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diff --git a/old/2010-05-19-32424-8.zip b/old/2010-05-19-32424-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b7227d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2010-05-19-32424-8.zip diff --git a/old/2010-05-19-32424-h.zip b/old/2010-05-19-32424-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..31aa11f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2010-05-19-32424-h.zip diff --git a/old/32424-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/32424-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e47fb6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/32424-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,21104 @@ +<?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> + Arthur O'leary, 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%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Arthur O'Leary, 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: Arthur O'Leary + His Wanderings And Ponderings In Many Lands + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: George Cruikshank + +Release Date: May 19, 2010 [EBook #32424] +Last Updated: September 3, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARTHUR O'LEARY *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +ARTHUR O’LEARY +</h1> +<h2> +HIS WANDERINGS AND PONDERINGS IN MANY LANDS +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +Edited By His Friend, Harry Lorrequer, <br /> +</h3> +<h3> +Illustrated By George Cruikshank. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h4> +New Edition. <br /><br /> London: Henry Colburn, Publisher, <br /><br /> Great +Marlborough Street. <br /><br /> 1845. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (127K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (27K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>ARTHUR O’LEARY.</b> </a><br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> THE “ATTWOOD” <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE BOAR’S HEAD AT +ROTTERDAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> VAN +HOOGENDORP’S TALE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> MEMS. +AND MORALIZINGS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> ANTWERP—“THE +FISCHER’S HAUS.” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> MR. +O’KELLY’S TALE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> MR. +O’KELLY’S TALE.—CONTINUED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> +CHAPTER VIII. </a> MR. O’KELLY’S TALE.—CONCLUDED <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> TABLE-TRAITS <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> A DILEMMA <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> A FRAGMENT OF +FOREST LIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> CHATEAU +LIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> THE +ABBE’S STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> THE +CHASE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> A +NARROW ESCAPE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> A +MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. +</a> THE BORE—A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> THE RETREAT FROM +LEIPSIC <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE +TOP OF A DILIGENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> BONN +AND STUDENT LIFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE +STUDENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> SPAS +AND GRAND DUKEDOMS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. +</a> THE TRAVELLING PARTY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> +CHAPTER XXIV. </a> THE GAMBLING-ROOM <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> A WATERING-PLACE +DOCTOR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> SIR +HARRY WYCHERLEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE +RECOVERY HOUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> THE +‘DREAM OF DEATH’ <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE +STRANGE GUEST <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> THE +PARK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> THE +BARON’S STORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> THE +WARTBURG AND EISENACH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER +XXXIII. </a> "ERFURT” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> THE HERR. DIRECTOR +KLUG <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h2> +NOTICE, PRELIMINARY AND EXPLANATORY, +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +BY THE EDITOR. +</h3> +<p> +When some years ago we took the liberty, in a volume of our so-called +“Confessions,” to introduce to our reader’s acquaintance the gentleman +whose name figures in the title page, we subjoined a brief notice, by +himself, intimating the intention he entertained of one day giving to the +world a farther insight into his life and opinions, under the title of +“Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.” +</p> +<p> +It is more than probable that the garbled statement and incorrect +expression of which we ourselves were guilty respecting our friend had +piqued him into this declaration, which, on mature consideration, he +thought fit to abandon. For, from that hour to the present one, nothing of +the kind ever