my depression has a selfish +origin. I have been long weary of this career of mine, and the note which +you see there was the beginning of a formal renunciation of it.” + </p> +<p> +“It is impossible you could be so insane,” cried he. “You are not one of +that vulgar herd that can be scared from a noble duty by a mere name. It +is not the word 'spy' that could wound you, enlisted as you are in the +noblest cause that ever engaged heroism, and in which the first men of +France are your associates.” + </p> +<p> +“I am no Frenchman, Abbé,” said I; “remember that.” + </p> +<p> +“But you are a good Catholic,” said he, promptly, “and, Ursule tells me, +well versed in every duty of the faith.” + </p> +<p> +I by no means fancied the turn our discussion was likely to take. More +than once before had the Abbé made allusion to the principles which he +hoped might animate me, and which at some future time might obtain for me +an admission into his own order; so I hastily changed the topic, by +declaring that this journey I should certainly undertake, whatever resolve +I might come to for the future. +</p> +<p> +He had far too much tact to persevere on an unpleasant theme, and after +some further allusion to the prospects before me he wished me good-night, +and left me. I took my departure the next morning for Hamburg; since +latterly some impediments had been thrown in our way about landing in +France, and the process of verifying our passports as “agents secrets” + occupied much time, and caused delay. On the journey thither I made +acquaintance with a young Pole, who, exchanging with me the private +signal, showed that he was a “brother of the craft.” He was a fine, +dashing, good-looking fellow, with a certain air of pretension and swagger +about him that savored more of the adventurer than of the character he +wished to assume. He told me that he was the son of the Empress Catherine, +and that his father had been a soldier of the Imperial Guard. The story +might or might not have been true, but at all events he seemed to believe +and was exceedingly vain of it. +</p> +<p> +With all the secret plotting and political intrigue of the day he appeared +quite conversant, and found it difficult to believe in my ignorance or +apathy. +</p> +<p> +“I conceive,” said he, at last, “that you are one of those who feel +ashamed of your position, and dislike the word 'spy.' Be it so; it is not +a flattering name. But have we not within ourselves the power to extort by +force the degree of consideration we would be held in? Any act of +insubordination from one or two, or even three of us, would be sure to +meet its penalty. That price has been paid before.” [Here he made a +significant sign, by rapidly drawing his hand across his throat.] “But if +we combined, met at some appointed spot, discussed our rights, and agreed +upon the means of asserting them, do you believe that there exists the +king or kaiser who could refuse the demand? It is not enough for me that I +can pass a frontier by a secret signal, enter a minister's cabinet while +others wait in the antechamber, or even ascend the back stairs of a +palace. I want a place and a recognition in society; I want that standing +in the world to which my habits and manners entitle me, and for which now +my hand is ever on the hilt of a rapier or the trigger of a pistol to +secure. It is an outrage on us that this has been delayed so long; but if +it be deferred a little longer, the remedy will have passed from our +hands. Already some of the governments of the Continent begin to suspect +that the system works badly.” + </p> +<p> +“My astonishment is only that it ever could have been permitted,” broke I +in; “for it is plain that to know the secrets of others, each country has +had to sacrifice its own.” + </p> +<p> +He gave a smile of supreme contempt, and replied,— +</p> +<p> +“You are but an apprentice of the trade, after all, Monsieur Gervois, +though I have often heard you called a man of tact and shrewdness. Do you +not know that we are not the agents of governments or of cabinets, but of +those who rule cabinets, dread them, and betray them? The half-dozen +crowned heads who rule Europe form a little fraternity apart from all the +world. The interests, the passions, the jealousies, and the ambition of +the several nations may involve them in wars, compel them to stand in +hostility against each other and be what is called great enemies; but +while their cannon are thundering and their cavalry charging, while +squadrons are crashing and squares are breaking, they for whose sake the +blood is shed and life poured forth are calmly considering whether they +should gain most by victory or defeat, and how far the great cause—the +subjugation of the niasses to the will of one—can be benefited or +retarded by any policy they would pursue.” + </p> +<p> +I need not follow him in his reasonings,—indeed, they were more +ingenious and astute than I should be able to convey by repetition. His +theory was, that the rulers of states maintained a secret understanding +with each other; that however the casualties of fortune should fall +heavily on their countries, they themselves should be exempted from such +consequences; and that the people might fall, but dynasties should be +spared. As long as the Bourbons sat on the throne of France, the compact +was a safe and a sure one. The Revolution, however, has broken up the +sacred league, and none can tell now what people are next ripe for revolt. +As Bonaparte for the moment represents power in France, every effort has +been made by the sovereign to draw him into this alliance,—not, of +course, to found a dynasty, but to serve the cause of the rightful one. I +abstain from entering more fully into his views, or citing the mass of +proofs by which he endeavored to sustain them. If not convinced by his +arguments, I am free to own that they made a deep impression upon me; +rendered more so, perhaps, from the number of circumstances I could myself +call to mind which in my own secret service tended to corroborate them. +</p> +<p> +I asked him whither he was then going, and he told me to Moscow. +</p> +<p> +“Russia and England meditate a war,” said he, “the two cabinets are +embroiled; and I am hastening with an autograph letter from one great +personage to another to say with what regret he countersigns a policy so +distasteful, and how sincerely he preserves the tie of personal +friendship. Believe me,” said he, laughing, “we are the professed traitors +of the world; but we are simple-hearted and honest, if weighed in the +scale with those who employ us!” + </p> +<p> +If I was amused by much of what he said, I was also piqued at the tone of +superiority he assumed towards me, as he very frankly intimated that by +the low estimation in which I held my walk in life I had contrived to make +it still meaner and lower. +</p> +<p> +“It rests with ourselves,” said he, “to be the diplomatists of Europe. +Your men who pore over treaties and maps and protocols may plan and scheme +to their hearts' content; but we can act. If I choose to change the +destination of this letter, and deliver it at Berlin or Vienna; or if I go +forward now to Moscow, and convey the answer to Paris, instead of London, +do you not suppose that the world would feel it, and to its very centre, +too?” + </p> +<p> +He paused for a minute or two, and then added,— +</p> +<p> +“You are wondering all this while within yourself why one who knows so +well the price of treason has not earned it; and shall I tell you? I am +not always aware of the value of my tidings. I may be charged with a +secret treaty. It may be a piece of court gossip, the mishap of an +archduchess, or the portrait of a court favorite. This very letter—whose +contents I believe I know—I am perhaps deceived in. Who can tell, +till it be opened, if my treachery be worth a farthing?” + </p> +<p> +If there was anything wanting to the measure of abhorrence with which I +regarded my career, it was amply supplied by such doctrines as these; but +probably much of the disgust they were calculated to inspire was lost in +the amusement the narrator afforded me. Everything about him bespoke +levity rather than systematic rascality; and yet he was one who appeared +to have thought profoundly on men and the world. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll wager a crown,” said he, as we jumped into the boat that was to row +us on shore, “that you are fully bent on hiding yourself and your shame in +the 'Golden Plover,' or the 'Pilot's Rest,' or some such obscure hotel; +but this you shall not for the present. You are my guest while we stay at +Hamburg. Unfortunately, the time must needs be brief to both of us. +To-morrow we shall be on the road; but to-day is our own.” + </p> +<p> +I did not consent without reluctance; but he would not take a refusal, and +so I yielded; and away we went together to the “Schleswicker Hof,” a +magnificent hotel in the finest quarter of the town. +</p> +<p> +“No need to show your passport to any one,” said he to me, in a whisper, +as we entered the house; “I 'll arrange all.” + </p> +<p> +By the time I had refreshed myself with a bath and dressed, the waiter +came to say that Count Ysaffich was waiting dinner for me; and though I +gladly would have asked a few particulars of one with whose name and +person he seemed evidently acquainted, there was no time allowed me, as he +led the way to a splendid apartment, where the table was already spread. +</p> +<p> +It was not without an effort that I recognized my friend the Count in his +change of costume; for, though good-looking and even handsome before, he +might now strike the beholder with admiration. He wore a blue military +pelisse, richly braided with gold, and fastened with large Brandenburg +buttons. It was sufficiently open in front to display a vest of scarlet +cloth, all slashed with gold. His trousers were black, with a broad gold +band along the sides, while a richly embossed belt of Russia leather +supported a sabre of most costly and gorgeous make. He wore several +handsome decorations, and around the throat, by a broad blue ribbon, a +splendid diamond cross, with the letters “P. C.” in the centre. +</p> +<p> +“I have not dressed for dinner,” said he, as I entered, “since we must +take a stroll under the linden-trees when it grows cool, and have our +cigar there. After that, we 'll look in at the opera; and if not very +attractive, I 'll present you at one or two houses where they receive of +an evening, and where, when you come again, you will be always welcome.” + </p> +<p> +Since I had gone so far, I resolved to abide by all his arrangements, and +suffer him to dispose of my time just as he pleased. +</p> +<p> +Our dinner was excellent. The Count had bestowed pains in ordering it, and +all was of that perfection in cookery for which Hamburg was, and is, so +justly famed. Nor was the wine inferior to the rest of the entertainment. +Of this the Count appeared to be a connoisseur, and pressed me to taste a +dozen different kinds, the very names of which were unknown to me. His +conversation, too, was so amusing, so full of strange incidents and +adventures, such curious anecdotes, such shrewd remarks, that I was by no +means impatient to rise from table. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said he, at last, “we are too late for the opera. Hanserlist's +reception is also nearly over by this time. Shall we just drop in, then, +at Madame von Geysiger's? It is the latest house here, and every one goes +there to finish the evening.” + </p> +<p> +“They are all strangers to me,” I replied, “and I am entirely under your +orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Then Madame von Geysiger's be it,” said he, rising. +</p> +<p> +As we went along, he told me that the lady to whose house we were going +had been, some thirty-five or forty years ago, the great prima donna of +Europe. She was also the most celebrated beauty of her time; and by these +combined attractions had so captivated a rich merchant of Hamburg that he +married her, bequeathing to her on his death-bed the largest fortune of +that wealthy city. +</p> +<p> +“They count it by millions and tens of millions,” said he; “but what +matter to us?—at least to me?—for I have been refused by her +some half-dozen times; and indeed now am under the heaviest recognizance +never to repeat my proposal. If you, however, should like to adventure—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, excuse me,” said I, laughing. “Not even all the marcobrunner and +champagne I have been drinking could give hardihood for such a piece of +impudence.” + </p> +<p> +“Why not?” cried he. “You are young, good-looking, and of a fashionable +exterior. You are a stranger, besides,—and that is a great point; +for she is well weary of Hamburg and Hamburgers.” + </p> +<p> +I stopped him at once by saying that I was by far too conscious of the +indignity attached to my career to aspire to the eminence he spoke of. +</p> +<p> +“And too proud to marry an old woman for her money! Can't you add that?” + said he, laughing. “Well, there we differ. I am neither ashamed of the +'espionage,' nor should I be averse to the marriage. To say truth, my dear +Gervois, when I have dined in a splendid salon hung round with the best +pieces of Cuyp, Wouvermans, and Jansens; when I have seen the dessert set +forth in a golden service, of which the great Schnyders over the fireplace +was but a faint copy; when I have supped my Mocha out of a Sèvres cup +worth more than its full of gold louis, and rested myself on the fairest +tapestries of France, with every sense entranced by luxury,—I do +find it excessively hard to throw my mantle over my shoulders, and trudge +home through the rain and mud to resume the sorry existence that for an +hour I had abandoned.” + </p> +<p> +“There lies the whole question,” said I; “since, for my part, I could not +throw off the identity, even under such captivations as you speak of.” + </p> +<p> +He looked at me very fixedly as I said this,—so fixedly, indeed, +that he seemed to feel some apology necessary for it. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me,” cried he; “but I could not help staring at the prodigy of a +man content to be himself.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not said that,” replied I. “I only said I was incapable of feeling +myself to be any other.” + </p> +<p> +“You plume yourself upon your birth then, doubtless,” added he; “and so +should I, if I knew how to get rid of my father. What were your people: +you said they were not French?” + </p> +<p> +Had the question been put to me half an hour before, as we sat over our +wine, I have little doubt that, in the expansiveness of such a situation, +I should have told him all that I knew or suspected of my family. The +season of confidence, however, had passed. We were walking along a crowded +thoroughfare; our talk was desultory, as the objects about were various; +and so I coined some history of my family for the occasion, ascribing my +birth to a very humble source, and my rank as one of the meanest. +</p> +<p> +“Your father was, however, English,” said he; “so much you know?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, “that point there is no doubt about.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he alive?” + </p> +<p> +“No, he is dead a great many years back.” + </p> +<p> +“How did he die, or where? Excuse these questions, which I have only to +say are not out of idle importunity.” + </p> +<p> +I own that I did not feel easy under this cross-examination. It might mean +more than I liked to avow even to myself. At all events, I resolved, +whatever his object, to evade it; and at once gave him some absurd +narrative of my father having served in the war of the Low Countries, +where he married a Frenchwoman or a Fleming; that he died, of some fever +of the country, at a small fishing town on the Dutch coast, leaving me an +orphan, since my mother survived him but a few months. +</p> +<p> +“All this is excellent,” cried he, enthusiastically. “It could not be +better by any possibility. Forgive me, Gervois, till I can explain my +meaning to you more fully; but what you have just told me has filled my +heart with delight. You 'll see how Madame von Geysiger will receive you +when she hears this.” + </p> +<p> +I started back with astonishment. Could it possibly be the case that my +stupid story might chime in with the facts of some real history; and +should I thus be involved in the web of some tangled incidents in which I +had rightfully no share? There was shame and falsehood both in such a +situation, and I shrank from it with disgust. +</p> +<p> +“I will not go to this house, Count,” said I, resolutely. “I foresee that +somehow or other an interest would attach to me to which I can lay no +claim. Neither Madame von Geysiger, nor any belonging to her, could have +known my parents. Their walk in life was of the very humblest.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not said she did, my dear friend,” said he, soothingly, “nor is it +exactly generous to be so suspectful of one whose only feeling towards you +is that of kindness and good will. Once for all, if you desire it, I will +allude no further to this subject here or elsewhere.” + </p> +<p> +“On that condition I will accompany you,” said I. +</p> +<p> +He pressed my hand as if in recognition of the compact, and we entered the +house. +</p> +<p> +There were not above half-a-dozen carriages at the door; but still I could +perceive, as we passed through the salons, that a very numerous company +was assembled. It was exactly what the Count said,—a rendezvous +where all came to wind up the evening; and here were some in all the blaze +of diamonds, and in the splendor of full dress; others less magnificently +attired, and some again in their walking costume. The suite of rooms then +open were not the state ones in use for great occasions, but a ground +floor, opening by several doors upon a handsome pleasure ground, that +blending of copse and “bosquet,” of terrace and shady alley, which +foreigners call an English garden. +</p> +<p> +Here and there through this, many of the Company lounged and loitered, +enjoying the cool of a summer night in preference to the heated and +crowded rooms within. We were not long in search of our hostess when she +came towards us,—a large, full, but still handsome person, +magnificently attired, and with somewhat of what I, at least, fancied the +assured air and bearing of the stage. +</p> +<p> +To the Count she was most cordial; while to me her manner was courteous in +the extreme. She regretted that we had not come earlier, and mentioned the +names of some one or two distinguished visitors who had just left. After +some little conversation on commonplace matters, I joined a party at +ombre, a game of which I was fond, and where, fortunately, I found the +players satisfied to contend for stakes humble enough for my means. The +Count had, meanwhile, given his arm to the hostess, and was making a tour +of the company. He appeared to have acquaintance with every one. Indeed, +with most it was an easy intimacy; and all saluted him as one they were +glad to welcome. I watched him with considerable curiosity, for I own the +man was a puzzle to me. At times I half persuaded myself that he was +something very much above the condition he assumed; and at other moments I +suspected him to be below even that. If he be an impostor, thought I, +assuredly there are more dupes than me, and in this very room too. My game +soon absorbed my attention, and I ceased to think of or look after him. I +know not how long this may have lasted; but I remember, when lifting my +head from my cards, I saw straight in front of me Madame von Geysiger +steadily contemplating me through her glass, and standing, to do so, in an +attitude that implied profound scrutiny. The moment she caught my eye she +dropped her “lorgnette,” and hurried away, in what was clear to see was an +air of confusion. +</p> +<p> +It immediately struck me that the Count had broken faith with me, and, +whatever his secret scheme, had revealed it to the lady; and, indignant at +the treachery, I would have risen at once from the table if I could; as it +was, I took the very first opportunity that presented itself, and, by +feigning the fatigue of a long journey, I made my excuses and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +My next care was to leave the house without attracting any notice; and so +I mingled with the crowd, and held on my way towards the room by which we +had entered. The dense throng interrupted my progress; and in order to +make my escape more rapidly, I passed out into the garden, intending to +enter the house again by some door lower down. To do so more secretly, I +moved into one of the dark alleys, which, after following some time, +brought me out upon a little open space, with a small marble fountain +spouting its tiny jet in the midst of a clear and starlit pond. Though so +near to the house, the spot was still and noiseless, for the thick copse +on every side effectually excluded sound. The calming influence of the +silence and the delicious freshness of the night air induced me to linger +here for a while; and even longer, too, I should have stayed, had not the +sound of voices warned me that some persons were approaching. That they +might pass without observing me, I stepped hastily into the bosquet, and +concealed myself in the thick and leafy cover. My misery and terror may be +imagined when I heard my own name uttered, and then perceived that it was +the Count and Madame von Geysiger, who now stood within a few feet of +where I was, in deep and secret conference. +</p> +<p> +Not all my training in my odious mode of life had reconciled me to the +part of an eavesdropper. Yet what could I do? Should I discover myself, no +explanation could possibly account for my situation, nor would any +assurances on my part have satisfied them of my ignorance. I will not +presume to say that if these were my first thoughts, my second, with some +tinge of sophistry, suggested that if treachery were intended me, it would +be unpardonable in me to neglect the means of defeating it. There is +assuredly a stronger impulse in curiosity, united with fear, than exists +in most other incentives; for, reason how I would, it was impossible for +me to resist the temptation thus presented to me. +</p> +<p> +“You mistake him, Anatole,” said the lady; “believe me, you mistake him. I +have watched his countenance, and read it carefully as he sat at cards, +and my interpretation of him is, that he would never consent.” + </p> +<p> +“The greater fool he, then,” replied the other. “Take my word for it, his +splendid abilities will not stand him in such stead as his mongrel +parentage and mongrel tongue. But I do not, cannot, agree with you. It is +just possible that so long as the world goes smoothly with him, and no +immediate pressure of any kind exists, that he might refuse. But why need +that continue? If fortune will deal him bad cards, don't you think we +might contrive to shuffle the pack ourselves?” + </p> +<p> +She muttered something I could not hear, and he quickly rejoined,— +</p> +<p> +“Even for that I am not unprepared; no, no. Be assured of one thing, he +may decline, but will not defy us.” + </p> +<p> +“I know where your confidence is, Count,” said she; “but that rapier of +yours has got you into more trouble than it has ever worked you good.” + </p> +<p> +“Parbleu, I have no reason to be ungrateful to it!” replied he, laughing; +“and, perhaps, with all its rust, it may do some service yet.” + </p> +<p> +“At all events,” said she, “bethink you well of the consequences before +you admit him to any confidence. Remember that when once he is intrusted +with our plan, he is the master of our secret, and we are without a +remedy.—Pshaw!” said she, scornfully, as if in reply to some gesture +on his part; “that remedy may be applied once too often.” + </p> +<p> +My heart beat fast and full as I heard these words, whose significance +there could not be a doubt of, as the same curiosity to discover some clew +to the scheme by which I was to be snared was superior to all my fears, +and I half resolved, at whatever risk it might cost, to suffer myself to +be drawn into the intrigue. They now moved on, and though I could hear +their voices stop in low discourse, I could not detect the words they +uttered. It was evident that some proposition was to be made to me, the +rejection of which on my part might involve me in the greatest peril. With +what straining ingenuity did I endeavor to divine what this might be! In +all likelihood, it referred to some political intrigue, for which my +character as a “secret agent” might seem to adapt me. Yet some of the +expressions they had let drop by no means favored this interpretation. +What could my “mongrel nationality,” as the Count styled it, avail me in +such a conjuncture? +</p> +<p> +As these thoughts were chasing each other through my mind, I was threading +my way through the salons, and at length, to my sincere satisfaction, +found myself in the open street. By the time I reached the hotel I had +made up my mind to start at once on my mission, without waiting for the +Count's arrival. I hastily scratched a few lines of commonplace +acknowledgment for his attentions to me, and half-significantly adding +that I hoped to express them personally when we met again, wished him a +“good journey,” and then set out on my own. +</p> +<p> +During the rest of that night, and, indeed, for a great part of the +following day, I did not feel satisfied with myself for what I had done. +It was, indeed, an inglorious mode of escaping from a difficulty, and +argued more of fear than resolution. As time wore on, however, I reasoned +myself into the notion that against secret treachery, courage and firmness +avail little, and if a well-planned scheme was about to environ me, I had +done the wisest thing in the emergency. +</p> +<p> +I suppose the experience of others will bear me out in saying that the +actual positive ills of life are more easily endured than the vague and +shadowy dangers which seem to hover over the future, and darken the road +before us. The calamities that lie in ambush for us are ever present to +our thoughts. The hour of our misfortune may be to-day, to-morrow, or the +day after. Every chance incident of untoward aspect may herald the bad +tidings, and we live in unceasing expectancy of evil. Do what I would, a +dreary and despondent gloom now settled on me; I felt as if I were +predestined to some grievous misfortune, against which I was utterly +powerless, and the hour of which I could neither hasten nor retard. How +bitterly I reproached myself for making an acquaintance with the Count! +For years I had lived a life of solitary seclusion, avoiding even the +commonest forms of acquaintanceship. The shame my calling inspired me with +made me reluctant to know those who, perhaps, when they discovered me to +be the spy, would have regarded me with aversion! Not that in reality the +odious epithet could, with any fairness, be applied to me. My “secret +agency” had not risen beyond the mere functions of a messenger; and though +at times I was intrusted with verbal communications, they were delivered +in confidence of my trustworthiness, and not imparted in any reliance on +my skill to improve them; but I cannot stoop to apologize for a condition +to which bitter necessity reduced me, and which I clung to as offering the +last remnant of hope to find out those who, of all the world, were the +only ones who bore me affection. +</p> +<p> +I have already said that this hope was now fast dying out; repeated +disappointment had all but extinguished it; and it was only when the name +“Reichenau” had again stirred its almost cold embers that I determined on +this last chance ere I abandoned my career forever. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. “DISCOVERIES” + </h2> +<p> +Only ye who have felt what it is after long years of absence, after +buffeting with the wild waves of life, and learning by heart that bitter +lesson they call the world, to come back to what was once a home, can form +some notion of the mingled emotions of joy and sorrow with which I drew +near Reichenau. +</p> +<p> +As the road grew gradually more steep, and the mountain gorge became +narrower and wilder, I found myself at each moment in sight of some +well-remembered object. Now it was a well beside which I had often rested; +now a cross or a shrine beneath which I had knelt. Here was a rocky +eminence I had climbed, to gain a wider view of the winding valley before +me; here was a giant oak under which I had sheltered from a storm. Every +turn of the way brought up some scene, some incident, or some train of +long-forgotten thought of that time when, as a boy, I wandered all alone, +weaving fancies of the world, and making myself the hero of a hundred +stories. Sad and sorrowful as it is to reckon scores with our hopes and +mark how little life has borne out the promises of our youth, yet I cannot +help thinking that our grief is nobly recompensed by the very memory of +that time, that glorious time, when, shadowed by no scepticism, nor +darkened by any distrust, we were happy and hopeful and confiding. It is +not alone that we recur to those memories with pleasure, but we are +actually better for the doing so. They tell of a time when our hearts were +yet uncorrupted, our ambitions were noble, and our aspirations generous. +They remind us of a period when the episodes of life rarely outlived the +day, and our griefs never endured through half the night. And so comes it +that when, in after years, we are tired and careworn by the world, it is +not to our experience of mankind we look for support and comfort, but to +the time when, in happy innocence, we wandered all alone, peopling space +with images of kindness and goodness, and making for ourselves an ideal +world, so much better than the real one! +</p> +<p> +It was sunset. The “Angelus” was ringing as I entered Reichenau, and the +postilion—a mountaineer—reverently descended from the saddle, +and knelt upon the roadside in silent prayer. How long was it since I had +witnessed even so much of devotion! The world in which I had mixed had its +occupations of intrigue and plot, its schemes of greatness and wealth and +power, but no space for thoughts like those of this poor peasant. Alas! +and was I not myself corrupted by their contact? That penitent attitude—that +prayerful look—those clasped hands—were now all objects of +astonishment to me, when once I had deemed them the fit accompaniment of +the hour. Too truly was I changed from what I had been! +</p> +<p> +Night was falling fast as we reached the bridge, and a light twinkled in +the little window which had once been the Herr Robert's. A little further +on, I saw the chateau and the terrace; then came the tower of the old +church; and as we turned into the Platz, I beheld the arched gateway, and +the small diamond-paned window of the little inn. How sadly did they all +remind me of my solitary existence! for here, in the midst of every object +of my childish memory, was I, friendless and alone. A little crowd +gathered around the carriage as I got out. The staring rustics little +thought that he who then descended had been, perhaps, their playfellow and +companion. The postilion had styled me an “Excellency,” and the landlord +received me with all his deference. +</p> +<p> +I pretended that I should stay a day or two, in expectation of a friend's +arrival, and ordered the best rooms in the house; and, as was not unusual +in those days, begged the favor of my host's company at supper. The +invitation was gladly accepted, and Herr Kirschler entertained me till +past midnight with an account of Reichenau and its inhabitants. I affected +to know the village as a mere traveller who had passed through it some +years back, on my way to Italy; and the host, with true innkeeper memory, +remembered me perfectly. I was fatter, or thinner, or browner, or somewhat +paler than before, but in other respects little changed. So, at least, he +told me, and I accepted the description. I reminded him that when I last +came through, the château had been a school: was it so still? +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and Monsieur Jost was still the master, although now very old and +infirm, and, of course, little able to direct it. In fact, he devoted his +time far more to beetles and butterflies than to the boys; and so most of +the scholars had left him, and the school was rapidly declining.” + </p> +<p> +I turned the conversation on Reichenau itself, and asked in a careless +tone if strangers ever sought it as a residence. He shook his head +sorrowfully, and said rarely, if ever. +</p> +<p> +“There had,” he added, “been one or two families who had fled thither on +the outbreak of the French Revolution, but they had long since taken their +departure. One of them,” added he, rising, and opening the window, “one of +them lived yonder, where your Excellency sees that old tower; and mean as +it looks without, I can assure you it is still poorer within; and yet they +were noble,—at least, so it was said here.” + </p> +<p> +“You cannot remember the name?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“No; but it is written in one of my old ledgers.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you do me the kindness to look for it?” said I, “as these things +have a deep interest for me, since I have known so many of the exiled +families.” + </p> +<p> +It was in no spirit of curiosity that I made this request; I needed +nothing to aid me. There stood the old tower which contained my play-room; +there, the little window at which I have sat, silent and alone, whole +nights long. It was to conceal my emotion that I wished him away; and +scarcely had he left the room, when I hid my face within my hands and +sobbed aloud. The search occupied him some time; and when he returned, I +had recovered myself sufficiently to escape his notice. +</p> +<p> +“Well, have you found it?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, your Excellency, here it is,—in the lady's own writing too.” + </p> +<p> +The words were simply the routine entry of travellers in the +“police-sheet” of the hotel, stating that Madame la Comtesse de Gabriac, +accompanied by <i>son secrétaire</i>. Monsieur Raper, had passed two days +there, and then departed for———. The word had been +written, and then blotted out. +</p> +<p> +“For where?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“That is the strangest point of all,” said he; “for after having taken the +places for Milan, and their passports all vised for that city, when day +broke they were not to be found. Some peasants, who came to market that +day, thought they had seen them on the mountains taking the path to +Feldkirch; but wherever they went, they were never heard of more.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean that they had to set out on foot?” + </p> +<p> +“Parbleu! your Excellency; the route they took can be travelled in no +other fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“But their baggage, their effects” + </p> +<p> +“They were of the lightest, I assure you,” said he, laughing. “Madame la +Comtesse carried hers in a kerchief, and Monsieur le Secrétaire had a +common soldier's knapsack, and a small bundle in his hand, when he came +here.” + </p> +<p> +I suppose the expression of my face at the ribald tone of this remark must +have intimated what I felt, but 'tried to conceal, since he speedily +corrected himself, and said, in a voice of apology,— +</p> +<p> +“It is not, assuredly, at their poverty I would sneer, your Excellency; +but for persons of their condition this was not the suitable way to +travel.” + </p> +<p> +“Did they leave no friends behind them who might give a clew to their +mysterious departure?” + </p> +<p> +“Friends! No, your Excellency, they were too proud and too highly born for +us of Reichenau,—at least, the Comtesse was; as for Monsieur Raper, +poor fellow, he was a teacher at Monsieur Jost's yonder, and rarely seen +amongst us.” + </p> +<p> +“And how do you explain it?—I mean, what explanation was the common +one in vogue in the village?” + </p> +<p> +“As for that, there were all manner of rumors. Some said they had fled +from their debts, which was false; for they had sold the little they +possessed, and came to pass the two last days here while paying whatever +they owed in the village. Some thought that they had been hiding from +justice, and that their refuge had been at last discovered; and some, +among whom I confess myself one, think that it was with reference to the +Count's affairs that they had taken to flight.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, De Gabriac was a 'bad subject,' and, if report speak truly, was +implicated in many crimes. One thing is certain: before they had been gone +a week, the gensdarmes were here in search of him; they ransacked the +lodging for some clew to his hiding-place, and searched the post for +letters to or from him.” + </p> +<p> +“And so you think that it was probably to avoid him that she fled?” said +I, hazarding a question, to obtain a fuller admission than he had made. +</p> +<p> +“That is precisely my opinion; and when I tell your Excellency that it was +on receiving a letter from Paris, most probably from him, that she hastily +sold off everything, you will possibly be of my mind also.” + </p> +<p> +“And Gabriac, did he ever appear here again?” + </p> +<p> +“Some say he did; but it is doubtful. One thing, however, is certain: +there was a teacher here in Monsieur Jost's academy, a certain Monsieur +Augustin, who gave lessons in mathematics, and the secret police gave him +some tidings that made him also leave this; and the report is, that +Gabriac was somehow the cause of this. Nobody ever thought ill of +Augustin, and it is hard to believe he was Gabriac's accomplice.” + </p> +<p> +I could perceive, from this reply of the host, that he was “all abroad” as +to any real knowledge of events, and had only got some faint glimmerings +of the truth. I now suffered him to run on about people and occurrences of +which I knew nothing, so as to divert him from any attention to myself, +and then betook me to my bed with an anxious mind and a wearied one. +</p> +<p> +I was up early the next morning, and hastened to the château, where I +found my old master already up, and walking in the garden. He was, indeed, +much changed. Time had told heavily on him too, and he seemed far more +feeble than I expected to find him. The letter with which I was charged +for him invited him to make me any confidential communication he desired +to impart, and to regard me as trustworthy in all respects. He read it +over, I should think, several times; for he sat down on a bench, and +seemed to study it profoundly. +</p> +<p> +“You shall have the papers,” said he at length; “but I doubt that they +will be found of use now. Dumourier's influence is at an end with his old +adherents. The party is broken up; and, so far as human foresight can go, +the cause is lost.” + </p> +<p> +“I ought to tell you, Monsieur Jost,” then broke I in, “that although you +are speaking to one who will not abuse your confidence, that it is also +one who knows nothing of the plan you speak of.” + </p> +<p> +He appeared to reflect some minutes over my words, and then said,— +</p> +<p> +“These are matters, however, not for my judgment. If the Prince think well +of the scheme, it is enough.” + </p> +<p> +I saw that this was said unconsciously and to himself, and so I made no +remark on it. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, Monsieur Gervois,” continued he, “let them not build upon +many whose names are here. We saw what Dejaunay became t' other day. +Jussard is little better than a spy for the First Consul; and as for +Gabriac, to whom we all trusted, he would have been even worse than a spy, +if his villany had succeeded.” + </p> +<p> +“You knew him, then, sir?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Knew him! Parbleu! I did know him; and better, too, than most did! I +always said he would play the traitor,—not to one, but to every +cause. He was false to all, sir,” said he, with increasing bitterness,—“to +his King; to that King's enemies; to the Convention; to the 'Emigration;' +to the nobles; to the people: false everywhere and to every one! False to +her who bore his name, and to her whom he led away to ruin,—that +poor girl, whose father's chivalrous loyalty alone might have protected +her—How do you call him?—the Marquis de Bresinart? No, not +him; I mean that old loyalist leader who lived near Valence.” + </p> +<p> +“Not the Marquis de Nipernois?” said I, in trembling eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“The same; the Marquis de Nipernois, to whose daughter he was once +betrothed, and whose fair fame and name he has tarnished forever!” + </p> +<p> +“You do not mean that Gabriac was the seducer of Madame de Bertin?” said +I. +</p> +<p> +“The world knows it as well as I do; and although one alone ever dared to +deny it, and branded the tale with the epithet of base scandal, she came +at last to see its truth; and her broken heart was the last of his +triumphs!” + </p> +<p> +“You speak of the Countess,—his wife?” + </p> +<p> +He grasped my hand within one of his own, and pressed the other across his +eyes, unable to speak, through emotion. Nor were my feelings less moved. +What a terrible revelation was this! Misfortune upon misfortune, and De +Gabriac the cause of all! +</p> +<p> +For a moment I thought of declaring myself to be his old pupil, and the +child who had called that dear Comtesse “mother;” but the morbid shame +with which I remembered what I then was, stopped me, and I was silent. +</p> +<p> +“You know, of course, whither she went from this, and what became of her?” + asked I, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I had two letters from her,—at long intervals, though; the +last, when about to sail for Halifax—” + </p> +<p> +“For Halifax!—gone to America?” + </p> +<p> +“Even so. She said that the Old World had been long unkind to her, and +that she would try the New! and then as their only friend in Hamburg was +dead—” + </p> +<p> +“They were at Hamburg!—you did not say that?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, to be sure. Monsieur Raper, who was a worthy, good man, and a smart +scholar besides, had obtained the place of correspondence clerk in a rich +mercantile house in that city, where he lived with credit, till the death +of the head of the firm. After that, I believe the house ceased business, +or broke up. At all events, Raper was thrown on the world again, and +resolved to emigrate. I suppose if Monsieur Geysiger had lived—” + </p> +<p> +“Geysiger!—is that the name you said?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay; Adam Geysiger,—the great house of Geysiger, Mersman, and Dorth, +of Hamburg, the first merchants of that city.” + </p> +<p> +Though he continued to talk on, I heard no more; my thoughts become +confused, and my head felt turning with the intense effort to collect +myself. Geysiger? thought I; the very house where I had been at Hamburg,—where +I had overheard the project of a plan against myself! Could it be, that +through all my disguise of name and condition, that they knew me? With +what increase of terror did this discovery come upon me! If they have, +indeed, recognized me, it may be that some scheme is laid against my life. +I could not tell how or whence this suspicion came; but, doubtless, some +chance word let drop before me in my infancy, and dormant since in my +mind, now rushed forth to my recollection with all the power of a fact! +</p> +<p> +I questioned the old man about this Geysiger,—where he had lived, +whom he had married, and so on; but he only knew that his wife had been an +actress. I did not ask for more. The identity was at once established. I +next tried to find out if any relations of friendship or intimacy had +subsisted between the Comtesse and Madame de Geysiger; but, on the +contrary, he told me they had not met nor known each other when she wrote +to him; and her stay after that in Hamburg was very brief. I wearied him +with asking to repeat for me several circumstances of these strange +revelations; nor was it till I saw him fatigued and half exhausted that I +could prevail on myself to cease. I had now loitered here to the last +limit of my time; and, with an affectionate leave of my kind old master, I +left Reichenau to make my way with all speed to England. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. THE ORDEAL +</h2> +<p> +My first care on arriving in England was to resign my post as an “Agent +secret.” This was not, however, so easily accomplished as I thought; for +the Royalists had more than once before discovered that those in their +employment had been seduced into the service of their enemies, whose +rewards were greater, and who had a large field of patronage at their +disposal. Unable to prevent these desertions by the inducements of profit, +they had resorted to a system of secret intimidation and menace which +unquestionably had its influence over many. +</p> +<p> +I have not space here to dwell on a theme, some of whose details might, +however, prove amusing, illustrating as they did the mysterious working of +that Jesuit element which labored so zealously and so long in the cause of +the Restoration. There is a little work still extant, called “L'Espionage +et ses Dangers,” by Jules Lacoste, published at Bruxelles, in 1802, which +gives, if not a perfectly authentic, at least a very graphic, description +of this curious system. The writer distinctly alleges that five of his +colleagues met their deaths by poison, on mere suspicion of their +disloyalty, and gives the names of several whose impaired faculties and +shattered health showed that they had narrowly, but perhaps not more +fortunately, escaped a similar fate. +</p> +<p> +For my own part I must own that such perils were not mine. It is true, I +was asked to reconsider my determination. It was at first hinted vaguely, +and then positively assured me, that my long and faithful services were on +the eve of a high and substantial recognition. I was even told that my own +wishes would be consulted as to the nature of my reward, since I was not +to be treated like one of the mere herd. When all these temptations were +found to fail, I was left, as it were, to reflect on the matter, while in +reality a still more ingenious and artful scheme was drawn around me; the +Abbé being employed as its chief agent. Affecting, in a measure, to +coincide with and even encourage my determination, he invited me +constantly to his lodgings, and by degrees insinuated himself into my +confidence. At least he learned that it was in pure disgust of the career +itself that I desired to forsake it, and not with any prospect of other +advancement in life. He sought eagerly to discover the secret subject +which engaged my thoughts, for I could not succeed in concealing my deep +pre-occupation; but he cautiously abstained from ever obtruding even a +word of question or inquiry. Nor did his ardor stop here; he studied my +tastes, my passions, and my disposition, as subjects for successful +temptation. I was young, high-couraged, and enthusiastic; and yet he found +me indifferent to pleasure, and indisposed to society and its amusements. +He knew me to be poor, and yet saw clearly that wealth did not dazzle me. +I was humble and unknown; yet no recognition of the high and great could +stir my heart nor awaken my ambitions. He was too well read in human +nature to accept these as signs of an apathetic and callous disposition: +he recognized them rather as evidences of a temperament given up to some +one and engrossing theme. +</p> +<p> +I own that in my utter destitution there was a pleasing flattery to me in +this pursuit; and I could not but feel gratified at the zeal with which he +seemed to devote himself to comprehend me. He exposed me to the various +subjects of temptation which so successfully assail youth; but he +perceived that not one could touch the secret cord of my nature. To some I +was averse; I was indifferent to others. He took me into society,—that +circle of his intimates, which really in conversational excellence +surpassed anything I had ever met before; and although I enjoyed it at the +time, I could refrain from frequenting it without a regret. +</p> +<p> +“You are a puzzle to me, Bernard,” said he, addressing me by my former +“sobriquet,” which he always used in private; “I want to see you take +interest in something, and show that humanity is not dead within you; but +nothing seems to touch, nothing to attract you; and yet it was not thus +that Sister Ursule first represented you to me. She spoke of you as one +that could be warmed by the zeal of a great cause, and whose faculties +would expand when once engaged in it. If the monarchy be too mean for your +ambition, what say you to the church?” + </p> +<p> +I pleaded my unworthiness, but he stopped me, saying: +</p> +<p> +“The career it is that creates the man. Only resolve firmly to fulfil a +duty, and mark how capacity comes of mere volition! Ursule herself is an +instance of what I say. Bred up amidst those who only cared for the world +and its vanities, see what she became by the working of noble devotion, +and see what has Margot sunk to for want of it!” + </p> +<p> +“Margot! what of her?” asked I, eagerly. “You did not tell me that you had +tidings of her.” + </p> +<p> +The sallow cheek of the Abbé seemed tinged with a faint color as I uttered +these words with unusual warmth. Whatever his feelings, however, they were +quickly under control, as he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Margot has fallen,—fallen as never before fell one of her high +estate!” + </p> +<p> +I could not speak from emotion, but by my anxious look I entreated him to +continue. The recital, as he gave it, was a long one, but briefly told was +this: Margot had been “prepared” by her sister for admission into the +restored convent of the “Chaise Dieu,” and at length had entered upon her +novitiate. This being completed, she had returned home, in compliance with +the precepts of the order, to mix in the world and its pleasures for three +months,—the abandonment of such temptation being accepted as the +best evidence of fitness for the last solemn vow. Dangerous as such an +ordeal would seem, yet scarcely ever is one found to fail under it. The +long previous training of the mind, the deep impression made by a life of +unbroken devotion, and that isolation that comes of a conventual +existence, joined to the sense of disgrace attendant on desertion, all +combined to make the novice faithful to her first pledge. The trial is, +therefore, little other than a formality, and she who goes through it +seems rather a martyr suffering torture, than a youthful spirit taking its +last fleeting glimpse of joy forever! +</p> +<p> +To fulfil this accustomed ceremonial—for it was simply such—Margot +came home to her father's house. The violent spirit of the Revolutionary +period had given way to a more calm and dispassionate tone, and already +the possessors of ancient names and titles were returning to the respect +they once were held in. In the little village of Linange the old Marquis +was now esteemed a high personage,—by some, indeed, was he placed +above the “Maire” himself. To do his daughter honor was, therefore, a +duty; and every one whose rank gave them the pretension, endeavored to +show her some mark of respect and attention. Small as the community was, +it had its dignitaries and its leaders, and they vied with each other on +this occasion. +</p> +<p> +Margot had been a favorite, she was about to be a nun,—two claims +which appeal to the heart by separate roads; for, while one exacts +admiration, the other disarms jealousy. Thus, even they who would have +felt the rivalry of her beauty as a subject of irritation, could now +bestow their praises on her without a pang. This flattery of admiration +from every quarter was too much for the brain of one whose chief fault was +vanity. The splendor of her dress, the presents lavished on her, the +worship which reached her wherever she went, all served to heighten the +fascination; and while Ursule prayed and entreated her to remember that +these were but as the flowers that deck the victim at the altar, she would +not heed her. How could she? Was not the swell of approving voices which +met her in society louder than the faint whisperings of her sister's +admonition? How could the cold warnings of prudence stem the torrent of +adulation that swept through her heart? She was conscious, too, of her +beauty; and, for the first time, felt that its influence was experienced +by others. The reputation of the lovely novice spread far and near, and +strangers came to Linange to see and speak with her. The little weekly +receptions at the “Mairie” were crowded with new faces. Officers from the +garrison at Valence, and travellers, were continually arriving; and “La +Belle Margot” was a toast pledged by hundreds who never saw her. +</p> +<p> +From Ursule alone came words of warning. The world of her acquaintance met +her with nothing but flattery, and flattery, too, more palpably expressed +than is usual, since used to one upon whom, in a few days, life was to +close forever. +</p> +<p> +Margot was told that, to waste her charms on the dull world of a little +village was an insult to her own beauty, and that Valence, which so long +had heard of should certainly see her. She believed this, and accordingly +insisted on going there. At Valence her triumphs were greater than ever; +but there she heard that Paris alone could rightly appreciate loveliness +such as hers. They told her, too, that it was an age in which beauty was +sovereign; and the nation, wearied of a monarchy, had accepted military +glory and female loveliness as the true elements of command. The will of +the novice is a law at this period, and the old Marquis, who had now +regained some remnant of his fortune, set out for Paris. +</p> +<p> +The most hackneyed in the world's ways knows well with what a sense of +enjoyment he finds himself in Paris, the most brilliant of all the cities +of the earth. The gorgeous panorama of life that passes there before his +eyes has nowhere its equal. What, then, must it have appeared to the fresh +enthusiasm of that young girl, eager for pleasure, for excitement and +admiration! +</p> +<p> +At first her whole soul was bent upon the gorgeous spectacle before her,—the +splendor of a scene such as she in imagination had never realized. The +palaces, the military pomp, the equipages, the dress, were far above all +she had conceived of magnificence and display; but the theatres imparted a +delight to her beyond all the rest. The ideal world that she saw there +typified a world of passionate feeling, of love, joy, ambition, and +triumph! What a glorious contrast to the grave-like stillness of the +convent,—to the living death of a poor nun's existence! It is true, +she had been taught to regard these things as sinful, and as the base +conceptions of a depraved nature; she had even come to witness them to +confirm the abhorrence in which she held them, and show that they appealed +to no one sentiment of her heart. Alas! the experiment was destined to +prove too costly. +</p> +<p> +The splendor, the beauty, the glowing language of the scene, the strains +of music, softer and more entrancing than ever swept across her senses,—the +very picturesque effect of everything,—varied with every artifice of +light and shadow, carried her away, and bore her to an ideal world, where +she, too, had her homage of devotion, where her beauty had its +worshippers, and she was herself loved. It was in vain that she tried to +reason herself out of these fancies, and regard such displays as unreal +and fictitious. Had they been so, thought she, they could not appeal, as I +see and know they do, to the sympathies of those thousands whose breasts +are heaving in suspense, and whose hearts are throbbing in agony. But more +than that, she beheld the great actress of the day received with all the +homage rendered to a queen in the real world. +</p> +<p> +If ever there was one calculated to carry with her from the stage into +society all the admiration she excited, it was that admirable actress who +was then at the very outset of that brilliant career which for nigh half a +century adorned the French stage, and rendered it the most celebrated in +Europe. Young, beautiful in the highest sense of the word, with a form of +perfect mould, gifted and graceful in every gesture, with a voice of +thrilling sweetness and a manner that in the highest circles found no +superior, Mademoiselle Mars brought to her profession traits and powers, +any one of which might have insured success. I remember her well! I can +bring to mind the thundering applause that did not wait for her appearance +on the boards, but announced her coming; that gorgeous circle of splendid +and apparelled beauty, stimulated to a momentary burst of enthusiasm; that +waving pit, rocking and heaving like a stormy sea,—the hoarse bray +of ten thousand voices, rude and ruthless enough many of them, and yet all +raised in homage of one who spoke to the tenderest feelings of the heart, +and whose accents were the softest sounds that ever issued from human +lips. And I remember, too, how, at the first syllable she uttered, that +deafening clamor would cease, and, by an impulse that smote every one of +that vast assemblage in the same instant of time, the stillness was like +the grave! +</p> +<p> +Margot became so fascinated by her that she would not lose one single +night when she performed. It was at first a pleasure,—it then became +a passion with her. The real life she mixed in became poor, weak, and +uninteresting beside the world of intense feeling the stage presented. The +one seemed all false, unreal, and fictitious; the other truthful, and +addressing itself to the heart direct. +</p> +<p> +Mademoiselle Mars herself at length remarked the lovely girl who, with +eager gaze and steadfast, sat each night in the same place, indifferent to +everything save the business of the scene. She felt the power she +exercised over her, and saw how her whole nature was her captive. Once or +twice their eyes actually met, and Margot felt at the moment that she was +beneath the glance of one who read her very thoughts, and knew each +working of her heart. +</p> +<p> +A few nights after this, they met in society, and Mademoiselle Mars, +without introduction of any kind, approached and spoke to her. The words +were few and commonplace,—some half apology for a liberty, an +expression of pleasure at meeting her, and a kind of thankful return for +the attention by which she marked her. She saw the attraction which the +stage possessed for her, and made it the subject of their conversation. +The great actress was herself an enthusiast about her art, and when she +spoke of it, her genius kindled at once, and her words rose to high +eloquence. She told Margot the whole story of her own devotion to the +stage,—how she had been destined to the cloister, and that an +accidental visit to the theatre at Nancy had determined the entire +fortunes of her life. “I felt within me,” said she, “a power of expression +that I could not bear to bury beneath the veil of the nun. The poetry that +stirred my heart should find its utterance; nor could I endure the stormy +conflict of passion that raged within me, save in giving it a form and a +shape. I became an actress for myself; and hence perhaps why I have met +with the applause of others.” + </p> +<p> +Margot's acquaintance thus casually formed ripened into intimacy, and +quickly into a close friendship. The ritual that prescribed the ordeal +through which she was going, ordained that it should be restricted by +scarcely a limit. The novice was really to be her own mistress for a brief +season in that world she was to leave so soon and forever. +</p> +<p> +She now accompanied Mademoiselle Mars not only into the wide circle of +Parisian society, but into that far more seductive one which consisted of +her most intimate friends. Here she met all that boasted of artistic +excellence in the capital,—the brilliant dramatist, the witty +reviewer of the “Débats,” the great actor,—it was Talma in those +days,—the prima donna who was captivating all Europe, and a host of +lesser celebrities, all brimful of spirits, joy, and gayety, as people +with whom the world went well, and whose very business in it was that of +pleasure and amusement. I need not trace the course by which Margot grew +to a perfect infatuation with such company. Wiser and calmer heads than +hers have been unable to resist the charms of a society made up of such +elements, nor was she herself to pass without admiration from them. Her +beauty and her youth, the mingled gentleness and energy of her +temperament, her girlish modesty, blended with a highly-wrought +enthusiasm, were exactly the qualities which they could value and +appreciate. +</p> +<p> +“What gifts for the stage!” said one of the greatest amongst them, one +night; “if Mademoiselle was not a Marchioness, she might be a Mars.” + </p> +<p> +“But I am going to be a nun,” said she, innocently; and a joyous burst of +laughter received the speech. “It is quite true,” said she, “and most +unkind of you to laugh at me.” + </p> +<p> +“By Saint Denis, I'll go and turn Trappist or Carmelite to-morrow,” cried +one, “if only to pay you a visit in your convent.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish they'd accept me as almoner to your cloister, Mademoiselle,” said +Breslot, the comedian; “I'm getting tired of serious parts, and would like +a little light business.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I the style of thing for a superior, think ye?” said Jossard, the life +of the “Français,” throwing over his head a lace scarf of one of the +ladies, and assuming a demure look of indescribable drollery. +</p> +<p> +“How I should like to hear Mademoiselle recite those lines in your play of +'Cécile,' Monsieur Bertignac,” said a famous actress of tragedy. “Her +face, figure, voice, and air are perfect for them. I mean the farewell the +novice takes of her sister as day is just breaking, and the distant bells +of the cloister announce the approach of the ceremony.” + </p> +<p> +“Where's the book?—who has it?” called out three or four together. +</p> +<p> +“The copies have been all seized by the police,” said one. “Bertignac was +suspected of a covert satire on the authorities.” + </p> +<p> +“Or they have been bought up for distribution by the Society of 'Bons +Livres,'” said another; “and Bertignac is to be made Gentleman of the +Pope's Antechamber.” + </p> +<p> +“Here is one, however, fortunately rescued,” said Mademoiselle Mars, +producing the volume, which Jossard quickly snatched from her, and began, +in pompous tones, reciting the lines, beginning,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Sour de mon enfance, si je te quitte pour toujours.” + </pre> +<p> +“An abominable line,” cried one, “and perfectly impossible to give without +a bassoon accompaniment for the last word.” + </p> +<p> +“The epithet, too, is downright nonsense. Why sister of her infancy? Did +she cease to be so as she grew up?” said another. +</p> +<p> +“I wrote the lines after supping with Breslot,” said the author. “One is +not accountable for words uttered in moments of debility and hunger.” + </p> +<p> +“Be the lines what they may, let us hear Mademoiselle read them,” said +Talma; “and I mistake greatly but, with all our studied accuracy, we shall +learn something from one whose nature is not bound by our trammels.” + </p> +<p> +To have adventured on such a task, before such an audience, was more than +Margot could dare to contemplate, and she grew faint and sick at the bare +thought. They were not, however, of that mould which listens to excuses +and refusals. The great familiarity which existed amongst them excluded +all deference to individual likings or dislikings, and if servants of the +public on the stage, off the boards they were the slaves of each other. +Margot, almost lifeless with terror, was therefore obliged to comply. At +first the words fell from her lips almost inaudibly; by degrees her voice +gained strength, and only a tremulous accent betrayed the struggle within +her. But at last, when she came to the part where the nun, as if asking +herself whether the world and its fascinations had taken no hold upon her +heart, confesses, with a burst of spirit-wrung misery, that it was so, and +that to leave that joyous sunlight for the gloomy sepulchre of the +cloister was worse than death itself, her utterance grew full and strong, +her dark eyes flashed, her color heightened, her bosom heaved, and she +gave the passage with such a burst of thrilling eloquence that the last +words were drowned in thunders of applause, only hushed as they beheld her +fall back fainting, and perfectly overcome by her emotions. +</p> +<p> +“And you think you can take the veil, child?” asked Mademoiselle Mars, +when they were alone. +</p> +<p> +But Margot made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“You believe, Margot, that it will be possible for you to stifle within +you feelings such as these, and that the veil and the cord can change your +nature? No, no! If the heart be not dead, it is cruelty to bury it. Yours +is not so, and shall have another destiny.” + </p> +<p> +Mademoiselle Mars at once communicated with the old Marquis, and +endeavored to dissuade him from his purpose regarding his granddaughter; +but he would not listen to her arguments, nor heed her counsels. At first, +indeed, he could not be brought to believe that Margot herself could +concur in them. It seemed incredible to him that a child of his house +could so far forget her station and self-respect as to avow herself +unequal to any sacrifice or any trial, much less one in itself the noblest +and the highest of all martyrdom. +</p> +<p> +“You will see,” cried he, eagerly, “that it is you—not I—have +mistaken her. These gauds of the fashionable world have no real attraction +for her. Her heart is within those walls, where, in a few days more, she +will herself be forever. She shall come and tell you so with her own +lips.” + </p> +<p> +He sent a servant to call her, but she was not to be found! He searched +everywhere, but in vain. Margot was gone! From that day forth she was not +to be met with. No means were spared in prosecuting the search. +Mademoiselle Mars herself, deeply afflicted at any inducements she might +have held forth to her, joined eagerly in the pursuit, but to no end. +</p> +<p> +“But you cannot mean, Abbé,” said I, as he completed the narrative, “that +to this very hour no trace of her has been discovered?” + </p> +<p> +“I will not say so much,” said he; “for once or twice tidings have reached +her friends that she was well and happy. The career she had chosen, she +well knew would be regarded by her family as a deep degradation; and she +only said to one who saw her, 'Tell them that their name shall not be +dishonored. As for her who bears it, she deems herself ennobled by the +stage!' She was in Italy when last heard of, and in the Italian theatres; +and in some of Alfieri's pieces had earned the most triumphant successes. +Poor girl! from her very cradle her destiny marked her for misfortune. +What a mockery, then, these triumphs if she but recalls the disgrace by +which they are purchased!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. THE GLOOMIEST PASSAGE OF ALL +</h2> +<p> +Shall I own that Margot's story affected me in a very different manner +from what the good Abbé had intended it should? I could neither sympathize +with the outraged pride of the old Marquis, the offended dignity of +family, nor with the insulted honor of the sacred vocation she had +abandoned. My reflections took a very different form, and turned entirely +upon the dangers of the career she had adopted,—perils which, from +what I could collect of her character, were extremely likely to assail +her. She was young, beautiful, gifted, and ambitious; and, above all, she +was friendless. What temptations would not assail her,—by what +flatteries would she not be beset! Would she be endowed with strength to +resist these? Would the dignity of her ancient descent guard her, or would +the enthusiasm for her art protect her? These were questions that I could +not solve, or, rather, I solved them in many and different ways. For a +long time had she occupied a great share in my heart; sometimes I felt +towards her as towards a sister. I thought of the hours we had passed side +by side over our books,—now working hard and eagerly, now silent and +thoughtful, as some train of ideas would wile us away from study, and +leave us forgetful of even each other,—till a chance word, a +gesture, a sigh, would recall us, and then, interchanging our confessions,—for +such they were,—we turned to our books again. But at other times I +thought of her as one dearer still than this,—as of one to win whose +praise I would adventure anything; whose chance words lingered in my +memory, suggestive of many a hope, and, alas! many a fear. It is no +graceful reflection to dwell upon, however truthful, that our first loves +are the emanations of our self-esteem. They who first teach us to be +heroes to our own hearts are our earliest idols. Ay, and with all the +changes and chances of life, they have their altars within us to our +latest years. Why should it not be so? What limit ought there to be to our +gratitude to those who first suggested noble ambitions, high-soaring +thoughts, and hopes of a glorious future,—who instilled in us our +first pride of manhood, and made us seem worthy of being loved! +</p> +<p> +Margot had done all this for me when but a child, and now she was a woman, +beautiful and gifted! The fame of her genius was world-wide. Did she still +remember me?—had she ever a thought for the long past hours when we +walked hand-in-hand together, or sat silently in some summer arbor? I +recalled all that she had ever said to me, in consolation of the past, or +with hope for the future. I pondered over little incidents, meaningless at +the time, but now full of their own strong significance; and I felt at +last assured that, when she had spoken to me of ambitious darings and high +exploits, she had been less exhorting me than giving utterance to the +bursting feelings of her own adventurous spirit. +</p> +<p> +Her outbreaks of impatience, her scarcely suppressed rebellion against the +dull ritual of our village life, her ill-disguised suspicion of priestly +influence, now rose before me; and I could see that the flame which had +burst forth at last, had been smouldering for many a year within her. I +could remember, too, the temper, little short of scorn, in which she saw +me devote myself to Jesuit readings, and labor hard at the dry tasks the +Sister Ursule had prescribed for me. And yet then all my ambitions were of +the highest and noblest. I could have braved any dangers, or met any +perils, in the career of a missionary! Labor, endurance, suffering, +martyrdom itself, had no terror for me. How was it that this spirit did +not touch her heart? Were all her sympathies so bound up with the world +that every success was valueless that won no favor with mankind? Had she +no test for nobility of soul save in recognition of society? When I tried +to answer these questions, I suddenly bethought me of my own shortcomings. +Where had this ambition led me,—what were its fruits? Had I really +pursued the proud path I once tracked out for myself? or, worse thought +again, had it no existence whatever? Were devotion, piety, and +single-heartedness nothing but imposition, hypocrisy, and priestcraft? +Were the bright examples of missionary enterprise only cheats? were all +the narratives of their perilous existence but deception and falsehood? My +latter experiences of life had served little to exalt the world in my +esteem. I had far more frequently come into contact with corruption than +with honesty. My experiences were all those of fraud and treachery,—of +such, too, from men that the world reputed as honorable and high-minded. +There was but one step more, and that a narrow one, to include the priest +in the same category with the layman, and deem them all alike rotten and +corrupted. I must acknowledge that the Abbé himself gave no contradiction +to this unlucky theory. Artful and designing always, he scrupled at +nothing to attain an object, and could employ a casuistry to enforce his +views far more creditable to his craft than to his candor. I was no +stranger to the arts by which he thought to entrap myself. I saw him +condescend to habits and associates the very reverse of those he liked, in +the hope of pleasing me; and even when narrating the story of Margot's +fall,—for such he called it,—-I saw him watching the +impression it produced upon me, and canvassing, as it were, the chances +that here at length might possibly be found the long-wished-for means of +obtaining influence over me. +</p> +<p> +“I do not ask of you,” said he, as he concluded, “to see all these things +as I see them. You knew them in their days of poverty and downfall; you +have seen them the inhabitants of an humble village, leading a life of +obscurity and privation,—their very pretension to rank and title a +thing to conceal; their ancient blood a subject of scorn and insult. But I +remember the Marquis de Nipernois a haughty noble in the haughtiest court +of Europe; I have see that very Marquis receiving royalty on the steps of +his own château, and have witnessed his days of greatness and grandeur.” + </p> +<p> +“True,” said I, “but even with due allowance for all this, I cannot regard +the matter in the same light that you do. To my eyes, there is no such +dignity in the life of a nun, nor any such disgrace in that of an +actress.” + </p> +<p> +I said this purposely in the very strongest terms I could employ, to see +how he would reply to it. +</p> +<p> +“And you are right, Gervois,” said he, laying his hand affectionately on +mine. “You are right. Genius and goodness can ennoble any station, and +there are few places where such qualities exert such influence as the +stage.” + </p> +<p> +I suffered him to continue without interruption in this strain, for every +word he spoke served to confirm me in my suspicion of his dishonesty. +Mistaking the attention with which I listened for an evidence of +conviction, he enlarged upon the theme, and ended at last by the +conclusion that to judge of Margot's actions fairly we should first learn +her motives. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell,” said he, “what good she may not have proposed to herself!—by +what years of patient endurance and study—by what passages of +suffering and sorrow—she may have planned some great and good +object! It is a narrow view of life that limits itself to the day we live +in. They who measure their station by the task they perform, and not by +its results on the world at large, are but shortsighted mortals; and it is +thus I would speak to yourself, Gervois. You are dissatisfied with your +path in life. You complain of it as irksome, and even ignoble. Have you +never asked yourself, is not this mere egotism? Have I the right to think +only of what suits me, and accommodates itself to my caprices? Are there +no higher objects than my pleasure or my convenience? Is the great fabric +of society of less account than my likings or dislikings? Am I the judge, +too, of the influence I may exert over others, or how my actions may sway +the destinies of mankind? None should be more able to apply these facts +than yourself,—you that in a rank of which you were, I must say +unjustly, ashamed, and yet were oftentimes in possession of secrets on +which thrones rested and dynasties endured.” + </p> +<p> +He said much more in the same strain; some of his observations being true +and incontestable, and others the mere outpouring of his crafty and subtle +intellect. They both alike fell unheeded by me now. Enough for me that I +had detected, or fancied I had detected, him. I listened only, from +curiosity, and as one listens for the last time. +</p> +<p> +Yes! I vowed to myself that this should be our last meeting. I could not +descend to the meanness of dissimulation, and affect a friendship I did +not feel; nor could I expose myself to the chances of a temptation which +assailed me in so many shapes and forms. I resolved, therefore, that I +would not again visit the Abbé; and my only doubt was, whether I should +not formally declare my determination. +</p> +<p> +He had ceased to speak; and I sat, silently pondering this question in my +own mind. I forgot that I was not alone, and was only conscious of my +error when I looked up and saw his small and deep-set eyes firmly fixed +upon me. +</p> +<p> +“Well, be it so, Gervois,” said he, calmly; “but let us part friends.” + </p> +<p> +I started, and felt my face and forehead burning with a sudden flush of +shame. There are impulses that sway us sometimes stronger than our reason; +but they are hurricanes that pass away quickly, and leave the bark of our +destiny to sail on its course unswervingly. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll come back to me one of these days, and I will be just as ready to +say, 'Welcome!' as I now say 'Good-bye! good-bye!'” and, sorrowfully +repeating the last word as he went, he waved his hand to me, and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +For a moment I wished to follow him, to say I know not what; but calmer +thoughts prevailed, and I left the house and wandered homewards. That same +evening I sent in my demand of resignation, and the next morning came the +reply according it. My first thought was a joyful sense of liberty and +freedom from a bondage I had long rebelled against; my next was a dreary +consciousness of my helpless and friendless condition in life. I opened my +little purse upon the table, and spread out its contents before me. There +were seven pounds and a few shillings. A portion of my salary was still +due to me, but now I would have felt it a degradation to claim it, so +odious had the career become in my eyes. +</p> +<p> +I began to think over the various things for which my capacity might fit +me. They seemed a legion when I stood in no need of them, and yet none now +rose to my mind without some almost impassable barrier. I knew no art nor +handicraft. My habits rendered me unequal to daily labor with my hands. I +knew many things en amateur, but not as an artist. I could ride, draw, +fence, and had some skill in music; but in not one of these could I +compete with the humblest of those who taught them. Foreign languages, +too, I could speak, read, and write well; but of any method to communicate +their knowledge I had not the vaguest conception. After all, these seemed +my best acquirements, and I determined to try and teach them. +</p> +<p> +With this resolve I went out and spent two pounds of my little capital in +books. It was a scanty library, but I arrayed it on a table next my window +with pride and satisfaction. I turned over the leaves of my dictionary +with something of the feeling with which a settler in a new region of the +globe might have wandered through his little territory. +</p> +<p> +My grammars I regarded as mines whose ores were to enrich me; and my +well-thumbed copy of Telemachus, and an odd volume of Lessing's comedies, +were in themselves stores of pleasure and amusement. I suppose it is a +condition of the human mind that makes our enjoyments in the ratio of the +sacrifices they have cost us. I know of myself, that since that day I now +speak of, it has been my fortune to be wealthy, to possess around me every +luxury my wish could compass, and yet I will own it, that I have never +gazed on the well-filled shelves of a costly library, replete with every +comfort, with a tithe of the satisfaction I then contemplated the two or +three dog-eared volumes that lay before me. +</p> +<p> +My first few days of liberty were passed in planning out the future. I +studied the newspapers in hope of meeting something adapted to my +capacity; but though in appearance no lack of these, I invariably found +some fatal obstacle intervened to prevent my success. At one place, the +requirements were beyond my means; at another, the salary was insufficient +for bare support; and at one I remember my functions of teacher were to be +united with menial offices against which my pride revolted. I resolved to +adventure at last, and opened a little school,—an evening school for +those whose occupations made the day too valuable to devote any part of it +to education. +</p> +<p> +At the end of some five weeks I had three pupils; hard-working and +hard-worked men they were, who, steadily bent upon advancement in life, +now entered upon a career of labor far greater than all they had ever +encountered. +</p> +<p> +Two were about to emigrate, and their studies were geography, with some +natural history, and whatever I could acquire for them of information +about the resources of a certain portion of Upper Canada. The third was a +weaver, and desired to learn French in order to read the works of French +mathematicians, at that time sparingly translated into English. He was a +man of superior intellect, and capable of a high cultivation, but poor to +the very last degree. The thirst for knowledge had possessed him exactly +as the passion for gambling lays hold of some other men; he lived for +nothing else. The defeats and difficulties he encountered but served to +brace him to further efforts, and he seemed to forget all his privations +and his poverty in the aim of his glorious pursuit. +</p> +<p> +To keep in advance of him in his knowledge, I found impossible. All that I +could do was to aid him in acquiring French, which, strange to say, +presented great difficulties to him. He however made me a partaker of his +own enthusiasm, and I worked hard and long at pursuits for which my habits +of mind and thought little adapted me. I need scarcely say that all this +time my worldly wealth made no progress. My scholars were very poor +themselves, and the pittance I earned from them I had oftentimes to refuse +accepting. Each day showed my little resources growing smaller, and my +hopes held out no better prospect for the future. +</p> +<p> +Was I to struggle on thus to the last, and sink under the pressure? was +now the question that kept perpetually rising to my mind. My poverty had +now descended to actual misery; my clothes were ragged; my shoes scarcely +held together; more than once an entire day would pass without my breaking +my fast. +</p> +<p> +I lost all zest for life, and wandered about in lonely and unfrequented +places, in a half-dreamy state, too vague to be called melancholy. My +mind, at this time, vacillated between a childish timidity and a species +of almost savage ferocity. At some moments tears would steal along my +cheeks, and my heart vibrated to the very finest emotions; at others, I +was possessed with an almost demoniac fierceness, that seemed only in +search of some object to wreak its vengeance upon. A strange impression, +however, haunted me through both these opposite states, and this was, that +my life was menaced by some one or other, and that I went in hourly peril +of assassination. This sense of danger impressed me with either a +miserable timidity, or a reckless, even an insolent, intrepidity. +</p> +<p> +By degrees, all other thoughts were merged in this one, and every +incident, no matter how trifling, served to strengthen and confirm it. +Fortunately for my reader, I have no patience to trace out the fancies by +which I was haunted. I imagined that kings and emperors were in the +conspiracy against me, and that cabinets only plotted how to entrap me. I +sold the last remnant of my wardrobe and my few remaining books, and +quitted my dwelling, to forsake it again for another, after a few days. +Grim want was, at length, before me, and I found myself one morning—it +was a cold one of December—with only a few pence remaining. It +chanced to be one of my days of calmer temperament; for some previous ones +I had been in a state bordering on frenzy; and now the reaction had left +me weak and depressed, but reasonable. +</p> +<p> +I went over, to myself, as well as I was able, all my previous life; I +tried to recall the names of the few with whom my fate seemed to connect +me, and of whose whereabouts I knew nothing; I canvassed in my own mind +how much might be true of these stories which I used to hear of my birth +and parentage, and whether the whole might not possibly have been invented +to conceal some darker history. Such doubts had possibly not assailed me +in other times; but now, with broken hopes and shattered strength, they +took a bold possession of me. I actually possessed nothing which might +serve to confirm my pretension to station. Documents or papers I had none; +nor was there, so far as I knew, a living witness to bear testimony to my +narrative. In pondering thus I suddenly remembered that, in the letter +which I once had addressed to Mr. Pitt, were enclosed some few memoranda +in corroboration of my story. +</p> +<p> +What they were exactly, and to what extent they went, I could not recall +to memory; but it was enough that they were, in some shape, evidences of +that which already to my own mind was assuming the character of a +delusion. +</p> +<p> +To this faint chance I now attached myself with a last effort of +desperation. Some clew might possibly be found in these papers to guide my +search, and my whole thoughts were now bent upon obtaining them. With this +object I sat down and wrote a few most respectful lines to the minister, +stating the nature of my request, and humbly excusing myself for the +intrusion on his attention. A week passed over,—a week of almost +starvation,—and yet no reply reached me. I now wrote again more +pressingly than before, adding that my circumstances did not admit of +delay, and that if, by any mischance, the papers had been lost or mislaid, +I still would entreat his Excellency's kindness to—I believe I said +recall what he could remember of these documents, and thus supply the void +left by their loss. This letter shared the same fate as my former one. I +wrote a third time, I knew not in what terms, for I wrote late at night, +after a day of mad and fevered impatience. I had fasted for nigh two +entire days. An intense thirst never ceased to torture me; and as I +wandered wildly here and there, my state alternated between fits of cold +shuddering, and a heat that seemed to be burning my very vitals. The +delusions of that terrible interval were, doubtless, the precursors of +actual madness. I bethought me of every torture I had ever heard of,—of +all the sufferings martyrdom had ever borne, but to which death came at +last as the comforter; but to me no such release seemed possible. I felt +as though I had done all that should invoke it. “Want—sickness—suffering—despair,—are +these not enough,” I asked myself,—“must guilt and self-murder be +added to the terrible list?” And it was, I remember, with a kind of +triumphant pride I determined against this. “If mankind reject me,” said +I,—“if they make of me an outcast and a victim, on them shall lie +all the shame and all the sin. Enough for me the misery,—I will not +have the infamy of my death!” + </p> +<p> +I have said I wrote a third letter; and to make sure of its coming to +hand, I walked with it to Hounslow. The journey occupied me more than half +the night, for it was day when I arrived. I delivered it into the hands of +a servant, and, saying that I should wait for the answer, I sat down upon +a stone bench beside the door. Overcome with fatigue, and utterly +exhausted, I fell off asleep,—a sound and, strange to say, delicious +sleep, with calm and pleasant dreams. From this I was aroused by a +somewhat rude shake, and on looking up saw that a considerable number of +persons were around me. +</p> +<p> +“Stand up, my good fellow,” cried a man, who, though in plain clothes and +unarmed, proclaimed by his manner of command that he was in authority; +“stand up, if you please.” + </p> +<p> +I made an effort to obey, but sank down again upon the bench, faint and +exhausted. +</p> +<p> +“He wants a drink of water,” cried one. +</p> +<p> +“He wants summut to eat,—that's what he wants,” said a laboring man +in front of me. +</p> +<p> +“We'll take him where he'll be properly looked after,” said the first +speaker. “Just stand back, good people, and leave me to deal with him.” + The crowd retired as he spoke, while, coming nearer, he bent down towards +me and said, “Is your name Paul Gervois?” + </p> +<p> +“I have gone by that name,” I replied. +</p> +<p> +“And is this in your handwriting?—Mind, you need n't say so if you +don't like; I only ask the question out of curiosity.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, eagerly; “what does Mr. Pitt say?—what reply does he +make me?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, you 'll hear all that time enough. Just try now if you could n't come +along with me as far as the road; I 've a carriage there a-waiting.” + </p> +<p> +I did my best to rise, but weakness again overcame me, and I could only +stammer out a few faint words of excuse. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see that the man is dying?” said some one, half indignantly; +but the constable—for such he was—made some rough answer, and +then, stooping down, he passed his arm round me, and lifted me to my feet +at once. As he half carried, half pushed me along, I tried to obtain an +answer to my former question, “What reply had the minister made me?” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll know all that time enough, my good friend,” was all the answer I +could obtain, as, assisting me into the carriage, he took his place at my +side, and gave the word to proceed “to town.” + </p> +<p> +Not a word passed between us as we went along; for my part, I was too +indifferent to life itself to care whither he was conducting me, or with +what object. As well as utter listlessness would permit me to think, I +surmised that I had been arrested. Is it not a strange confession, that I +felt a sense of pleasure in the thought that I had not been utterly +forgotten by the world, and that my existence was recognized, even at the +cost of an accusation. I conclude that to understand this feeling on my +part, one must have been as forlorn and desolate as I was. I experienced +neither fear nor curiosity as to what might be the charge against me; nor +was my indifference that of conscious innocence,—it was pure +carelessness! +</p> +<p> +I slept that night in a prison, and ate of prison fare,—ravenously +and eagerly too; so much so that the turnkey, compassionating me, fetched +me some of his own supper to satisfy my cravings. I awoke the next day +with a gnawing sense of hunger, intensely painful, far more so than my +former suffering from want. That day, and I believe the two following +ones, I spent in durance, and at last was conveyed in the prison-cart to +the office of a magistrate. +</p> +<p> +The court was densely crowded, but the cases called seemed commonplace and +uninteresting,—at least so they appeared to me, as I tried in vain +to follow them. At length the crier called out the name of Paul Gervois, +and it was less the words than the directed looks of the vast assembly, as +they all turned towards me, showed that I was the representative of that +designation. +</p> +<p> +My sense of shame at this moment prevented my observing accurately what +went forward; but I soon rallied, and perceived that my case was then +before the court, and my accuser it was who then addressed the bench. +</p> +<p> +The effort to follow the speaker, to keep up with the narrative that fell +from his lips, was indescribably painful to me. I can compare my struggle +to nothing save the endeavor of one with a shattered limb to keep pace +with the step of his unwounded comrades. The very murmurs of indignation +that at times stirred the auditory, increased this feeling to a kind of +agony. I knew that it was all-important I should hear and clearly +understand what was said, and yet my faculties were unequal to the effort. +</p> +<p> +The constable who arrested me came forward next, and spoke as to the few +words which passed between us, affirming how I had confessed to a certain +letter as being written by myself, and that I alone was to be held +responsible for its contents. When he left the table, the judge called on +me for my defence. I stared vaguely from side to side, and asked to what +charge? +</p> +<p> +“You have been present, prisoner, during the whole of this examination, +and have distinctly heard the allegation against you,” replied he. “The +charge is for having written a threatening letter to one of his Majesty's +ministers of state,—a letter which in itself constitutes a grave +offence, but is seriously aggravated as being part of a long-pursued +system of intimidation, and enforced by menaces of the most extreme +violence.” + </p> +<p> +I was now suddenly recalled to a clearness of comprehension, and able to +follow him as he detailed how a certain Mr. Conway—the private +secretary of the minister—proved the receipt of the letter in +question, as well as two others in the same hand. The last of these—which +constituted the chief allegation against me—was then read aloud; and +anything more abominable and detestable it would be hard to conceive. +After recapitulating a demand for certain documents,—so vaguely +worded as to seem a mere invented and trumped-up request,—it went to +speak of great services unrewarded, and honorable zeal not only neglected +but persecuted. From this—which so far possessed a certain degree of +coherency and reason—it suddenly broke off into the wildest and most +savage menaces. It spoke of one who held life so cheaply that he felt no +sacrifice in offering it up for the gratification of his vengeance. +</p> +<p> +“Houseless, friendless, and starving; without food, without a name,—-for +you have robbed me of even that,—I have crawled to your door to +avenge myself and die!” + </p> +<p> +Such were the last words of this epistle; and they ring in my ears even +yet, with shame and horror. +</p> +<p> +“I never uttered such sentiments as these,—words like those never +escaped me!” cried I, in an agony of indignation. +</p> +<p> +“There is the letter,” said the magistrate; “do you deny having written +it?” + </p> +<p> +“It is mine,—it is in my own hand,” muttered I, in a voice scarcely +audible; and I had to cling to the dock to save myself from falling. +</p> +<p> +Of what followed I know nothing, absolutely nothing. There seemed to be a +short debate and discussion of some kind; and I could catch, here and +there, some chance phrase or word that sounded compassionately towards me. +At last I heard the magistrate say,— +</p> +<p> +“If you tell me, Mr. Conway, that Mr. Pitt does not wish to press the +charge, nor do more than protect himself from future molestation, I am +willing to admit the prisoner to bail—good and sufficient bail—for +his conduct hereafter. In default of this, however, I shall feel bound to +commit him.” + </p> +<p> +Again some discussion ensued, terminated by some one asking me if I could +produce the required securities. +</p> +<p> +By this time a slight reaction to my state of debility had set in,—that +fevered condition in which passion assumed the ascendant; and I answered, +haughtily,— +</p> +<p> +“Bail for whom? Is it for him to whom they refused bread that they will go +surety? Look at these rags, sir,—see these wasted arms,—hear +this voice, hoarse as it is with hunger,—and ask yourself who could +pledge himself for such misery?” + </p> +<p> +He uttered some commonplaces—at least so they sounded to me—about +there being no necessary connection between want and crime; but I stopped +him short, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Then you have never fasted, sir,—never known what it was to +struggle against the terrible temptations that arise in a famished heart; +to sink down upon a bed of straw, and think of the thousands at that +moment in affluence, and think of them with hate! No link between want and +crime! None, for they are one. Want is envy—want is malice. Its evil +counsellors are everywhere,—in the plash of the wave at midnight; in +the rustle of the leaves in a dark wood; in the chamber of the sick man: +wherever guilt can come, a whispering voice will say, 'Be there!'” + </p> +<p> +Some friendly bystander here counselled me to calm myself, and not +aggravate my position by words of angry impatience. The air of sympathy +touched me, and I said no more. +</p> +<p> +I was committed to prison—remanded, I believe they said—to be +called up at some future day, when further inquiries had been made into my +mode of life and habits. The sentence—so well as I could understand +it—was not a severe one,—imprisonment without labor or any +other penalty. I was told that I had reason to be grateful! but gratitude +was then at a low ebb within me; for whatever moralists may say, it is an +emotion that never thrives on misery. As I was led away, I overheard some +comments that were passed upon me. One called me mad, and pitied me; +another said I was a practised impostor, far too leniently dealt with; a +third classed me with the vile herd of those who live by secret crimes, +and hoped for some stringent act against such criminals. +</p> +<p> +There was not one to ask, Why has he done this thing? and how shall others +be saved from his example? +</p> +<p> +They who followed me with looks of contempt and aversion never guessed +that the prison was to me a grateful home; that if the strong door shut +out liberty, it excluded starvation too; and that if I could not stray at +will through the green lanes, yet my footsteps never bore me to the +darksome pond where the black depth whispered—oblivion! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE STREETS +</h2> +<p> +I was liberated from prison at the end of eight days. I begged hard to be +allowed to remain there, but was not permitted. This interval, short as it +was, had done much to recruit my strength and rally my faculties; it +served besides to instil into me a calm and patient resolve to depend +solely on myself; and effacing, so far as I might, all hopes of tracing +out my family, I determined now to deem no labor too humble by which I +might earn a livelihood. +</p> +<p> +I am now speaking of fifty years ago, and the world has made rapid strides +since that. The growing necessities of our great population, and the wide +field for enterprise offered by our colonies, have combined to produce a +social revolution few could have predicted once. The well-born and the +tenderly-nurtured have now gone forth in thousands to try their fortunes +in far-away lands, to brave hardships and encounter toil that the hard +sons of labor themselves are fain to shrink from; but at the time I speak +of, this bold spirit had not burst into life,—the world was insolent +in its prosperity, and never dreamed of a reverse. +</p> +<p> +By transcribing letters and papers for one of the officials while in jail, +I had earned four shillings; and with this sum, my all in the world, I now +found myself following the flood-tide of that host which moves daily along +the Strand in London. I had breakfasted heartily before I left the prison, +and resolving to hoard up my little treasure, determined to eat nothing +more on that day. As I walked along I felt that the air, sharp and frosty +as it was, excited and invigorated me. The bright blue sky overhead, the +clear outline of every object, the brisk stir and movement of the +population, all helped to cheer my spirits, and I experienced a sense of +freedom, as that of one who, having thrown off a long-carried burden, is +at last free to walk unencumbered. A few hours before I fancied I could +have been well satisfied to wear out life within the walls of my prison, +but now I felt that liberty compensated for any hardship. The town on that +morning presented an aspect of more than ordinary stir and excitement. Men +were at work in front of all the houses, on ladders and scaffoldings; huge +frameworks, with gaudy paintings, were being hoisted from the roofs, and +signs of wonderful preparation of one kind or other were everywhere +visible. I stopped to inquire the meaning, and was told, not without a +stare of surprise, that London was about to illuminate in joyful +commemoration of the treaty of peace just signed with France. I thanked my +informant, and moved on. Assuredly there were few in either country who +had less reason to be interested in such tidings than myself. I possessed +nothing, not even a nationality, that I could safely lay claim to. In the +hope of approaching prosperity tomorrow, so forcibly expressed in many an +inscription,—in all those devices of enthusiastic patriotism, I had +no share. In fact, I was like one of another nation, suddenly dropped in +the midst of a busy population, whose feelings, hopes, and aspirations +were all new and strange to me. +</p> +<p> +As I came up to Charing Cross a dense crowd stopped the way, gazing with +wondering eyes at a great triumphal arch which spanned the thoroughfare, +and whose frail timbers gave but a sorry intimation of the splendor it +should exhibit after nightfall. Immense draperies floated from this crazy +framework, and vast transparencies displayed in tasteless allegory the +blessings of a peace. The enthusiasm of admiration was high among the +spectators; doubtless, the happy occasion itself suggested a cordiality of +approval that the preparations themselves did not warrant; for at every +step in the construction, a hearty cheer would burst forth from the crowd, +in recognition of the success of the work. My attention, undisturbed by +such emotions, was fixed upon one of the poles of the scaffolding, which, +thrown considerably out of its perpendicular, swayed and bent at every +step that approached it, and threatened, if not speedily looked to, to +occasion some disaster. I pointed this out to one beside me, who as +quickly communicated it to another, and in less than a minute after, a +panic cry was raised that the scaffold was falling. The crowd fell back in +terror, while the men upon the scaffolding, not knowing in what quarter +the danger existed, stood in terrified groups, or madly rushed to the +ladders to escape. The mad shouts and screams of those beneath added to +the confusion, and rendered it impossible to convey warning to those in +peril. At this instant a man was seen approaching the weak part of the +scaffold, and though at every step he took, the ill-fated pole swerved +further and further from the right line, he was utterly unconscious of his +danger, and seemed only bent on gaining a rope, which, fastened by one end +above, hung down to the porch beneath. Wild cries and yells were raised to +warn him of his peril, but, not heeding, nor, perhaps, hearing them, he +seized the cord and swung himself free of the scaffold. +</p> +<p> +In an instant the fabric gave way, and, bending over, came down with a +terrible crash of falling beams and splintered timber. It fell so close to +where I stood that it struck down an old man with whom I had been +conversing the moment before. Strangely too, amidst that dense throng, +this was the only serious injury inflicted; but he was struck dead,—at +least, he only lingered for the few minutes it took to carry him to a +neighboring public-house, where he expired. +</p> +<p> +“It's old Harry; he always said he'd die at his crossing,” said the +publican, as he recognized the features. +</p> +<p> +“He thought it was them new-fashioned curricles would do for him, though,” + said another. “He said so to me last week, for he was getting too old to +escape when he saw them coming.” + </p> +<p> +“Old! I should think he was. He was on that there crossing at the +coronation,—a matter of fifty years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Say forty, my good friend, and you'll be nigher the mark; but even forty +sufficed to leave him well off for the rest of his days, if he had but had +prudence to know it.” + </p> +<p> +As I stood thus listening, I leaned upon the broom which I had taken from +the old man's hand when I lifted him up. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll give you a matter of ten pounds for it, master,” said a +gruff-looking fellow, addressing me, while he touched the broom with his +knuckle. “Five down on the nail, and the rest ten shillings a-week. Do you +say done?” Before I could collect myself to understand what this offer +might mean, a dozen others were crowding around me with a number of +similar proposals. +</p> +<p> +“You don't know the rule amongst these fellows,” said the landlord, +addressing me; “but it is this, that whoever touches the broom first after +its owner is killed, succeeds to the crossing. It 's yours now, to work or +dispose of, as you like best.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll never work it,—he does n't know the town,” said one. +</p> +<p> +“He'd not know Charley Fox from Big Hullescoat the tailor.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'd splash Colonel Hanyer, and sweep clean for the Duke of +Queensberry.” + </p> +<p> +“And forget to have change for Lord Bute,” cried another,—a sally so +generally applauded that it showed a full appreciation of its +truthfulness. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll try it, nevertheless, gentlemen,” said I, addressing the company +respectfully; “and if the landlord will only give me credit for +half-a-guinea's worth of liquor, we'll drink my accession to office at +once.” + </p> +<p> +This was agreeably received by all, even the landlord, who ushered us into +an inner room to enjoy ourselves. +</p> +<p> +If I had not transgressed too freely already on my reader's patience by +details which have no immediate bearing on my own life, I should have been +greatly tempted to revive some recollections of that evening,—one of +the strangest I ever passed. Assuredly the guild of which I suddenly found +myself a member was not one in which I could have either expected laws and +regulations, or looked for anything like a rigid etiquette; yet such was +precisely the case. The rules, if not many, were imperative, while the +requirements to obtain success were considerable. It was not enough to +know every remarkable character about town, but you should also have a +knowledge of their tone and temper. Some should be dunned with +importunity; others never asked for a farthing; a Scotch accent went far +with General Dundas; a jest never failed with Mr. Sheridan. Besides this, +an unfailing memory for every one who had crossed during the day was +indispensable, and if this gift extended to chairs and coaches, all the +better was it. +</p> +<p> +My brethren, I must do them the justice to say, were no niggards of +information. To me, perhaps, they felt a sense of exultation in describing +the dignity of the craft,—perhaps they hoped to deter me from a +career so surrounded with difficulties. They little knew that they were +only stimulating the curiosity of one to whom any object or any direction +in life was a boon and a blessing. Hardship and neglect had so far altered +my appearance that, even had I cared for it, any artificial disguisement +was unnecessary. My beard and moustache covered the lower part of my face, +and my hair, long and lank, hung heavily on my neck behind. But, were it +otherwise, how few had ever known me! There were none to blush for me,—none +to feel implicated in what they might have called the disgrace of my +position. I reasoned thus,—I went even further, and persuaded myself +there was something akin to heroism in thus braving the current of +opinion, and stemming the strong tide of the world's prejudice. If this be +my fitting station in life, thought I, there is no impropriety in my +abiding by it; and if, perchance, I might have worthily filled a higher +one, the disgrace is not with me, but with that world that treated me so +harshly. +</p> +<p> +Though all these arguments satisfied me thoroughly as I thought over them, +they did not give me the support I had hoped for. When the hour came for +me to assume my calling, I am almost ashamed to say how I shrunk from it. +I grieve to think how much more easy for me had it been to commit a crime +than to go forth, broom in hand, and earn my livelihood! But I was +determined to go on, and I did so. The first week or so was absolute +misery; I scarcely dared to look any one in the face. If perchance I +caught an eye fixed upon me, I imagined I was recognized. I dreaded to +utter a word, lest my voice might betray me. I was repeatedly questioned +about old Harry, and what had become of him; and I could see, that with +all my attempts at disguise, my accent attracted attention, and men looked +at me with curiosity, and even suspicion. Is it not strange that there +should be more real awkwardness in maintaining a station that one deems +below him than in the assumption of a rank as unquestionably above his +own? Perhaps our self-love is the cause of it, and that, in our estimate +of our own natures, we think nothing too great or too exalted for us. +</p> +<p> +Be this as it may, my struggles were very painful; and, far from +conforming easily to the exigencies of my lot, each day's experience +rendered them still harder to me. Two entire days passed over without my +having received a farthing. I could not bring myself to ask for payment, +and the crowd passed on, unheeding me. Some who seemed prepared with the +accustomed mite replaced it in their pockets when they saw what seemed my +indifference. One young fellow threw me a penny as he went, but I could +not have stooped for it had my life been on the issue. What a wonderful +thing is fortune!—or rather, how rarely can we plot for ourselves +any combination of circumstances so successful as those that arise from +what we deem accident! These that seemed evidences of failure were the +first promises of prosperity. My comrades had given me the nickname of +“Gentleman Jack.” The sobriquet attracted notice to me and to my habit of +never making a demand; and long ere I came to learn the cause, I found +myself deriving all the advantage of it. Few now went by without paying; +many gave me silver, some even accompanying the gift with a passing +salutation, or a word of recognition. Slight as these were, and +insignificant, they were far more precious to me than any praises I have +ever listened to in my days of prosperity! +</p> +<p> +I gradually came to know all the celebrities of the town, and be myself +known by them. How like a dream does it seem to me, as I think over those +days! When Alderman Whitbread would give me a shilling, and Wilkes borrow +a crown of me; when Colonel O'Kelly would pay me with a wink, and Sir +Philip Francis with a curse; when Baron Geramb, frizzed, moustached, and +decorated, lounged lazily along on the arm of Admiral Payne, followed by a +gorgeously-equipped chasseur,—a rare sight in those days! Nor is it +altogether an old man's prejudice makes me think that the leaders of +fashion in those times had more unmistakably the signs of being Grand +Seigneurs than the men of our own day. +</p> +<p> +I have said that the tide of fortune had turned with me, and to an extent +scarcely credible. Many days saw my gains above a guinea; once or twice +they more than doubled that amount. I have frequently read in newspapers +announcements of the fortunes accumulated by men in the very humblest +stations,—statements which, with less experience than my own, I +might have hesitated to believe; but now I know them to be credible. I +know, too, that many of the donors who contemptuously threw their penny as +they passed were far poorer than the recipient of their bounty. +</p> +<p> +If time did not reconcile me to my lot, yet a certain hardihood to brave +destiny in any shape fortified me. I reasoned repeatedly with myself on +this wise: Fate can scarcely have anything lower in store for me; from +this there can be no descent in fortune. If, then, I can here maintain +within me the feelings which moved me in happier days, and live unchanged +in the midst of what might have been degradation, there is yet a hope that +I may emerge to hold a worthy station among my fellow-men. +</p> +<p> +I will not affirm that this feeling was not heightened by an almost +resentful sense of the world's treatment of me,—a feeling which, +combat how I would, hourly gained more and more possession of me. To +struggle against this growing misanthropy, I formed the resolve that I +would devote all my earnings of each Sunday to charity. It was but too +easy, in my walk of life, for me to know objects of want and suffering. +The little close in which I lived—near Seven Dials—was filled +with such; and amongst them I now dispensed the seventh of my gains,—in +reality far more, since Sunday almost equalled two entire days in profit. +Thus did I vacillate betwixt good and evil influences,—now yielding, +now resisting,—but always gaining some little advantage over +selfishness and narrow-mindedness, by the training of that best of +teachers,—adversity. How my trials might have ended, had the course +of my life gone on uninterruptedly, I cannot even guess. Whether the bad +might have gained the ascendant, or the good triumphed, I know not. An +incident, too slight to advert to, save in its influence upon my fate, +suddenly gave another direction to my destiny; and though, as I have said, +in itself a mere trifle, yet for its singularity, as well as in its +consequences, requires a mention, and shall have—albeit a short one—a +chapter of its own. +</p> +<p> +The incident I am about to relate has not—at least so far as I know—ever +been made public. Up to three years ago I could have called a witness to +its truth; but I am now the only survivor of those who once could have +corroborated my tale. Still, I am not without hope that there are some +living who, having heard the circumstances before, will generously +exonerate me from any imputation of being the inventor. +</p> +<p> +This preface may excite in my reader the false expectation of something +deeply interesting; and I at once and most explicitly own that I have none +such in store for him. It is, I repeat for the third time, an incident +only curious from those engaged in it, and only claiming a mention in such +a history as mine. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIX. A STRANGE INCIDENT TO BE A TRUE ONE +</h2> +<p> +It was on one of the coldest of a cold December days, when a dry north +wind, with a blackish sky, portended the approach of a heavy snow-storm, +that I was standing at my usual post, with little to occupy me, for the +weather for some time previous had been dry and frosty. Habit, and the +security that none could recognize me, had at length inured me to my +condition; and I was beginning to feel the same indifference about my +station that I felt as to my future. +</p> +<p> +Pride may, in reality, have had much to say to this, for I was proud to +think that of the thousands who flowed past me each day I could claim +equality with a large share, and perhaps more than equality with many. +This pride, too, was somehow fostered by a sense of hope which I could +have scarcely credited; for there constantly occurred to me the thought +that one day or other I should be able to say: “Yes, my Lord Duke, I have +known you these twenty years. I remember having swept the crossing for you +in the autumn after the Peace. Ay, ay, Right Honorable Sir, I owe you my +gratitude, if only for this that you never passed me without saying, 'Good +day, Jack!'” + </p> +<p> +Was it not strange, too, how fondly I clung to, what importance I attached +to, these little passing recognitions; they seemed to me the last +remaining ties that bound me to my fellow-men, and that to deny them to me +was to declare me an outcast forever. To this hour I feel my thankfulness +to those who thus acknowledged me; nor can I even yet conquer an +unforgiving memory of some chance, mayhap unintentional, rudeness which, +as it were, seemed to stamp my degradation more deeply upon me. Stranger +still that I must own how my political bias was decided by these +accidental causes; for while the great Tory leaders rarely or never +noticed me, the Whigs—a younger and more joyous section in those +times—always flung me a passing word, and would even occasionally +condescend to listen to my repartee. +</p> +<p> +I must guard myself from giving way to the memories which are already +crowding fast about me. Names, and characters, and events rise up before +my mind in myriads, and it is with difficulty I can refrain from embarking +on that flood of the past which now sweeps along through my brain. The +great, the high-born, the beautiful, the gifted, all dust and ashes now!—they +who once filled the whole page of each day's history utterly ignored and +forgotten! It is scarcely more than fifty years ago; and yet of all the +eloquence that shook the “House,” of all the fascinations that stirred the +hearts of princes, of the high ambitions that made men demigods in their +time, how much have reached us? Nothing, or less than nothing. A jest or a +witticism that must be read with a commentary, or told with an +explanation,—the repartee that set the table in a roar, now heard +with a cold, half-contemptuous astonishment, or a vacant inquiry “if such +were really the wits of those times.” + </p> +<p> +Amongst those with whose appearance I had become familiar were three young +men of very fashionable exterior, who always were seen together. They +displayed, by the dress of blue coat and buff waistcoat, the distinctive +colors of the Whigs; but their buttons more emphatically declared their +party in the letters P. F., by which the friends of the Prince then loved +to designate themselves. The “Bucks” of that age had one enormous +advantage over the Dandies of ours,—they had no imitators. They +stood alone and unapproachable in all the glories of tight leathers and +low top-boots. No spurious copies of them got currency; and the man of +fashion was unmistakable amongst a thousand. The three of whom I have made +mention were good specimens of that school, which dated its birth from the +early years of the Prince, and by their habits and tone imparted a +distinctive character to the party. They dressed well, they looked well, +they comported themselves as though life went ever pleasantly with them; +and in their joyous air and easy bearing one might read the traits of a +set well adapted to be the friends and companions of a young prince, +himself passionately devoted to pleasure, and reckless in regard to its +price. +</p> +<p> +I am now speaking of long ago, and have no hesitation in giving the real +names of those to whom I allude. One was a captain in the navy, called +Payne; the second was a young colonel in the foot-guards, Conway; and the +third was an Irishman named O'Kelly, whom they called the Count or the +Chevalier, about town, from what cause or with what pretension I never +ascertained. +</p> +<p> +Even in my own narrow sphere of observation it was clear to me that this +last exercised a great influence over his companions. The tone of his +voice, his air, his every gesture, bespoke a certain degree of dictation, +to which the others seemed to lend a willing obedience. It was just that +amount of superiority which a greater buoyancy of character confers,—a +higher grade of vitality some would call it,—but which never fails +through life to make itself felt and acknowledged. The three kept a +bachelor house at Kensington, whose fame ran a close rivalry with that of +the more celebrated Carlton House. O'Kelly lived below, Conway occupied +the drawing-room story, and Payne the third floor; and with one or other +of these all the great characters of the Opposition were constant guests. +Here, amidst brilliant sallies of wit and loud bursts of laughter, the +tactics of party were planned and conned over. While songs went round and +toasts were cheered, the subtle schemes of politics were discussed and +determined on; and many a sudden diversion of debate that seemed the +accident of the moment took its origin in some suggestion that arose in +these wild orgies. The Prince himself was a frequent guest, since the +character of these meetings allowed of many persons being admitted to his +society whose birth and position might not have warranted their being +received at his own table; and here also were many presented to him whose +station could not have claimed a more formal introduction. +</p> +<p> +It was rumored that these same meetings were wild and desperate orgies, in +which every outrage on morality was practised, and that the spirit of +libertinism raged without control or hindrance. I have not of myself any +means of judging how far this statement might be correct, but I rather +incline to believe it one of those calumnies which are so constantly +levelled at any society which assumes to itself exclusiveness and secrecy. +They who were admitted there assuredly were not given to divulge what they +saw, and this very reserve must have provoked its interpretation. +</p> +<p> +A truce to these speculations; and now back to my story. I was standing +listlessly on the edge of the flag-way, while a long funeral procession +was passing. The dreary day and drearier object seemed to harmonize well +together. The wheels of the mourning-coaches grated sorrowfully on the +half-frozen ground, and the leaden canopy of sky appeared a suitable +covering to the melancholy picture. My thoughts were of the very saddest, +when suddenly a merry burst of laughing voices broke in upon my ear; and +without turning my head, I recognized the three young men of whom I have +just spoken, as standing close behind me. +</p> +<p> +Some jocular allusion to the slow march of the procession had set them +a-laughing; and O'Kelly said,— +</p> +<p> +“Talk as men will about the ills of life, see how tardily they move out of +it.” + </p> +<p> +“That comes of not knowing the road before them,” cried Payne. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! they might remember, though, that it is a well-worn highway by this +time,” chimed in Conway; “and now that poor Dick has gone it, who's to +fill his place?” + </p> +<p> +“No very hard matter,” said O'Kelly. “Take every tenth fellow you 'll meet +from this to Temple Bar, and you 'll have about the same kind of +intelligence Harvey had. You gave him credit for knowing everything, +whereas his real quality was knowing everybody.” + </p> +<p> +“For that matter, so does Jack here,” cried Conway. +</p> +<p> +“And capital company he'd be, too, I've no doubt,” added Payne. +</p> +<p> +A moment of whispering conversation ensued, and O'Kelly said, half aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“I 'll lay five hundred on it!” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! I 'll have no hand in it,” said Conway. +</p> +<p> +“Nor I neither,” chimed in Payne. +</p> +<p> +“Courageous allies both,” said O'Kelly, laughing. “Happily I need not such +aid,—I 'll do it myself. I only ask you not to betray me.” + </p> +<p> +Without heeding the protestations they both poured forth, O'Kelly stepped +forward and whispered in my ear,— +</p> +<p> +“Will you dine with me to-morrow, Jack?” + </p> +<p> +I stared at him in silent astonishment, and he went on: +</p> +<p> +“I have a wager on it; and if I win, you shall have five guineas for your +share; and, to show you my confidence of success, I pay beforehand.” + </p> +<p> +He opened his purse as he spoke; but I stopped him suddenly with,— +</p> +<p> +“No need of that, sir; I accept your invitation. The honor alone is enough +for me.” + </p> +<p> +“But you must have a coat, Jack, and ruffles, man.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll not disgrace you, sir,—at least, so far as appearance goes,” + said I. +</p> +<p> +He stared at me for a second or two, and then said,— +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! I was certain of it. Well, seven o'clock is the hour. +Kensington,—every one knows the Bird Cage.” + </p> +<p> +I touched my cap and bowed. He gravely returned my salute, and walked on +between his friends, whose loud laughter continued to ring out for a long +way down the street. +</p> +<p> +My first impressions were, I own, the reverse of agreeable, and I felt +heart-sick with shame for having accepted the invitation. The very burst +of laughter told me in what point of view they regarded the whole +incident. I was, doubtless, to be the ignoble instrument of some practical +joke. At first I tortured my ingenuity to think how I could revenge myself +for the indignity; but I suddenly remembered that I had made myself a +willing party to the scheme, whatever it might be. I had agreed to avail +myself of the invitation, and should, therefore, accept its consequences. +</p> +<p> +With what harassing doubts did I rack my suffering brain! At one time, +frenzied with the idea of an insult passed upon my wretchedness and +poverty; at another, casuistically arguing myself into the belief that, +whatever the offence to others, to me there could be none intended. But +why revive the memory of a conflict which impressed me with all the +ignominy of my station, and made me feel myself, as it were, selected for +an affront that could not with impunity have been practised towards +another? +</p> +<p> +I decided not to go, and then just as firmly determined I would present +myself. My last resolve was to keep my promise, to attend the +dinner-party; to accept, as it were in the fullest sense, the equality +tendered to me; and, if I could detect the smallest insult, or even a +liberty taken with me, to claim my right to resent it, by virtue of the +act which admitted me to their society, and made me for the time +then-companion. I am not quite sure that such conduct was very +justifiable. I half suspect that the easier and the better course would +have been to avoid a situation in which there was nothing to be +anticipated but annoyance or difficulty. +</p> +<p> +My mind once made up, I hastened to prepare for the event, by immediately +ordering a handsome dress-suit. Carefully avoiding what might be deemed +the impertinence of assuming the colors of party, I selected a +claret-colored coat, with steel buttons; a richly-embroidered waistcoat; +and for my cravat one of French cambric, with a deep fall of Mechlin lace. +If I mention matters so trivial, it is because at the time to which I +refer, the modes of dress were made not only to represent the sections of +politics, but to distinguish between those who adhered to an antiquated +school of breeding and manners, and those who now avowed themselves the +disciples of a new teaching. I wished, if possible, to avoid either +extreme, and assumed the colors and the style usually worn by foreigners +in English society. Like them, too, I wore a sword and buckles; for the +latter I went to the extravagance of paying two guineas for the mere hire. +</p> +<p> +If you have ever felt in life, good reader, what it was to have awaited in +anxious expectancy for the day of some great examination whose issue was +to have given the tone to all your future destiny, you may form some +notion of the state of mental excitement in which I passed the ensuing +twenty-four hours. It was to no purpose that I said to myself all that my +reason could suggest or my ingenuity fancy; a certain instinct, stronger +than reason, more convincing than ingenuity, told me that this was about +to be an eventful moment of' my life. +</p> +<p> +The hour at length arrived; the carriage that was to convey me stood at +the door; and as I took a look at myself, full dressed and powdered, in +the glass, I remember that my sensations vibrated between the exulting +vanity and pride of a gallant about to set out for a fête, and the terrors +of a criminal on his way to the block. My head grew more and more confused +as I drove along. At moments I thought that all was a dream, and I tried +to arouse and wake myself; then I fancied that it was the past was +fictitious,—that my poverty, my want, and my hardship were all +imaginary; that my real condition was one of rank and affluence. I +examined the rich lace of my ruffles, the sparkling splendor of my +sword-knot, and said, “Surely these are not the signs of squalid misery +and want.” I called to mind my impressions of the world, my memories of +life and society, and asked, “Can these be the sentiments of a miserable +outcast?” Assuredly, my poor brain was sorely tried to reconcile these +strong contradictions; nor do I yet understand how I obtained sufficient +mastery over my emotions to present myself at the house of my entertainer. +</p> +<p> +“What name, sir?” said the obsequious servant, who, with noiseless +footsteps, had preceded me to the drawing-room door. +</p> +<p> +“What name shall I announce, sir?” said he a second time, as, overwhelmed +with confusion, I still stood speechless before him. Till that very moment +all thought on the subject had escaped me, and I utterly forgot that I was +actually without a designation in the world. In all my shame and misery it +had been a kind of consolation to me that the name of my father had never +been degraded, and that whatever might have been my portion of worldly +hardship, the once-honored appellation had not shared in it. To assume it +at this instant was too perilous. Another day, one short night, would +again reduce me to the same ignominious station; and I should have thus, +by a momentary rashness, compromised the greatest secret of my heart. A +third time did he ask the same question; and as I stood uncertain and +overwhelmed, a quiet foot was heard ascending the stairs, a handsome, +bright-looking man came forward, the door was flung open at his approach, +and the servant called out, “Mr. Sheridan.” I followed quickly, and the +door closed behind us. Hastily passing from Sheridan, O'Kelly came forward +to me and shook me cordially by the hand. Thanking me politely for my +punctuality, he welcomed me with all the semblance of old friendship. +</p> +<p> +“Colonel Conway and Payne you are already acquainted with,” said he; “but +your long absence from England excuses you for not knowing my other +friends. This is Mr. Sheridan,”—we bowed,—“Mr. Malcomb, +Captain Seymour, Sir George Begley,” and so on, with two or three more. He +made a rapid tour of the party, holding me by the arm as he went, till he +approached a chair where a young and very handsome man sat, laughing +immoderately at some story another at his side was whispering to him. +</p> +<p> +“What the devil am I to call you?” said O'Kelley to me in my ear. “Tell me +quickly.” + </p> +<p> +Before I could stammer out my own sense of confusion, the person seated in +the arm-chair called out,— +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! O'Kelly must hear that. Tell him, Wynd-ham.” But as suddenly +stopping, he said, “A friend of yours, O'Kelly?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, your Royal Highness, a very old and valued friend, whom I have not +seen since our school-days. He has been vagabondizing over the whole +earth, fighting side by side with I know not how many of your Royal +Highness's enemies; and, having made his fortune, has come back to lose it +here amongst us, as the only suitable reparation in his power for all his +past misconduct.” + </p> +<p> +“With such excellent intentions, he could not have fallen into better +hands than yours, O'Kelly,” said the Prince, laughing; “and I wish all the +fellows we have been subsidizing these ten years no worse than to be your +antagonists at piquet.” Then, addressing me, he said, “An Irishman, I +presume?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, your Royal Highness,” said I, bowing deeply. +</p> +<p> +“He started as an something, or Mac somebody,” said O'Kelly, interrupting; +“but having been Don'd in Spain, 'Strissemoed' in Italy, and almost +guillotined in France for calling himself Monsieur, he has come back to us +without any designation that he dares to call his own.” + </p> +<p> +“That is exactly what happened to a very well known character in the reign +of Charles I.,” said Conway, “who called himself by the title of his last +conquest in the fair sex, saying, 'When I take a reputation, I accept all +the reproach of the name.'” + </p> +<p> +“There was another authority,” said Sheridan,—“a fellow who called +himself the King of the Beggars, who styled himself each day after the man +who gave him most, and died inheriting the name of Bamfield Moore Carew.” + </p> +<p> +“Carew will do admirably for my friend here, then,” said O'Kelly, “and we +'ll call him so henceforth.” + </p> +<p> +It may be imagined with what a strange rush of emotion I accepted this +designation, and laughingly joined in the caprice of the hour. I saw +enough to convince me that all around received O'Kelly's story as a mere +piece of jest, and that none had any suspicion of my real condition save +himself and his two friends. This conviction served to set me much at my +ease, and I went down to dinner with far less of constraint than might +have been supposed for one in my situation. +</p> +<p> +I will not disguise the fact that I thought for the first half-hour that +every eye was on me, that whatever I did or said was the subject of +general remark, and that my manner as I ate, and my tone as I spoke, were +all watched and scrutinized. Gradually, however, I grew to perceive that I +attracted no more notice than others about me, and that, to all purposes, +I was admitted to a perfect equality with the rest. +</p> +<p> +Conversation ranged freely over a wide field. Politics of every state of +Europe, the leading public characters and statesmen, their opinions and +habits, the modes of life abroad, literature and the drama, were all +discussed, if not always with great knowledge, still with the ready +smartness of practised talkers. Anecdotes and incidents of various kinds +were narrated, quips and sharp replies abounded; and amidst much +cleverness and agreeability, a truly good-humored, convivial spirit +leavened the whole mass, and made up a most pleasant party. +</p> +<p> +So interested had I become in the conversation about me that I did not +perceive how, by degrees, I had been drawn on to talk on a variety of +subjects which travel had made me familiar with, and to speak of persons +of mark and station whom I had met and known. Still less did I remark that +I was submitted to a species of examination as to my veracity, and that I +was asked for dates, and times, and place, in a manner that might have +startled one more susceptible. Warmed with what I may dare to call my +success, and heated with wine, I grew bolder; I stigmatized as gross +ignorance and folly the policy of the English Government in maintaining a +war for what no success could ever bring back again,—the prestige of +loyalty, and the respect once tendered to nobility. +</p> +<p> +I know not into what excesses my enthusiasm may have carried me. Enough +when I say that I encountered the most brilliant talkers without fear, and +entered the list with all that the day possessed of conversational power, +without any sense of faint-heartedness. On such questions as the military +system of France, the division of parties in that country, the probable +issue to which the struggle pointed, I was, indeed, better informed than +my neighbors; but when they came to discuss the financial condition of the +French, and what it had been in the late reigns, I at once recalled all my +conversations with Law, with every detail of whose system I was perfectly +familiar. +</p> +<p> +Of the anecdotes of that time—a most amusing illustration of society +as it then existed—I remembered many; and I had the good fortune to +see that the Prince listened with evident pleasure to my recitals; and, at +last, it was in the very transport of success I found myself ascending the +stairs to the drawing-room, while O'Kelly whispered in my ear,— +</p> +<p> +“Splendidly done, by Jove! The Prince is going to invite you to Carlton +House.” + </p> +<p> +After coffee was served, the party sat down to play of various kinds,—dice, +cards, and backgammon. At the Prince's whist-table there was a vacant +place, and I was invited to take it. I had twenty guineas in gold in my +pocket. They were my all in the world; but had they been as many millions, +I would not have scrupled to risk them at such a moment. There was a +strange, almost insane spirit that seemed to whisper to me that nothing +could be too bold to adventure—no flight too high—no contrast +with my real condition too striking to attempt! They who have braved +danger and death to ascend some great glacier, the whole object the one +triumphant moment on which they behold the blaze of sunrise, may form some +conception of the maddening ecstasy of my sensations. +</p> +<p> +“Do you play at whist? If so, come and join us,” said the Prince. +</p> +<p> +“Take my purse,” whispered O'Kelly, endeavoring to slip it into my hand as +he spoke. +</p> +<p> +I accepted the invitation; and, without taking any notice of O'Kelly's +offer, took my place at the table. +</p> +<p> +“We play low stakes, too low, perhaps, for you,” said his Royal Highness,—“mere +guinea points; but there's Canthorpe, and Sedley, and two or three more, +will indulge you in any wager you fancy.” + </p> +<p> +“Fifty on the rubber, if you like, sir,” said Colonel Canthorpe, a tall, +soldier-like man, who stood with his back to the fire. +</p> +<p> +“If my friend O'Kelly will be my banker for to-night, I shall take your +offer.” + </p> +<p> +Without the slightest hesitation, O'Kelly replied, “To be sure, my boy!” + and the game began. +</p> +<p> +My mastery at the game was soon apparent; and the Prince complimented me +by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“I wish we could discover in what you are deficient; for up to this we +have certainly not hit upon it.” + </p> +<p> +It needed not all this flattery to make me feel almost mad with +excitement. I remember little of that scene; but still there is one trait +of it fast graven on my memory, to hold its place there forever. It was +this: that while I betted largely, and lost freely considerable sums, +O'Kelly, who had become the security for my debts, never winced for a +moment, nor showed the slightest mark of discomfiture or uneasiness. My +demand, in the first instance, was suggested by the not over generous +motive of making him pay the penalty he had incurred by having invited me. +He has called me his friend before the world, thought I, and if he means +this for a cruel jest, it shall at least cost him dearly. In a sort of +savage ferocity, I fed myself with thinking of the tortures with which I +should afflict him, in return for all the agony and suffering I had myself +gone through. He also shall know what it is to act a lie, said I to +myself; and with this hateful resolve I sat down to play. His ready +acceptance of my proposition, his gentleman-like ease and calm, his actual +indifference as I lost, and lost heavily, soon staggered all my +reasonings, and routed all my theory. And when at last the Prince, +complimenting me on my skill, deplored the ill-luck that more than +balanced it, O'Kelly said, gayly,— +</p> +<p> +“Depend on 't, you'll have better fortune after supper. Come and have a +glass of champagne.” + </p> +<p> +I was now impatient until we were again at the card-table. +</p> +<p> +All my former intentions were reversed, and I would have given my right +hand to have been able to repay my debt to him ere I said “Good night.” + Perhaps he read what was passing within me; I almost suspect that he +construed aright the restless anxiety that now beset me; for he whispered, +as we went back to the drawing-room,— +</p> +<p> +“You are evidently out of luck. Wait for your revenge on another evening.” + </p> +<p> +“Now or never,” said I. And so was it in reality. I had secretly +determined within myself to try and win back O'Kelly's losses, and if I +failed, at once to stand forward and declare myself in my real character. +No false shame, no real dread of the ignominy to which I should expose +myself should prevent me; and with an oath to my own heart I ratified this +compact. +</p> +<p> +Again we took our places; the stakes were now doubled; and all the +excitement of mind was added to the gambler's infatuation. Colonel +Canthorpe, who had been for some minutes occupied with his note-book, at +last tore out the leaf he had been writing on, and handed it to me, +saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Is that correct?” + </p> +<p> +The figures were six hundred and fifty,—the amount of my loss. +</p> +<p> +I simply nodded an assent, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“We go on, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +“We 'll double, if you prefer it,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“What says my banker?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“He says, 'Credit unlimited,'” cried O'Kelly, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! I wish mine would say as much,” said the Prince, laughing, as he +cut the cards for me to deal. +</p> +<p> +Although I had drunk freely, and talked excitingly, my head became +suddenly calm and collected, just as if some great emergency had sufficed +to dispel all illusions, and enabled my faculties to assume their full +exercise. Of O'Kelly I saw nothing more; he was occupied in an adjoining +room; and even this element of anxiety was spared me. +</p> +<p> +I will not ask my reader to follow me through the vicissitudes of play, +nor expect from him any share of interest in a passion which of all others +is the most bereft of good, and allied with the very lowest of all +motives, and the meanest of all ambitions. Enough that I tell the result. +After a long course of defeats and disasters, I rose, not only clear of +all my debts, but a winner of two hundred pounds. +</p> +<p> +The Prince heartily congratulated me on my good fortune, saying that none +could better deserve it. He complimented me much on my play, but still +more on my admirable temper as a loser,—a quality which, he added, +he never could lay claim to. +</p> +<p> +“I'm a bad beaten man, but you are the very reverse,” said he. “Dine with +me on Saturday, and I hope to see how you'll comport yourself as a +winner.” + </p> +<p> +I had but time to bow my humble acknowledgment of this gracious speech, +when O'Kelly came up, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“So Canthorpe tells me you beat him, after all; but I always knew how it +would end,—play must and will tell in the long run.” + </p> +<p> +“Non numen habes si sit Prudentia,—eh, O'Kelly?” said Conway. +</p> +<p> +“Prudentia means the ace of trumps, then,” said Sheridan. +</p> +<p> +“Where shall I send you my debt?” said Canthorpe to me, in a whisper. +“What's your club?” + </p> +<p> +“He's only just arrived in town,” interrupted O'Kelly; “but I intend to +put him up for Brooke's on Wednesday, and will ask you to second him. You +'re on the committee, I think?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; and I 'll do it with great pleasure,” said Canthorpe. +</p> +<p> +“I'll settle your score for you,” said O'Kelly to Canthorpe; and now, with +much handshaking and cordiality, the party broke up. +</p> +<p> +“Don't go for a moment,” said O'Kelly to me, as he passed to accompany the +Prince downstairs. I sat down before the fire in the now deserted room, +and, burying my head between my hands, I endeavored to bring my thoughts +to something like order and discipline. It was to no use; the whirlwind of +emotions I had endured still raged within me, and I could not satisfy +myself which of all my characters was the real one. Was I the outcast, +destitute and miserable? or was I the friend of the high-born, and the +associate of a Prince? Where was this to end? Should I awake to misery on +the morrow, or was madness itself to be the issue to this strange dream? +Heaven forgive me if I almost wished it might be so, and if in my abject +terror I would have chosen the half-unconscious existence of insanity to +the sense of shame and self-upbraiding my future seemed to menace! +</p> +<p> +While I sat thus, O'Kelly entered, and, having locked the door after him, +took his place beside me. I was not aware of his presence till he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, Jack, I intended to mystify others; but, by Jove! it has ended in +mystifying myself. Who the devil are you? What are you?” + </p> +<p> +“If I don't mistake me, you are the man to answer that question yourself. +You presented me not alone to your friends, but to your Prince; and it is +but fair to infer that you knew what you were about.” + </p> +<p> +He stared at me steadily without speaking. I saw the state of confusion +and embarrassment from which he suffered, and I actually revelled in the +difficulty in which I had placed him. I perceived all the advantage of my +position, and resolved to profit by it. +</p> +<p> +“One thing is quite evident,” said I, calmly and collectedly, like a man +who weighed all his words, and spoke with deep deliberation,—“one +thing is quite evident, you could scarcely have presumed to take such a +liberty with your Prince as to present to him, and place at the same table +with him, a man whom you picked up from the streets,—one whose very +station marked him for an outcast, whose exterior showed his destitution. +This, I conclude, you could not have dared to do; and yet it is in the +direct conviction that such was my position yesterday, I sit here now, +trying to reconcile such inconsistency, and asking myself which of us two +is in the wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“My good friend,” said O'Kelly, with a deliberation fully the equal of my +own, and in a way that, I must confess, somewhat abashed me,—“my +good friend, do not embarrass yourself by any anxieties for me. I am quite +able and ready to account for my actions to any who deem themselves +eligible to question them.” + </p> +<p> +“From which number,” said I, interrupting, “you would, of course, infer +that I am to be excluded?” + </p> +<p> +“By no means,” said he, “if you can satisfy me to the contrary. I shall +hold myself as responsible to you as to any one of those gentlemen who +have just left us, if you will merely show me sufficient cause.” + </p> +<p> +“As how, for instance?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Simply by declaring yourself the rightful possessor of a station and rank +in life for which your habits and manners plainly show you to be fitted. +Let me be convinced that you have not derogated from this by any act +unworthy of a man of honor—” + </p> +<p> +“Stop, sir,” said I. “By what right do you dare to put me on my trial? Of +your own free will you presumed to ask for my companionship. You extended +to me an equality which, if not sincere, was an insult.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! if you be really a gentleman, your reasons are all good ones,” said +O'Kelly. “I own, too, frankly, I intended my freak as the subject of a +wager. If I be caught in my own toils, I must only pay the penalty.” + </p> +<p> +“And give me satisfaction?” + </p> +<p> +“That is what I mean,” replied he, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“Then you have done it already,” said I, rising. “I ask for no more than +the frank and manly readiness with which you acknowledge that poverty is +no disqualification to the assertion of an honorable pride, and that the +feeling of a gentleman may still throb in the heart of a ragged man.” + </p> +<p> +“You are surely not going to leave me this way,” said he, catching my hand +in both his own. “You'll tell me who you are,—you 'll let me know at +least something of you.” + </p> +<p> +“Not now, at all events,” said I. “I'm not in a mood to encounter more at +present. Good night. Before I leave you, however, I owe it, as some return +for your hospitality, to say that I shall not hazard your credit with your +Prince,—I do not mean to accept his invitation. You must find the +fitting apology, for I shall leave England to-morrow, in all likelihood +for years,—at all events, for a period long enough to make this +incident forgotten. Good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! I 'll never forgive myself if we part in this fashion,” said +O'Kelly. “Do—as a proof of some regard, or at least of some +consideration for me—do tell me your real name.” + </p> +<p> +“Carew,” said I, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“No, no; that was but a jest. I ask in all earnestness and sincerity; tell +me your name.” + </p> +<p> +“Jasper Carew,” said I, again; and before he could collect himself to +reply, I had reached the door, and, with a last “good-night,” I passed +out, and left him. +</p> +<p> +I could not bring myself to return to my miserable lodging again. I felt +as if a new phase of life had opened on me, and that it would be an act of +meanness to revert to the scenes of my former obscurity. I entered a +hotel, and ordered a room. My appearance and dress at once exacted every +respect and attention. A handsome chamber was immediately prepared for me; +and just as day was breaking, I fell off into a deep sleep which lasted +till late in the afternoon. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XL. AT SEA +</h2> +<p> +I cannot attempt to describe my feelings on awaking, nor the lamentable +failure of all my efforts at recalling the events of the night before. +That many real occurrences seemed to me the mere effects of wine and a +heated imagination, and that some of the very wildest freaks of my fancy +were assumed by me as facts, I can now readily believe. In truth, my head +was in a state of the wildest credulity and the very narrowest distrust, +and my only astonishment now is, how I resisted impulses plainly suggested +by coming insanity. +</p> +<p> +At one time I thought of calling O'Kelly out; then my indignation was +directed against some other of the company, for either a real or a fancied +grievance. Perhaps they had all been in the league against me, and that I +had been invited merely to make a sport of my absurd pretensions, and to +afford laughter by my vanity. Then it occurred to me that it was the +Prince himself who was insulted by my companionship, and that they who had +dared to make me the means of such an outrage should be held accountable. +</p> +<p> +Lastly came the thought, Is the whole a dream? Have I been drugged to play +some absurd and ridiculous part, and shall I be exposed to ridicule when I +appear abroad again? This impression was strengthened by the appearance of +my dress, so unlike anything I had ever worn before. Of the incidents of +the card-table I could remember next to nothing. A few trivial facts of +the game, an accidental event in the play itself, remained in my memory, +but that was all. I fancied I had been a heavy loser; but how, when, or to +whom, I knew not. I opened my pocket-book, and found four notes for fifty +pounds each; but how they came there I could not conceive! And yet, said +I, all this took place yesterday! and what was I before that?—where +did I live, and with whom associate? My head began to turn, the strangest +thoughts chased each other through my brain. Incidents of the street, +collisions and accidents of all kinds, were mingled with events of the +previous evening; want and squalor stood side by side with splendor, and +the bland accents of royalty blended themselves with the brutal +exclamations of my former fellows. Then there flashed across me the +thought that the drama in which I had been made to perform was not yet +played out. They mean me to figure further on the boards, said I to +myself; the money has been supplied to me to tempt me into extravagance +which shall make me even more ridiculous still. My every action watched, +my words listened to, my gestures noted down, I am to be the butt of their +sarcastic pleasure, and all my pretensions to the' habits, the feelings, +and the manners of a gentleman be held up as a subject for mockery and +derision. +</p> +<p> +I half dreaded to ring the bell and summon the waiter, lest I should be +exposing myself to a spy on my actions. When I approached the window to +look out, I fancied that every accidental glance of a passer-by was the +prying gaze of insolent curiosity. It was in a state of fever that I +dressed myself; and even then my costume of full dinner dress made me feel +ashamed to venture abroad. At last I took courage to order breakfast. The +respectful demeanor of the waiter gave me further confidence, and I +ventured to ask him a few questions on passing events. I learned that the +hotel was one usually frequented by foreigners, for whose accommodation +two or three Continental newspapers were taken. At my request he fetched +me one of these,—“La Gazette de Paris;” and with this for my +companion, I sat myself down at my fire, resolved to remain a close +prisoner for at least a day or two. +</p> +<p> +Towards evening I sent for a tailor and ordered two suits of clothes, with +linen, and, in fact, all that I stood in need of; and when night set in, I +issued forth to make several small purchases of articles I wanted. It was +late when I entered the hotel, and, not having eaten any dinner, I felt +hungry. The waiter showed me into the coffee-room, which was arrayed in +foreign fashion, and where they supped <i>à la carte</i>. +</p> +<p> +The general appearance of the company at once proclaimed their origin; and +a less practised eye than mine even, might have seen that they were all +natives of some Continental country. They talked loudly and gesticulated +wildly, careless to all seeming of being overheard by strangers, and +little regarding in whose presence they might be standing. Their bearing +was, in fact, such as speedily set me at ease amongst them, and made me +feel myself unnoticed and unremarked. +</p> +<p> +Seated at a small table by myself, I ordered my supper, and half +carelessly watched the others while it was being prepared. Whatever they +might have been by birth or station, they seemed now all in the very +narrowest circumstances. Threadbare coats and broken boots, worn hats and +gloveless hands, bespoke their condition; nor could all the swagger of +manner, or pretentious display of a ribbon or a cross, cover over the +evidences of real poverty that oppressed them. +</p> +<p> +Had I noticed these signs earlier, I should certainly have restricted +myself to a meal more befitting the place and its occupants. The humble +suppers I saw around me of bread and cheese now shocked me at what might +well appear display on my part; and had there been time to correct my +error, I should gladly have done so. It was, however, too late. Already +had the landlord carried in a silver tureen of soup, and set it before me; +and the tall neck of a champagne bottle rose amidst the mimic icebergs at +my side. +</p> +<p> +The others took no pains to hide their astonishment at all this; they +stood in knots and groups about, with eyes directed full upon me, and as +evidently made me the subject of their remarks. I could perceive that the +landlord was far from being at his ease, and that all his endeavors were +employed either to conceal from me these demonstrations, or to give them +some harmless interpretation. +</p> +<p> +“You have travelled, sir, and know well what foreigners are,” said he, in +a whisper; “and although all these are gentlemen by birth, from one +misfortune or other they are a bit down in the world now, and they look +with jealousy at any one better off than themselves.” + </p> +<p> +“Foreigners are usually better bred than to exhibit such feelings,” said +I. +</p> +<p> +“Nor would they, perhaps, sir, if at home and in prosperity; but so many +are ruined now by wars and revolutions—so many banished and exiled—that +one ought to make large allowances for their tempers. That old man yonder, +for instance, was a duke somewhere in Brittany; and the thin, tall one, +that is gesticulating with his stick, served as colonel in the bodyguard +of the King of France. And there, next the fire,—you see he has +taken off a kind of smock-frock and is drying it at the blaze,—that +is a Pomeranian count who owned a principality once, they tell me.” + </p> +<p> +“He looks very poor now; what means of support has he?” + </p> +<p> +“None, I believe, sir; he was bred to nothing, and can neither teach +drawing, nor music, nor the sword-exercise, like Frenchmen or Italians; +and the consequence is, that he actually—you 'll not believe it, but +it is true, notwithstanding—he actually sweeps a crossing at +Cheapside for his living.” + </p> +<p> +I started, as he said this, as if I had been stung by a reptile. For a +moment I was convinced that the speech was a designed insult. I thought +that the very expression of his eyes as he turned them on me was +malignant. It was all I could do not to resent the insolence; but I +restrained myself and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Heaven knows,” continued he, “if he have eaten once to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think,” said I, “it would be possible to induce him to join me at +supper,—I mean, could it be managed without offence?” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! I should say so, sir, and easily enough, too. These poor fellows +have gone through too much to carry any excess of pride about with them.” + </p> +<p> +“Would you undertake the office, then?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“With pleasure, sir;” and, as he spoke, he crossed the room, and, standing +over the old man's chair, whispered in his ear. I soon perceived, by the +manner of each, that the negotiation was not as simple as he had fancied +it. Remark, reply, and rejoinder seemed to follow each other quickly; and +I could almost detect something like an insolent rejection of the +landlord's suit in the old man's manner. Indeed, I had not long to remain +in doubt on the subject; for, rising from his seat, the Count addressed +some hurried words to those about him, to which they replied by +expressions of anger and astonishment. In vain the landlord interposed, +and tried to calm down their impatience; they grew more and more excited, +and I could detect expressions of insulting meaning through what they +uttered. +</p> +<p> +“What is the matter?” asked I of the landlord; but ere he could reply, a +tall, dark man, with the marked physiognomy of a Pole, came up to me and +said,— +</p> +<p> +“The Graf von Bildstein has received a grave provocation at your hands: +are you prepared to justify it?” + </p> +<p> +“I must first of all learn how I may have offended him,” said I, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“We all of us heard it,” said he, impatiently; “you insulted every man in +this room through him. Either, then, you leave it at once [and he pointed +insolently to the door], or you give him satisfaction.” + </p> +<p> +The only reply I made to this speech was a haughty laugh, as I filled my +glass with champagne. I had but done so when, with a blow of his cane, he +swept my bottle and the glasses from the table; and then, stepping back +and drawing a sword from the stick, threw himself into an attitude of +defence. I drew my sword and rushed in on him. Either that he was not a +skilful fencer, or unprepared for the suddenness of my attack, he defended +himself badly; his guards were all wide, and his eyes unsteady. I felt my +advantage in a moment, and, after a couple of passes, ran my point through +his side, just close to the ribs. A loud cry from the bystanders, as the +blood gushed forth, now stopped the encounter, and they speedily dashed +forward to catch him as he reeled and fell. +</p> +<p> +“Away with you, for Heaven's sake, or you are a murdered man,” cried the +landlord to me, while he pushed me violently from the room and out into +the street, barring and bolting the door within, at the same instant. The +terrible clamor inside, and the efforts to force a passage, now warned me +of my danger, and I fled at the very top of my speed, not knowing nor +caring whither. I had gone considerably above a mile ere I ventured to +halt and draw breath. I was in a part of the city with narrow streets and +tall warehouses, dark, gloomy, and solitary; a small, mean-looking alley +led me down to the river's side, from which I could perceive the Tower +quite close, and a crowd of shipping in the stream. A small schooner, with +a foresail alone set, was just getting under way, and as she slowly moved +along, boats came and went from the shore to her. +</p> +<p> +“Want to go aboard, sir?” asked a waterman, who observed me as I stood +watching the movement of the craft. I nodded, and the next moment we were +alongside. I asked for the skipper, and heard that he was to join us at +Gravesend. The mate politely said I might go below; and, accepting the +permission, I descended to the cabin, and lay down on a bench. A boy was +cleaning plates and glasses in a little nook at one side, and from him I +learned that the schooner was the “Martha,” of Hull, bound for Cherbourg; +her captain was her owner, and usually traded between the English coast +and the Channel Islands. At all events, thought I, I am safe out of +England; and with that reflection I turned on my side and went off to +sleep. +</p> +<p> +Just as day broke, the skipper came on board, and I could perceive, by the +gushing noise beside my ear, that we were going fast through the water. +The craft lay over, too, and seemed as if under a press of canvas. It was +not for full an hour afterwards that the skipper descended to the cabin, +and, shaking me roughly by the shoulder, asked how I came there. +</p> +<p> +I had gone asleep concocting a story to account for my presence; and so I +told him in a few words that I had just been engaged in a duel wherein I +had wounded my antagonist; that as the event had occurred suddenly, I had +no time for any preparation, but just threw myself on board the first +craft about to sail, ready and willing to pay liberally for the succor it +afforded me. +</p> +<p> +Either he disbelieved my narrative, or fancied that it might involve +himself in some trouble, for he doggedly said I had no right to come +aboard of her without his leave, and that he should certainly put in at +Ramsgate and hand me over to the authorities. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said I, with an affected indifference. “The greater fool you +not to earn fifty guineas for a kind office than go out of your way to do +a churlish one.” + </p> +<p> +He left me at this to go up on deck, and came down again about half an +hour later. I heard enough to convince me that the wind was freshening, +and that a heavy sea, too, was getting up, so that in all likelihood he +would hesitate ere he 'd try to put in at Ramsgate. He did not speak to me +this time, but sat with folded arms watching me as I lay pretending to be +asleep. At length he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I say, friend, you 've got no passport, I suppose? How do you mean to +land in France? or, if there, how do you propose to travel?” + </p> +<p> +“These are matters I don't mean to trouble you about, Captain,” said I, +haughtily; and though I said the words boldly enough, it was exactly the +very puzzle that was then working in my brain. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, sir; but they are exactly matters that concern me; for you are not on +the schooner's manifest,—you are not one of her crew,—and I +don't mean to get into trouble on your behalf.” + </p> +<p> +“Put me ashore at night, or leave me to reach it in any way,” said I, half +angrily; for I was well-nigh out of patience at these everlasting +difficulties. +</p> +<p> +He made no reply to this speech, but starting suddenly up, like a man who +had hastily made up his mind on some particular course, he went up on +deck. I overheard orders given, and immediately after a stir and bustle +among the sailors, and in my anxiety at once connected myself with these +movements. What project had they regarding me? In what way did they mean +to treat me?—were the questions that rose to my mind. The heavy +working of the craft showed me that her course had been altered, and I +began to dread lest we should be turning again towards England. +</p> +<p> +From these thoughts my mind wandered back and back, reviewing the chief +events of my life, and wondering whether I were ever destined to reach one +spot that I could rest in, and where my weary spirit might find peace. To +be the sport of Fortune in her most wilful of moods seemed, indeed, my +lot; and to go on through life unattached to my fellows, appeared my fate. +I remember once to have read in some French author that the attachment we +feel to home, the sacred names of son and brother, are not more than the +instincts of habit; that natural affection, as it is called, has no real +existence; and that it is the mere force of repetition that forms the tie +by which we love those whom we call father or mother. It is a cold and a +cheerless theory, and yet now it struck me with a certain melancholy +satisfaction to think that, save in the name of parentage, I was not worse +off than others. +</p> +<p> +The hours glided on unnoticed as I lay thus dreaming, and night at last +fell, dark and starless. I had almost attained to a kind of careless +indifference as to my future, when the mate, coming up to me, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Wake up, master; we 're going to put you ashore here.” + </p> +<p> +I made no answer: half in recklessness, half in pride, I was silent. +</p> +<p> +“You 'd better throw my boat-cloak over you. It's blowing fresh, and a +heavy sea running,” said he, in a kindly voice. +</p> +<p> +“Thanks,” said I, declining; “but I 'm little used to care for my +comforts. Can I see the skipper?” + </p> +<p> +“He told me that he preferred not to see you,” said the mate, +hesitatingly, “and bade me arrange for putting you ashore myself.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a question of money—not of politeness—with me,” said I, +producing my purse. “Tell me what I owe him.” + </p> +<p> +“Not a farthing, sir. He 'd not touch a piece of money that belonged to +you. He only wants you to go your way, and part company with him.” + </p> +<p> +“Why—what does he take me for? What means this dread of me?” + </p> +<p> +The man looked confusedly up and down, to either hand, and was silent. At +last he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Come; all this is lost time. We 're close in now. Are you ready, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite ready,” said I, rising, and following him. +</p> +<p> +The boat's crew was already mustered, and, springing into the boat, she +was lowered at once; and before I well knew of it, we were plunging +through a heavy sea, by the force of four strong oars. +</p> +<p> +Through the darkness and the showering spray we went,—now rising on +the crest of some swelling wave, now diving down between the foaming +cataracts. I never asked whither we were bound. I scarcely wished for +land. There was something so exciting in the sense of peril about, that I +only desired it might continue. Such a relief is physical danger to the +slow and cankering disease of a despairing heart! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLI. LYS +</h2> +<p> +A long, low line of coast loomed through the darkness, and towards this we +now rowed through a heavy, breaking surf. More than once did they lie on +their oars to consult as to the best landing-place, and again resume their +labor as before. At last, seeing that neither creek nor inlet presented +itself, they made straight for the shore, and when within about thirty +paces of the strand, they dropped anchor and suffered the boat to drift +into shallow water. +</p> +<p> +“There now, master,” said the steersman to me, “you'll have to wet your +feet, for we can't venture further in. Jump over, and you'll soon touch +land again.” + </p> +<p> +I obeyed without a word, and ere I reached the shore the boat was already +on her way back to the schooner. As I stood gazing on the dark expanse of +sea before me, and then turned to the gloomy outline of the land, I felt a +sense of desolation no words can render. I had not the very vaguest notion +where I was. So far as I could see, there were no traces of habitation +near; and as I wandered inland, the same unbroken succession of sand +hummocks surrounded me. How strange is it that in this old Europe of ours, +so time-worn by civilization, so crossed and recrossed by man's labors, +how many spots there are which, in this wild solitude, might well be +supposed to form parts of Africa or distant America! The day broke to find +me still wandering along these dreary sand-hills; but to my great delight +two church towers about a league off showed me that a village was near; +and thither I now proceeded to bend my steps. +</p> +<p> +After walking about a mile I reached a high road which evidently led to +the village; and now it became necessary to bethink me what account I +should give of myself, and how explain my appearance when questioned, as I +inevitably should be, by the authorities. +</p> +<p> +My drenched and shrunk-up clothes and my way-worn look might well have +warranted the story of a shipwreck, and for some minutes I had almost +resolved to give that version of my calamity; but I was so weary of the +vicissitudes a false representation involved, so actually tired out by the +labor of sustaining a part that was not my own, that I determined to take +no heed of what was to follow, and leave myself to the chances of destiny, +without a struggle against them. +</p> +<p> +Fortune, thought I, has never been over kind to me when I did my best to +woo her; let me see if a little indifference on my part may not render her +more graciously disposed. From some peasants on their way to market I +learned that the village was called Lys, and was on the high road to +Montreuil. At all events, then, I was in France, which was almost as much +my country as England, and with even so much did I rally my spirits and +encourage my hopes. The country-people, with their pack-mules, stared at +my strange appearance, and evidently wondered what manner of man I might +be, for I still wore my full-dress suit; and my lace ruffles and sabot, +however discolored, showed undeniable signs of condition. Many, however, +saluted me respectfully, and touched their hats as to one of rank above +their own, and not one displayed anything approaching levity or a jest at +my singular exterior. It might possibly have been the secluded character +of the spot itself, or that the recent peace with England had brought +about the change; but whatever the cause, neither police nor gendarmerie +questioned me as to my passport, and I strolled into the first café that +presented itself, to take my breakfast, without hindrance or impediment. +</p> +<p> +While I enjoyed my meal, I amused myself with the newspapers, at that time +filled with descriptions of festivities and court receptions, at which the +English were the honored guests. Instead of the accustomed allusions to +insular eccentricity, awkwardness, and boorish unsociality, there were +nothing but praises of English frankness and cordial simplicity. I saw +that the Government, for doubtless good reasons of its own, had given the +initiative to this new estimation of my countrymen; and resolved, if +possible, to reap the benefit of it, I repaired to the Mairie and asked to +see the “Maire.” In a few words, I told him that I had laid a heavy wager +to travel up to Paris and back to England without a passport; that I had +made this foolish bet at a dinner-party, which I quitted to accomplish my +undertaking. My intention had been to have landed at Havre; but, by +ill-luck, we were driven on shore to the north'ard, and narrowly escaped +shipwreck; from which having saved myself, I reached Lys, destitute of +everything save a small sum of money I carried about me. I told this story +with the air of one who really felt that any impediment to so harmless a +project must be impossible, and with such success that the Maire invited +me into his drawing-room to repeat my tale to his family, as an excellent +illustration of the length to which English eccentricity could go. +</p> +<p> +My manners, the facility with which I spoke French, my calm assurance of +not requiring any other aid or assistance than the friendly offices of the +authorities, so gained his favor that he promised to think over the +matter, and give me his opinion in the morning. I asked for no more. I was +not impatient to get forward; and at that moment the little grass-grown +streets and alleys of Lys were as pleasing to me as the most fashionable +thoroughfares of a great city. +</p> +<p> +He did not send for me, as he promised, on the following morning. A second +day and a third passed over with the same results; and still I remained +loitering about the village and making acquaintance with every notable +monument, from its quaint old church to the little obelisk in the +marketplace, commemorating the birthplace of its great citizen, the +architect Mansard. +</p> +<p> +I had by this time formed two or three slight acquaintanceships with the +townsfolk, who, although living on a high road much traversed by +travellers, were a simple-minded and maritime set of people. The little +routine of this quaint old spot also pleased me; and I persuaded myself +that I should ask nothing better from fortune than to be able to pass my +life and end my days in Lys. Vast numbers of English poured daily into +France at this time; and it was one of my chief amusements to sit at the +little café in front of the “poste,” and watch them as they changed +horses. I do not suppose that even yet our countrymen escape from what +would appear to be the almost inevitable blunders of foreign travel; but +at the time I speak of, these mistakes and misapprehensions were far +greater. The Continent and its languages were alike new to them. National +peculiarities were all more marked, and John Bull himself less compliant +and more exacting than he now is. +</p> +<p> +As the temper and tone of the day were, however, favorable to England, and +as Englishmen were remarkable for the liberality of their payments for all +services rendered them, the nation was popular, and whatever errors or +awkwardness they committed were speedily forgotten or forgiven. I was +seated, as was my custom, one morning, watching the tide of travellers +that rolled by unceasingly, when a large travelling carriage, with eight +horses and a mounted courier in front, drew up at the “poste.” While the +horses were being harnessed, two gentlemen descended, and, crossing the +“Place,” entered the café. One was a large, full, and somewhat handsome +man, with that florid look and air so characteristic of an English country +squire; the other I had not time to remark ere he came up to me and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Happy to meet you again, Mr. Carew; I trust you don't forget me.'” + </p> +<p> +It was Colonel Canthorpe, whom I had met at O'Kelly's dinner-table. +</p> +<p> +“This chance meeting is a piece of good fortune,” continued he, “since it +enables me to pay a debt I owe you. On looking over my memorandum-book, I +discovered I had lost three hundred, and not two, to you. Am I correct?” + </p> +<p> +I professed, with truth, that I had no recollection of the matter, nor had +anything to guide me to its memory. +</p> +<p> +“I'm quite positive that I'm right, however,” said he, “and you must allow +me to acquit myself of the obligation. Who is your banker at Paris?” + </p> +<p> +I had to say that so many years had passed over since I was there, I +really had not thought of selecting one. +</p> +<p> +“But you are going on thither?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, in a day or two; that is, as soon as I have arranged a difficulty +about my passport.” + </p> +<p> +“If that's the only thing that detains you,” said he, “pray accept of +mine. In travelling with my friend Mr. Fox, I need none.” + </p> +<p> +I turned at the sound of the name, and at once recognized, by the +resemblance to the prints, the bluff and manly features of the great +leader of the Opposition. +</p> +<p> +“This is our famous whist-player, Fox, Mr. Carew,” said Canthorpe, +presenting me; and the other rose and received me most courteously, adding +some little compliments on my reputed skill at the game. +</p> +<p> +While we were yet talking, their breakfast made its appearance, and I was +invited to partake of the meal,—a politeness which I accepted of +readily, while I congratulated myself by thinking that up to this time at +least O'Kelly had not divulged the secret of my former station. +</p> +<p> +The conversation turned principally on France and its relations with +England; and I was surprised to find the great parliamentary leader so +little acquainted with either the character of the people or of those who +ruled them. He seemed willing to accept all the present civil overtures as +guarantees of lasting and cordial friendship, and to regard as antiquated +and unworthy prejudices those expressions of distrust to which, in my more +intimate knowledge of France, I occasionally gave utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Carew's whist experiences, I perceive',” said he, “are not his guides +in politics. He will not trust his partner.” + </p> +<p> +“There is this difference,” said I, “that in whist you sit opposite to +your ally: in politics, as in war, your vis-à-vis is your enemy.” + </p> +<p> +“For my part,” said he, good-humoredly, “I think, having fought against +each other—bravely fought, as France and England have—is one +of the very best elements towards a lasting peace. Each must by this time +have attained to a proper estimate of the other; and from that source +alone a degree of respect springs up, fit to become the foundation of true +friendship.” + </p> +<p> +“Your theory excludes all notion of a rivalry, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Rivalry can exist only between small states or individuals. Great +countries have great ambitions, and these are usually above mere +rivalries.” + </p> +<p> +I have quoted, word for word, the expressions he made use of, less for any +importance of their own than for the sake of the man who spoke them. They +were, as I afterwards came to know, specimens of that careless habit of +talking in which he constantly indulged, and in which an indolent +goodnature rather swayed him than the use of those fine faculties of +judgment he so eminently possessed. My more intimate acquaintance with +France and its language gave me certain advantages in our discussion which +he soon perceived, and he questioned me closely about the people and their +natural tendencies. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Canthorpe came twice to announce that the horses were ready, and +yet still Mr. Fox stood, inquiring eagerly into points of which he +confessed himself quite uninformed. +</p> +<p> +“How glad I should be,” said he, “to have an opportunity of continuing +this conversation. Is there any chance of our meeting at Paris?” + </p> +<p> +I owned that the expression of his wish on the subject quite decided me to +go there. +</p> +<p> +“On what day, then, may I expect you? Shall we say Saturday, and at +dinner?” + </p> +<p> +“Most willingly,” said I, “if I can accomplish it.” + </p> +<p> +“As to the passport, nothing easier,” said Canthorpe. “This is mine—it +is perfectly regular—requires no <i>visé</i>; and once in Paris, my +friend here will obtain one for you in your own name.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Fox, shaking my hand cordially; and repeating “Saturday—Quillac's +Hotel,” away he went, leaving me almost incredulous of all I had seen and +been saying. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLII. THE COMING SHADOW +</h2> +<p> +I arrived in Paris a few days after, and took up my abode at the Hôtel +Quillac, then one of the most splendid in the capital. Mr. Fox and Colonel +Canthorpe received me most courteously, willingly accepting my guidance in +their visits to the various objects of interest that this glorious city +contains. Such a knowledge of the language as I possessed was a rarer gift +at that time than it now is, when education and foreign travel are so +widely enjoyed; and I could plainly see that they regarded their chance +acquaintanceship with me as quite a piece of good fortune. This did not, +however, prevent their feeling—as I could perceive they felt—a +most lively curiosity as to what might have been my former life, where it +had been passed, and how. Too well bred to suffer this anxiety of theirs +to appear, except by a mere accident, yet it was evident to me, by a +hundred little circumstances, how it formed a constant subject of +conversation between them. +</p> +<p> +I am far from implying that their intercourse with me was marked by +anything like distrust or suspicion; on the contrary, they talked freely +in my presence on every subject, and upon politics Mr. Fox especially +spoke with a degree of openness that, had he been less distinguished, I +should have presumed to call indiscreet. He made almost daily visits at +the Tuileries, and never hesitated, on his return, to recount to us what +had passed between the First Consul and himself. +</p> +<p> +The manly character of the English statesman contributed to give the +interviews many very interesting traits, to which also his imperfect +knowledge of French lent several amusing features. Were I not afraid of +repeating well-known anecdotes, I should avail myself of this opportunity +to recall some instances of these. At all events, I am happy to have the +occasion of saying that the veriest Tory that ever inveighed against +France never had a more thoroughly English heart and spirit than Charles +Fox. I have seen it imputed to him that in his partisanship he would +willingly have accepted a dishonorable peace, and made common cause with +the First Consul on any terms; and I affirm that I am in a position to +refute this foul charge, and prove it a calumny. +</p> +<p> +Neither, as was asserted at the time, did the unquestionable fascination +of Bonaparte's manner gain a complete ascendancy over the Englishman's +less-cultivated tact. It is true he came back—as who would not?—from +these meetings amazed at the extensive knowledge, the vast acquirements, +and the profound sagacity of that great man; nor did he hesitate to own +that even these were thrown into the shade by the charms of his manner and +the captivation of an address which I believe at that period had reached +its very point of perfection. +</p> +<p> +An attack of gout confined Mr. Fox for some time to his room, and thus +interfered with the progress of an intimacy that might be fairly called +friendship. Who can say now how far the highest interests of mankind, the +fortunes of the whole world, may not have been influenced by that casual +indisposition! It is certain that Fox had already been able to disabuse +Bonaparte's mind with regard to a variety of things in which he judged +erroneously. He had succeeded in setting him right on several points of +our national spirit and the spirit of our constitution. He had even done +much towards convincing him that England was not inspired with an insane +hatred to France, and would willingly live at peace with her, only asking +that a peace should have guarantees for its duration, and not be, as it +but too often is, but the interval of preparation for war. I say then +again what a change might there have been to the destinies of mankind, had +this intercourse gone on uninterruptedly! How differently might Bonaparte +have learned to regard and consider Englishmen, and what allowances might +he not have come to make for peculiarities purely national! +</p> +<p> +How naturally might a great intelligence like his have seen that the +alliance of two such nations is the guarantee of civilization throughout +the globe, and that all our smaller rivalries and national jealousies sink +to insignificance when viewed in presence of the great perils to which +disunion exposes us,—perils that, at the hour in which I write these +lines, are neither vague nor visionary, and against which an honest and +cordial alliance can alone prevail. Let it be taken as the tremulous +terror of an old man's mind if I add, that even banded together, and with +all their energies to the task, they will not be more than enough for the +work that is before them. +</p> +<p> +I have spoken of the friendly reception I met with from Mr. Fox. I dined +constantly with him and Colonel Canthorpe alone, and accompanied them +frequently on their evening visits amongst their acquaintances. I joined +in everything, even to the high play which they both were passionately +devoted to, and lost and won without any decisive results. Meanwhile my +resources ran lower and lower. The style of living I maintained was +costly; and at the end of some weeks I saw myself with barely sufficient +to carry me through another fortnight. To this very hour I cannot explain +to myself the calm indifference with which I contemplated my approaching +and inevitable ruin. I really know nothing of the flatteries by which I +may have beguiled my own heart, and am left to the conclusion that the +intoxicating pleasures of the time had rendered me insensible to every +thought for the future. I went further, too, than might be supposed +possible. I accepted invitations to shoot in Scotland, and pass my +Christmas at Canthorpe's seat in Cumberland, promising everything with the +ease of one free to dispose of himself as he fancied. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile time went on. I had asked Mr. Fox and Canthorpe to dine with me +at the Fleur-de-Pois, outside the barrier. It was a celebrated restaurant +of those times, as distinguished for the excellence of its wine as the +perfection of its cookery. I had often given myself the airs of +connoisseurship in these matters, and I was resolved that my entertainment +should not disparage my taste. +</p> +<p> +More than one morning had I passed in council over the bill of fare, +discussing the order of the courses, canvassing the appropriate sauces, +and tasting the various wines. It was to be a “Diner à soixante francs par +tête;” the reader may imagine the rest. I knew that my friends were +unacquainted with the repute this house enjoyed, and I congratulated +myself in fancying the surprise they would feel at the unexpected +perfection of every arrangement within doors. I went down early on the +morning of the eventful day to see that everything was in readiness. All +was perfect; the table was decorated with the choicest flowers, amidst +which an ornamental dessert lay scattered, as it were. The temperature of +the room, the lighting, all were cared for; and I returned to Paris fully +satisfied that nothing had been omitted or forgotten. Instead, however, of +repairing to my hotel, I went to a small restaurant near the Luxembourg to +breakfast, and lounged afterwards at the gardens there, intending to keep +myself “up” for the evening, and not dissipate any of those conversational +resources I wished to hoard for the hours of conviviality. The reader may +well smile at the inconsistency of the man who could so collectedly devise +a few hours of pleasure, and yet face the whole future without a moment's +thought or deliberation! Towards five o'clock I sauntered slowly back to +the hotel. +</p> +<p> +“A note for you, sir,” said the porter, presenting me with a letter as I +entered. “The gentleman said it was to be given to you the moment you came +in.” + </p> +<p> +I took it with a strange, half-sickening sense of coming evil. I broke the +seal, and read:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Crillan, Three o'clock. Dear C,—We are off for England at +a moment's warning, and have only time to counsel you to the +same. There is some mischief brewing, and the d——d Tories +are likely to involve us in another war. Keep this to +yourself. Get your passport ready, and let us soon see you +across the water. With many regrets from F. and myself at +the loss of your good dinner to-day, believe me +Yours truly, + +George Canthorpe. +</pre> +<p> +The whole fabric in which I had been living for weeks past fell at once to +the ground; all the illusions of my daily existence were suddenly swept +away; and there I stood in presence of my own heart,—a poor bankrupt +pretender, without one to know or acknowledge him! +</p> +<p> +I hastened to my room and sat down, for some minutes actually overwhelmed +by the chaotic flood of thought that now poured through my brain. Very +little calm consideration would have shown me that my real condition in +life had undergone no change, that I stood precisely as I had done the day +before,—a ruined, houseless adventurer! With a little reflection, +too, it is not impossible I might have congratulated myself that my +separation had not been brought about by any disgraceful discovery of my +actual rank in life, and that I had escaped the humiliation of an +exposure. These thoughts came later; for the moment all was sadness and +gloomy depression. +</p> +<p> +The waiter entered to say that the carriage Monsieur had ordered was at +the door, and it took me some minutes to recall my mind to the fact, and +to remember that I had ordered a carriage to convey us to the restaurant. +“Be it so,” said I to myself, “let us play out the comedy;” and with this +resolve I proceeded to dress myself for dinner with all the elegance I +could bestow on my toilet. +</p> +<p> +Had I been about to dine at court, I could not have been more particular. +My sabot and ruffles were of the finest “Valenciennes;” my vest was white +satin, richly embroidered with gold; and the hilt of my sword glittered +with marqueseta and turquoise. I took a look at myself in the glass, and +almost started back as I saw the contrast between this finery of my +apparel and the haggard expression of my features; for though my cheek was +flushed and my eyes sparkled, my mouth was drawn down, and my thin, +parched lips denoted fever. There was that in my looks that actually +scared myself. +</p> +<p> +“To the Fleur-de-Pois,” said I, throwing myself back in the carriage; and +away we drove along the crowded Boulevard, many an eye turned on the +foppish figure that lounged so elegantly in his carriage, never suspecting +the while what the tone of his thoughts at that moment was, and that he +was gravely canvassing within himself the strange stories that would +circulate on the morrow, should his body be taken up in the “Filets de St. +Cloud.” True was it, the dark and muddy Seine, the cold, fast-flowing +river, was never out of my thoughts. It swept, torrent-like, through all +my reasoning, and the surging water seemed to rise and swell around me. At +that moment short, fitful thoughts of the long past shot through my mind; +and my mother, and Raper, and Margot too, came and went before me. Where +were all the teachings of my infancy now; where the holy aspirations of my +early boyhood; where the simple tastes and lowly desires, the home +affections and blest humility I once loved to dream over; where that calm +existence, so bounded by easy ambitions; and where, above all, that +honesty of life that spurned every thought of deception? “A meet ending +for such a career,” said I, bitterly, as I gazed down on the river along +whose bank we were driving. “Ay,” thought I, as we passed along, “there is +not one so miserable nor so poor with whom I would not change places, only +that this mockery should cease, and that I should be something to my own +heart besides a cheat.” + </p> +<p> +The day suddenly grew overcast, the clouds massed themselves heavily +together, and the rain began to descend in torrents. When we reached the +restaurant the storm had become a hurricane, and all who had been +preparing to dine through the arbors of the garden were quickly driven to +seek shelter within doors. As I descended from the carriage, all was +tumult and confusion; for although every available spot had been given up +to the guests, yet from their numbers they were crowded together most +uncomfortably, and loud and angry complaints and remonstrances were heard +on all sides. In vain the waiters heard patiently or answered courteously +the various discontents of those who appealed to their rank and station as +claims for special consideration. Distinguished generals, ministers, great +leaders of fashion, were all condemned to the same indiscriminate fortune +of humbler natures. +</p> +<p> +From where I sat in the little <i>salon</i> reserved for myself, I could +overhear these complaints and remonstrances, and it was in a kind of +savage irony with Fortune that I bethought me of my sumptuous lot in +comparison with the discomforts of those around me. Twice or thrice was my +door flung open by persons in search of an apartment, and in this +confusion and shame I revelled as in a momentary triumph. At length, in an +interval of comparative quiet, I thought I heard voices whispering outside +my door. I listened, and could distinguish that they were female accents, +and discussing, as it seemed, some project on which they were not agreed. +One appeared to insist as eagerly as the other was bent upon opposing; and +the words, “Mais oui,” “Mais non,” followed in quick succession. I know +not how it was, but I conceived a most intense curiosity to learn the +subject of the discussion. I felt as if I must have some share or concern +in the matter, and eagerly bent my ear to hear further. Nor was I wrong. +The question argued was, whether or not the two ladies should appeal to +the gallantry of the occupant of the room to afford them shelter till such +time as their carriage might arrive to fetch them for Paris. She who spoke +with more authority was in favor of the appeal, while the younger voice +expressed dissent to it. +</p> +<p> +Being in a measure a party to the cause, I resolved to lend what influence +I might possess towards the decision; and so, flinging wide the door, I +saluted the strangers courteously, and informing them that I had +accidentally overheard their discussion, begged they would permit me to +decide it by placing my apartment at their disposal at once. The elder of +the two immediately addressed me in a tone and manner that bespoke a +person of condition, accepting my hospitality, but only on the condition +that I myself should remain, for I had made a gesture indicative of +departure. The younger, with a veil closely drawn across her face, +courtesied without speaking. I at once acceded, and placing chairs for my +guests, requested them to be seated. +</p> +<p> +The waiter at length made his appearance to say dinner was ready “whenever +Monsieur desired it.” This was a new difficulty, and I really felt much +embarrassed by it. Resolving, however, to adopt the bold course, I hastily +apologized for the great liberty I was about to take, and after briefly +explaining the departure of the two friends I had expected, begged they +would allow me to believe that Fortune had really been kind to me for +once, in replacing them. +</p> +<p> +A sign of half-impatience by the younger was speedily corrected by the +other, as she said,— +</p> +<p> +“Monsieur forgets that we are strangers to each other.” + </p> +<p> +But there was nothing like rebuke in the tone she spoke in; but rather, as +I thought, a suggestive hint thrown out to provoke some effort at +explanation on my part. I was right in this conjecture, as I speedily saw +by the degree of attention she vouchsafed me. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps if I had had a better cause, I should not have pleaded so +successfully. I mean, that if I had been really the owner of a high name +and station, it is just possible I might not so ably have combated the +difficulty of the situation. +</p> +<p> +“At all events,” said the elder lady, “Monsieur has one advantage: he +knows who we are.” + </p> +<p> +“I shame to say, Madame,” said I, bowing low, “that, in my ignorance of +Paris, I have not that honor.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” cried she, half incredulously. +</p> +<p> +“It is quite true, Madame; I have been but a few days here, and have no +acquaintance whatever.” + </p> +<p> +They now spoke to each other for a few seconds; and after what seemed +strong persuasion, the younger turned away to remove her bonnet. +</p> +<p> +“We have, then, no right to exact any concession from Monsieur,” said the +elder lady, “seeing that we preserve our own secret.” + </p> +<p> +I could not but assent to this doctrine, and had just acknowledged it, +when the younger turned abruptly round, uttering a half cry of amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Margot!” exclaimed I; for it was she. But already had she buried her face +between her hands, and refused to look up. +</p> +<p> +“What means this?” said the elder, sternly, to me. “Do you know this young +lady?” + </p> +<p> +“I did so, once, Madame,” said I, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir?” replied she, proudly, and as if desiring me to finish my +speech. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Madame. I knew her as a child in her grandfather's house. I was +scarcely more than a boy myself at the time; but had the interval been +four times as great, I could not forget all that I owe to his kindness and +to hers.” + </p> +<p> +I could scarcely utter the last words from emotion. The child Margot—a +beautiful woman, graceful and fascinating—now stood before me, +changed, but still the same; her dark eyes darker and more meaning; her +fair brow expanded and more lofty. +</p> +<p> +“You know my story?” asked she, in a low, soft voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Margot. And oftentimes in my saddest hours have I sought excitement +and relief in the thought of your triumphs—” + </p> +<p> +“There, child,—there!” exclaimed the elder, enthusiastically, “there +is at least one who can prize the glorious ambitions of the scene, and +knows how to appreciate the successes of high art. Stand not abashed +before him, child; he comes not here as your accuser.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it so indeed?” cried Margot, entreatingly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if you but knew, Margot, how proudly I have often pondered over our +hours of the past,—now fancying that in my teachings of those days +some germ of that high ambition you have tried to reach may then have been +dropped into your heart; now wondering if in your successes some memory of +me might have survived. If you but knew this, Margot, you would soon see +how this bright moment of our meeting repays all the sorrows of a life +long.” + </p> +<p> +“I am in the third act of the drama,” said the elder lady, smiling. “Pray +let me into the secret of the piece. Where, when, and how were you first +acquainted?” + </p> +<p> +Margot looked at me to speak; but I returned her glance so entreatingly +that, taking her friend's hand between her own, she seated her at her side +and began. +</p> +<p> +While she narrated the story of our first meeting, I had full time to look +at her, and see the changes a few years had made. Beautiful as she had +been in childhood, far more lovely was she now in the grace of developed +beauty. Her art, too, had cultivated expression to its very highest point, +yet without exaggerating a trait of her features; the tones of her voice +had in them a melody I had never heard before; and I hung on her very +utterance as though it were music! +</p> +<p> +I dare not trust myself to recall more of that scene: already are emotions +struggling within me, the conflict of which this poor shattered heart is +not equal to. The great trials of life are often easier burdens to memory +than some flitting moment of passionate existence, some one brief hour of +mingled hope and fear. +</p> +<p> +Margot's friend—it was Mademoiselle Mars herself—felt the +liveliest interest in the story of our first meeting, my boyish duel and—why +should I not say it?—my boyish love. She took pleasure in hearing of +every indication of that genius in infancy which she had seen so +splendidly displayed in womanhood, and asked me for traits of Margot's +childhood with the greatest eagerness. +</p> +<p> +Margot—the first excitement over—seemed sad and dispirited; +she even showed impatience once or twice as Mademoiselle Mars insisted on +hearing some little incident of childhood, and then abruptly said,— +</p> +<p> +“And you, Monsieur, how has the world treated you since we met?” + </p> +<p> +“Not so flatteringly; I am not spoiled by Fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor am I,” said she, hastily taking up my words. +</p> +<p> +“No, dearest, that you are not,” cried the other. “You are as first I knew +you, generous, warm-hearted, and kind.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean,” said Margot, “that these successes have not made me vain nor +proud; that I know how to esteem them at their true price, and feel, +moreover, how in my heart there lives a spirit above all this loud-tongued +flattery.” + </p> +<p> +Mademoiselle Mars looked at me while she spoke, and I thought that her +eyes conveyed the strangest meaning. There was admiration, indeed, but +blended with something of tender pity and compassion. What would I not +have given to have been able to read this glance aright! No time was given +me to think on the theme, for Margot now, with a kind of half impetuous +curiosity, asked me for my adventures. +</p> +<p> +“Tell us all, everything,” said she, laughingly,—“your successes, +your failures, your hopes, your loves, your joys and sorrows. I am eager +to hear if Fortune has not dealt more generously by you than me. This +splendid preparation here”—and she pointed to the dinner-table—“would +seem to say much.” + </p> +<p> +“The story will tell better at table,” said I, gayly, and not sorry to +relieve the awkwardness of the moment by any new incident; and with this I +ordered dinner at once. As course succeeded course of the magnificent +repast, I could not help feeling what a singular preface was all this +splendor to the confession that was to follow it, and how oddly would it +tell that the host of such a feast was without a sou in the world. Our +spirits rose as dinner went on. We talked together like old friends who +had met yesterday; we discussed passing topics—all the news of the +day—lightly and amusingly; we jested and laughed, with all the +light-hearted gayety of unburdened spirits; nor can I remember anything +more brilliant than the flow of wit and pleasantry that went on amongst +us. +</p> +<p> +What strange mysterious link unites our lowest moment of despair with a +wild and almost headlong joyousness, making of the darkness of our souls a +fitting atmosphere for the lightning play of fancy and the bright +coruscations of wit! But an hour back, and never was depression deeper +than my own; and now my brain abounded with bright-hued thoughts and +pleasant imaginings. +</p> +<p> +It was late when the carriage arrived, and we returned to Paris to finish +the evening at Mademoiselle Mars' lodgings in the Rue de Choiseul. The +little <i>salons</i>, furnished with a consummate taste and elegance, were +crowded with visitors, as we reached them,—artists, authors, +musicians, theatrical people of every kind and sort, with a sprinkling of +the higher world, admitted as a rare favor to these “Saturdays.” + </p> +<p> +It was in the fascination of this very class of society that Margot had +originally conceived her passion for the stage. It was in their enthusiasm +for her genius and their admiration of her beauty she had first tasted the +ambitious longing for fame and applause; and it was still here that she +revelled, as in a charmed existence,—here sought the inspirations +that quickened her spirit to its proudest darings, and nerved her heart +for efforts almost beyond human strength. +</p> +<p> +I had but to see her for a moment in the midst of this adulation to +comprehend the whole history of her life. The poet brought his verses, the +musician his strains, the sculptor laid his own image of herself at her +feet; the most rapturous verses, the most polished flatteries, met her as +she entered. Mademoiselle Mars herself swelled the chorus of these +praises, and seemed prouder in the triumphs of her <i>protégée</i> than +she had ever been in her own. Margot accepted all this homage as a queen +might have done. She received it as a tribute that was due, and of which +none dared to defraud her. Shall I own that if at first a modest humility +and a girlish diffidence had been more gratifying to me to witness, yet, +as the hours wore on, not only had I accustomed myself to bear with, but I +actually felt myself joining in that same spirit of adulation which seemed +so meetly offered at this shrine? +</p> +<p> +What sad repinings, what terrible self-reproaches come over me as I write +these lines! My thoughts all turn to the very darkest, and yet the most +brilliant, moment of my life: the brightest in all its actual splendor and +delight,—the gloomiest in its dreary memory! Lest these fancies +should master me, I will pursue my story rapidly, coldly, apathetically, +if I may. I will not suffer a word, if I can help it, to escape me that +may unman me for my task, now all but completed. I suppose that no man can +write of himself without becoming more or less his own apologist. Even in +his self-accusings there will be mingled a degree of commiseration, and +his judgments will be found tempered with merciful considerations. I would +that I were capable of something better, bolder, and more manly than this. +I would that others might learn of my “short-comings,” and be taught by my +“over-reachings”! But though I cannot point the moral, I will tell the +tale. +</p> +<p> +Margot—it was the caprice of the moment—presented me to the +society as her cousin. I was the Chevalier de Bertin, of good family and +ample fortune. “Passionné pour les arts,” as she said, “and the devoted +slave of genius.” The introduction was well calculated to insure me a +favorable reception; and so it proved. I was at once admitted into all the +masonry of the craft. The “coulisses” of every theatre were open to me; +the private box of the prima donna, the editorial sanctum, the +dressing-room where the great actress received her chosen few, and the +little supper-table, at which a place would have been a boon to royalty,—all +were mine. To support myself, and maintain a condition proportionate to my +pretended rank, I labored immensely. I wrote for no less than four of the +great journals of Paris. I was the leading political writer in the +Bonapartist “Presse,” the royalist in the “Gazette de la Vendée,” and the +infuriated defender of the Girondins in the terrible columns of “Le +Drapeau de Pays,” theatrical and literary criticism being my walk in the +pages of the “Avant Scène.” + </p> +<p> +Two persons only were in my secret,—Sanson, the subeditor of the +“Presse,” and Jostard, who was a royalist agent, and who paid with a +liberal hand all the advocates of the Bourbons. My intimate knowledge of +the secret history of party, my acquaintance with political characters +personally, and, above all, my information on England and English topics, +gave me enormous advantages, and many of my contributions were attributed +to persons high in political station, and speaking the sentiments of +authority. I was well versed in the slashing insolence of the military +style in which the Bonapartists wrote, and knew all the cant of the +Jesuit, as well as the chosen phraseology of the wildest republican. In +this way I attacked and replied to myself vindictively, and even savagely. +Assault and counter-attack, insulting demands and still more insulting +replies, issued forth each morning to amaze the capital, and make men ask +how long could such a polemic be sustained without personal vengeance? +</p> +<p> +In my Bonapartist capacity I assailed Pitt unceasingly. It was the theme +of which that party never wearied, and in which all their hatred to +England could be carried without openly wounding the susceptibilities of +the nation. If I assailed the covert treachery of the English minister by +the increased activity in the dockyards during a state of peace, I hailed +that very sign in a Bourbonist article as an evidence that the cause of +the exiled family had not been abandoned in Great Britain; while in the +“Drapeau” I turned attention to the glorious struggle for freedom then +sustained by the blacks of St. Domingo under the chivalrous guidance of +Toussaint, openly declaring that with the negro lay at that moment the +whole destiny of all Europe. +</p> +<p> +One of these articles—I wrote it half wild with the excitement of a +supper at the Rue Choiseul; I came home nearly distracted by a quarrel +with a Martogard—I cannot continue—was headed “Noir au Blanc,” + and was an insulting comparison between “Negro Chivalry and the White +Man's Subserviency.” An outrageously insolent contrast of Bonaparte with +Toussaint closed the paper, and occasioned a police visit to the office of +the journal, demanding the name and address of the writer. Of these the +editor knew nothing; and though he succeeded in establishing his +innocence, the journal was declared to be suppressed, and a heavy fine +imposed upon its conductors. I was resolved, at whatever sacrifice, to pay +this, and consulted with Sanson how best to set about it. My receipts at +that time were as follows: from the “Presse” sixty francs daily; fifty +from the “Vendée;” the theatrical journal paid me one hundred weekly; and +the “Drapeau,” up to the time of its suppression, forty francs for every +article, irrespective of its length. In a word, each day's revenue +averaged above a hundred and fifty francs, which it was my custom to spend +to the last sou-piece. +</p> +<p> +To sustain the character of wealth and fortune, I not only toiled without +ceasing, but I entered on a career of extravagance almost as distasteful +to me. Margot loved display of every kind. The theatrical passion seemed +to suggest a desire for every species of notoriety; and to please her I +set up a costly equipage, with showy liveries and magnificent horses. The +dinners I gave were of the most extravagant kind; the bouquets I presented +to her each evening at the theatre would have in their price supported a +family. My earnings could never have compassed such outlay, and to meet it +I became a gambler,—a practised, a professional gambler,—playing +with all the calm-headed skill of a deep calculator. Fortune vacillated; +but, on the whole, I was a large winner. The fine decreed against the +“Drapeau” was fifteen thousand francs,—a large sum for me, and far +above what any effort at accumulation could possibly compass. So, indeed, +Sanson told me, and laughed at the bare thought of my attempting it. There +was, however, he said, a possibility—a mere possibility—of a +way to meet this, and he would think over it. I gave him a day or two, and +at the end of that time he told me his plan. It was this. There was a +certain minister high in the confidence of Bonaparte, whose counsels had +not been always followed, nor even listened to at times. These counsels +had been founded on the assumption that certain views and intentions of a +particular kind were maintained by the royalists,—secretly +maintained, but still occasionally shadowed forth in such a way as to be +intelligible to all in the secrets of the party. To be plain, the +suspected plan was neither more nor less than a union of the royalist with +the republican faction to overthrow the Bonapartists. This idea seemed so +chimerical to Bonaparte that to broach it was at once to lose character +with him for acuteness or political foresight. Not so to him of whom +Sanson spoke, and whom I at once pronounced to be Fouché. +</p> +<p> +“Then you are mistaken,” said he; “but to any other guess I will make no +reply, nor, if you press me on this subject, will I consent to continue +the negotiation.” + </p> +<p> +I yielded to his terms; and after a brief interval came an order for me to +hold myself in readiness on a particular evening, when a carriage would be +sent to fetch me to the house of the minister. At eight, the hour +indicated, I was ready; and scarcely had the clock struck when the +carriage rolled into the courtyard. +</p> +<p> +I have been led, as it were by accident, into the mention of this little +incident, which had no bearing nor influence on my future; but now that I +have touched upon it, I will finish it as briefly as I can. +</p> +<p> +I was received in a small office-like chamber by a man somewhat past +middle life, but whose appearance gave him the look of even age. He was +short, broad-shouldered, and slightly stooped; the figure altogether +vulgar, but the bead massive and lofty, and the face the strangest mixture +of dignity and cunning—a blending of the high-bred gentleman with +the crafty pettifogger—I ever beheld. He received me courteously, +and at once opened the business for which we met. After some compliments +on the vigor of my articles in the “Presse,” he proceeded to ask what my +peculiar opportunities might be for knowing the secret intentions of the +two great parties who opposed the government. +</p> +<p> +My replies were guarded and reserved; seeing which, he at once said,— +</p> +<p> +“This information is to be recompensed.” + </p> +<p> +I bowed coldly, and only replied that, if he would put distinct questions +to me, I should endeavor to answer them. +</p> +<p> +After some little fencing on both sides, he asked me for the writer of the +leading articles in the “Drapeau”—his name and position in life. +</p> +<p> +For reasons that may be guessed, I declined to reveal these. A similar +question as to the “Gazette” met a similar reply. Undeterred by these +refusals, he asked me my opinion of these writers' abilities, and the +likelihood of their being available to the cause of the Government, under +suitable circumstances. +</p> +<p> +I spoke half slightingly of their talents, but professed implicit trust in +their integrity. He turned the conversation then towards politics, and +discussed with me the questions on which I had been writing so earnestly, +both for and against, in the two opposing journals. The tone of virulent +abuse of both was great; and I half hinted that a personal <i>amende</i> +was perhaps the point to which my opponent and as well myself were +tending. He smiled slightly, but meaningly. +</p> +<p> +“That opinion is not yours, then, sir?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not,” said he, blandly. “Monsieur Bertin of the 'Presse' will +not seek satisfaction from Monsieur Bertin of the Drapeau,' still less of +Monsieur Bertin of the 'Gazette,' whom he holds in such slight esteem.” + </p> +<p> +“How, sir! Do you mean to imply that I am the writer in all these +journals?” + </p> +<p> +“You have just told me so, sir,” said he, still smiling; “and I respect +the word of a gentleman. The tone of identity assumed on paper is exactly +that you have yourself put on when advocating any of these lines of +policy. I suspected this from the first; now I know it. Ah, Monsieur +Bertin, you are in the mere nursery of craftiness,—not but I must +admit you are a very promising child of your years.” + </p> +<p> +Far from presuming on his discovery, he spoke more kindly and more +confidentially than ever to me; asked my reasons for this opinion and for +that, and seemed to think that I must have studied the questions I wrote +on deeply and maturely. There was nothing like disparagement in his tone +towards me, but, on the contrary, an almost flattering appreciation of my +ingenuity as a writer. +</p> +<p> +“Still, Monsieur Bertin,” said he, with affected gravity, “the 'Drapeau' +went too far,—that you must allow; and, for your sake as for ours, +it is better it should be suppressed. The fine shall be paid, but it must +appear to have come from the royalists. Can I trust you for this?” + </p> +<p> +He looked at me calmly, but steadily as he spoke; and certainly I felt as +if any deceit, should I desire it, were perfectly impossible before him. +He did not wait for my reply, but, with a seriousness that savored of +sincerity, said,— +</p> +<p> +“The press in France at this moment is the expression of this man or that, +but it is no more. We live in a period of too much change to have anything +like a public opinion; so that what is written to-day is forgotten +to-morrow. Yet with all that, the people must be taught to have one +religion of the State as they have one of the Church, and heresies of +either kind must be suppressed. Now, Monsieur Bertin, my advice to you is, +be of the good fold,—not alone because it is good, but because it is +likely to be permanent. Continue to write for the 'Gazette.' When you want +information, Sanson will procure it for you; but you must not come here +again. Temper your royalist zeal with a seeming regard for your personal +safety. Remember that a gentleman gives larger recognizances than a <i>sans-culottes</i>; +and, above all, keep in mind that you serve us better in those columns +than in our own. C'est de la haute politique, de faire combattre ses +ennemis pour soi.” + </p> +<p> +He repeated this sentiment twice over, and then with a courteous gesture +dismissed me. I was now in the secret pay of the Government,—no +regular allowance made me, but permitted to draw freely; and when any +occasion of real information offered, to pay largely for it. +</p> +<p> +Had time been given me for reflection, I believe I should have abhorred +myself for the life I now led. It was one course of daily trick and +deception. In society I was a spy; in secret, a traitor. Trusted by all, +and false to all, I hurried along in a headlong career of the wildest +excitement. To enable me to write, I had recourse to various stimulants; +and from one excess to another I became a confirmed opium-eater. I had by +habit acquired a degree of nervous irritability that almost defied sleep. +For days and days frequently I took no other rest than an occasional +half-hour's repose when overcome, and then back to the desk again,—if +not refreshed, at least rallied. The turmoil and confusion of my thoughts +at any chance interval of quiet was terrific. So long as I was in action, +all went well; when my brain was overworked, and my faculties stretched to +their extreme tension, the excitement sustained me, and I could develop +whatever there was in me of intellectual power. The effort over, and my +task accomplished, I became almost bereft of life; a trance-like lethargy +seized me; my voice failed, my sight and hearing grew dulled, and I would +lie thus, sometimes for hours, scarcely breathing, indifferent to +everything. +</p> +<p> +When I rallied from these seizures, I hurried off to Margot, either to her +home or to the theatre. To see her, to speak to her, even to hear her, was +enough to call me back once more to life and the love, of life. There was +that in her own career, with all its changes and vicissitudes, that seemed +to fashion her mind into moods similar to my own. On one day she would be +to me like a sister,—kind and warmly affectionate; on another, she +would be as though I were her accepted lover, and show me all the tender +interest of one whose fate was bound up with my own; and perhaps the very +next meeting she would receive me coldly and distrustfully, and darkly +hint that my secret life was known to her. +</p> +<p> +These were to me moments of intense agony. To see through them was worse +than any death, and the very dread of them made existence a perfect +torture. Till I had seen her I never knew, each day, in what mood she +might feel towards me; and if I revelled in the heaven of her smiles, felt +her deep glances descending into my very heart, and thrilled with ecstasy +at each word she uttered, suddenly there would come the thought that this +was but a dream, and that to-morrow would be the dreadful awaking! +</p> +<p> +Her conduct was inexplicable, for it changed sometimes within the compass +of a few hours, and from warmest confidence would become the most chilling +reserve. She would pour out her whole heart before me; tell me how barren +were all the triumphs she had achieved; how remote from happiness was this +eternal struggle for fame; how her nature yearned for one true, unchanging +devotion; how this mockery of passion made shipwreck of all real feeling, +and left the nature worn out, wearied, and exhausted. She would, perhaps +at our next meeting, efface all thought of this confidence by some +passionate burst of enthusiasm for the stage, and some bold apostrophe to +the glory of a great success,—scornfully contrasting such a moment +with the whole happiness of a life spent m obscurity. I own that in these +outbursts of her wildest imagination her beauty of expression attained its +highest excellence. Her dark eyes flashed with the fire of an inspired +nature, and her whole figure seemed imbued with a more than mortal +loveliness; while in her softer moods there was a sad and plaintive +tenderness about her that subdued the spirit, and made her seem even more +worthy of love than she had been of admiration. These fitful changes, +which at first were only displayed in private, became after a while +palpable to the public eye. On one night she would thrill an audience with +horror, and in the power of her delineations make the very sternest +natures yield to terror. At another, she would shock the public by some +indifference to the exigencies of the scene, walk through her part in +listless apathy, and receive with calm unconcern the ill-disguised +disapproval of the spectators. At such times praise or blame were alike to +her; she seemed like one laboring under some pressure of thought too +engrossing to admit of any attention to passing objects; and in this +dreary pre-occupation she moved like one spell-bound and entranced. +</p> +<p> +To allude to these passing states of mind after they had occurred was sure +to give her deep offence; and although for a while I dared to do this, yet +I saw reason to abandon the attempt, and maintain silence like the rest. +The press, with less delicacy, expressed severe censure on what they +characterized as an insulting appreciation of the public, and boldly +declared that the voices which had made could still unmake a reputation, +and that the lesson of contempt might soon pass from behind the footlights +to the space before them. +</p> +<p> +It was both my province to keep these criticisms from her eye, and to +answer them in print; and for a while I succeeded. I wrote, I argued, I +declaimed,—now casuisti-cally expressing praise of what in my heart +I condemned; now seeming to discover a hidden meaning where none existed. +I even condescended to appeal to the indulgence of the public in favor of +those whose efforts were not always under their own control, and whose +passing frames of sorrow or sickness must incapacitate them at seasons +from embodying their own great conceptions. So sensitive had she become on +the subject of remark that the slightest allusion to her health was now +resented as an offence, and even Mademoiselle Mars dared not to say that +she looked paler or thinner, or in better or worse spirits,—so +certain would any allusion of the kind be to displease her. +</p> +<p> +This irritability gradually widened and extended itself to everything. The +slightest sign of inattention of the audience—any movement in the +house while she was acting—a want of ability in those <i>en scène</i> +with her—an accidental error in even their costume—gave +umbrage; and she would stop in her part, and only by an effort seem able +to recover herself and continue. These evidences of indifference to public +opinion—for so were they construed—gradually arrayed against +her nearly the entire force of the press. +</p> +<p> +They who had been her most devoted admirers, now displayed all their zeal +in the discovery of her faults. The very excellences they had once +extolled, they now censured as stage trickery and deceit. One by one, they +despoiled her of every qualification for art, save her beauty; and even +that, they said, already proclaimed its perishable nature. My heart +sickens as I think over the refined cruelty of these daily attacks,—the +minute and careful anatomy of humanity studied to inflict misery! To stem +this torrent of opinion, I devoted myself alone. Giving up all other +writing, I thought only of Margot and her cause. I assailed her critics +with the foulest abuse. I aspersed their motives, and not unfrequently +their lives. I eagerly sought out circumstances of their private habits +and actions, and proclaimed them to the world as the men who dared to +teach the expressions by which virtues should be rendered, and of whose +very existence they were ignorant. I contrasted their means of judgment +with their daily lives. I exhibited them as mere hirelings, the cowardly +bravos of a degenerate age; and, of course,—for Paris was always the +same in this respect,—various duels were fastened on me for my +insolence. +</p> +<p> +My skill at the sword exercise carried me safely through many of these +encounters. My recklessness of life may perhaps have served to preserve +it, for I was utterly reckless of it! My neglect of politics, and all +interest about them, procured my dismissal from the Government journal. +The “Vendee” soon followed the example; and although the violence of my +articles in the “Avant Scène” had for a time amused the town, the editors +told me that my defence of Mademoiselle Margot had now been carried far +enough, and that I should look elsewhere for a new topic. +</p> +<p> +Not a few of Margot's warmest admirers condemned the ill-advised zeal of +my advocacy. Some even affirmed that much of her unpopularity had its +origin in my indiscreet defence. I was coldly told I had “written too +much.” One said I had “fought too often.” The fastidious public—which +acknowledged no sincerity, nor would recognize such a thing as truth—condemned, +as bad taste, the excesses into which my heartfelt indignation had hurried +me. Mademoiselle Mars was a half convert to this opinion; I shuddered one +day as I suspected that even Margot seemed to entertain it. I had been +pressing her to do something—a mere trifle—to which she +dissented. I grew eager, and at last insisted; when, looking at me +steadily for some seconds, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“Has it never occurred to you that over-zeal is apt to defeat itself, from +the very suspicion that it excites, that there may be a deeper motive than +that which meets the eye?” + </p> +<p> +The words smote me to the heart. They were the death-knell to all the hope +that had sustained me through my long struggle; and though I tried to read +them in various ways less wounding to my feelings, one terrible +signification surmounted all the others, and seemed to proclaim itself the +true meaning. What if it were really so? was the dreadful question that +now struck me. What if I had been the cause of her downfall? The thought +so stunned me that I sat powerless under the spell of its terror,—a +terror which has tempered every hour of life from that day to this. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLIII. A PASSAGE IN THE DRAMA +</h2> +<p> +One of the noted characters about Paris at this time was a certain Captain +Fleury; he called himself “Fleury de Montmartre.” He had been, it was +said, on Bonaparte's staff in Egypt, but got into disgrace by having taken +Kléber's side, in the differences between the two generals. Disgusted with +the service, in which he saw no prospect of promotion, he quitted the army +and came to live in Paris, as some thousands live there, no one can tell +how or in what manner. His chief, if not only, occupation seemed to be the +frequenting of all the low gambling-houses, where, however, he rarely was +seen to play, but rather waited for the good fortune which befell some +other, with whom he either dined, or succeeded in borrowing a few francs. +Less reputable habits than even these were likewise attributed to him: it +was said that he often thrust quarrels upon people at the tables, which he +afterwards compromised for money, many preferring to pay rather than risk +an encounter with a professed duellist. +</p> +<p> +In his threadbare military frock and shabby hat, with broken boots and +ragged gloves, he still maintained the semblance of his former condition, +for he was eminently good-looking, and, in gait and bearing, every inch a +soldier. I had made his acquaintance by an accident. I happened to have +let fall beside my chair a bank-note for one hundred francs, one night at +play. The waiter hurried after me to restore it, just as I was descending +the stairs with this Captain Fleury at my side. I was not aware of my +loss, and insisted that the money could not be mine. The waiter was +equally positive, and appealed to the Captain to decide the question. +Fleury, instead of replying, took out a much-worn pocket-book, and +proceeded to examine its contents. +</p> +<p> +“I'll wager as much,” cried I, “that this gentleman is the owner of the +note.” + </p> +<p> +“And you would win, sir,” said Fleury, taking it from the waiter's +reluctant fingers, and carefully enclosing it within his case. +</p> +<p> +The waiter never uttered a syllable, but, with a look that revealed an +entire history, bowed and retired. I complimented the Captain on the good +fortune of his presence in such a critical moment, touched my hat to him, +and departed. +</p> +<p> +It was only the next morning that I recollected the sum of money I had had +about me, and perceived that the note must have been my own. It was of +course too late to think of repairing the loss, but I was far from +desiring to do so. The man's appearance had interested me; I was deeply +struck by the signs of poverty in his dress, and only happy to have had +this slight occasion to serve him, without any infringement on his +self-respect. It was, indeed, a question I often debated with myself +whether or not he really believed that he was the owner of the note. +</p> +<p> +From that day forth we saluted whenever we met; and if by any chance we +came together, we exchanged the usual courtesies of acquaintance. There +was a degree of pleasure afforded him by even this much of recognition, +from one whose air betokened more prosperous circumstances, that I gladly +yielded. I had known even harder fortune than his, and could well +understand the importance he might attach to such a trifle. +</p> +<p> +By degrees I began to feel a strange kind of interest for this man,—so +calm, so self-possessed as he seemed in the midst of scenes of passionate +and violent excitement. What signified any sudden reverse of fortune, +thought I, in comparison with the daily misery of such a lot as his? And +yet day after day I saw him unmoved and tranquil; he came and went like +one to whom all the vicissitudes of life brought no emotion. He was a +study for me, whether I met him at the play-table or the restaurant, or +saw him at night in the theatre in his accustomed spot, close to the +orchestra, where, with folded arms and bent brows, he stood the entire +night without moving. I watched him closely during that terrible week +when, each night of Margot's appearance, the conflict of public opinion +grew stronger and stronger, when, as her enemies gained strength, her +former friends either gathered in little despairing knots together, or +abandoned the field in defeat. I thought, or rather I seemed to feel, that +this man's eyes were fixed upon me oftentimes when I was not looking at +him. I had a strange sense of consciousness that, affect what bearing I +might, he was reading my secret thoughts at his leisure, and conning over +traits of my character. Whenever any momentary burst of disapprobation +from the audience had made me fall back in shame and anger within my box, +I could feel that his eyes were following me with a glance of persecuting +keenness. +</p> +<p> +Margot's enemies were triumphant; they came each night in crowds, and by a +hundred contrivances of insult displayed their bitter and undying hatred +of her. The leader of the party was a Vicomte Dechaine, whose mistress was +the rival of Margot,—if even third-rate powers could aspire to +contend with genius such as hers! Her friend, it was said, had organized +the entire conspiracy, and, being a rich man, his purse and his influence +were powerful allies. At his supper-table, the writers of the papers, the +young fashionables of society, and the professed critics who swayed public +taste, were said to meet and concert their measures. Their victory cost +them less than they had ever anticipated. Margot's own indiscretions—I +have no other word for them—had worked faster for her ruin than all +their bitterest animosity. It was not a mere indifference to public +opinion she displayed,—it was a downright contempt for it. If they +censured any peculiarity of expression,—a pause, or a gesture,—she +was sure not only to repeat, but even exaggerate it. Did any detail of her +costume excite reproof, she at once assumed it as a reason for maintaining +it. In a word, it seemed that all the arts others employ to win praise and +secure popularity were used by her to show her utter disdain of the +world's opinion; and this, too, in a career where such opinion is the law, +and where there exists no appeal against it. +</p> +<p> +To restrain this spirit, even to moderate it, her friends utterly failed. +She who once heard even the humblest with deference, and accepted +suggestions with a degree of humility, now rejected all counsel and +guidance, and boldly proclaimed herself the only competent judge of what +regarded her. A frequent subject of censure amongst her critics was a +habit she had fallen into, of pressing both hands to her temples in +moments of intense passion. The gesture was not alone ungraceful, but from +its frequency it became, in a measure, a trick; and this they assailed +with a degree of virulence far out of proportion to the offence. +Mademoiselle Mars counselled her to guard against any mannerism, and +mentioned this one in illustration. Margot—once the very emblem of +obedience to her gifted friend—resented the advice with angry +indignation, and flatly declared that her own inspirations were her best +advisers. +</p> +<p> +In the temper she had now assumed, it may be imagined how difficult had +all intercourse with her become. Her waywardness increased as the public +favor declined; and she who once might have been permitted to indulge any +caprice, was now rigidly denied even the commonest liberty. At first, the +hardest task was to blind her to the censures the press was heaping upon +her. Now, however, a new difficulty arose. It was to hint that she no +longer could count upon the fickle favor of the multitude, and that the +hour of her triumph had gone by. +</p> +<p> +At moments, it is true, in some scenes of intense passion, where a deep +emotion of the soul was to find its utterance in a few broken words, a +cry, or perhaps a look, her wonderful genius shone forth still; and, +surmounting all the prejudices of sworn enemies, the theatre would burst +forth into one of those thundering peals of applause that sound like the +very artillery of human feeling. Such a passage was there in “Bajazet.” It +is the scene where Roxalane listens to the warm protestations of her +lover, of whose perfidy she is assured, and whom she herself overheard +declaring that his love for her was little other than compassion. For a +few seconds the words of adoration seemed to act on her like a spell. She +drinks them eagerly and madly; her eyes sparkle; her bosom heaves, her +half-opened lips seem, as it were, to catch the accents; when suddenly the +truth flashes across her. Her color flies; her face becomes livid in its +paleness. A terrible shudder shakes her frame. She snatches her hand from +his grasp, and turns him a look of loathing, contemptuous aversion such as +actually sickens the very heart to behold! +</p> +<p> +From, I know not what caprice, she disliked this part now, although once +it had been her favorite above all others. Her friends made every effort +to induce her to resume it, but in vain. Their entreaties, indeed, only +served to excite her opposition; and the subject was at last dropped as +hopeless. The Court, however, had fixed on a night to visit the “Français” + and “Bajazet” was their choice. There was now no alternative left her but +to accept her part or see it filled by another. The latter was her +immediate resolve; and Mademoiselle Leonie, her rival, was at length +installed in all the honors of the “first character.” It was evident now +to all Margot's friends that her career was over. An act of abdication +like this was always irrevocable; and the Parisian public was never known +to forgive what they regarded as an open act of insult to their authority +in taste. Well knowing that all attempts at dissuasion would be hopeless, +we made no appeal against her determination, but in calm submission waited +for the course of events,—waited, in fact, to witness the last crash +of ruin to that fame in whose edifice we once had gloried. +</p> +<p> +Mademoiselle Mars advised Margot to travel. Italy had been always the land +of her predilection. She had even acted there with immense success in +Alfieri's tragedies, for her knowledge of the language equalled that of +her own country. It would be a good opportunity to revisit it; “And +perhaps, who knew,” said she, “but that the echo of her fame coming over +the Alps might again rouse the enthusiasm of Paris in her favor?” I warmly +supported this plan, and Margot consented to it. A <i>dame de compagnie</i>, +an old friend of Mademoiselle de Mars, was chosen to be her travelling +companion, and I was to be of the party as secretary. +</p> +<p> +We hurried on all the arrangements as rapidly as possible. We desired that +she should leave Paris before the night of the command, and thus remove +her from all the enthusiasm of praise the press had prepared to shower +down on her rival, with the customary expressions of contemptuous contrast +for the fallen idol. We well knew the excess of adulation that was in +readiness to burst forth, and dreaded less the effect it might produce on +Margot's mind regarding her rival than that it should inspire her with a +curiosity to witness her performance; for such was exactly the wayward +character of her mode of thinking and acting. +</p> +<p> +To our joy, we discovered that Margot's impatience equalled, if not +exceeded, our own. She entered with an almost childish delight into all +the preparations for the journey. We hung over the map for hours together, +tracing our route, and revelling in anticipated pleasure at the thought of +all those glorious old cities of the peninsula. We consulted guide-books +and journals, and pictured to ourselves all the delights of a happy +journey. With what ecstasy she recalled the various scenes of her former +visit to Italy, and the names of those whose friendship she had acquired, +and with whom she longed to make me acquainted! In her enthusiasm she +seemed to recover her long-lost buoyancy of heart, and to be of the same +gay and happy nature I had known her. I dare not trust myself with more of +these memories; they come upon me like the thought of those moments when +on a sick bed some dear friend has uttered words to be treasured up for +years long,—words of promise, mayhap words of hope, for a future +that was never to come; plans for a time that dark destiny had denied us! +</p> +<p> +Our arrangements were all completed, our passports procured, a courier +engaged, and everything in readiness for the road. We were to set out on +the following day. It was a Friday, and Margot's prejudices would not +permit her to begin a journey on such an inauspicious day. I reasoned with +her and argued earnestly, for I remembered it was on that night +Mademoiselle Leonie was to appear at the Français. She was resolved, +however, to have her way, and I gave in. No allusion to the theatre, nor +to anything concerning it, had ever escaped either of us. By as it were a +tacit understanding, each avoided the theme as one only suggestive of +distressing memories; and then we had so many topics that were delightful +to talk over. +</p> +<p> +I went out early in the morning to make some purchases, some trifling +things we wanted for the road, and on my return I found Margot with +flushed face and feverish look rapidly walking to and fro in the +drawing-room. She tried to seem calm and composed as I entered, she even +made jest of her own agitation, and tried to laugh it off as a weakness +she was ashamed of; but her efforts were sad failures: her quivering lip +and trembling accents showed that deep agitation was at work within her. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell you, I will not tell you, what is the matter with me,” said +she, at last; “it would but lead to some rash outbreak of your temper,—the +very last thing I could endure at such a time. No, no; let us go; let us +leave Paris at once,—to-day, now, if you wish it; I am ready.” + </p> +<p> +This was impossible; all our arrangements had been made, and horses +ordered for the next day. My curiosity now became an agony, and I grew +almost angry at her continued refusal to satisfy me; when at last, after +exacting from me a solemn oath to do nothing nor to take any step without +her concurrence, she placed in my hands a letter, saying, “This came while +you were out.” + </p> +<p> +It ran to this effect:— +</p> +<p> +“The Vicomte Dechaine begs to offer to Mademoiselle De La Veronie +[Margot's name in the theatre] his box at the Français for this evening, +as it must doubtless be interesting to her to witness the performance of +Roxalane by one who labors under the double difficulty of her beauty and +her reason. An answer will be called for.” + </p> +<p> +“You cannot expect me to endure this outrage, Margot!” cried I, trembling +with passion; “you could not suppose that I can live under it?” + </p> +<p> +“I have your oath, sir,” said she, solemnly, and with a dignity that at +once recalled me to myself. +</p> +<p> +“But if I am to drag out life dishonored and degraded even to my own +heart, Margot,” said I, imploringly, “you surely would take pity on me!” + </p> +<p> +“And who would pity me, sir, were I to make you a murderer? No, no!” cried +she, “you would have this secret,—you insisted on it; show yourself +worthy of this confidence, by keeping your solemn pledge. We leave this +to-morrow; a few hours is not too much sacrifice for one who will give her +whole life to you after.” + </p> +<p> +As she spoke she fell into my arms, and sobbed as though her heart was +breaking. As for me, my transports knew no bounds. I dropped at her feet; +I vowed and swore a thousand times that not only my life, but that my +fame, my honor, were all hers; that to deserve her there was no trial I +would not dare. Oh, the glorious ecstasy of that moment comes back like a +flood of youth once more upon this old and shattered heart; and, as I +write these lines, the hot tears are falling on the paper, and my lips are +murmuring a name I have not strength to write. +</p> +<p> +“I will put your loyalty to the test at once,” said she, gayly, and with a +degree of wild joyousness the very opposite to her late emotion. “Sit down +there, and write as I dictate.” + </p> +<p> +I obeyed, and she began:— +</p> +<p> +“'Mademoiselle De La Veronie begs to acknowledge, with a gratitude +suitable to the occasion, the polite note of the Vicomte Déchaîne, and to +accept—'” + </p> +<p> +“What!” cried I, dropping the pen. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said she, calmly; “write as I tell you: 'to accept his box this +evening at the Français.'” + </p> +<p> +“Margot, you are not in earnest!” said I, entreatingly. +</p> +<p> +“I am resolved, sir,” said she, with a voice of determination and a look +of almost reproving sternness. “I hope it is not from you, at least, will +come any doubts of my courage!” + </p> +<p> +These words seemed to indicate the spirit in which her resolution had been +taken, and to show that she preferred accepting, as it were, this +challenge, to the humbler alternative of an escape from it. +</p> +<p> +I wrote as she bade me, and despatched the letter. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLIV. THE PRICE OF FAME +</h2> +<p> +If the triumphs of genius be amongst the most exalted pleasures of our +nature, its defeats and reverses are also the very saddest of all +afflictions. He who has learned to live, as it were, on the sympathies of +his fellows—to be inspired by them at times, and inspire them at +others—to feel his existence like a compact with the world, wherein +he alternately gives and receives, cannot endure the thought of being +passed over and forgotten. The loss of that favor in which, as in a +sunshine, he basked, is a bereavement too great to be borne. He may +struggle for a while against this depression—he may arm himself with +pride against what his heart denounces as injustice—he may even +deceive him* self into a mock indifference of such judgments; but, do all +he will, he comes at the last to see that his greatest efforts were +prompted by the very enthusiasm they evoked,—that the impression he +produced upon others was like an image in a mirror, by which he could view +the proportions of his mind, and that the flame of his intellect burned +purest and brightest when fanned by the breath of praise. +</p> +<p> +It will be seen that I limit these observations to dramatic success; that +I am only speaking of the stage and the actor. For him there is no refuge +in the calmer judgment of posterity; there is no appeal to a dispassionate +future. The value stamped upon him now is to be his fame forever. No other +measure of his powers can be taken than the effect he produced upon his +contemporaries; and hence the great precariousness of a career wherein +each passing mood of illness, sorrow, anxiety, or exhaustion may influence +the character of a reputation that might seem established beyond reversal. +</p> +<p> +How leniently, then, should we deal with those who labor for our pleasure +in these capacities! How indulgent should we show ourselves even to their +caprices,—justly remembering the arduous nature of a struggle in +which so many requirements are summoned, and that genius itself is +insufficient, if there be not the vigor of health, the high promptings of +ambition, and the consciousness of power that springs from unimpaired +faculties. +</p> +<p> +I have come to think over these things with a sad heart. Within the circle +of such memories lies enshrined the greatest sorrow of a life that has not +been without its share of trials. I had intended to have revealed to my +reader a painful incident, but I find that age has not yet blunted the +acute misery of my feelings; nor can I, with all the weight of long years +upon me, endure to open up again a grief whose impress has stamped every +hour of existence. Let me not be supposed as uttering these words in any +spirit of querulousness with fortune; I have had much, far more than most +men, to feel grateful for. Well do I know, besides, that to my successes +in life I can lay no claim in any merits or deservings of my own; that my +shortcomings have been numerous, and leniently dealt with. I speak, +therefore, not complainingly. I would not, moreover, like to spend in +repinings the last hours of a long life: the goal cannot well be distant +now; and as, footsore and weary, I tread the few remaining miles of my +earthly pilgrimage, I would rather cheer my heart with the prospect of +rest before me, than darken the future with one shadow of the past. +</p> +<p> +Margot had insisted on remaining. She felt as though a challenge had been +offered to her, and it would be cowardice to decline it. Over and over +again was she wont to repeat to herself the contempt she felt for that +applause in which it was believed she exulted. She burned, therefore, for +a moment wherein she could display this haughty contempt, and throw back +with proud disdain their homage, by showing herself as indifferent to +rebuke as she had ever been to adulation. The day was passed in moods of +silence, or paroxysms of the wildest excitement. After an hour or more +perhaps of unbroken calm, she would burst forth into a passionate +denunciation of the world's injustice, with bitter and poignant regrets +for the hour when she became a suppliant for its favors. The proudest +efforts she would make to rise above this were sure to be defeated by some +sudden sense of defeat,—an agonizing conviction that threw her into +violent weeping; a state of suffering that even now I dread to think of. +</p> +<p> +She grew calmer towards evening, but it was a calm that terrified me: +there was a slow and careful precision in every word she spoke that +denoted effort; her smile, too, had a fixity in it that remained for +seconds after the emotion which occasioned it; and while a stern and +impassive quietude characterized her expression generally, her eyes at +times flashed and sparkled like the glaring orbs of a lioness. She +descended to the drawing-room most magnificently attired, a splendid +diamond tiara on her head, and a gorgeous bouquet of rubies and brilliants +on the corsage of her dress. Although pale as death,—for she wore no +rouge,—I had never seen her look so beautiful. There is a Titian +picture of Pompey's daughter receiving the tidings of Pharsalia, and, +while too proud to show her agony, is yet in the very struggle of a +breaking heart: the face is like enough to have been her portrait, and +even to the color of the massive, waving hair, is wonderfully identical. +</p> +<p> +The play had already begun when we arrived at the theatre, and in the +little bustle caused by our entry into the box, a half impatient +expression ran through the audience; but as suddenly suppressed, it became +a murmur of wondering admiration. The stage was forgotten, and every eye +turned at once towards her who so often had moved their hearts by every +emotion, and who now seemed even more triumphant in the calm +self-possession of her beauty. Rank over rank leaned forward in the boxes +to gaze at her, and the entire pit turned and stood, as it were, +spell-bound at her feet. Had she wished for a triumph over her rival, she +could not have imagined a more signal one; for none now directed their +attention to the business of the play, but all seemed forgetful of +everything save her presence. Margot appeared to accept this homage with +the naughty consciousness of its being her due; her eyes ranged proudly +over the dense crowd, and slowly turned away, as though she had seen +nothing there to awaken one sentiment of emotion. +</p> +<p> +There was less an expression of disdain than of utter indifference in her +look,—it was almost like the cold impassive-ness of a statue. +</p> +<p> +For myself I am unable to speak. I saw nothing of the play or the actors. +Margot, and Margot alone, filled my eyes; and I sat far back in the box. +My glances revelled on her, watching with unceasing anxiety that pale and +passionless face. In the fourth act comes the scene where Roxalane, aware +of her lover's falsehood, hears him profess the vows that he but feigns to +feel. It was the great triumph of Margot's genius,—the passage of +power in which she rose unapproachably above all others; and now in the +stilled and silent assembly might be noted the anxiety with which they +awaited her rival's delineation. Unlike the cold, unmoved, and almost +patient bearing which Margot displayed at first, as though, having +schooled her mind to a lesson, she would practise it, had not aversion or +contempt overmastered her, and in the very sickness of her soul revealed +her sorrow, the other burst forth into a wild and passionate declamation,—an +outburst of vulgar rage. A low murmur of discontent ran through the house, +and, swelling louder and louder, drowned the words of the piece. The +actress faltered and stopped; and, as if by some resistless impulse, +turned towards the box where Margot sat, still and motionless. The entire +audience turned likewise, and every eye was now bent on her whose genius +had become so interwoven with the scene that it was as though associated +with her very identity. Slowly rising from her seat, Margot stood erect, +gazing on that dense mass with the proud look of one who defied them. The +same stern, cold stare of insult she had once bestowed on the stage she +now directed on the spectators. It was a moment of terrible interest, as +thus she stood, confronting, almost daring, those who had presumed to +condemn her; and then, in the same words Roxalane uses, she addressed +them, every accent tremulous with passion, and every syllable vibrating +with the indignant hate that worked within her. The measured distinctness +of every word rang out clear and full. It was less invective than +scornful, and scorn that seemed to sicken her as she spoke it. +</p> +<p> +The effect upon the audience will best evidence the power of the moment. +On all sides were seen groups gathered around one who had swooned away. +Many were carried out insensible, and fearful cries of hysteric passion +betrayed the secret sympathies her words had smitten. She paused, and, +with that haughty gesture with which she takes eternal farewell of her +lover, she seemed to say, “Adieu forever!” and then pushing back her dark +ringlets, and tearing away the diamond coronet from her brows, she burst +into a fit of laughter. Oh! how terribly its very cadence sounded,—sharp, +ringing, and wild! the cry of an escaped intellect,—the shriek of an +intelligence that had fled forever! +</p> +<p> +Margot was mad. The violent conflict of passion to which her mind was +exposed had made shipwreck of a glorious intellect, and the very exercise +of emotion had exhausted the wells of feeling. I cannot go on. Already +have these memories sapped the last foundations of my broken strength, and +my old eyes are dimmed with tears. +</p> +<p> +The remainder of her life was passed in a little château near Sèvres, +where Mademoiselle Mars had made arrangements for her reception. She +lingered for three years, and died out, like one exhausted. As for me, I +worked as a laborer in the garden of the château to the day of her death; +and although I never saw her, the one thought that I was still near her +sustained and supported me,—not, indeed, with hope, for I had long +ceased to hope. +</p> +<p> +I knew the window of the room she sat in; and when, at evening, I left the +garden, I knew it was the time she walked there. These were the two +thoughts that filled up all my mind; and out of these grew the day-dreams +in which my hours were passed. Still fresh as yesterday within my heart +are the sensations with which I marked a slight change in the curtain of +her window, or bent over the impress of her foot upon the gravel. How +passionately have I kissed the flowers that I hoped she might have +plucked! how devotedly knelt beside the stalks from which she had broken +off a blossom! +</p> +<p> +These memories live still, nor would I wish it otherwise. In the tender +melancholy, I can sit and ponder over the past, more tranquilly, may be, +than if they spoke of happiness. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLV. DARK PASSAGES OF LIFE +</h2> +<p> +For some years after the death of Margot, my life was like a restless +dream,—a struggle, as it were, between reality and a strange +scepticism with everything and every one. At moments a wish would seize me +to push my fortune in the world,—to become rich and powerful; and +then as suddenly would I fall back upon my poverty as the condition least +open to great reverses, and hug myself in the thought that my obscurity +was a shield against adverse fortune. I tried to school my mind to a +misanthropy that might throw me still more upon myself; but I could not. +Even in my isolated, friendless condition, I loved to contemplate the +happiness of others. I could watch children for hours long at their play; +and if the sounds of laughter or pleasant revelry came from a house as I +passed at nightfall, my heart beat responsively to every note of joy, and +in my spirit I was in the midst of them. I had neither home nor country, +and my heart yearned for both. I felt the void like a desert, bleak and +desolate, within me; and it was in vain I endeavored, by a hundred +artifices, to make me suffice to myself. I came, at length, to think that +it were better to attach myself to the world by even the interests of a +crime than to live on thus, separated and apart from all sympathy. In +humble life, he who retreats from association with his fellows must look +to be severely judged. The very lightest allegation against him will be a +charge of pride; and even this is no slight offence before such a +tribunal. Vague rumors of worse will gain currency, and far weightier +derelictions be whispered about him. His own rejection of the world now +recoils upon himself, and he comes to discover that he has neglected to +cultivate the sympathies which are not alone the ties of brotherhood +between men, but the strong appeals to mercy when mercy is needed. +</p> +<p> +By much reflection on these things, I was led to feel at last that nothing +but a strong effort could raise me from the deep depression I had fallen +into; that I should force myself to some pursuit which might awaken zeal +or ambition within me; and that, at any cost, I should throw off the +hopeless, listless lethargy of my present life. While I was yet hesitating +what course to adopt, my attention was attracted one morning to a large +placard affixed to the walls of the Hôtel de Ville, and which set forth +the tidings that “all men who had not served as soldiers, and were between +the ages of fifteen and thirty, were to present themselves at the +Prefecture at a certain hour of a certain day.” The consternation this +terrible announcement called forth may easily be imagined; for although +only a very limited number of these would be drafted, yet each felt that +the evil lot might be his own. +</p> +<p> +I really read the announcement with a sense of pleasure, It seemed to me +as though fate no longer ignored my very existence, but had at length +agreed to reckon me as one amongst the wide family of men. Nor was it that +the life of a soldier held out any prize to my ambition; I had never at +any time felt such. It was the simple fact that I should be recognized by +others, and no longer accounted a mere waif upon the shore of existence. +</p> +<p> +The conscription is a stern ordinance. Whatever its necessities, there is +something painfully afflicting in every detail of its execution. The +disruption of a home, and the awful terrors of a dark future, are sad +elements to spread themselves over the peaceful monotony of a village +life. Nor does a war contain anything more heart-rending in all its cruel +history than the tender episodes of these separations. I have the scene +before me now as I saw it on that morning, and a sadder sight I never have +looked upon. The little village was crowded, not alone by those summoned +by the conscription, but by all their friends and relations; and as each +new batch of twelve were marched forward within the gloomy portals of the +Hôtel de Ville, a burst of pent-up sorrow would break forth, that told +fearfully the misery around. But sad as was this, it was nothing to the +scene that ensued when the lot had fallen upon some one well known and +respected by his neighbors. He who had drawn the lowest number was +enlisted, and instead of returning to join his fellows outside, never made +his appearance till his hair had been closely cropped, and the addition of +a tri-colored ribbon to his cap proclaimed him a soldier. Of these poor +fellows some seemed stunned and stupefied, looked vaguely about them, and +appeared incapable to recognize friends or acquaintances; some endeavored +to carry all off with an air of swaggering recklessness, but in the midst +of their assumed indifference natural feeling would burst forth, and +scenes of the most harrowing misery be exhibited; and, lastly, many came +forth so drunk that they knew nothing either of what happened or where +they were; and to see these surrounded by the friends who now were to take +their last leave of them was indescribably painful. +</p> +<p> +Like most of those who care little for fortune, I was successful; that is, +I drew one of the highest numbers, and was pronounced “exempt from +service.” There was not one, however, to whom the tidings could bring joy, +nor was there one to whom I could tell the news with the hope of hearing a +word of welcome in return. I was turning away from the spot, not sorry to +leave a place so full of misery, when I came upon a group around a young +man who had fainted and been carried out for fresh air. He had been that +moment enlisted, and the shock had proved over-much for him. Poor fellow! +well might it—the same week saw him the happy father of his +firstborn, and the sworn soldier of the Empire. What a wide gulf separates +such fortunes! +</p> +<p> +I pushed my way into the midst, and offered myself to take his place. At +first none so much as listened to me; they deemed my proposal absurd, +perhaps impossible. An old sergeant who was present, however, thought +differently, and, measuring me calmly with his eye, left the spot. He +returned soon, and beckoned me to follow. I did so. A few brief questions +were put to me. I answered them, was desired to pass on to an inner room, +where, in a file of some twenty strong, the chosen recruits were standing +before a desk. A man rapidly repeated certain words, to which we were +ordered to respond by lifting the right hand to the face. +</p> +<p> +This was an oath of allegiance, and when taken we moved on to the barber, +and in a few minutes the ceremony was completed, and we were soldiers of +France. +</p> +<p> +I had imagined, and indeed I had convinced myself, that I was so schooled +in adversity I could defy fortune. I thought that mere bodily privations +and sufferings could never seriously affect me, and that, with the freedom +of my own thoughts unfettered, no real slavery could oppress me. In this +calculation I had forgotten to take count of those feelings of self-esteem +which are our defences against the promptings of every mean ambition. I +had not remembered that these may be outraged by the very same rules of +discipline that taught us to fire and load, and march and manouvre! It was +a grievous error! +</p> +<p> +France was once more at war with all the world: her armies were now moving +eastward to attack Austria, and more than mere menaces declared the +intention to invade England. Fresh troops were called for with such +urgency that a fortnight or three weeks was only allowed to drill the new +recruits and fit them for regimental duty. Severity compensated for the +briefness of the time, and the men were exercised with scarcely an +interval of repose. In periods of great emergency many things are done +which in days of calmer influences would not be thought of; and now the +officers in command of depots exercised a degree of cruelty towards the +soldiers which is the very rarest of all practices in the French army; in +consequence, desertions became frequent, and, worse again, men maimed and +mutilated themselves in the most shocking manner to escape from a tyranny +more insupportable than any disease. It is known to all that such +practices assume the characteristics of an epidemic, and when once they +have attained to a certain frequency, men's minds become familiarized to +the occurrence, and they are regarded as the most ordinary of events. The +regiment to which I was attached—the 47th of the line—was one +of the very worst for such acts of indiscipline; and although the +commanding officers had been twice changed, and one entire battalion +broken up and reformed, the evil repute still adhered to the corps. It is +a mistake to suppose that common soldiers are indifferent to the +reputation of their regiment; even the least subordinate, those in whom +military ardor is lowest, feel acutely, too, the stigma of a condemned +corps. We had reason to experience this, on even stronger grounds. We were +despatched to Brest to garrison the prison, and hold in check that +terrible race who are sentenced to the galleys for life. This mark of +disgrace was inflicted on us as the heaviest stain upon a regiment openly +pronounced unworthy to meet the enemies of France in the field. +</p> +<p> +This act seemed to consummate the utter degradation of our corps, from +which, weekly, some one or other was either sentenced to be shot, or +condemned to the even worse fate of a galley-slave. I shrink from the task +of recalling a period so full of horror. It was one long dream of ruffian +insubordination and cruel punishment. Time, so far from correcting, seemed +to confirm the vices of this fated regiment; and at length a commission +arrived from the ministry of war to examine into the causes of this +corruption. This inquiry lasted some weeks; and amongst those whose +evidence was taken, I was one. It chanced that no punishment had ever been +inflicted on me in the corps; nor was there a single mark in the “conduct +roll” against my name. Of course, these were favorable circumstances, and +entitled any testimony that I gave to a greater degree of consideration. +The answers I returned, and the views I had taken, were deemed of +consequence enough to require further thought. I was ordered to be sent to +Paris to be examined by General Caulincourt, at that time the head of the +<i>état major</i>. +</p> +<p> +It would little interest the reader to enter further into this question, +to which I have only made allusion from its reference to my own fortunes. +The opinions I gave, and the suggestions I made, attracted the notice of +my superiors, and I received, as a reward, the grade of corporal, and was +attached to the Chancellerie Militaire at Strasburg,—a post I +continued to occupy for upwards of two years. Two peaceful, uneventful +years were they, and to look back upon, they seem but as a day. +</p> +<p> +The unbroken monotony of my life, the almost apathetic calm which had come +over me, and my isolation from all other men, gave me the semblance of a +despondent and melancholy nature; but I was far from unhappy, and had +schooled myself to take pleasure in a variety of simple, uncostly pursuits +which filled up my leisure hours; and thus my little flower-garden, stolen +from an angle of the glacis, was to me a domain of matchless beauty. Every +spare moment of my time was passed here, and every little saving of my +humble pay was expended on this spot. The rose, the clematis, and the +jessamine here twined their twigs together to make an arbor, in which I +used to sit at evening, gazing out upon the spreading Rhine, or watching +the sunset on the Vosges mountains. I had trained myself not to think of +the great events of the world, momentous and important as they then were, +and great with the destiny of mankind. I never saw a newspaper,—I +held no intercourse with others; to me life had resolved itself into the +very simplest of all episodes,—it was mere existence, and no more. +</p> +<p> +This dream might possibly have ended without a waking shock, and the long +night of the grave have succeeded to the dim twilight of oblivion, had not +an event occurred to rouse me from my stupor, and bring me back to life +and its troubles. +</p> +<p> +An order had arrived from Paris to put the fortress into a state of +perfect defence. New redoubts and bastions were to be erected, the ditches +widened, and an additional force of guns to be mounted on the walls. The +telegraph had brought the news in the morning, and ere the sunset that +same evening my little garden was a desert; all my care and toil scattered +to the winds; the painful work of long months in ruin, and my one sole +object in life obliterated and gone. I had thought that all emotions were +long since dead within me. I fervently believed that every well of feeling +was dry and exhausted in my nature; but I cried and cried bitterly as I +beheld this desolation. There seemed to my eyes a wantonness in the +cruelty thus inflicted, and in my heart I inveighed against the ruthless +passions of men, and the depravity by which their actions are directed. +Was the world too much a paradise for me, I asked, that this small spot of +earth could not be spared to me? Was I over-covetous in craving this one +corner of the vast universe? In my folly and my selfishness I fancied +myself the especial mark of adversity, and henceforth I vowed a reckless +front to fortune. +</p> +<p> +He who lives for himself alone, has not only to pay the penalty of +unguided counsels, but the far heavier one of following impulses of which +egotism is the mainspring. The care for others, the responsibilities of +watching over and protecting something besides ourselves, are the very +best of all safeguards against our own hearts. I have a right to say this. +</p> +<p> +From a life of quiet and orderly regularity, I now launched out into utter +recklessness and abandonment. I formed acquaintances with the least +reputable of my comrades, frequented their haunts, and imitated their +habits. I caught vice as men catch a malady. It was a period little short +of insanity, since every wish was perverted, and every taste the opposite +of my real nature. I, who was once the type of punctuality and exactness, +came late and irregularly to my duties. My habits of sobriety were changed +for waste, and even my appearance, my very temper, altered; I became +dissolute-looking and abandoned, passionate in my humors, and quick to +take offence. +</p> +<p> +The downward course is ever a rapid one, and vices are eminently +suggestive of each other. It took a few weeks to make me a spendthrift and +a debauchee; a few more, and I became a duellist and a brawler. I ceased +to hold intercourse with all who had once held me in esteem, and formed +friends among the dissolute and the depraved. Amidst men of this stamp the +sentence of a Provost-Marshal, or the durance of the Salle de Police, are +reckoned distinctions; and he who has oftenest insulted his superiors and +outraged discipline is deemed the most worthy of respect. I had won no +laurels of this kind, and resolved not to be behind my comrades in such +claims. My only thought was how to obtain some peculiar notoriety by my +resistance to authority. +</p> +<p> +I had now the rank of sergeant,—a grade which permitted me to +frequent the café resorted to by the officers; but as this was a privilege +no sous-officer availed himself of, I of course did not presume to take. +It now, however, occurred to me that this was precisely the kind of +infraction the consequences of which might entail the gravest events, and +yet be, all the while, within the limits of regimental discipline. With +this idea in my head I swaggered, one evening, into the “Lion Gaune,” at +that time the favorite military café of Strasburg. The look of +astonishment at my entrance was very soon converted into a most +unmistakable expression of angry indignation; and when, calling for the +waiter, I seated myself at a table, my intrusion was discussed in terms +quite loud enough for me to hear. +</p> +<p> +It was well known that the Emperor distinguished the class I belonged to, +by the most signal marks of favor: the sergeant and the corporal might +have dared to address him when the field-marshal could not have uttered a +word. It was part of his military policy to unbend to those whose position +excluded them from even the very shadow of a rivalry, and be coldly +distant to all whose station approached an equality. This consideration +restrained the feelings of those who now beheld me, and who well knew, in +any altercation, into which scale would be thrown the weight of the +imperial influence. +</p> +<p> +To desert the side of the room where I sat, and leave me in a marked +isolation, was their first move; but seeing that I rather assumed this as +a token of victory, they resorted to another tactic,—they occupied +all the tables, save one at the very door, and thus virtually placed me in +a position of obloquy and humiliation. For a night or two I held my ground +without flinching; but I felt that I could not continue a merely defensive +warfare, and determined, at any hazard, to finish the struggle. Instead, +therefore, of resuming the humble place they had assigned me, I carried my +coffee with me, and set the cup on a table at which a lieutenant-colonel +was seated, reading his newspaper by the fire. He started up as he saw me, +and called out, “What means this insolence? Is this a place for you?” + </p> +<p> +“The general instructions of the army declare that a sous-officer has the +entrée to all public cafés and restaurants frequented by regimental +officers, although not to such as are maintained by them as clubs and +messrooms. I am, therefore, only within the limits of a right, Monsieur +Colonel,” said I, offering a military salute as I spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Leave the room, sir, and report yourself to your captain,” said he, +boiling over with rage. +</p> +<p> +I arose, and prepared to obey his command. +</p> +<p> +“If that fellow be not reduced to the ranks on to-morrow's parade, I 'll +leave the service,” said he to an officer at his side. +</p> +<p> +“If I have your permission to throw him out of the window, Monsieur +Colonel, I 'll promise to quit the army if I don't do it,” said a young +lieutenant of cuirassiers. He was seated at a table near me, and with his +legs in such a position as to fill up the space I had to pass out by. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/4struck_him_to_the_ground.jpg" + alt="4struck_him_to_the_ground" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Without any apology for stepping across him, I moved forward, and slightly—I +will not say unintentionally—struck his foot with my own. He sprang +up with a loud oath, and knocked my shako off my head. I turned quickly +and struck him to the ground with my clenched hand. A dozen swords were +drawn in an instant. Had it not been for the most intrepid interference, I +should have been cut to pieces on the spot. As it was, I received five or +six severe sabre wounds, and one entirely laid my cheek open from the eye +to the mouth. +</p> +<p> +I was soon covered with blood from head to foot; but I stood calmly, until +faintness came on, without stirring; then I staggered back, and sat down +upon a chair. A surgeon bandaged my wrist, which had been cut across, and +my face; and, a carriage being sent for, I was at once conveyed to +hospital. The loss of blood perhaps saved me from fever. At all events, I +was calm and self-possessed; and, strangest of all, the excitement which +for months back had taken possession of me was gone, and I was once again +myself,—in patience and quiet submission calmly awaiting the +sentence which I well knew must be my death. We frequently hear that great +reverses of fortune elicit and develop resources of character which under +what are called happier circumstances had remained dormant and unknown. I +am strongly disposed to attribute much of this result to purely physical +changes, and that our days of prosperity are seasons of inordinate +excitement, with all the bodily ills that accompany such a state. If it be +so hard for the rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, is it not that +his whole nature has been depraved and perverted by the consummate +selfishness that comes of power? What hardeners of the heart are days of +pleasure and nights of excess! And how look for the sympathy that consoles +and comforts, from him whose greatest sufferings are the jarring +contrarieties of his own nature? +</p> +<p> +I have said I was again myself, but with this addition, that a deep and +sincere sorrow was over me for my late life, and an honest repentance for +the past. I was eleven weeks in hospital; two severe relapses had +prolonged my malady; and it was nigh three months after the occurrence I +have detailed, that I was pronounced fit to be sent forward for trial by +court-martial. +</p> +<p> +There were a considerable number awaiting their trial at the same time. +Men had been drafted to Strasburg from various places, and a commission +sat <i>en permanence</i>, to dispose of them. There was little formality, +and even less time, wasted in these proceedings. The prisoner defended +himself if he were able; if not, the reading of the charge and some slight +additions of testimony completed the investigation; the sentence being, +for form sake, reserved for a later period. Occasionally it would happen +that some member of the court would interpose a few favorable words, or +endeavor to throw a pretext over the alleged crime; but these cases were +rare, and usually nothing was heard but the charge of the accuser. +</p> +<p> +Having determined to make no defence, my whole effort was to accustom my +mind to the circumstances of my fate, and so steel my heart to bear up +manfully to the last. My offence was one never pardoned. This I well knew, +and it only remained for me to meet the penalty like a brave man. Few, +indeed, could quit the world with less ties to break,—few could +leave it with less to regret; and yet, such is the instinctive love of +life, and so powerful are the impulses to struggle against fate, that as +the time of my trial drew nigh, I would have dared any danger with the +hope of escape, and accepted any commutation of a sentence short of death. +I believe that this is a stage of agony to which all are exposed, and that +every criminal sentenced to the scaffold must pass through this terrible +period. In my case it was prolonged, my name being one of the very last +for trial; and already five weeks had gone over before I was called. Even +then a postponement took place, for the Emperor had arrived on his way to +Germany, and a great review of the garrison superseded all other duties. +</p> +<p> +Never had all the pomp and circumstance of war seemed so grand and so +splendid to my eyes as when, through the grating of my prison-cell, I +strained my glances after the dense columns and the clanking squadrons, as +they passed. The gorgeous group of staff-officers and the heavy-rolling +artillery had all a significance and a meaning that they had never +possessed for me before. They seemed to shadow forth great events for the +future, portentous changes in time to come, gigantic convulsions in the +condition of the world, kingdoms rocking, and thrones overturned. The +shock of battle was, too, present to my eyes,—the din, the crash, +and the uproar of conflict, with all its terrors and all its chivalry. +What a glorious thing must life be to those about to enter on such a +career! How high must beat the hearts of all who joined in this +enthusiasm! +</p> +<p> +That day was to me like whole years of existence, filled with passages of +intensest excitement and moments of the very saddest depression. My brain, +hitherto calm and collected, struggled in vain against a whole torrent of +thoughts without coherence or relation, and at length my faculties began +to wander. I forgot where I was, and the fate that impended over me. I +spoke of all that had happened to me long before,—of my infancy, my +boyhood, my adventures as a man, and those with whom I lived in intimacy. +The turnkey, an invalided sergeant of artillery and a kind-hearted fellow, +tried to recall me to myself, by soothing and affectionate words. He even +affected an interest in what I said, to try and gain some clew to my +wanderings, and caught eagerly at anything that promised a hope of +obtaining an influence over me. He fetched the surgeon of the jail to my +cell at last, and he pronounced my case the incipient stage of a brain +fever. I heard the opinion as he whispered it, and understood its import +thoroughly. I was in that state where reason flashes at moments across the +mind, but all powers of collected thought are lost. Amongst the names that +I uttered in my ravings one alone attracted their attention: it was that +of Ysaffich, the Pole, of whom I spoke frequently. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know the Colonel Ysaffich?” said the doctor to me. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, slowly; “he is a Russian spy.” + </p> +<p> +“That answer scarcely denotes madness,” whispered the doctor to the +turnkey, with a smile, as he turned away from the bed. +</p> +<p> +“Should you like to see him?” said he, in a kind tone. +</p> +<p> +“Of all things,” replied I, eagerly; “tell him to come to me.” + </p> +<p> +I conclude that this question was asked simply to amuse my mind, and turn +it from other painful thoughts, for he shortly after retired, without +further allusion to it; but from that hour my mind was riveted on the one +idea; and to everybody that approached my sick bed, my first demand was, +“Where was Count Ysaffich, and when was he coming to see me?” + </p> +<p> +I had been again conveyed back to the military hospital, in which I was +lying when the Emperor came to make his customary visit. The prisoners' +ward was, however, one exempted from the honor he bestowed on the rest; +and one could only hear the distant sounds of the procession as it passed +from room to room. +</p> +<p> +I was lying, with my eyes half closed, lethargic and dull, when I heard a +voice say,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Colonel, he has spoken of you constantly, and asks every day when +you mean to come and see him.” + </p> +<p> +“He never served in the Legion, notwithstanding,” replied another voice, +“nor do I remember ever to have seen him before.” + </p> +<p> +The tones of the speaker recalled me suddenly to myself. I looked up, and +beheld Count Ysaffich before me. Though dressed in the lancer uniform of +the Garde, his features were too marked to be forgotten, and I accosted +him at once. +</p> +<p> +“Have you forgotten your old colleague, Paul Gervois?” said I, trying to +appear calm and at ease. +</p> +<p> +“What!—is this—can you be my old friend Gervois?” cried be, +laying a hand on my shoulder, and staring hard at my face. But I could not +utter a word; shame and sorrow overcame me, and I covered my face with +both my hands. +</p> +<p> +Ysaffich was not permitted to speak more with me at the time; but he +returned soon, and passed hours with me every day to the end of my +illness. He was intimate with the officer I had insulted; and, by immense +efforts, and the kind assistance of the medical authorities, succeeded in +establishing a plea of temporary insanity for my offence, by which I +escaped punishment, and was dismissed the service. This was a period of +much suffering to me, mentally as well as bodily. I felt all the +humiliation at which my life had been purchased, and more than once did +the price appear far too great a one. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLVI. YSAFFICH +</h2> +<p> +I was now domesticated with Ysaffich, who occupied good quarters in Kehl, +where the Polish Legion, as it was called, was garrisoned. He treated me +with every kindness, and presented me to his comrades as an old and valued +friend. I was not sorry to find myself at once amongst total strangers,—men +of a country quite new to me, and who themselves had seen reverses and +misfortunes enough to make them lenient in their judgments of narrow +fortune. They were, besides, a fine, soldier-like race of fellows,—good +horsemen, excellent swordsmen, reckless as all men who have neither home +nor country, and ready for any deed of daring or danger. There was a +jealousy between them and the French officers which prevented any social +intercourse; and duels were by no means a rare event whenever they had +occasion to meet. The Imperial laws were tremendously severe on this +offence; and he who killed his adversary in a duel was certain of death by +the law. To evade the consequences of such a penalty, the most extravagant +devices were practised, and many a deadly quarrel was decided in a +pretended fencing-match. It was in one of these mock trials of skill that +Colonel le Brun was killed, an officer of great merit, and younger brother +of the general of that name. +</p> +<p> +From that time the attention of the military authorities was more closely +drawn to this practice; and such meetings were for the future always +attended by several gendarmes, who narrowly scrutinized every detail of +the proceeding. With such perfect good faith, however, was the secret +maintained on both sides that discovery was almost impossible. Not only +was every etiquette of familiar intimacy strictly observed on these +occasions, but a most honorable secrecy by all concerned. +</p> +<p> +I was soon to be a witness of one of these adventures. Ysaffich, whose +duties required him to repair frequently to Strasburg, had been grossly +and, as I heard, wantonly outraged by a young captain of the Imperial +staff who, seeing his name on a slip of paper on a military table d'hôte, +added with his pencil the words <i>Espion Musse</i> after it. Of course a +meeting was at once arranged, and it was planned that Challendrouze, the +captain, and four of his brother officers were to come over and visit the +fortifications at Kehl, breakfasting with us, and being our guests for the +morning. Two only of Ysaffich's friends were intrusted with the project, +and invited to meet the others. +</p> +<p> +I cannot say that I ever felt what could be called a sincere friendship +for Ysaffich. He was one of those men who neither inspire such +attachments, nor need them in return. It was not that he was cold and +distant, repelling familiarity and refusing sympathy. It was exactly the +opposite. He revealed everything, even to the minutest particle of his +history, and told you of himself every emotion and every feeling that +moved him. He was frankness and candor itself; but it was a frankness that +spoke of utter indifference,—perfect recklessness as to your +judgment on him, and what opinion you should form of his character. He +told you of actions that reflected on his good faith, and uttered +sentiments that arraigned his sense of honor, not only without hesitation, +but with an air of assumed superiority to all the prejudices that sway +other men in similar cases. Even in the instance of the approaching duel, +he avowed that Challendrouze's offence was in the manner, and not the +matter, of the insult. His whole theory of life was that every one was +false, not only to others, but to himself; that no man really felt love, +patriotism, or religion in his heart, but that he assumed one or more of +these affections as a cloak to whatever vices were most easily practised +under such a disguise. It was a code to stifle every generous feeling of +the heart, and make a man's nature barren as a desert. +</p> +<p> +He never fully disclosed these sentiments until the evening before the +duel. It was then, in the midst of preparations for the morrow, that he +revealed to me all that he felt and thought. There was, throughout these +confessions, a tone of indifference that shocked me more, perhaps, than +actual levity; and I own I regarded him with a sense of terror, and as one +whose very contact was perilous. +</p> +<p> +“I have married since I saw you last,” said he to me, after a long +interval of silence. “My wife was a former acquaintance of yours. You must +go and see her, if this event turn out ill, and 'break the tidings,' as +they call it,—not that the task will demand any extraordinary +display of skill at your hands,” said he, laughing. “Madame the Countess +will bear her loss with becoming dignity; and as I have nothing to +bequeath, the disposition of my property cannot offend her. If, however,” + added he, with more energy of manner, “if, however, the Captain should +fall, we must take measures to fly. I 'll not risk a <i>cour militaire</i> +in such a cause, so that we must escape.” + </p> +<p> +All his arrangements had been already made for this casualty; and I found +that relays of horses had been provided to within a short distance of +Mannheim, where we were to cross the Rhine, and trust to chances to guide +us through the Luxembourg territory down to Namur, at a little village in +the neighborhood of which town his wife was then living. My part in the +plan was to repair by daybreak to Erlauch, a small village on the Rhine, +three leagues from Kehl, and await his arrival, or such tidings as might +recall me to Kehl. +</p> +<p> +“If I be not with you by seven o'clock at the latest,” said he, “it is +because Challendrouze has <i>viséd</i> my passports for another route.” + </p> +<p> +These were his last words to me ere I started, with, it is not too much to +say, a far heavier heart than he had who uttered them. +</p> +<p> +It was drawing towards evening, and I was standing watching the lazy drift +of a timber-raft as it floated down the river, when I heard the clattering +of a horse's hoofs approaching at a full gallop. I turned, and saw +Ysaffich, who was coming at full speed, waving his handkerchief by way of +signal. +</p> +<p> +I hurried back to the inn to order out the horses at once, and ere many +minutes we were in the saddle, side by side, not a word having passed +between us till, as we passed out into the open country, Ysaffich said,— +</p> +<p> +“We must ride for it, Gervois.” + </p> +<p> +“It's all over, then?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, all over,” said he while, pressing his horse to speed, he dashed on +in front of me; nor was I sorry that even so much of space separated us at +that moment. +</p> +<p> +Through that long, bright, starry night we rode at the top speed of our +horses, and, as day was breaking, entered Rostadt, where we ate a hasty +breakfast, and again set out. Ysaffich reported himself at each military +station as the bearer of despatches, till, on the second morning, we +arrived at Hellsheim, on the Bergstrasse, where we left our horses, and +proceeded on foot to the Rhine by a little pathway across the fields. We +crossed the river, and, hiring a wagon, drove on to Erz, a hamlet on the +Moselle, at which place we found horses again ready for us. I was terribly +fatigued by this time, but Ysaffich seemed fresh as when we started. +Seeing, however, my exhaustion, he proposed to halt for a couple of hours,—a +favor I gladly accepted. The interval over, we remounted, and so on to +Namur, where we arrived on the sixth day, having scarcely interchanged as +many words with each other from the moment of our setting out. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLVII. TOWARDS HOME +</h2> +<p> +Ysaffich's retreat was a small cottage about two miles from Dinant, and on +the verge of the Ardennes forest. He had purchased it from a retired +“Garde Chasse” some years before, “seeing,” as he said, “it was exactly +the kind of place a man may lie concealed in, whenever the time comes, as +it invariably does come, that one wants to escape from recognition.” + </p> +<p> +I have already said that he was not very communicative as we went along; +but as we drew nigh to Dinant he told me in a few words the chief events +of his career since we had parted. +</p> +<p> +“I have made innumerable mistakes in life, Gervois, but my last was the +worst of all. I married! Yes, I persuaded your old acquaintance Madame von +Geysiger to accept me at last. She yielded, placed her millions and tens +of millions at my disposal, and three months after we were beggared. +Davoust found, or said he found, that I was a Russian spy; swore that I +was carrying on a secret correspondence with Sweden; confiscated every sou +we had in the world, and threw me into jail at Lubeck, from which I +managed to escape, and made my way to Paris. There I preferred my claim +against the marshal: at first before the <i>cour militaire</i>, then to +the minister, then to the Emperor. They all agreed that Davoust was +grossly unjust; that my case was one of the greatest hardship, and so on; +that the money was gone, and there was no help for it. In fact, I was +pitied by some, and laughed at by others; and out of sheer disgust at the +deplorable spectacle I presented, a daily supplicant at some official +antechamber, I agreed to take my indemnity in the only way that offered,—a +commission in the newly raised Polish Legion, where I served for two +years, and quitted three days ago in the manner you witnessed.” + </p> +<p> +His narrative scarcely occupied more words than I have given it. He told +me the story as we led our horses up a narrow bridle-path that ascended +from the river's side to a little elevated terrace where a cottage stood. +</p> +<p> +“There,” said he, pointing with his whip, “there is my <i>pied à terre</i>, +all that I possess in the world, after twenty years of more persevering +pursuit of wealth than any man in Europe. Ay, Gervois, for us who are not +born to the high places in this world, there is but one road open to +power, and that is money! It matters not whether the influence be exerted +by a life of splendor or an existence of miserable privation,—money +is power, and the only power that every faction acknowledges and bows down +to. He who lends is the master, and he who borrows is the slave. That is a +doctrine that monarchs and democrats all agree in. The best proof I can +afford you that my opinion is sincere lies in the simple fact that he who +utters the sentiment lives here;” and with these words he tapped with the +head of his riding-whip at the door of the cottage. +</p> +<p> +Although only an hour after the sun set, the windows were barred and +shuttered for the night, and all within seemingly had retired to rest. The +Count repeated his summons louder; and at last the sounds of heavy <i>sabots</i> +were heard approaching the door. It was opened at length, and a +sturdy-looking peasant woman, in the long-eared cap and woollen jacket of +the country, asked what we wanted. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you know me, Lisette?” said the Count. “How is madame?” + </p> +<p> +The brown cheeks of the woman became suddenly pale, and she had to grasp +the door for support before she could speak. +</p> +<p> +“Eh heu!” said he, accosting her familiarly in the patois of the land, +“what is it? what has happened here?” + </p> +<p> +The woman looked at me and then at him, as though to say that she desired +to speak to him apart. I understood the glance, and fell back to a little +distance, occupying myself with my horse, ungirthing the saddle, and so +on. The few minutes thus employed were passed in close whispering by the +others, at the end of which the Count said aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, who is to look after the beasts? Is Louis not here?” + </p> +<p> +“He was at Dinant, but would return presently.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said the Count; “we 'll stable them ourselves. Meanwhile, +Lisette, prepare something for our supper.—Lisette has not her equal +for an omelet,” said he to me, “and when the Meuse yields us fresh trout, +you 'll acknowledge that her skill will not discredit them.” + </p> +<p> +The woman's face, as he spoke these words in an easy, jocular tone, was +actually ghastly. It seemed as if she were contending against some +sickening sensation that was over-powering her, for her eyes lost all +expression, and her ruddy lips grew livid. The only answer was a brief nod +of her head as she turned away and re-entered the house. I watched the +Count narrowly as we busied ourselves about our horses, but nothing could +be possibly more calm, and to all seeming unconcerned, than his bearing +and manner. The few words he spoke were in reference to objects around us, +and uttered with careless ease. +</p> +<p> +When we entered the cottage we found Lisette had already spread a cloth, +and was making preparations for our supper; and Ysaffich, with the +readiness of an old campaigner, proceeded to aid her in these details. At +last she left the room, and, looking after her for a second or two in +silence, he said compassionately,— +</p> +<p> +“Poor creature! she takes this to heart far more heavily than I could have +thought;” and then, seeing that the words were not quite intelligible to +me, he added, “Yes, mon cher Grégoire, I am a bachelor once more; Madame +the Countess has left me! Weary of a life of poverty to which she had been +so long unaccustomed, she has returned to the world again—to the +stage, perhaps—who knows?” added he, with a careless indifference, +and as though dismissing the theme from his thoughts forever. +</p> +<p> +I had never liked him, but at no time of our intercourse did he appear so +thoroughly odious to me as when he uttered these words. +</p> +<p> +There is some strange fatality in the way our characters are frequently +impressed by circumstances and intimacies which seem the veriest +accidents. We linger in some baneful climate till it has made its fatal +inroad on our health; and so we as often dally amidst associations fully +as dangerous and deadly. In this way did I continue to live on with +Ysaffich, daily resolving to leave him, and yet, by some curious chain of +events, bound up inseparably with his fortunes. At one moment his poverty +was the tie between us We supported ourselves by the <i>chasse</i>, a poor +and most precarious livelihood, and one which we well knew would fail us +when the spring came. At other moments he would gain an influence over me +by the exercise of that sanguine, hopeful spirit which seemed never to +desert him. He saw, or affected to see, that the great drama of revolution +which closed the century in France must yet be played out over the length +and breadth of Europe, and that in this great piece the chief actors would +be those who had all to gain and nothing to lose by the convulsion. “We +shall have good parts in the play, Grégoire,” would he repeat to me, time +after time, till he thoroughly filled my mind with ambitions that rose far +above the region of all probability, and, worse still, that utterly +silenced every whisper of conscience within me. +</p> +<p> +Had he attempted to corrupt me by the vulgar ideas of wealth,—by the +splendor of a life of luxurious ease and enjoyment, with all the +appliances of riches,—it is more than likely he would have failed. +He however assailed me by my weak side: the delight I always experienced +in acts of protection and benevolence—the pleasure I felt in being +regarded by others as their good genius—this was a flattery that +never ceased to sway me! The selfishness of such a part lay so hidden from +view; there was a plausibility in one's conviction of being good and +amiable,—that the enjoyment became really of a higher order than +usually waits on mere egotism. I had been long estranged from the world, +so far as the ties of affection and friendship existed. For me there was +neither home nor family, and yet I yearned for what would bind me to the +cause of my fellow-men. All my thoughts were now centred on this object, +and innumerable were the projects by which I amused my imagination about +it. Ysaffich perhaps detected this clew to my confidence. At all events, +he made it the pivot of all reasonings with me. To be powerless with good +intentions—to have the “will” to work for good, and yet want the +“way”—was, he would say, about the severest torture poor humanity +could be called on to endure. When he had so far imbued my mind with these +notions that he found me not only penetrated with his own views, but +actually employing his own reasonings, his very expressions, to maintain +them, he then advanced a step further; and this was to demonstrate that to +every success in life there was a compromise attached, as inseparable as +were shadow and substance. +</p> +<p> +“Was there not,” he would say, “a compensation attached to every great act +of statesmanship, to every brilliant success in war,—in fact, to +every grand achievement, wherever and however accomplished? It is simply a +question of weighing the evil against the good, whatever we do in life; +and he is the best of us who has the largest balance in the scales of +virtue.” + </p> +<p> +When a subtle theory takes possession of the mind, it is curious to mark +with what ingenuity examples will suggest themselves to sustain and +support it. Ysaffich possessed a ready memory, and never failed to supply +me with illustrations of his system. There was scarcely a good or great +name of ancient or modern times that he could not bring within this +category; and many an hour have we passed in disputing the claims of this +one or that to be accounted as the benefactor or the enemy of mankind. If +I recall these memories now, it is simply to show the steps by which a +mind far more subtle and acute than my own succeeded in establishing its +influence over me. +</p> +<p> +I have said that we were very poor; our resources were derived from the +scantiest of all supplies; and even these, as the spring drew nigh, showed +signs of failure. If I at times regarded our future with gloomy +anticipations, my companion never did so. On the contrary, his hopeful +spirit seemed to rise under the pressure of each new sufferance, and he +constantly cheered me by saying, “The tide must ebb soon.” It is true, +this confidence did not prevent him suggesting various means by which we +might eke out a livelihood. +</p> +<p> +“It is the same old story over again,” said he to me one day, as we sat at +our meal of dry bread and water. “Archimedes could have moved the world +had he had a support whereon to station his lever, and so with me; I could +at» this very moment rise to wealth and power, could I but find a similar +appliance. There is a million to be made on the Bourse of Amsterdam any +morning, if one only could pay for a courier who should arrive at speed +from the Danube with the news of a defeat of the French army. A lighted +tar-barrel in the midst of the English fleet at Spithead would n't cost a +deal of money, and yet might do great things towards changing the fortunes +of mankind. And even here,” added he, taking a letter from his pocket, +“even here are the means of wealth and fortune to both of us, if I could +rely on you for the requisite energy and courage to play your part.” + </p> +<p> +“I have at least had courage to share your fortunes,” said I, half +angrily; “and even that much might exempt me from the reproach of +cowardice.” + </p> +<p> +Not heeding my taunt in the slightest, he resumed his speech with slow and +deliberate words:— +</p> +<p> +“I found this paper last night by a mere accident, when looking over some +old letters; but, unfortunately, it is not accompanied by any other +document which could aid us, though I have searched closely to discover +such.” + </p> +<p> +So often had it been my fate to hear him hold forth on similar themes—on +incidents which lacked but little, the veriest trifle, to lead to fortune—that +I confess I paid slight attention to his words, and scarcely heard him as +he went on describing how he had chanced upon his present discovery, when +he suddenly startled me by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“And yet, even now, if you were of the stuff to dare it, there is +wherewithal in that letter to make you a great man, and both of us rich +ones.” + </p> +<p> +Seeing that he had at least secured my attention, he went on:— +</p> +<p> +“You remember the first time we ever met, Gervois, and the evening of our +arrival at Hamburg. Well, on that same night there occurred to me the +thought of making your fortune and my own; and when I shall have explained +to you how, you will probably look less incredulous than you now do. You +may remember that the first husband of Madame von Geysiger was a rich +merchant of Hamburg. Well, there chanced to be in his employment a certain +English clerk who conducted all his correspondence with foreign countries,—a +man of great business knowledge and strict probity, and by whose means Von +Geysiger once escaped the risk of total bankruptcy. Full of gratitude for +his services, Von Geysiger wished to give him a partnership in the house; +but however flattering the prospect for one of humble means, he positively +rejected the offer; and when pressed for his reasons for so doing, at last +owned that he could not consistently pledge himself to adhere to the +fortunes of his benefactor, since he had in heart devoted his life to +another object,—one for which he then only labored to obtain means +to prosecute. I do not believe that the secret to which he alluded was +divulged at the time, nor even for a long while after, but at length it +came out that this poor fellow had no other aim in life than to find out +the heir to a certain great estate in England which had lapsed from its +rightful owner, and to obtain the document which should establish his +claim. To this end he had associated himself with some relative of the +missing youth,—a lady of rank, I have heard tell, and of +considerable personal attractions, who had braved poverty and hardship of +the severest kind in the pursuit of this one object. I do not know where +they had not travelled, nor what amount of toil they had not bestowed on +this search. Occasionally, allured by some apparent clew, they had visited +the most remote parts of the Continent; and at last, acting on some +information derived from one of their many agents, they left Europe for +America. That the pursuit is still unsuccessful, an advertisement that I +saw, a few days back, in a Dutch newspaper, assures me. A large reward is +there offered for any one who can give certain information as to the +surviving relatives of a French lady,—the name I forget, but which +at the time I remembered as one of those connected with this story. And +now, to apply the case to yourself, there were so many circumstances of +similitude in the fortunes of this youth and your own life that it +occurred to me, and not alone to me, but to another, to make you his +representative.” + </p> +<p> +For a moment I scarcely knew whether to be indignant or amused at this +shameless avowal; but the absurdity overcame my anger, and I laughed long +and heartily at it. +</p> +<p> +“Laugh if you will, my dear Gervois,” said he; “but you are not the first, +nor will you be the last, kite who has roosted in the eagle's nest. Take +my word for it, with all the cares and provisions of law, it is seldom +enough that the rightful heir sits in the hall of his fathers; and, in the +present case, we know that the occupant is a mere pretender; so that your +claim, or mine, if you like it, is fully as good as his to be there.” + </p> +<p> +“You have certainly excited my curiosity on one point,” said I, “and it is +to know where the resemblance lies between this gentleman's case and my +own; pray tell me that!” + </p> +<p> +“Easily enough,” said he, “and from the very papers in my hand: a mixed +parentage, French and English—a father of one country, a mother of +another—a life of scrapes and vicissitudes; but, better than all, a +position so isolated that none can claim you. There, my dear Gervois, +there is the best feature in the whole case; and if I could only inspire +your heart with a dash of the ambitious daring that fills my own, it is +not on a straw bed nor a starvation diet we should speculate over the +future before us. Just fancy, if you can, the glorious life of ease and +enjoyment that would reward us if we succeed; and as to failure, conjure +up, if you are able, anything worse than this;” and as he spoke he made a +gesture with his hand towards the wretched furniture of our humble +chamber. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to exclude from your calculation all question of right and +wrong,” said I, “of justice or injustice.” + </p> +<p> +“I have already told you that he who now enjoys this estate is not its +real owner. It is, to all purposes, a disputed territory, where the +strongest may plant his flag,—yours to-day; another may advance to +the conquest to-morrow. I only say that to fellows like us, who, for aught +I see, may have to take the high-road for a livelihood, this chance is not +to be despised.” + </p> +<p> +“Then why not yourself attempt it?” + </p> +<p> +“For two sufficient reasons. I am a Pole, and my nationality can be +proved; and, secondly, I am full ten years too old: this youth was born +about the year 1782.” + </p> +<p> +“The very year of my own birth!” said I. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove, Gervois! everything would seem to aid us. There is but one +deficiency,” added he, after a pause, and a look towards me of such +significance that I could not misunderstand it. +</p> +<p> +“I know what you mean,” said I; “the want lies in me,—in my lack of +energy and courage. I might, perhaps, give another name to it,” added I, +after waiting in vain for some reply on his part, “and speak of reluctance +to become a swindler.” + </p> +<p> +A long silence now ensued between us. Each seemed to feel that another +word might act like a spark in a magazine, and produce a fearful +explosion; and so we sat, scarcely daring to look each other in the face. +As we remained thus, my eyes fell upon the paper in his hand, and read the +following words: “Son of Walter Carew, of Castle Carew, and Josephine de +Courtois, his wife,” I snatched the document from his fingers, and read +on. “The proof of this marriage wanting, but supposed to have been +solemnized at or about the year 1780 or '81. No trace of Mademoiselle de +Courtois' family obtainable, save her relationship to Count de Gabriac, +who died in England three years ago. The youth Jasper Carew served in the +Bureau of the Minister of War at Paris in '95, and was afterwards seen in +the provinces, supposed to be employed by the Legitimist party as an +agent; traced thence to England, and believed to have gone to America, or +the West Indies.” Then followed some vague speculations as to where and +how this youth was possibly employed, and some equally delusive guesses as +to the signs by which he might be recognized. +</p> +<p> +“Does that interest you, Gervois?” said Ysaffich. “This is the best part +of the narrative, to my thinking; read that, and say if your heart does +not bound at the very notion of such a prize.” + </p> +<p> +The paper which he now handed to me was closely and carefully written, and +headed, “Descriptive sketch of the lands and estate of the late Walter +Carew, Esq., known as the demesne of Castle Carew, in the county of +Wicklow, in Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“Two thousand seven hundred acres of a park, and a princely mansion!” + exclaimed the Count. “An estate of at least twelve thousand pounds a year! +Gervois, my boy, why not attempt it?” + </p> +<p> +“You talk wildly, Ysaffich,” said I, restraining by a great effort the +emotions that were almost suffocating me. “Bethink you who I am,—poor, +friendless, and unprotected. Take it, even, that I had the most +indisputable right to this fortune; assume, if you will, that I am the +very person here alluded to,—where is there a single document to +prove my claim? Should I not be scouted at the bare mention of such +pretensions?” + </p> +<p> +“That would all depend on the way the affair was managed,” said he. “If +these solicitors whose names and addresses I have here, were themselves +convinced or even disposed to credit the truth of the tale we should tell +them, they would embark in the suit with all their influence and all their +wealth. Once engaged in it, self-interest would secure their zealous +co-operation. As to documents, proofs, and all that, these things are a +material that lawyers know how to supply, or, if need be, explain the +absence of. Of this missing youth's story I already know enough for our +purpose; and when you have narrated for me your own life, we will arrange +the circumstances together, and weave of the two one consistent and +plausible tale. Take my word for it, that if we can once succeed in +interesting counsel in your behalf, the very novelty of the incident will +enlist public sympathy. Jurors are, after all, but representatives of that +same passing opinion, and will be well disposed to befriend our cause. I +speak as if the matter must come to a head; but it need not go so far. +When our plans are laid and all our advances duly prepared, we may +condescend to treat with the enemy. Ay, Gervois, we may be inclined to +accept a compromise of our claim. These things are done every day. The men +who seem to sit in all the security of undisturbed possession are buying +off demands here, paying hush-money to this man, and bribery to that.” + </p> +<p> +“But if the real claimant should appear on the stage—” + </p> +<p> +“I have reason to believe he is dead these many years,” said he, +interrupting; “but were it otherwise, these friends of his are of such a +scrupulous temperament, they would not adventure on the suit without such +a mass of proof as no concurrence of accidents could possibly accumulate. +They have not the nerve to accomplish an undertaking of this kind, where +much must be hazarded, and many things done at risk.” + </p> +<p> +“Which means, in plain words, done fraudulently,” said I, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Let us not fall out about words,” said he, smiling. “When a state issues +a paper currency, it waits for the day of prosperity to recall the issue +and redeem the debt; and if we live and do well, what shall prevent us +making an equally good use of our fortune? But you may leave all this to +me; I will undertake every document, from the certificate of your father's +marriage to your own baptism; I will legalize you and legitimatize you; +you have only to be passive.” + </p> +<p> +“I half suspect, Count,” said I, laughing, “that if my claim to this +estate were a real one, I should not be so sure of your aid and +assistance.” + </p> +<p> +“And you are right there, Gervois. It is in the very daring and danger of +this pursuit I feel the pleasure. The game on which I risk nothing has no +excitement for me; but here the stake is a heavy one.” + </p> +<p> +“And how would you proceed?” asked I, not heeding this remark. +</p> +<p> +“By opening a correspondence with Bickering and Ragge, the lawyers. They +have long been in search of the heir, and would be delighted to hear there +were any tidings of his existence. My name is already known to them, and I +could address them with confidence. They would, of course, require to see +you, and either come over here or send for you. In either case you would +be preceded by your story; the family parts should be supplied by me; the +other details you should fill in at will. All this, however, should be +concerted together. The first point is your consent,—your hearty +consent; and even that I would not accept, unless ratified by a solemn +oath, to persist to the last, and never falter nor give in to the end, +whatever it be!” + </p> +<p> +I at first hesitated, but at last consented to give the required pledge; +and though for a while it occurred to me that a frank avowal of my real +claim to be the person designated might best suit the object I had in +view, I suddenly bethought me that if Ysaffich once believed that he +himself was not the prime mover in the scheme, and that I was other than a +mere puppet in his hand, he was far more likely to mar than to make our +fortune. Intrigue and trick were the very essence of the man's nature; and +it was enough that the truthful entered into anything to destroy its whole +value or interest in his eyes. That this plot had long been lying in his +mind, I had but to remember the night in the garden at Hamburg to be +convinced of, and since that time he had never ceased to ruminate upon it. +Indeed, he now told me that it constantly occurred to him to fancy that +this piece of success was to be a crowning recompense for a long life of +reverses and failures. +</p> +<p> +How gladly did my thoughts turn from him and all his crafty counsels to +think of that true friend, poor Raper, and my dear, dear mother, as I used +to call her, who had, in the midst of their own hard trials, devoted their +best energies to my cause. It is not necessary to say that Raper was the +faithful clerk, and Polly the unknown lady who had given the impulse to +this search. The papers, of which Ysaffich showed me several, were all in +the handwriting of one or other of them; a few of my father's own letters +were also in one packet, and though referring to matters far remote from +this object, had an indescribable interest for me. +</p> +<p> +“Seven years ago,” said the Count, “this estate was in the possession of a +certain Mr. Curtis, who claimed to be the next of kin of the late owner, +and who, I believe, was so, in the failure of this youth's legitimacy. +This is now our great fact, since we have already found the individual. +Eh, Gervois?” said he, laughing. “Our man is here, and from this hour +forth your name is—let me see what it is—ay, here we have it: +Jasper Carew, son of Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois, his wife.” + </p> +<p> +“Jasper Carew am I from this day, then, and never to be called by any +other name,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but you must have your lesson perfect,” said he; “you must not forget +the name of your parents.” + </p> +<p> +“Never fear,” said I; “Walter Carew and Josephine de Courtois are easily +remembered.” + </p> +<p> +“All correct,” said he, well pleased at my accuracy. “Now, as to family +history, this paper will tell you enough. It is drawn out by Mr. Raper, +and is minutely exact. There is not a strong point of the case omitted, +nor a weak one forgotten. Read it over carefully; mark the points in which +you trace resemblance to your own life; study well where any divergence or +difficulty may occur; and, lastly, draw up a brief memoir in the character +of Jasper Carew, with all your recollections of childhood: for remember +that up to the age of twelve or thirteen, if not later, you were +domesticated with this Countess de Gabriac, and educated by Raper. After +that you are free to follow out what fancy, or reality, if you like it +better, may suggest. When you have drawn up everything, with all the +consistency and plausibility you can, avoid none of the real difficulties, +but rather show yourself fully aware of them, and also of all their +importance. Let the task of having persuaded you to address Messrs. +Bickering and Ragge be left to me; I have already held correspondence with +them, and on this very subject. I give you three days to do this; +meanwhile I start at once for Brussels, where I can consult a lawyer, an +old friend of mine, as to our first steps in the campaign.” + </p> +<p> +The man who stoops once to a minute dissection of his life must perforce +steel his heart against many a sense of shame, since even in the story of +the good and the upright are passages of dark omen, moments when the bad +has triumphed, and seasons when the true has been postponed by the false. +It is not now that, having revealed so much as I have done of my secret +history, I dare make any pretensions to superior honesty, or affect to be +one of the “unblemished few.” Still, I have a craving desire not to be +judged over harshly,—a painful feeling of anxiety that no evil +construction should be put upon those actions of my life other than what +they absolutely merit. My “over-reachings” have been many,—my +“shortcomings” still more; but, with all their weight and gravity before +me, I still entreat a merciful judgment, and hope that if the sentence be +“guilty,” there will be at least the alleviation of “attenuating +circumstances.” + </p> +<p> +I am now an old man; the world has no more any bribe to my ambition than +have I within me the energy to attempt it. The friendships that warmed up +the late autumn of my life are departed; they lie in the churchyard, and +none have ever replaced them. In these confessions, therefore, humiliating +as they often would seem, there are none to suffer pain. I make them at +the cost of my own feelings alone, and in some sense I do so as an act of +atonement and reparation to a world that, with some hard lessons, has +still treated me with kindness, and to whom, with the tremulous fingers of +old age, I write myself most grateful. +</p> +<p> +If they who read this story suppose that I should not have hesitated to +propose myself a claimant for an estate to which I had no right, I have no +better answer to give them than a mere denial, and even that uttered in +all humility, since it comes from one whose good name has been impeached, +and whose good faith may be questioned. Still do I repeat it, this was an +act I could not have done. There is a kind of half-way rectitude in the +world which never scruples at the means of any success so long as it +injures no other, but which recoils from the thought of any advantage +obtained at another's cost and detriment. Such I suspect to have been +mine. At least, I can declare with truth that I am not conscious of an +incident in my life which will bear the opposite construction. +</p> +<p> +But to what end should I endeavor to defend my motives, since my actions +are already before the world, and each will read them by the light his own +conscience lends? Let me rather hasten to complete a task which, since it +has involved an apology, has become almost painful to pursue. +</p> +<p> +So successfully had Ysaffich employed his time at Brussels that a +well-known notary there had already consented to aid our plans and furnish +means for our journey to England. I cannot go over with minuteness details +in which the deceptions I had to concur in still revive my shame. I could, +it is true, recite the story of my birth and parentage, my early years +abroad, and so on, with the conscious force of truth; but there were +supplementary evidences required of me with which I could not bring myself +to comply. Ysaffich, naturally enough, could not understand the delicacy +of scruples which only took alarm by mere caprice, nor could he comprehend +why he who was willing to feign a name and falsify a position should +hesitate about assuming any circumstances that might be useful to sustain +it. +</p> +<p> +Of course I could not explain this mystery, and was obliged to endure all +the sarcastic allusions he vented on the acuteness of my sense of honor +and the extreme susceptibility of my notions of right. It chanced, +however, that this very repugnance on my part should prove more favorable +for us than all his most artful devices, and indeed it shows with +clearness how often the superadded efforts fraud contributes to insure +success are as frequently the very sources of its failure,—just as +we see in darker crimes how the over care and caution of the murderer have +been the clew that has elicited the murder. +</p> +<p> +Ysaffich wished me to detail, amongst the memories of my childhood, the +having heard often of the great estate and vast fortune to which I was +entitled. He wanted me to supply, as it were from memory, many links of +the chain of evidence that seemed deficient,—vague recollections of +having heard this, that, and the other; but, with an obstinacy that to him +appeared incomprehensible, I held to my own unadorned tale, and would not +add a word beyond my own conviction. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Ragge, the solicitor by whom the case was undertaken, seemed most +favorably impressed by this reserve on my part; and, far from being +discouraged by my ignorance of certain points, appeared, on the contrary, +only the more satisfied as to the genuineness of my story. Over and over +have I felt in my conversations with him how impossible it would have been +for me to practise any deception successfully with him. Without any +semblance of cross-examination, he still contrived to bring me again and +again over the same ground, viewing the same statement from different +sides, and trying to discover a discrepancy in my narrative. When at +length assured, to all appearance, at least, of my being the person I +claimed to be, he drew up a statement of my case for counsel, and a day +was named when I should be personally examined by a distinguished member +of the bar. I cannot even now recall that interview without a thrill of +emotion. My sense of hope, dashed as it was by a conscious feeling that I +was, in some sort, practising a deception,—for in all my compact +with Ysaffich our attempt was purely a fraud,—I entered the chamber +with a faltering step and a failing heart Far, however, from questioning +and cross-questioning, like the solicitor, the lawyer suffered me to tell +my story without even so much as a word of interruption. I had, I ought to +remark, divested my tale of many of the incidents which really befell me. +I made my life one of commonplace events and unexciting adventures, in +which poverty occupied the prominent place. I as cautiously abstained from +all mention of the distinguished persons with whom accident had brought me +into contact, since any allusion to them would have compromised the part I +Was obliged to play with Ysaffich. When asked what documents or written +evidence I had to adduce in support of my pretensions, and I had confessed +to possessing none, the old lawyer leaned back in his chair, and, closing +his eyes, seemed lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +“At the best,” said he, at length, “it is a case for a compromise. There +is really so little to go upon, I can advise nothing better.” + </p> +<p> +I need not go into the discussion that ensued further than to say the +weight of argument was on the side of those who counselled the compromise, +and, however little disposed to yield, I felt myself overborne by numbers, +and compelled to give in. +</p> +<p> +Weeks, even months, were now passed without any apparent progress in our +suit. The party in possession of the estate treated our first advances +with the most undisguised contempt, and even met our proposals with +menaces of legal vengeance. Undeterred by these signs of strength, Mr. +Ragge persevered in his search for evidence, sent his emissaries hither +and thither, and entered upon the case with all the warm zeal of a devoted +friend. It was at length thought that a visit to Ireland might possibly +elicit some information on certain points, and thither we went together. +</p> +<p> +It was little more than a quarter of a century since the date of my +father's death, and yet such had been the changes in the condition of +Ireland, and so great the social revolution accomplished there, that men +talked of the bygone period like some long-past history. The days of the +parliaments, and the men who figured in them, were alike for* gotten; and +although there were many who had known my father well, all memory, not to +speak of affection for him, had lapsed from their natures. +</p> +<p> +Crowther and Fagan were dead, but Joe Curtis was alive, and continued to +live in Castle Carew in a style of riotous debauchery that scandalized the +whole country. In fact, the mere mention of his name was sufficient to +elicit the most disgraceful anecdotes of his habits. Unknown to and +unrecognized by his equals, this old man had condescended to form intimacy +with all that Dublin contained of the profligate and abandoned; and, +surrounded by men and women of this class, his days and nights were one +continued orgie. Although the estate was a large one, it was rumored that +he was deeply in debt, and only obtained means for this wasteful existence +by loans on ruinous conditions. In vain Mr. Ragge made inquiries for some +one who might possess his confidence and have the legal direction of his +affairs. He had changed from this man to that so often that it was +scarcely possible to discover in what quarter the property was managed. +Without any settled plan of procedure, but half to watch the eventualities +that might arise, it was determined that I should proceed to Castle Carew +and present myself as the son and the heir of the last owner. +</p> +<p> +If there were circumstances attendant on this step which I by no means +fancied, there was one gratification that more than atoned for them all: I +should see the ancient home of my family; the halls wherein my father's +noble hospitalities had been practised; the chamber which had been my dear +mother's! I own that the sight of the princely domain and all its +attendant wealth, contrasting with my own poverty, served to extinguish +within me the last spark of hope. How could I possibly dream of success +against the power of such adjuncts as these? Were my cause fortified by +every document and evidence, how little would it avail against the might +of vast wealth and resources! Curtis would laugh my pretensions to scorn, +if not treat them with greater violence; and with such thoughts I found +myself one bright morning of June slowly traversing the approach to the +Castle. The sight of the dense dark woods, the swelling lawns dotted over +with grazing cattle, the distant corn-fields waving beneath a summer wind, +and the tall towers of the Castle itself far off above the trees, all +filled my heart with a strange chaos, in which hope, and fear, and proud +ambition, and the very humblest terrors were all commingled. Although my +plan of procedure had been carefully sketched out for me by Ragge, so +confused were all my thoughts that I forgot everything. I could not even +bethink me in what character and with what pretension I was to present +myself, and I was actually at the very entrance of the Castle, still +trying to remember the part I was to play. +</p> +<p> +There before me rose the grand and massive edifice, to erect which had +been one of the chief elements of my poor father's ruin. Though far from +architecturally correct in its details, the effect of the whole was +singularly fine. Between two square towers of great size extended a long +facade, in which, from the ornamented style of architraves and brackets, +it was easy to see the chief suite of apartments lay; and in front of this +the ground had been artificially terraced, and gardens formed in the +Italian taste, the entire being defended by a deep fosse in front, and +crossed by a drawbridge. Neglect and dilapidation had, however, disfigured +all these; the terraces were broken down by the cattle, the cordage of the +bridge hung in fragments in the wind, and even the stained-glass windows +were smashed, and their places filled by paper or wooden substitutes. As I +came nearer, these signs of ruin and devastation were still more apparent. +The marble statues were fractured, and fissured by bullet-marks; the +pastures were cut up by horses' feet; and even fragments of furniture were +strewn about, as though thrown from the windows in some paroxysm of +passionate debauchery. The door of the mansion was open, and evidences of +even greater decay presented themselves within. Massive cornices of carved +oak hung broken and shattered from the walls; richly cut wainscotings were +split and fissured; a huge marble table of immense thickness was smashed +through the centre, and the fragments still lay scattered on the floor +where they had fallen. As I stood, in mournful mood, gazing on this +desecration of what once had been a noble and costly estate, an +ill-dressed, slatternly woman-servant chanced to cross the hall, and +stopped with some astonishment to stare at me. To my inquiry if I could +see Mr. Curtis, she replied by a burst of laughter too natural to be +deemed offensive. +</p> +<p> +“By coorse you couldn't,” said she, at length; “sure there's nobody +stirrin', nor won't be these two hours.” + </p> +<p> +“At what time, then, might I hope to be more fortunate?” + </p> +<p> +If I came about three or four in the afternoon, when the gentlemen were at +breakfast, I might see Mr. Archy,—Archy M'Clean. +</p> +<p> +This gentleman was, as she told me, the nephew of Mr. Curtis, and his +reputed heir. +</p> +<p> +Having informed her that I was a stranger in Ireland, and come from a long +distance off to pay this visit, she good-naturedly suffered me to enter +the house and rest myself in a small and meanly furnished chamber +adjoining the hall. If I could but recall the sensations which passed +through my mind as I sat in that solitary room, I could give a more +correct picture of my nature than by all I have narrated of my actual +life. Hour after hour glided by at first, in all the stillness of +midnight; but gradually a faint noise would be heard afar off, and now and +again a voice would echo through the long corridors, the very accents of +which seemed to bring up thoughts of savage revelry and debauch. It had +been decided by my lawyers that I should present myself to Curtis, without +any previous notification of my identity or my claim; that, in fact, not +to prejudice my chances of success by any written application for an +audience, I should contrive to see him without his having expected me; and +thus derive whatever advantage might accrue from any admissions his +surprise should betray him into. I had been drilled into my part by +repeated lessons. I was instructed as to every word I was to utter, and +every phrase I was to use; but now that the moment to employ these arts +drew nigh, I had utterly forgotten them all. The one absorbing thought: +that beneath the very roof under which I now stood, my father and mother +had lived; that these walls were their own home; that within them had been +passed the short life they had shared together,—overcame me so +completely that I lost all consciousness about myself and my object there. +</p> +<p> +At length the loud tones of many voices aroused me from my half stupor, +and on drawing nigh the door I perceived a number of servants, ill-dressed +and disorderly looking, carrying hurriedly across the hall the materials +for a breakfast. I addressed myself to one of these, with a request to +know when and how I could see Mr. Curtis. A bold stare and a rude burst of +laughter was, however, the only reply he made me. I tried another, who did +not even vouchsafe to hear more than half my question, when he passed on. +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible,” said I, indignantly, “that none of you will take a +message for your master?” + </p> +<p> +“Begad, we have so many masters,” said one, jocosely, “it's hard to say +where we ought to deliver it;” and the speech was received with a roar of +approving laughter. +</p> +<p> +“It is Mr. Curtis I desire to see,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“It's four hours too early, then,” said the same speaker. “Old Joe won't +be stirring till nigh eight o'clock. If Mr. Archy would do, he's in the +stables, and it's the best time to talk to him.” + </p> +<p> +“And if it's the master you want,” chimed in another, “he 's your man.” + </p> +<p> +“Lead me to him, then,” said I, resolving at least to see the person who +claimed to be supreme in this strange household. Traversing a number of +passages and dirty, ill-kept rooms, we descended by a small stone stair +into an ample courtyard, two sides of which were occupied by ranges of +stables. The spacious character of the building and the costly style of +the arrangements were evident at a glance; and even a glance was all that +I had time for, when my guide, whispering, “There is Mr. Archy,” hurriedly +withdrew and left me. The person indicated was standing as if to examine a +young horse which had met with some accident, for the animal could +scarcely move, and with the greatest difficulty could bring up his hind +legs. +</p> +<p> +I had time to observe him; and certainly, though by no means deficient as +regarded good features, I had rarely seen anything so repulsive as the +expression of his face. Coarsely sensual and brutal, they were rendered +worse by habits of dissipation and debauch; and in the filmy eye and the +tremulous lip might be read the signs of habitual drunkenness. In figure +he was large and most powerfully built, and if not over-fleshy, must have +been of great muscular strength. +</p> +<p> +“Shoot him, Ned,” he cried, after a few minutes of close scrutiny; “he's +as great a cripple as old Joe himself.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose, your honor,” said the groom, “there's nothing else to be done, +it 's in the back it is.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care a curse where it is,” said the other, savagely; “I only know +when a horse can't go. You can put a bullet in him, and more's the pity +all other useless animals are not as easily disposed of.—And who is +our friend here?” added he, turning and approaching where I stood. +</p> +<p> +I briefly said that I was a stranger desirous of seeing and speaking with +Mr. Curtis; that my business was one of importance not less to myself than +to him; and that I would feel obliged if he could procure me the +opportunity I sought for. +</p> +<p> +“If you talk of business, and important business,” said he, sternly, “you +ought to know, if you haven't heard it already, that the man you want to +discuss it with is upwards of a hundred years of age; that he is a doting +idiot; and that, for many a day, the only one who has given any orders +here now stands before you.” + </p> +<p> +“In that case,” said I, courteously, “I am equally prepared to address +myself to him. Will you kindly accord me an interview?” + </p> +<p> +“Are you a dun?” said he, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said I, smiling at the abruptness of the demand. +</p> +<p> +“Are you a tenant in arrear of his rent? or wanting an abatement?” + </p> +<p> +“Neither one nor the other.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you sent by a friend with a hostile message?” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that,” said I, with impassive gravity. +</p> +<p> +“Then, what the devil are you?” said he, rudely; “for I don't recognize +you as one of my friends or acquaintances.” + </p> +<p> +I hesitated for a moment what reply I should make to this coarsely uttered +speech. Had I reflected a little longer, it is possible that good sense +might have prevailed, and taught me how inopportune was the time for such +reprisals; but I was stung by an insult offered in presence of many +others; and in a tone of angry defiance answered,— +</p> +<p> +“You may discover to your cost, sir, that my right to be here is somewhat +better than your own, and that the day is not very distant when your +presence in this domain will be more surely questioned than is mine now. +Is that name new to you?” And as I spoke I handed him my card, whereupon, +with my name, the ancient arms of my family were also engraved. A livid +paleness suddenly spread over his features as he read the words, and then +as quickly his face became purple red. +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean,” said he, in a voice guttural with passion, “do you mean to +impose upon a man of my stamp with such stupid balderdash as that? And do +you fancy that such a paltry attempt at a cheat will avail you here? Now, +I'll show you how we treat such pretensions without any help from lawyers. +Garvey,” cried he, addressing one of the grooms who stood by, laughing +heartily at his master's wit, “Garvey, go in and rouse the gentlemen; tell +them to dress quickly and come downstairs; for I 've got sport for them. +And you, Mick, saddle Ranty for me, and get out the dogs. Now, Mr. Carew, +I like fair play, and so I'll give you fifteen minutes law. Take the +shortest cut you can out of these grounds; for, by the rock of Cashel, if +you 're caught, I would n't be in your skin for a trifle.” + </p> +<p> +A regular burst of savage laughter from the bystanders met this brutal +speech, and the men scattered in all directions to obey the orders, while +I, overwhelmed with passion, stood motionless in the now deserted yard. +M'Clean himself had entered the house, and it was only when a signal from +one of the grooms attracted my notice that I remarked his absence. +</p> +<p> +“This way—this way, sir, and don't lose a second,” said the man; +“take that path outside the garden wall, and cross the nursery beyond it. +If you don't make haste, it's all over with you.” + </p> +<p> +“He would n't dare—” + </p> +<p> +“Would n't he?” said he, stopping me. “It's little you know him. The dogs +themselves has more mercy than himself when his blood is up.” + </p> +<p> +“Get the cob ready for me, Joe,” cried a half-dressed man from one of the +upper windows of the house, “and a snaffle bridle, remember.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” was the quick reply. “That's ould Delany of Shanestown, and a +greater devil there isn't from this to his own place. Blood and ages,” + cried he, addressing me, “won't you give yourself a chance? do you want +them to tear you to pieces where you stand?” + </p> +<p> +The man's looks impressed me still more than his words; and though I +scarcely believed it possible that my peril could be such as he spoke of, +the terrified faces about me struck fear into my heart. +</p> +<p> +“Would men stand by,” cried I, “and see such an infamous cruelty?” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah! how could we help it?” said one, stopping me; “and if you won't do +anything for yourself, what use can we be?” + </p> +<p> +“There, be off, you, in the name of Heaven,” said another, pushing me +through a small door that opened into a shrubbery; “down that lane as fast +as you can, and keep to the right after you pass the fish-pond.” + </p> +<p> +“It wouldn't be bad to swim to one of the islands!” muttered another; but +the counsel was overruled by the rest. +</p> +<p> +By this time, the contagion of terror had so completely seized upon me +that I yielded myself to the impulse of the moment, and, taking the +direction they pointed out, I fled along the path beneath the garden wall +at full speed. +</p> +<p> +In the unbroken stillness I could hear nothing but the tramp of my own +feet, or the rustling of the branches as I tore through them. I gained at +last the open fields, and with one hurried glance behind to see that I was +not pursued, still dashed onwards. The young cattle started off at full +speed as they saw me, and the snorting horses galloped wildly here and +there as I went. +</p> +<p> +Again, beneath the shade of a wood I would have halted to repose myself, +but suddenly a sound came floating along the air, which swelled louder and +louder, till I could recognize in it the deep, hoarse bay of dogs, as in +wild chorus they yelped together; and high above all could be heard the +more savage notes of men's voices cheering them on and encouraging them. +With the mad speed of terror, I now fled onward; the very air around me +seeming to resound with the dreadful cries of my pursuers. Now tumbling +headlong over the tangled roots, now dashing recklessly forward through +stony watercourses or fissured crevices of ground, I ran with mad impulse, +heedless of all peril but one. At some moments the deafening sounds of the +wild pack seemed close about me; at others, all was still as the grave +around. +</p> +<p> +I had forgotten every direction the men had given me, and only thought of +pressing onward without any thought of whither. At last I came to a rapid +but narrow river, with steep and rugged banks at either side. To place +this between myself and my pursuers seemed the best chance of escape, and +without a second's hesitation I dashed into the stream. Far stronger than +I had supposed, the current bore me down a considerable distance, and it +was not till after a long and tremendous effort that I gained the bank. +Just as I had reached it, the wild cry of the dogs again met my ears; and, +faint and dripping as I was, once more I took to speed. +</p> +<p> +Through dark woods and waving plains of tall grass, over deep tillage +ground and through the yellow corn, I fled like one bereft of reason,—the +terror of a horrible and inglorious death urging me on to efforts that my +strength seemed incapable of making. Cut and bleeding in many places, my +limbs were at last yielding to fatigue, when I saw at a short distance in +front of me a tall but dilapidated stone wall. With one last effort I +reached this, and, climbing by the crevices, gained the top. But scarcely +had I gained it when my head reeled, my senses left me, and, overcome by +sickness and exhaustion, I fell headlong to the ground beneath. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/5fell_headlong.jpg" alt="5fell_headlong" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +It was already evening when I came to myself, and still lay there stunned, +but uninjured. A wild plain, studded over with yellow furze bushes, lay in +front, and beyond in the distance I could see the straggling huts of a +small village. It was a wild and dreary scene; but the soft light of a +summer's evening beamed calmly over it, and the silence was unbroken +around. With an effort, I arose, and, though weak and sorely bruised, +found that I could walk. My faculties were yet so confused that of the +late events I could remember but little with any distinctness. At times I +fancied I had been actually torn and worried by savage dogs; and then I +would believe that the whole was but a wild and feverish dream, brought on +by intense anxiety and care. My tattered and ragged clothes, clotted over +with blood, confused, but did not aid, my memory; and thus struggling with +my thoughts, I wandered along, and, as night was falling, reached the +little village of Shanestown. Directing my steps towards a cabin where I +perceived a light, I discovered that it was the alehouse of the village. +Two or three country people were sitting smoking on a bench before the +door, who arose as I came forward, half in curiosity, half in respect; and +as I was asking them in what quarter I might find a lodging for the night, +the landlord came out. No sooner did his eyes fall on me than he started +back in seeming terror, and, after a pause of a few seconds, cried out,— +</p> +<p> +“Molly! Molly! come here quick! Who's that standing there?” said he, as he +pointed with his finger towards me. +</p> +<p> +“The heavens be about us! but it's Mr. Walter Carew himself,” said the +woman, crossing herself. +</p> +<p> +This sudden recognition of my resemblance to my father so overcame me that +though I struggled hard for speech, the words would not come; and I stood +pale and gasping before them. +</p> +<p> +“For Heaven's sake, speak!” cried the man, in terror. +</p> +<p> +I heard no more; faint, agitated, and exhausted, I tottered towards the +bank, and swooned away. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLVIII. THE PERILS OF EVIL +</h2> +<p> +The last few pages I mean to append to these notices of my life might be, +perhaps, equally well derived from the public newspapers of the time. At a +period when great events were occurring; when the conquering armies of +France marched over the length and breadth of Europe,—the humble +historian of these pages was able, for a brief space, to engage public +attention, and become for a short season the notoriety of the hour. I will +not presume so far as to say that the fame to which I attained was of that +kind which flatters most, or that the reputation attaching to me was above +reproach. Still, I had my partisans and adherents, nay, I believe I might +even aver, my friends and well-wishers. He must, perchance, have had a +fortunate existence who can say more. +</p> +<p> +Of what followed after the event detailed in my last chapter I can relate +nothing, for I was seized with shivering and other signs of fever that +same night, and for several weeks my life was despaired of. Even when the +dangerous period passed over, my convalescence made but little progress. +For me there were none of those aids which so powerfully assist the return +to health. The sympathy of friends, the affections of family, the very +hope of once more assuming one's place at hearth and board,—I had +none of these. If the past was filled with trouble and suffering, the +future was a bleak expanse that offered nothing to speculate on. My +thoughts turned to the New World beyond the seas, to a region wherein +nothing should recall a memory of the bygone, and where even I might at +last forget the early years of my own life. There were not then, as now, +the rapid means of intercourse between this country and America; as +little, too, was there of that knowledge of the great continent of the +west which now prevails. Men talked of it as a far-away land only emerging +into civilization, and whose vast regions were still untrodden and +unexplored. Dreamy visions of the existence men might carve out for +themselves in such a scene formed the amusements of the long hours of my +solitary sick bed. I fancied myself at times a lone settler on the bank of +some nameless river, and at other moments as a member of some Indian +tribe, following their fortunes to the chase and to the battle-field, and +dreaming through life in the uneventful stillness of the forest. +</p> +<p> +In part from the effect of malady itself, in part from this dreamy state +of mind, I sank into a state of impassive lethargy wherein nothing pleased +or displeased me. Worse than actual despondency, a sense of indifference +had settled down on all my feelings; and if I could have asked a boon, it +would have been to have been left utterly alone. To reply when spoken to +became irksome; even to listen was a painful exertion to me. Looking back +now on this period, it seems to me that such intervals of apathetic repose +are often inserted in the lives of men of more than ordinary activity, +acting as sleep does in our habitual existence, and serving to rest and +recruit faculties overcharged and overworked. +</p> +<p> +I was in a very humble lodging in a very humble street, still attended by +doctors, and besieged by lawyers and solicitors, who came and went, held +consultations, questioned and cross-questioned me with a greedy avidity on +themes in which my own interest had long ceased, and which I was gradually +learning to think of with absolute aversion. +</p> +<p> +Ysaffich, whose confidence in our success rose higher every day, appeared +from time to time to see me; but his visits were generally hurried ones, +as he was constantly on the road, travelling hither and thither, exploring +registries here, and certificates there, and fortifying our case by every +possible means he could think of. His energy was untiring; and in the +shrewd devices of his quick intelligence, even the long-practised +acuteness of the lawyers discovered great resources. +</p> +<p> +Paragraphs of a half mysterious kind in the public newspapers announced to +the world that a most remarkable case might ere long transpire, and a +claim be preferred which should threaten the possession of one of the +largest estates in a county adjacent to the metropolis. To these succeeded +others, more openly expressed, in which it was announced that some of the +most distinguished members of the inner bar had received retainers for a +cause that would soon astonish the world, wherein the plaintiff was +represented to be the son and heir of one who once had figured most +conspicuously in the fashionable and political circles of Dublin. +</p> +<p> +As the time approached for bringing the case to trial it was judged +expedient that I should be provided with lodgings in a more fashionable +quarter of the town, be seen abroad in places of public resort, and, in +fact, a certain <i>éclat</i> be imparted to my presence, which should +enlist, so far as might be, popular feeling in my favor. The chief adviser +and leader of my case was a lawyer of great repute in the Irish bar of +those days,—a certain Samuel Hanchett,—one of those men who +owe their success in life less to actual learning than to the possession +of immense natural acuteness, great resources in difficulty, and a vast +acquaintance with all the arts of their fellow-men. There had been, I +believe, considerable difficulty in securing his services originally in +our behalf. It was reported that he disliked such cases; that they were +not what “suited him.” He made various objections when first addressed, +and threw every discouragement when the cause was submitted for his +opinion. He asked for evidence that was not to be obtained, and proofs +that were not forthcoming. The merest accident—if I am justified in +calling such what was to be followed by consequences so important to +myself—overruled these objections on his part. It chanced that in +one of my solitary walks on a Sunday afternoon I happened to find myself +at the bank of a little stream near Milltown, with an elderly man who +seemed to have some apprehensions about crossing on the slippery and +uncertain stepping-stones by which the passage was forded. Perceiving his +difficulty, I tendered my assistance to him at once, which he accepted. On +arriving at then opposite bank, and finding that our roads led in the same +direction, we began to converse together, during which my accidental +pronunciation of a word with a slightly foreign accent attracted his +notice. To a question on his part, I mentioned that a great part of my +life had been passed abroad; and amongst the places to which I alluded was +Reichenau. He asked me in what year I had been there, and inquired if by +any chance I had ever heard of a certain school there in which it was said +the son of the late Duke of Orleans had been a teacher. +</p> +<p> +“You are speaking of Monsieur Jost, my old master?” said I, warmed up by +even this passing remembrance of happier days. +</p> +<p> +“Will you pardon the liberty I am about to take,” said he, with some +earnestness, “and allow me to ask, with whom I have the honor to speak?” + </p> +<p> +“My name is Jasper Carew, sir,” said I, with a degree of stern pride a man +feels in asserting a claim that he knows may be contested. +</p> +<p> +“Jasper Carew!” repeated he, slowly, while he stood still and stared +steadfastly at me—“Jasper Carew! You are then the claimant to the +estates of Castle Carew and Crone Lofty in Wicklow?” + </p> +<p> +“The property of my late father,” said I, assentingly. +</p> +<p> +“What a singular coincidence should have brought us together,” said he, +after a pause. “Do you know, sir, that when you overtook me half an hour +ago, and saw me standing on the side of the stream there, I was less +occupied in thinking how I should cross it than how I could reconcile +certain strange statements which had been made to me respecting your +claim. I am Mr. Hanchett, sir, the counsel to whom your case has been +submitted.” + </p> +<p> +“It is indeed a curious accident that has brought us thus in contact,” + exclaimed I, in surprise. +</p> +<p> +“I should like to give it another name, young gentleman,” said he, +thoughtfully, while he walked along at my side for some moments in +silence. “Has it ever been explained to you, Mr. Carew,” said he, gravely, +“what dangers attend such a course of proceeding as you are now engaged +in? How necessarily you must be prepared to give in your adhesion to many +things your advisers deem essential, and of which you can have no +cognizance personally,—in a word, how frequently you will be forced +into a responsibility which you never contemplated or anticipated? Have +all these circumstances been placed fairly and clearly before you?” + </p> +<p> +“Never!” replied I. +</p> +<p> +“Then suffer me to endeavor, in a very few words, to show you some at +least of the perils I allude to.” In a few short and graphic sentences he +stated my case, with all its favorable points forcibly and well +delineated. He then exhibited its various weaknesses and deficiencies, the +assumptions for which no proofs were forthcoming, the positions which were +taken without power to maintain them. “To give the required coherence and +consistency to these, your advisers will of course take all due +precaution; but they will require aid also from you. You will be asked for +information you have no means of obtaining, for details you cannot supply. +A lawsuit is like a chase: the ardor of pursuit deadens every sense of +peril, and in the desire to win you become reckless for the cost. I +perceive,” said he, “that you demur to some of this; but remember that as +yet you have not entered the field, that you have only viewed the sport +from afar, and its passions of hope and fear are all untasted by you!” + </p> +<p> +“It may be as you say,” said I, “and that hereafter I may seem to feel +differently; but for the present I can promise you that to secure a +verdict in my favor, not only would I not strain any point myself, but I +would not condescend to accept the benefit of such a sacrifice from +another. I believe—I have strong reasons to believe—that I am +asserting a rightful claim; the arguments that shall be sufficient to +convince others that I am wrong will, doubtless, be strong enough to +satisfy me.” + </p> +<p> +He had fixed his eyes steadily on me while I was speaking these words, and +I could, easily perceive that the impression they produced on him was +favorable. He then led me on to speak of my life and its vicissitudes, and +I could detect in many of his questions that he had formed erroneous +notions as to various parts of my story. I cannot attempt to explain why +it was so; but the fact unquestionably was, that I opened my heart more +freely and unreservedly to this stranger than I had ever done to any of +those with whom I had before conversed; and when we parted at length, it +was like old friends. +</p> +<p> +The accident of our meeting was not known to others, and there was +considerable astonishment excited when it was heard that Hanchett, who had +hitherto shown no disposition to engage in the cause, now accepted the +brief and exhibited the warmest anxiety for success. His acute +intelligence quickly detected many things which had been passed over as +immaterial, and by his activity various channels of information were +opened which others had not thought of. In these details Ysaffich came +more than once before him; and it was remarkable with what shrewdness he +read the man's nature, bold, resolute, and unscrupulous as it was. Between +the two, the feeling of distrust rapidly ripened into open hatred, each +not hesitating to accuse the other of treachery; and thus was a new +element of difficulty added to a case whose complications were already +more than enough. +</p> +<p> +My own position at this period was embarrassing in the extreme. Hanchett +frequently invited me to his house, and presented me freely to his +friends; while Ysaffich continued to suggest doubts of his good faith on +every occasion, and by a hundred petty slights showed his implacable +enmity towards him. Day after day this breach grew wider and wider, every +effort of the one being sure to excite the animosity and opposition of the +other. Ysaffich, too, far from endeavoring to repress this spirit on his +part, seemed to foster and encourage it, sneering at the old lawyer's +caution and reserve, and even insinuating against him darker and more +treacherous intentions. +</p> +<p> +“To what end,” said he, at length, one morning when our discussion had +become unusually warm and animated, “to what end the inquiries to which +this learned adviser of yours would push us: he wants to discover the +Countess of Ga-briac and Raper. Why, bethink you, my worthy friend, that +these are the very people we hope never to hear more of; that if by any +mischance they could possibly be forthcoming, our whole scheme is blown up +at once. We have now enough, or we shall have enough by the end of the +month, to go to a jury. There is not a document nor a paper that will not, +in some form or other, be supplied. Let us stand or fall by that issue; +but, of all things, let us not protract the campaign till the arrival of +the forces that shall overwhelm us. If this be your policy, Master +Gervois, speak it out freely, and let us be frank with each other.” + </p> +<p> +There was a tone of bold defiance in this speech that startled me; but the +way in which he addressed me, as Gervois, a name he had never called me by +for several months, in even our closest intimacy, was like a declaration +of open hostility. +</p> +<p> +“I claim to be called Jasper Carew,” said I, calmly and slowly; “I will +accept no other designation from you nor any one.” + </p> +<p> +“You have learned your part admirably,” said he, with a sneer; “but +remember that I am myself the prompter; so pray reserve the triumphs of +your art for the public!” + </p> +<p> +“Anatole,” said I, addressing him with an emotion I could not repress, “I +desire to be frank and candid with you. This name of Jasper Carew I +believe firmly to be mine.” + </p> +<p> +A burst of laughter, insulting to the last degree, stopped me in my +speech. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Gervois, this is madness, my worthy fellow. Just bethink you of how +this plot originated; who suggested, who carried it on,—ay, and +where it stands at this very moment. That you yourself are as nothing in +it; the breath that made can still unmake you; and that I have but to +declare you an impostor and a cheat,—hard words, but you will have +them,—and the law will deal with you as it knows how to deal with +those who trade on false pretences. Yours be the blame if I be pushed to +such reprisals!” + </p> +<p> +“And what if I defied you, Count Ysaffich?” said I, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“If you but dared to do it!” said he, with a menace of his clenched hand. +</p> +<p> +“Now listen to me calmly,” said I; “and there is the more need of calm, +since, possibly, these are the very last words that shall ever pass +between us. My claim can neither be aided nor opposed by you.” + </p> +<p> +“Is the fellow mad?” exclaimed he, staring wildly at me. +</p> +<p> +“I am in my calm and sober senses,” replied I, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Then what say you to this bond?” said he, taking a paper from his +pocket-book. “Is this a written promise that if you succeed to the fortune +and estates of the late Walter Carew, you will pay me, Count Anatole +Ysaffich, one hundred thousand pounds?” + </p> +<p> +“I own every word of it,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“And for what service is this the recompense? Answer me that.” + </p> +<p> +“That I am indebted to you for having opened to me the path by which my +right was to be established.” + </p> +<p> +“Say rather that by me was the fraud of a false name, and birth, and rank +first suggested; that from Gervois the courier I created you Carew the +gentleman. The whole scheme was and is my own. You are as nothing in it.” + </p> +<p> +Stupefied, almost stunned, by the outrageous insult of his words, I did +not speak, and he went on,— +</p> +<p> +“But you have not taken me unawares. I was not without my suspicion that +such an incident as this might arise. I foresaw at least its possibility, +and was prepared for it. Be advised, then, in time, since if your foot was +on the very threshold of that door you hope to call your own, the power +lies with me to drag you back again and proclaim you to all the world a +swindler.” + </p> +<p> +My passion boiled over at the word, and I sprung towards him, I know not +with what thoughts of vengeance. He darted back suddenly, and gained the +door. +</p> +<p> +“If you had dared,” said he, with a savage grin, “you had been a corpse on +that floor the minute after.” + </p> +<p> +The shining blade of a stiletto glanced within his waistcoat as he spoke. +The next moment he had descended the stairs, and was gone. +</p> +<p> +I will not speak of the suffering this scene cost me,—a misery, I am +free to declare, less proceeding from my dread of his resentment than from +the thought that one of the very few with whom I had ever lived on terms +approaching friendship had now become a declared and bitter enemy. Oh for +the hollowness of such attachments! The bonds which bind men to evil are +the deadliest snares that beset us; and thus the very qualities which seem +our best and purest, are among the weakest and the worst of our depraved +natures. +</p> +<p> +To add to my discomfiture, Hanchett was obliged to go over to London in +some case before the House of Lords, and my cause was intrusted to the +second counsel, one with whom I had little intercourse, and few +opportunities of knowing. Ysaffich's defection, too, threw a great gloom +over all my supporters. His readiness in every difficulty was not less +remarkable than his unwearied and untiring energy. He was, in fact, the +bond of union between all the parties, stimulating, encouraging, and +cheering them on. Even they who were least disposed towards him +personally, avowed that his loss was irreparable; and some, taking a still +graver view of the matter, owned their fears that he might seek service +with the enemy. +</p> +<p> +I cannot tell the relief I experienced on hearing that he had sailed from +Ireland the very night of our quarrel; and, from the observations he had +dropped, it was believed with the intention of going abroad. +</p> +<p> +As the day fixed for the trial drew nigh, public curiosity rose to the +very highest degree. The real nature of the claim to be set up was no +longer a secret, and the case became the town talk of every club and +society of the capital. Curtis had long ceased to be popular with any +party. His dissolute life had thrown a disrepute upon those who sided with +him; and the newspapers, almost without an exception, inclined towards my +side. There is, perhaps, something too that savors of generosity in such +cases, and disposes many to favor what they feel to be the weaker party. I +am sure I had reason to experience much of this kind of sympathy, nor do I +think of it even now without gratitude. +</p> +<p> +Early as it was when I prepared to leave my hotel, I found a considerable +crowd had assembled in the street without, curious to see one whose story +had attracted so much popular notice. They were mostly of the lower +classes, but I observed that a knot of gentlemen had gathered on the steps +of an adjoining door, and were eagerly watching for my appearance. As the +window of my room was almost directly over their heads, and lay open, I +could hear the conversation which passed between them. Shall I own that +the words I overheard set my heart a beating violently? +</p> +<p> +“You knew Carew intimately, Parsons?” asked one. +</p> +<p> +“Watty! to be sure I did. We were class-fellows at school and at college.” + </p> +<p> +“And liked him, I have heard you say?” + </p> +<p> +“Extremely. There was no better fellow to be found. He had his weaknesses +like the rest of us; but he was a true-hearted, generous friend, and a +resolute enemy also.” + </p> +<p> +“Were you acquainted with his wife, Ned?” asked another. +</p> +<p> +“I was presented to her the day he brought her over,” replied he; “we all +lunched with him at the hotel, but I never saw her after. The fact was, +Watty made a foolish match, and never was the same man to his old friends +after. Perhaps we were as much in fault as he was; at all events, except +MacNaghten and a few who were very intimate with him, all fell off, and +Carew, who was a haughty fellow, drew back from us, and left the breach +still wider.” + </p> +<p> +“And what's your opinion of this claim?” asked another, who had not spoken +before. +</p> +<p> +“That I 'd not give sixpence for the chance of its success,” said he, +laughingly. “Why, everybody knows that no trace of any document +establishing Carew's marriage could be found after his death. Some went so +far as to say that there never had been a marriage at all; and as to the +child, Dan MacNaghten told me years ago that the boy was killed in some +street skirmish in Paris,—so that, taking all the doubts and +difficulties together, and bearing in mind that old Joe Curtis has a +strong purse and is in possession, is there any man with common sense to +guide him would think the contest worth a trial?” + </p> +<p> +“Have you seen this young fellow yet?” + </p> +<p> +“No; and I am rather curious to have a look at him, for there were strong +family traits about the Carews.” + </p> +<p> +As I heard these last words, I walked boldly out upon the balcony as if to +examine the state of the weather. There was a slight murmur of voices +heard beneath as I came forward, and one speaker exclaimed, “Indeed!” to +which Parsons quickly replied,— +</p> +<p> +“Positively astounding! It is not only that he has Carew's features, but +the carriage of the head and a certain half supercilious look are exactly +his!” + </p> +<p> +The words sent a thrill of hope through me, more than enough to recompense +me for the pain his former speech had inflicted; and as I left the window, +I felt a degree of confidence in the future that never entirely deserted +me after. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLIX. THE FIRST DAY +</h2> +<p> +I can more easily imagine a man being able to preserve the memory of all +his sensations during some tremendous operation of surgery than to recall +the varied tortures of his mind in the progress of a long and eventful +trial. Certain incidents will impress themselves more powerfully than +others, not always those of the deepest importance,—far from it; the +veriest trifles—a stern look of the presiding judge, a murmur in the +court—will live in the recollection for long years after the great +events of the scene; and a casual glance, a half-uttered word, become +texts of sorrow for many a day to come. +</p> +<p> +I could myself be better able to record my sensations throughout a long +fever than tell of the emotions which I suffered in the three days of that +trial. I awake occasionally from a dream full of every circumstance all +sharply defined, clear, and distinct. My throbbing temples and moist brow +evidence the agonies I have gone through; my nerves still tingle with the +torture; but with the first moments of wakefulness the memory is gone!—the +sense of pain alone remains; but the cause fades away in dim +indistinctness, and my heart throbs with gratitude at last to know it was +but a dream, and has passed away. +</p> +<p> +But there are days, too, when all these memories are revived; and I could +recount, even to the slightest circumstance, the whole progress of the +case, from the moment when a doorkeeper drew aside a heavy curtain to let +me pass into the court, to the dreadful instant when—But I cannot go +on; already are images and forms crowding around me. To continue this +theme would be to call up spirits of torture to the bedside, or the lonely +chamber where, friendless and solitary, I sit as I write these lines. +</p> +<p> +I owe it to him whose patience and sympathy may have carried him so far as +my listener, to complete this much of the story of my life; happily a few +words will now suffice to do so. +</p> +<p> +A newspaper of “Old Dublin,” a great authority in those days, the “Morning +Advertiser,” informed its readers on a certain day of February that the +interesting events of a recent trial should be its apology for any +deficiency in its attention to foreign news, or even the domestic +occurrences of the country, since the editor could not but participate in +the intense anxiety felt by all classes of his fellow-citizens in the +progress of one of the most remarkable cases ever submitted before a jury. +</p> +<p> +After a brief announcement of the trial, he proceeds: +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Foxley opened the plaintiff's case, in the absence of Serjeant +Hanchett; and certainly even the distinguished leader of the Western +Circuit never exceeded in clearness, accuracy, or close reasoning the +admirable statement then delivered,—a statement which, while +supported by a vast variety of well-known incident, may yet vie with +romance for the strangeness of the events it records. +</p> +<p> +“Probably, with a view of enlisting public sympathy in his client's +behalf, not impossibly also to give a semblance of consistency to a +narrative wherein any individual incident might have startled credulity, +the learned counsel gave a brief history of the claimant from his birth; +and certainly a stranger tale it would be hard to conceive. Following all +the vicissitudes of fortune, fighting to-day in the ranks of the +revolutionists in Paris, we find him to-morrow the bearer of important +despatches from crowned heads to the members of the exiled family of +France. Ever active, ever employed, and ever faithful to his trust, this +extraordinary youth became mixed up with great events, and conversant with +great people everywhere. If a consciousness that he was a man of birth, +and with just claims to station and property, often sustained him in +moments of difficulty, there were also times when this thought suggested +his very saddest reflections. He saw himself poor, and almost unfriended; +he knew the scarcely passable barriers the law erects against all +pretenders, whatever the justice of their demands; he was aware that his +adversary would have all the benefit which vast resources and great wealth +can command. No wonder, then, if he felt faint-hearted and dispirited! +Another and a very different train of reasoning may, possibly, have also +had its influence on his mind. +</p> +<p> +“This boy grew up to manhood in the midst of all the startling theories of +the French Revolution. He had imbibed the doctrines of equality and +universal brotherhood; he had been taught that a state was a family, and +its population were the children, amongst whom no inequality of condition +should prevail. To sue for the restitution of his own was, then, but a +sorry recognition of the principles he professed. The society of the time +enjoined the theory that property was a mere usurpation; and I say it is +by no means improbable that, educated in such opinions, he should have +deemed the prosecution of such a suit a direct falsification of his +professions. The world, however, changed. +</p> +<p> +“After the Revolution came the reaction of order. To the guillotine +succeeded the court-martial; then the Consulate, then the Empire. All the +external forms of society underwent a less change than did the very nature +of men themselves. +</p> +<p> +“Wearied of anarchy, they sought the repose of a despotism. With monarchy, +too, came back all the illusions of pomp and splendor, all the tastes that +wealth fosters and wealth alone confers. Carew, who had never bewailed his +condition when a 'sansculottes,' now saw himself degraded in the midst of +the new movement. He knew that he had been born to fortune and high +estate. He had heard of the vast domains of his ancestry, from his cradle. +He had got off by heart the names of townlands and baronies that all +belonged to his family; and though, at the time he learned the lesson, the +more stern teaching of democracy instilled the maxim that 'all property +was a wrong,' yet now another impression had gained currency in the world, +and he saw that even for the purposes of public utility, and the benefit +of society, a man was powerless who was poor. +</p> +<p> +“Alas, however, for his prospects! every document, every letter, every +scrap of writing that could have authenticated his claim was gone. Of the +very nature of these papers he scarcely retains a recollection himself; he +only knows that Madame de Gabriac, whose name I have already introduced to +your notice, deemed them all-sufficient, if only backed by one essential +document,—the certificate of his father's marriage with his mother. +To obtain this had been the great object of her whole life. +</p> +<p> +“With a heroic devotion to the cause of her friend's orphan child, she had +travelled over Europe in every direction, and during times of the greatest +peril and disturbance. Accompanied by one trusty companion, Mr. Raper, she +had never wearied in her pursuit. +</p> +<p> +“Probably, if the occasion permitted, the story I could tell of her +efforts in this cause would surprise you not less than that of my client +himself. Enough that I say that she stooped to poverty and privation of +the very severest kind; she toiled, and labored, and suffered for years +long; and, when having exhausted every resource the Old World seemed to +offer to her search, she set out for the New! Since that she has not been +heard of. The solicitors with whom she had corresponded have long since +ceased to receive tidings of her. The belief in her death was so complete +that her father, a well-known citizen of Dublin, who died two years back, +bequeathed his vast fortune to various charitable institutions, alleging +his childless condition as the cause. +</p> +<p> +“I have told you how, originally, my client, then a mere boy, became +separated from her he had ever regarded as his mother; I have traced him +through some, but far from the whole, of the strange incidents of his +eventful career; and it now only remains that I should speak of the +extraordinary accident by which he came upon the clew to his long +sought-for, long despaired-of, inheritance. +</p> +<p> +“A short statement will suffice here, since the witnesses I mean to call +before you will amply elucidate this part of my case. It was while +travelling with despatches to the North of Europe my client formed +acquaintance with a certain Count Ysaffich, at that time himself employed +in the diplomatic service; and though at the period a warm friendship grew +up between them, it was not till after the lapse of many years that the +Count came to know that a large mass of papers—copies of documents +drawn out by Raper, and which had come into the Count's hands in a manner +I shall relate to you—actually bore reference to his former +acquaintance,—the casual intimate of a journey. +</p> +<p> +“These two men, thrown together by one of the most extraordinary chances +of fortune, sit down to recount their lives to each other. Beside the fire +of an humble chalet, in a forest, Carew hears again the story he had once +listened to in his infancy; the very tale his dear mother had repeated to +him in the midst of the Alps, he now hears from the lips of one almost a +stranger. Names once familiar, but long forgotten, come back to him. The +very sounds thrilled through his heart like as the notes of the Swiss +melody awaken in the far-away wanderer thoughts of home and fatherland. In +an instant he throws off the apathy of his former life, he ceases to be +the sport and plaything of fortune, and devotes himself heart and soul to +the restitution of the ancient name of his house and the long dormant +honors of a distinguished family. +</p> +<p> +“We cannot,” writes the journalist, “undertake at this late hour to follow +the learned counsel into the minute enumeration he went into, of small +circumstances of proof, memoranda of conversations, scraps of letters, +allusions in the course of correspondence, and so on; the object of which +was to show that although the late Walter Carew had some secret reason of +his own for maintaining a mystery about his marriage, that of the fact of +the marriage there could be no doubt,—nor of the legitimacy of him +who claimed to be his heir; neither are we able to enter upon the +intricate question of establishing the identity of the present claimant; +suffice it to say that he succeeded in connecting him with a number of +events from the days of his earliest childhood to a comparatively recent +period, all corroboratory of his assumption; the possession of the seal +and arms of his family, his name, and, above all, the unmistakable traits +of family resemblance, being wonderful evidences in his favor. Indeed, we +are not aware of a more dramatic incident in the administration of justice +than our court presented yesterday, when, at the close of his seven hours' +speech, full of all its details, narrative and legal, the able counsel +suddenly paused, and, in a voice of subdued accent, asked if there chanced +at that moment to be present in the court any of those who once enjoyed +the friendship or even the acquaintance of the late Walter Carew. He was +one, continued he, not easily to be forgotten, even by a casual observer. +His tall and manly figure, the type at once of dignity and strength, his +bold, high forehead, his deep-set blue eyes, soft as a child's in their +expression, or sparkling like the orbs of an eagle; his mouth more +characteristic than all, since, though marked by an air of pride, it never +moved without an expression of genial kindliness and good-humor,—the +traits that we love to think eminently national; the mingled nature of +daring intrepidity with a careless ease; the dash of almost reckless +courage with a still milder gayety,—these were all his. Are there +not some here, is there not even one who can recall them? And if there be, +let him look there! and he pointed to the gallery beside the jury-box, at +the end of which was seated a young man, pale and sickly-looking, it is +true, but whose countenance at once corroborated the picture. The vast +multitude that filled the body of the court, crowding every avenue and +space, and even invading the seats reserved for the Bar, rose as one man, +and turned to gaze on the living evidence of the description. It would be +difficult to conceive a more striking scene enacted within walls where the +solemnity of the law usually represses every semblance of popular emotion; +nor was it till after several seconds had elapsed that the judges were +enabled to recall the Court to the observance of the rigid propriety of +the justice-seat. +</p> +<p> +“Himself exhausted by his efforts, and really overborne by feeling, the +counsel was unable to continue his address, and the Court, willingly +granting an indulgence that his exertions amply deserved, adjourned till +to-morrow, when at ten o'clock this remarkable case will be resumed; +though it is believed, from the number of witnesses to be examined, and +the necessary length of 'the reply,' the trial cannot be completed before +Saturday evening.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER L. A TRIAL—CONCLUSION +</h2> +<p> +The second day was chiefly occupied in examining witnesses,—old +acquaintances of my father's, for the most part, who had known him on his +return to Ireland, and who could bear their testimony as to the manner in +which he lived, and the acceptance he and my mother had met with in the +best society of the capital. Though their evidence really went no further +than a mere impression on their part, it was easy to perceive that its +effect was most favorable on the jury; nor could cross-examination elicit +the slightest flaw in the belief that they lived amongst their equals, +without the shadow of aspersion on their honor. +</p> +<p> +An uninterested spectator of the scene might have felt amusement in +contrasting the description of manners and habits with the customs of the +present time; for although the evidence referred to a period so recent, +yet were all the details mixed up with usages, opinions, and ways that +seemed those of a long-past epoch. Men were just then awakening after that +long and splendid orgie which had formed the life of Ireland before the +Union. With bankrupt fortunes and ruined estates, they saw themselves the +successors of a race whose princely hospitalities had never known a limit, +and who had really imparted a character of barbaric splendor to lives of +reckless extravagance. +</p> +<p> +A certain Mr. Archdall was examined as to his recollection of Castle Carew +and the company who frequented there. He had been my father's guest when +the Viceroy visited him; and certainly his account of the festivities +might well have startled the credulity of his hearers. It was not at first +apparent with what object these revelations were elicited by the +cross-examination; but at length it came out that they were intended to +show that my father, having no heir, nor expecting to have any, suffered +himself to follow a career of the wildest wastefulness. With equal success +they drew forth from the witness stories of my mother's unpopularity with +the ladies of her own set in society, and the suspicion and distrust that +pervaded the world of fashion that she had not originally been born in, or +belonged to, the class with which she was then associating. +</p> +<p> +It was but too plain to what all this pointed; and although old servants +of the family were brought forward to show the deference with which my +mother's position was ever regarded, and the degree of respect, almost +amounting to state, with which she was treated, yet the artfulness of the +cross-examiner had at least succeeded in representing her to the jury as +self-willed, vain, and capricious, constantly longing for a return to +France, and cordially hating her banishment to Ireland. My mother's +friendship and attachment to Polly Fagan was ingeniously alluded to as a +strange incident in the life of one whose circumstances might seem to have +separated her from such companionship; and the able counsel dwelt most +effectively on the disparity which separated their conditions. +</p> +<p> +These circumstances were, however, not pressed home, but rather left to +make their impression, with more or less of force, while other incidents +were being related. To rebut in some measure these impressions, Foxley +showed that my mother had been a guest at the Viceroy's table,—an +honor which could not have been conferred on her on any questionable +grounds. Unimportant and trivial as was the fact, the mode of eliciting it +formed one of the amusing episodes of the trial, since it brought forward +on the witness-table a well-known character of old Dublin,—no less a +functionary than Samuel Cotterell, the hall trumpeter, now pensioned off +and retired, but still, with all the weight of nearly fourscore-and-ten +years, bearing himself erect, and carrying in his port the consciousness +of his once high estate and dignity. +</p> +<p> +It was some time before the old man could be persuaded that in all the +state and pomp of the justice-seat there was not occasion for some +exercise of his ancient functions. +</p> +<p> +He seemed ashamed at appearing without his tabard, and looked anxiously +around for his trumpet; but once launched upon the subject of his +recollections, he appeared to revel with eager delight in all the +associations they called up. It was perfectly miraculous to see with what +tenacity he retained a memory of the festivities of old Viceregal times; +they lived, however, in his mind like distinct pictures, unconnected with +all around him. There was a duke in his “garter,” and a duchess in her +diamonds; a gorgeously decked table; pineapples that came from France; and +a dessert wine newly arrived from Portugal, some of which Sir Amyrald +Fitzgerald spilled on Madame Carew's dress; at which she laughed +pleasantly, and, in showing the stains, displayed her ankles to Barry +Rutledge, who whispered his Grace that there was not such a foot and leg +in Ireland. Lord Gartymore backed Kitty O'Dwyer's for fifty pounds, and +lost his wager. +</p> +<p> +“How, then, was the bet decided, Mr. Cotterell?” + </p> +<p> +“We saw her dance the minuet with Colonel Candler, and my Lord said he had +lost.” + </p> +<p> +“Madame Carew was, then, much admired at Court?” + </p> +<p> +“She was.” + </p> +<p> +“And a favorite guest, too?” + </p> +<p> +“We asked her on Wednesdays generally; they were the small dinners, but +many thought them the pleasantest.” + </p> +<p> +“Her Grace noticed her particularly, you say?” + </p> +<p> +“She did so on one Patrick's night, and said she had never seen such lace +before; and Madame Carew told her she would show her some still handsomer, +for it had been given by the king to her grandmother, whom I think they +called Madame Barry, or Du Barry, or something like that.” + </p> +<p> +Though little in reality beyond the gossiping revelation of a very old +man, Cotterell's evidence tended to show that my mother had been a welcome +and a favored guest in all the best houses of the day, and that, living as +she did in the very centre of scandal, not the slightest imputation had +been ever thrown upon her position or her conduct. +</p> +<p> +The counsel probably saw that, not having any direct proof of the +marriage,—when, and how, and where solemnized,—it was more +than ever necessary to show the rank my mother had always occupied in the +world, and the respect with which she was ever received in society. +</p> +<p> +He had—I know not with what, if any, grounds—a little +narrative of her family and birthplace in France, and most conveniently +disposed of all belonging to her,—fortune, friends, and home,—by +the events of “that disastrous Revolution, which swept away not only the +nobles of the land, but every archive and document that had pertained to +them.” + </p> +<p> +When he came to my own birth, he was fortunate enough to obtain all the +evidence he wanted. The priest of Rathmullen, who had officiated at my +christening, was yet alive, and related, with singular clearness of +recollection, every circumstance of that sorrowful night when the tidings +of my father's violent death reached the village beside Castle Carew. Of +those present on this occasion, among whom were Polly Fagan and +MacNaghten, he could not yet point to where one could be found. +</p> +<p> +There now only remained to sum up the evidence, and impart that +consistency and coherence to the story which should carry conviction to +the minds of the jury; and this task he performed with a most consummate +ability, concluding all with an account of my own visit to the home of my +fathers, and the reception which there had met me. The passionate +vehemence of his indignation seemed fired by the theme; and, warming as he +proceeded, he denounced the infamy of that morning as not only a stain +upon the nation, but the age, and called upon the jury, whatever their +decision might be in the cause itself,—whether to restore the heir +to his own, or send him a beggared wanderer through the world,—to +mark by some expression of their own the horror and disgust this act of +barbaric cruelty had filled them with. +</p> +<p> +A burst of applause and indignation commingled saluted the orator as he +sat down; nor was it till after repeated efforts of the criers that +silence was again restored, and the business of the trial proceeded with. +</p> +<p> +Mr. M'Clelland, to whom the chief duty of the defence was intrusted, +requested permission of the court to defer the reply to the following day, +and, the leave being granted, the court arose. +</p> +<p> +I dined that day with Mr. Fozley. I would fain have been alone. The +intense excitement of the scene had made me feverish, and I would gladly +have felt myself at ease, and free to give way, in solitude, to the +emotions which were almost suffocating me; but he insisted on my presence, +and I went. The company included many very distinguished names,—members +of both Houses of Parliament, and men of high consideration; and by all of +them was I received with more than kindness, and some went so far as to +congratulate me on a victory which, if not yet gazetted, was just as +certainly achieved. +</p> +<p> +I dare not trust myself to dwell on this subject; the tremors of hope and +fear I then went through threaten even yet to come back in memory. A few +more words, and I have done. Would that I could spare myself the pain of +these! But it cannot be so; my task must be completed. +</p> +<p> +I suppose that very few persons have ever formed a rightful estimate of +the extent to which the skill and cleverness of an able lawyer have +enabled him to wound their feelings and insult their self-love. I conclude +this to be the case, not alone from my own brief and unhappy experience, +but from reading a vast number of trials and always experiencing a sense +of astonishment at the powerful perversity of these men. The cruel +insinuation, the imputed meanness, the perversion of meaning, the +insinuations of unworthy motive, are all acquired and cultivated, like the +feints and parries of an accomplished fencer. The depreciation of a +certain testimony, and the exaggerated estimate of some other; the +sneering acknowledgment of this, or the triumphant assertion of that; the +dark menace of a hidden meaning here, and the subtle insinuation that +there was more than met the eye there,—are all studied and practised +efforts, as artificial as the stage-trick of the actor. And yet how little +does all our conviction of this artifice avail against their influence! +</p> +<p> +Bad as these are, they are as nothing to the resources in store when the +object is to assail the reputation and blacken the character; to hold up +some poor fellow-man—frail and erring as he may be—to +everlasting shame, and mark him with ignominy forever. Alas for the best +and purest! what an alloy of meanness and littleness, what vanity and +self-seeking mingle with their very noblest and highest efforts. What +need, then, to overwhelm the guilty with more than his guilt, and quote +the “Heart” in the indictment as well as the Crime? No, no; if the best be +not all good, believe me the worst are not all and hopelessly depraved. I +have a right to speak of these things, as one who has felt them. For eight +hours and more I listened to such a character of myself as made me sick, +to very loathing, at my own identity; I heard a man in a great assembly +denounce me as one of the most corrupt and infamous of mankind! I felt the +eyes that were turned towards me, I almost thought I overheard the +muttered reprobation that surrounded me. A number of the incidents of my +changeful life—how learned I know not—were related with every +exaggeration and every perversion that malice could invest them with. For +a while, a sense of guiltlessness supported me; I knew many of the +accusations to be false, others grossly overstated. The scenes in which I +was often depicted as an actor had either no existence, or were falsehoods +based upon some small germ of truth; and yet I heard them detailed with a +semblance of reality, and a degree of coherence as to time and place, that +smote me with very terror, since, though I might deny, I could not +disprove them. +</p> +<p> +To stamp me as an impostor, and my claim as a cheat, appeared to be the +entire line of the defence. Indeed, he avowed openly that with all the +evidence so painstakingly elicited by the opposite counsel, he should not +trouble the jury with one remark. “When I tell you,” said he, “who this +claimant really is, and how his claim originated, you will forgive me that +I have not embarrassed you with details quite irrelevant to this action, +since of Walter Carew or of any descendant of his there is no question +here! I will produce before you on that table, I will leave him to all the +ingenuity of my learned friend to cross-examine, one who shall account to +you how the first impulse to this daring imposture was conceived. You will +be astounded. It will be, I am aware, a tremendous tax upon your credulity +to compass it; but I will show to your entire conviction that the man who +aspires to the rank of an Irish gentleman, a vast estate, and an +illustrious name, is a foreigner of unknown origin who began life as an +emissary of the French revolutionary party. When secret treachery +superseded the guillotine, he served as a spy; this trade failing, he fell +into the straits and difficulties of the most abject poverty; the +materials of that period of his history are, of course, difficult to come +at. They who walk in such paths, walk darkly and secretly; but we may be +able to display some, at least, of his actions at this time,—one of +them, at all events, will exhibit the character of the individual, and at +the same time put you in possession of an incident which, in all +likelihood, originated this extraordinary action. +</p> +<p> +“There may be some now present in this court sufficiently familiar with +London to remember a certain character well known in the precincts of +Charing Cross by the nickname of Gentleman Jack. To those not acquainted +with this individual I may mention that he swept a crossing in that +locality, and had, by a degree of pretension in his appearance, aided by a +natural smartness in repartee, attracted notice from many of the idle +loungers of fashion who daily passed and repassed there. I am not able to +say if his gifts were in any respect above the common. Indeed, I have +heard that it was rather the singular fact that a man in such a station +should be remarkable for any claim to notice whatever, which endowed him +with the popularity he enjoyed. At all events, he was remarkable enough to +be generally, I might say universally, known; and it was the caprice of +certain fashionable folk to accord him a recognition as they passed by. +This degree of attention was harmless, at least, and had it stopped at +that point, might never have called for any reprobation; but modish +follies occasionally take an offensive shape, and this man's pretension +offered the opportunity to display such. +</p> +<p> +“You have all heard of Carlton House, gentlemen,—of the society of +wits who frequent there, and the charms of a circle in which the chief +figure is not more distinguished for his rank than for the gifts which +elevate social intercourse. To the freedom which this exalted personage +permitted those who approached him thus nearly, there seemed to be +scarcely any limit. Admitting them to his friendship, he endowed them with +almost equality; and there was not a liberty nor a license which could be +practised in ordinary polite intercourse that was not allowed at that +hospitable board. +</p> +<p> +“You might imagine that men who enjoyed such a privilege would have been +guardedly careful against abusing it; you might fancy that even worldly +motives might have rendered them cautious about imperilling the princely +favor! Not so; they would seem to have lost every consciousness of +propriety in the intoxication of this same flattery; and they actually +dared to take a liberty with this Prince which had been more than +hazardous if ventured upon with a gentleman of private station. +</p> +<p> +“The story goes that, offended by his Royal Highness having pronounced +marked eulogium on the manners and breeding of an individual who was not +of their set either in politics or society, one of the party—I am +not disposed to give his name, if it can be avoided—dared to make a +wager that he would take a fellow off the streets, give him ruffles and a +dress-coat, and pass him off on the Prince as one of the most accomplished +and well-bred men in Europe. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, you may fancy that in this anecdote which I have taken the +liberty to relate to you, I am endeavoring to compete with the very +marvellous histories which my learned brother on the opposite side +addressed to your notice. I beg most distinctly to disclaim all such +rivalry. My story has none of those stirring incidents with which his +abounded. The characters and the scene are all of home growth. It has +neither remoteness in point of time, nor distance in country, to lend it +attraction. It has, however, one merit which my learned friend might +reasonably envy, and this is, that it is true. Yes, gentlemen, every +particular I have stated is a fact. I will prove it by a witness whose +evidence will be beyond gainsay. The wager was accepted, and for a +considerable sum too, and a dinnerparty arranged as the occasion by which +to test it. The secrecy which I wish to observe as to the actors in this +most unpardonable piece of levity will prevent my mentioning the names of +those most deeply implicated. One who does not stand in this unenviable +category is now in court, and I will call him before you.” + </p> +<p> +Colonel Whyte Morris was now called to appear, and, after a brief delay, a +tall, soldier-like, and handsome man, somewhat advanced in life, ascended +the witness-table. I had no recollection of ever having seen him before; +but it is needless to say with what anxiety I followed every word he +uttered. +</p> +<p> +The ordinary preliminaries over, he was asked if he remembered a certain +dinner-party, of which he was a guest, on a certain day in the autumn of +the year. +</p> +<p> +He remembered it perfectly, and recounted that it was not easily to be +forgotten, since it took place to decide a very extraordinary wager, the +circumstances of which he briefly related. +</p> +<p> +“Gentleman Jack was the individual selected by a friend of mine,” said he, +“and who should succeed in winning his Royal Highnesses good opinion, so +as to obtain a flattering estimate of his manners and good-breeding. To +what precise extent the praise was to go was not specified. There was +nothing beyond a gentleman-like understanding that if Jack passed muster +as a man of fashion and ton, his backer was to have won; if, on the +contrary, the Prince should detect any anomalies in his breeding, so as to +throw suspicion upon his real rank, then the wager was lost. +</p> +<p> +“I was present,” said the Colonel, “when the ceremony of presenting him to +the Prince took place; I did not know the man myself, nor had I the +slightest suspicion of any trick being practised. I had recently returned +from foreign service, and was almost a stranger to all the company. +Standing close beside Colonel O'Kelly, however, I overheard what passed, +and as the words were really very remarkable, under the circumstances, I +have not forgotten them.” Being asked to relate the incident, he went on: +</p> +<p> +“There was a doubt in what manner—I mean rather by what name—the +stranger should be presented to his Royal Highness: some suggesting one +name,—others, a different one; and O'Kelly grew impatient, almost +angry, at the delay, and said, 'D——n it all him something: +what shall it be, Sheridan?' 'The King of the Beggars, say I,' cried +Sheridan, and in a voice, as I thought, to be easily heard all around. +'Who was he?' asked O'Kelly. 'Bamfield Moore Carew,' answered the other. +'So be it, then,' said O'Kelly. 'Your Royal Highness will permit me to +present a very distinguished friend of mine, recently arrived in England, +and who, like every true Englishman, feels that his first homage is due to +the Prince who rules in all our hearts.'—'Your friend's name?'—'Carew, +your Royal Highness; but being a wanderer and a vagabond, he has gone by +half-a-dozen names.' The Prince laughed, and turned to hear the remainder +of a story that some one at his side was relating. Meanwhile the stranger +had gone through his introduction, and as Mr. Carew was in succession +presented to the other members of the company—” + </p> +<p> +“Was he never addressed by any other designation, Colonel?” asked the +lawyer. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not,—on that evening, at least.” + </p> +<p> +“Were you acquainted with his real name?” “No; O'Kelly told me, the day +after the dinner, that the fellow had made his escape from London, +doubtless dreading the consequences of his freak, and all trace of him was +lost.” + </p> +<p> +“Should you be able to recognize him were you to see him again, Colonel +Morris?” + </p> +<p> +“Unquestionably; his features were very marked, and I took especial notice +of him as he sat at the card-table.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you cast your eyes about you through the court, and inform us if you +see him here at present?” + </p> +<p> +The Colonel turned, and, putting his glass to his eye, scanned the faces +in the gallery and along the crowded ranks beneath it. He then surveyed +the body of the court, and at length fixed his glance on the inner bar, +where, seated beside Mr. Foxley, I sat, pale and almost breathless with +terror. “There he is! that man next but one to the pillar; that is the +man!” + </p> +<p> +It was the second time that I had stood beneath the concentrated stare of +a vast crowd of people; but oh, how differently this from the last time! +No longer with aspects of compassionate interest and kind feeling, every +glance now was the triumphant sparkle over detected iniquity, the haughty +look of insolent condemnation. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me of this—what does this mean?” wrote my adviser, on a slip +of paper, and handed it, unperceived, to me. +</p> +<p> +“It is true!” whispered I, in an accent that almost rent my heart to +utter. +</p> +<p> +The commotion in the court was now great; the intense anxiety to catch a +sight of me, added to the expressions of astonishment making up a degree +of tumult that the officers essayed vainly to suppress. That the evidence +thus delivered had been a great shock to my advisers was easily seen; and +though Foxley proceeded to cross-examine the Colonel, the statement was +not to be shaken. +</p> +<p> +“We purpose to afford my learned friend a further exercise for his +ingenuity,” said M'Clelland; “for we shall now summon to the table a +gentleman who has known the plaintiff long and intimately; who knew him in +his real character of secret political agent abroad; and who will be able +not alone to give a correct history of the individual, but also to inform +the jury by what circumstances the first notion of this most audacious +fraud was first suggested, and how it occurred to him to assume the +character and name he had dared to preface this suit by taking. Before the +witness shall leave that table I pledge myself to establish, beyond the +possibility of a cavil, one of the most daring, most outrageous, and +consummate pieces of rascality that has ever come before the notice of a +jury. It is needless that I should say one word to exonerate my learned +friends opposite,—they could, of course, know nothing of the +evidence we shall produce here this day; the worst that can be alleged +against them will be, the insufficiency of their own searches, and the +inadequacy of the proofs on which they began this suit I can afford to +reflect, however, upon their professional skill, as the recompense for not +aspersing their reputation; and I will say that a more baseless, +unsupported action never was introduced into a court of justice. Call +Count Anatole Ysaffich!” + </p> +<p> +I shall not attempt to describe a scene, the humiliation of which no +vindication of my honor can ever erase. For nearly three hours I listened +to such details, not one of which I could boldly deny, and yet not one of +which was the pure truth, that actually made me feel a perfect monster of +treachery and corruption. Of that life which my own lawyer had given such +a picturesque account, a new version was now to be heard; the history of +my birth I had once given to Ysafflch was all related circumstantially. +</p> +<p> +He tracked me as the “adventurer” through every event and incident of my +career,—ever aiming at fortune, ever failing; the hired spy of a +party, the corrupt partisan of the press,—a fellow, in fact, without +family, friends, or country, and just as bereft of every principle of +honor. +</p> +<p> +Ysafflch went on to say that, having shown me Raper's letters and +memoranda on one occasion, I had, on reading them, originated the notion +of this suit, suggesting my own obscure birth and origin as sufficient to +defy all inquiry or investigation. He represented me as stating that such +actions were constantly brought, and as constantly successful; and even +where the best grounds of defence existed, they who were in possession +frequently preferred to compromise a claim rather than to contest it in +open litigation. Though the Count always endeavored to screen himself +behind his ignorance of English law and justice, he made no scruple of +avowing his own complicity in the scheme. He detailed all the earliest +steps of the venture,—where the family crest had been obtained; by +whom it had been 'engraved on my visiting-cards. He mentioned, with strict +accuracy, the very date I had first assumed the name of Carew; he actually +exhibited a letter written by me on the evening before, and in which I +signed myself “Paul Gervois.” With these matters of fact he mixed up other +details, totally untrue,—such as a mock certificate of my father's +marriage at a small town in Normandy, and which I had never seen nor heard +of till that moment. He convulsed the court with laughter by describing +the way in which I used to rehearse the part of heir and descendant of +Walter Carew before him; and after a vast variety of details, either +wholly or partially untrue, he produced my written promise to pay him an +enormous sum, in the event of the success of the present action. Truly had +the lawyer said, “Such an exposure was never before witnessed in a court +of justice.” And now for above an hour did he continue to accumulate +evidences of fraud and deception,—in the allegations made by me +before officials of the court; affidavits sworn to; documents attested +before consuls in Holland; inaccuracies of expression; faults even of +spelling,—not very difficult to account for in one whose education +and life for the most part had been spent abroad,—were all quoted +and adduced, as showing the actual insolence of presumption which had +marked every step of this imposture. +</p> +<p> +The Court interrupted the counsel at this conjuncture by an observation +which I could not hear, to which the lawyer replied, “It shall be as your +Lordship suggests; though, were I permitted a choice, I should infinitely +prefer to probe this foul wound to its last depth. I would far rather +display this consummate impostor to the world, less as a punishment to +himself than as a warning and a terror to others.” + </p> +<p> +Here my counsel rose, and said that he had conferred with his learned +friends in the case as to the course he ought to pursue. He could not +express the emotions which he felt at the exposures they had just +witnessed; nor did he deem it necessary to say for himself and his +brother-barristers, as well as for the respectable solicitors employed, +that the revelations then made had come upon them entirely by surprise. +Well weighing the responsible position they occupied towards the +plaintiff, whose advocates they were, they still felt, after the appalling +exhibition they had witnessed,—an exposure unparalleled in a court +of justice,—it would be unbefitting their station as gentlemen, and +unworthy of their duty as barristers, any longer to continue this contest. +</p> +<p> +A low murmur of approbation ran through the court as the words were +concluded, and the Judge solemnly added, “You have shown a very wise +discretion, sir, and which completely exonerates you from any +foreknowledge of this fraud.” + </p> +<p> +The defendant's counsel then requested that the Court would not permit the +plaintiff to leave. +</p> +<p> +“We intend to prefer charges of forgery and perjury against him, my Lord,” + said he; “and meanwhile I desire that the various documents we have seen +may be impounded.” + </p> +<p> +On an order from the Judge, the plaintiff was now taken into custody; and +after, as it appeared, one or two vain efforts to address the Court, in +which his voice utterly failed him, he was removed. +</p> +<p> +Mr. M'Clelland could not take his farewell of the case without expressing +his full concurrence in the opinion expressed by the Court regarding his +learned friends opposite, whose ability during the contest was only to be +equalled by the integrity with which they guided their conduct when +defence had become worse than hopeless. +</p> +<p> +The defence of this remarkable suit will cost Mr. Curtis, it is said, +upwards of seven thousand pounds. +</p> +<p> +A very few words will now complete this history. Let him who writes them +be permitted to derive them from the public journals of the time, since it +is no longer without deep humiliation he can venture to speak of himself. +Alas and alas! too true is it, the penalties of crime are as stigmatizing +as crime itself! The stripes upon the back, the brand upon the brow, are +more enduring than the other memories of vice. Be innocent of all offence, +appeal to your own heart with conscious rectitude, yet say, if the chain +has galled your ankle, and the iron bar has divided the sunlight that +streamed into your cell,—say, if you can, that self-esteem came out +intact and unwounded, after such indignity. +</p> +<p> +I speak this with no malice to my fellow-men—I bear no grudge +against those who sentenced me; too deeply conscious am I of my many +offences against the world to assume even to myself the pretension of +martyr; but I do assert that vindication of character, restitution to fair +fame, comes late when once the terrible ordeal of public condemnation has +been passed. The very pity men extend to you humiliates—their +compassion savors of mercy; and mercy is the attribute of One alone! +</p> +<p> +The “Morning Advertiser” informed its readers, amidst its paragraphs of +events, “That, on Wednesday last, Paul Gervois, the celebrated claimant to +the estates of the late Walter Carew, was forwarded to Cork, previous to +embarking on board the transport-ship 'Craven Castle,' in pursuance of the +sentence passed upon him last assizes, of banishment beyond the seas for +the term of his natural life. The wretched man, who since the discovery +that marked the concluding scene of his trial, has scarcely uttered a +word, declined all defence, and while obstinately rejecting any assistance +from counsel, still persisted in pleading not guilty, to the last. +</p> +<p> +“It is asserted, we know not with what authority, that the eminent leader +of the Western Circuit is fully persuaded not only of Gervois' innocence, +but actually of his right to the vast property to which he pretended to be +the heir; and had it not been for a severe attack of gout, Mr. Hanchett +would have defended him on his late trial.” + </p> +<p> +Amidst the fashionable intelligence of the same day, we read that “a very +large and brilliant company are passing the Easter holidays at the +hospitable seat of Joseph Curtis, Castle Carew, amongst whom we recognized +Lord and Lady Ogletown, Sir Massy Digby, the Right Hon. Francis Malone, +Major-General Count Ysaffich, Knight of various orders, and Augustus +Clifford, etc.” + </p> +<p> +I was on board of a convict hulk in Cork harbor from March till the latter +end of November, not knowing, nor indeed caring, why my sentence of +transportation had not been carried out. The shock under which I had +fallen still stunned me. Life was become a dreary, monotonous dream, but I +had no wish to awake from it; on the contrary, the only acute suffering I +can trace to that period was, when the unhappy fate which attached to me +excited sentiments of either compassion or curiosity in others. Prison +discipline had not, at the time I speak of, received the development it +has since attained; greater freedom of action was permitted to those in +charge of prisoners, who, provided that their safety was assured, were +suffered to treat them with any degree of severity or harshness that they +fancied. +</p> +<p> +The extraordinary features of the trial in which I had figured—the +“outrageous daring of my pretensions,” as the newspapers styled it—attracted +towards me some of that half-morbid interest which, somehow, attaches to +any remarkable crime. Scarcely a week passed without some visitor or other +desiring to see me; and I was ordered to come up on deck, or to “walk aft +on the poop,” to be stared at and surveyed, as though I had been some +newly discovered animal of the woods. +</p> +<p> +These were very mortifying moments to me, and as I well knew that their +humiliation formed no part of my sentence, I felt disposed to rebel +against this infliction. The resolution required more energy, however, +than I possessed, nor was it till after long and painful endurance that I +resolved finally to resist. As I could not refuse to walk up on deck when +ordered, the only resistance in my power was to maintain silence, and not +reply to a single question of those whose vulgar and heartless curiosity +prompted them to make an amusement of my suffering. +</p> +<p> +“The fellow won't speak, gentlemen,” said the superintendent one morning +to a very numerous party, who, in all the joyousness of life and liberty, +came to heighten their zest for pleasure by the sight of sorrow and pain. +“He was never very communicative about himself, but latterly he refuses to +utter a word.” + </p> +<p> +“He still persists in asserting his innocence?” asked one of the +strangers, but in a voice easily overheard by me. +</p> +<p> +“Not to any of us, sir,” replied the turnkey, gruffly; “he may do so with +his fellows below in the hold, but he knows better than to try on that +gammon with us.” + </p> +<p> +“I must say,” said one, in a half-whisper, “that, even in that dress, he +has the look of a gentleman about him.” + </p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” exclaimed another, “if his story were to be true!” + </p> +<p> +I know not what chord in my heart responded to that sudden burst of +feeling. I am fully convinced that, to anything like systematic condolence +or well-worded compassion, I should have been cold as a stone; and yet I +burst into tears as he spoke, and sobbed convulsively. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! he's a deep one,” muttered the turnkey. “Take him down with you, +corporal;” and I was marched away, glad to hide my shame and my sorrow in +secret. +</p> +<p> +Various drafts had been made of those who had been my companions, until at +last not one remained of those originally sentenced at the same assizes +with myself. What this might portend I knew not. Was I destined to end my +days on board of this dark and dismal hulk?—was I never to press +earth once more with my feet? How simply that sounds; but let me tell you, +there is some strange, high instinct in the heart of man that attaches him +to the very soil of earth. That clay of which we came, and to which we are +one day to return, has a powerful hold upon our hearts. He who toils in it +loves it with a fonder love than the great lord who owns it. Its varied +aspects in sunshine and in shade, its changeful hues of season, its +fragrance and its barrenness, are the books in which he reads; its years +of fruitfulness are the joyous episodes of his existence. The mother earth +is the parent that makes all men akin, and teaches us to love each other +like brethren. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Gervois,” said the turnkey to me one morning, “you are to go at +last, they say. Old Hanchett has argued your case till there is no more to +be said of it; but the Lords have decided against you, and now you are to +sail with the next batch.” + </p> +<p> +The announcement gave me neither pleasure nor pain; even this evidence of +Hanchett's kindness towards me did not touch my feelings, for I had +outlived every sentiment of regard or esteem, and lay cold and apathetic +to whatever might betide me. +</p> +<p> +Possibly this indifference of mine might have piqued him, for he tried to +stimulate me to some show of interest, or even of curiosity about my own +case, by dropping hints of the points of law on which the appeal was +grounded, and the ingenuity by which counsel endeavored to rescue me. But +all his efforts failed; I was dead to the past, and careless for the +future. +</p> +<p> +“Here's another order come about you,” said he to me about a week after +this; “you are not to be shipped off next time. They 've found something +else in your case now, which, they say, will puzzle the twelve judges. +Mayhap you 'd like to read it, if I could get you the newspaper?” + </p> +<p> +“It were kinder to leave me as I am,” replied I. “He who can only awake to +sorrow had better be let sleep on.” + </p> +<p> +“Just as you please, my man,” rejoined he, gruffly; “though, if I were +you, I 'd like to know that my case was not hopeless.” + </p> +<p> +“You fancy that it matters to me whether my sentence be seven years or +seventy; whether I be condemned to chains here, or hard labor there, or +mere imprisonment without either; but I tell you that for the terms of the +penalty I care almost nothing. The degradation of the felon absorbs all +the rest. When the law has once separated from all save the guilty, it has +done its worst.” + </p> +<p> +This was the second attempt he made to stimulate my curiosity. His third +venture was more successful. +</p> +<p> +“So, Gervois,” said he, seating himself opposite me, “they 're on the +right scent at last in your business; they're likely to discover the real +heir to that property you tried for.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked I. +</p> +<p> +“Why, it seems somehow there is, or there ought to be somewhere, a young +fellow, a son to this same Carew; and if what the newspapers here say be +true, his right to the estate can be soon established.” + </p> +<p> +I stared at him with amazement, and he went on. +</p> +<p> +“Listen to this: 'Our readers cannot fail to remember a very remarkable +suit which lately occupied no small share of public attention, by the +efforts of a fraudulent conspiracy to undermine the title of one of the +largest landed proprietors in this kingdom. It would appear now that some +very important discoveries have been made in America respecting this +claim, particulars of which have been already forwarded to England. As the +parties who have made these discoveries may soon be expected in this +country, it is not impossible that we may soon hear of another action of +ejectment, although on very different grounds, and with very different +results from the late one.'” + </p> +<p> +A very few days after this there appeared another and still more +remarkable paragraph, copied from the “London Chronicle,” which ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“We mentioned a few days back that an estate, the claim to which was the +subject of a late most remarkable lawsuit, was likely again to furnish +matter for the occupation of the gentlemen of the long robe. There would +seem now to be no doubt upon the subject, as one of the most eminent +solicitors in this country has received instructions to take the necessary +steps preliminary to a new action at law. The newly discovered facts are +sufficiently curious to deserve mention. The late Walter Carew, Esq., was +reputed to have married a French lady, who, although believed to have been +of high and distinguished rank, was no longer traceable to any family, nor +indeed to any locality in France» There were many mysterious circumstances +attending this alleged union, which made the fact of a marriage very +doubtful. Nothing certainly could be discovered amongst Carew's papers, or +little to authenticate the circumstances, nor was there a single allusion +to be found to it in his handwriting. A singular accident has at length +brought this document to light; and although the individual whose fortune +it most nearly concerned has ceased to exist,—he died, it is +believed, in the affair of the Sections at Paris,—the result will, +in all probability, affect the possession of the vast property in +question. +</p> +<p> +“The discovery to which we allude is as follows: A mass of papers and +family documents were deposited by the late Duke of Montpensier in the +hands of certain bankers in Philadelphia, in whose possession they have +remained, undisturbed and unexplored, up to within a few weeks back, when +the Duke of Orleans, desiring to know if a particular document that he +sought for was amongst the number, addressed himself to the firm for this +purpose. Whether success attended the search in question we know not, but +it certainly elicited another and most curious discovery: no less than +that the late Madame de Carew was a natural daughter of Philippe, Duke of +Orleans, the celebrated 'Égalité,' and that her marriage had been the +result of a wager lost by the Duke to Carew. We are not at liberty to +divulge any more of the singular circumstances of this strange compact, +though we may add, what in the present is the more important element of +the case, no less than this marriage certificate of Walter Carew and +Josephine de Courtois, forwarded to the Duke in a letter from the Duchesse +de Sargance, who had accompanied them. +</p> +<p> +“The letter of the Duchess herself is not one of the least singular parts +of this most strange history, since it mentions the marriage in a style of +apology, and consoles the Duke for the <i>mésalliance</i> by the assurance +that, probably, in the obscurity of Ireland, they will never more be heard +of. +</p> +<p> +“Amongst the strange coincidences of this strange event, another still +remains to be told. It was in the hands of the firm of Rogers and Raper +that these documents were deposited, and Mr. Raper himself has passed half +a lifetime in the vain search for the very piece of evidence which mere +chance has thus presented to him. +</p> +<p> +“That Gervois, the celebrated impostor in this case, must have, by some +means or other, obtained an insight into the strange circumstances of this +story, is quite evident, and we understand that the order for his +departure has been countermanded till he be interrogated as to the amount +of his knowledge, and the sources from which he derived it. Mr. Raper and +the Countess of Gabriac, an Irishwoman by birth, are expected daily to +arrive in this country, and we may look forward to their coming for the +elucidation of one of the most curious stories in our domestic annals. +</p> +<p> +“There is a story current that Lady Hester Stanhope remembers, some years +back, a young man having presented himself to Mr. Pitt as the son of the +late Walter Carew, and shown certain papers to authenticate his claim; and +as the occurrence took place subsequent to the year '95, it is evident +that if his pretensions were well founded, there could be no truth in the +account of his having fallen in the 'Battle of the Sections.'” + </p> +<p> +I have no heart to speak of how these passages affected me. To hear that +my dear mother and Raper still lived; that they not only remembered me, +but that their deep devotion to my cause still animated them,—was +too much to bear! Bruised, and shattered, and broken down by fortune, this +proof of affection kindled the almost dead embers of feeling within me, +and I fell upon my knees in thankful prayer to Heaven that I was not +deserted nor forgotten! It was no longer rank, and wealth, and riches that +glittered before me. I sought for no splendors of fortune or high estate. +All that I asked, all that I prayed for, was an honorable name before man, +and that love which should once more reconcile me to myself,—lift me +from the lonely depths of my isolation, and make a home for me with those +to whom I was dear. +</p> +<p> +“On deck, Gervois,” said the turnkey, arousing me from a deep revery a few +days after this interview; “on deck—here are some strangers want to +have a look at ye.” + </p> +<p> +I slowly followed him up the ladder. I was weak and sickly, but no longer +dispirited nor depressed; a faint flickering of hope now burned within me, +and I felt that, even to the vulgar stare of curiosity, I could present +the steady gaze of one whose vindication might one day be pronounced. I +had but touched the deck with my foot when I was clasped in a strong +embrace, and Polly's voice, as she kissed me, cried, “My own dear, dear +boy; my own long-lost child!” + </p> +<p> +Raper's arms were around me too; and another that I knew not, a +white-haired man, old and sorrow-stricken, but noble-looking, grasped my +hand in his, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“His father, every inch of him!” + </p> +<p> +Poor MacNaghten! he had come from fourteen years of imprisonment to devote +his first moment of liberty to bless and embrace me. +</p> +<p> +Oh! you who have known what it is to be rescued from death when every hope +of life had left you; who have from the storm-tossed raft watched the sail +as it came nearer and nearer, and at last heard the loud cheer that said, +“Be of good courage—a moment more and we will be with you!”—even +you, in that moment of blissful agony, cannot sound the depth of emotion +which was mine, as, throwing off the stain of the felon, I stood forth in +the pride of my guiltlessness, able to say to the world, See how you have +wronged me! See how, confounding the weakness and the folly of the human +heart with direct and actual criminality, you have suffered the probable +or the possible to usurp the place of the inevitably true; have been so +carried away by prejudice or by passion as to sentence an innocent man!—see, +I say, that your judgments are fallible and your tests are weak; and +bethink you that all you can do hereafter in atonement of your error can +never erase the deep welt of the fetter on his limb, or the more terrible +brand that stamped “guilty” on his name. If you cannot be always just, be +sometimes merciful; distrust, at least, the promptings that disposed you +to condemn, and say to your heart, “Good God, if this man were to prove +innocent!” + </p> +<p> +I am now wealthy and rich. Years of prosperity have rolled over me,—years +of tranquil happiness and sincere enjoyment. There is not a day on which I +have not to thank Heaven for blessings of health and vigor, for the love +of kind hearts, and for the affection of many benevolent natures. I know +and I acknowledge that these are more than the recompense of any sorrows I +have suffered; and in my daily walk of life I try to aid those who suffer, +to console affliction, and to cheer weak-heartedness. The happiness that +others seek and find within the circle of their own, I look for in the +wider family of mankind, and I am not disappointed. +</p> +<p> +Polly and Raper live with me. MacNaghten, too, inhabits the old room that +once was his. Poor fellow, in his extreme old age he loves every spot that +revives a memory of the past, and in his wanderings often calls me +“Walter.” + </p> +<p> +It remains for me but to say that the singular events which ultimately +restored me to my own, attracted the attention of royalty. The various +details which came out upon the trial, with the evidence given by the +Countess of Gabriac and Raper,—all of which, involving so much +already known, I have spared the reader,—so far interested the King +that he expressed a desire to see me at Court. +</p> +<p> +I hastened, of course, to obey the command, and from the royal hand +received the honor of knighthood, his Majesty saying, “We should have made +you a baronet, only that it would have been of no use to you, seeing that +you are the last of the Carews of Castle Carew.” + </p> +<p> +Yes, kind reader, and these, too, are our last words to you. Would that +anything in these memorials of a life may have served to lighten a weary +hour, or softened a moment of suffering; since to the higher purposes of +instruction or improvement they lay no claim. At all events, think of me +as one too deeply conscious of his own faults to hide or to extenuate +them, and too sincerely sensible of his good fortune not to strive to +extend its blessings to others.—Adieu! +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sir Jasper Carew, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR JASPER CAREW *** + +***** This file should be named 33081-h.htm or 33081-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/0/8/33081/ + +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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