transpired, nor could we ascertain, by the strictest +inquiry, that such a proposition of publication had ever been entertained +in the West-End, or heard of in the “Row.” +</p> +<p> +The worthy traveller had wandered away to “pastures new,” heaven knows +where! and, notwithstanding repeated little paragraphs in the second +advertizing column of the “Times” newspaper, assuring, “A. O’L. that if he +would inform his friends where a letter would reach, all would be +forgiven,” &c. the mystery of his whereabouts remained unsolved, save +by the chance mention of a north-west passage traveller, who speaks of a +Mr. O’Leary as having presided at a grand bottle-nosed whale dinner in +Behring’s Straits, some time in the autumn of 1840; and an allusion, in +the second volume of the Chevalier de Bertonville’s Discoveries in Central +Africa, to an “Irlandais bien original,” who acted as sponsor to the son +and heir of King Bullanullaboo, in the Chieckhow territory. That either, +or indeed, both, these individuals resolved themselves into our respected +friend, we entertained no doubt whatever; nor did the information cause us +any surprise, far less unquestionably, than had we heard of his ordering +his boots from Hoby, or his coat from Stultz. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile time rolled on—and whether Mr. O’Leary had died of the +whale feast, or been eaten himself by his godson, no one could conjecture, +and his name had probably been lost amid the rust of ages, if certain +booksellers, in remote districts, had not chanced upon the announcement of +his volume, and their “country orders” kept dropping in for these same +“Loiterings,” of which the publishers were obliged to confess they knew +nothing whatever. +</p> +<p> +Now, the season was a dull one; nothing stirring in the literary world; +people had turned from books, to newspapers; a gloomy depression reigned +over the land. The India news was depressing; the China worse; the French +were more insolent than ever; the prices were falling under the new +tariff; pigs looked down, and “Repealers” looked up. The only interesting +news, was the frauds in pork, which turned out to be pickled negroes and +potted squaws. What was to be done? A literary speculation at such a +moment was preposterous; for although in an age of temperance, nothing +prospered but “Punch.” +</p> +<p> +It occurred to us, “then pondering,” as Lord Brougham would say, that as +these same “Loiterings” had been asked for more than once, and an actual +order for two copies had been seen in the handwriting of a solvent +individual, there was no reason why we should not write them ourselves. +There would be little difficulty in imagining what a man like O’Leary +would say, think, or do, in any-given situation. The peculiarities of his +character might, perhaps, give point to what dramatic people call +“situations,” but yet were not of such a nature as to make their +portraiture a matter of any difficulty. +</p> +<p> +We confess the thing savoured a good deal of book-making. What of that? We +remember once in a row in Dublin, when the military were called out, that +a sentinel happened to have an altercation with, an old woman of that +class, for which the Irish metropolis used to have a patent, in all that +regards street eloquence and repartee. The soldier, provoked beyond +endurance, declared at last with an oath, “that if she didn’t go away, +he’d drive his bayonet through her.” “Oh, then, the devil thank you for +that same,” responded the hag, “sure, isn’t it your trade?” Make the +application, dear reader, and forgive us for our authorship to order. +</p> +<p> +Besides, had we not before us the example of Alexandre Dumas, in France, +whose practice it is to amuse the world by certain Souvenirs de “Voyage,” +which he has never made, not even in imagination but which are only the +dressed-up skeletons of other men’s rambles, and which he buys, exactly as +the Jews do old uniforms and court suits, for exportation to the colonies. +And thus while thousands of his readers are sympathizing with the +suffering of the aforesaid Alexandre, in his perilous passage of the great +desert, or his fearful encounter with Norwegian wolves, little know they +that their hero is snugly established in his “entresol” of the “Rue +d’Alger,” lying full length on a spring-cushioned sofa, with a Manilla +weed on his lip, and George Sand’s last bulletin of wickedness, half cut +before him. These “Souvenirs de Voyage” being nothing more than the +adventures and incidents of Messrs. John Doe and Richard Doe, paragraphed, +witticized, and spiced for public taste, by Alexandre Dumas, pretty much +as cheap taverns give “gravy” and “ox-tail”—the smallest modicum of +meat, to the most high-seasoned and hot-flavoured condiments. +</p> +<p> +If, then, we had scruples, here was a precedent to relieve our minds—here +a case perfectly in point, at least so far as the legitimacy of the +practice demanded. But, unhappily, it ended there: for although it may be, +and indeed is, very practicable for Monsieur Dumas, by the perfection of +<i>his “cuisine,”</i> to make the meat itself a secondary part of the +matter; yet do we grievously fear that a tureen full of “O’Leary,” might +not be an acceptable dish, because there was a bone of “Harry Lorrequer” +in the bottom. +</p> +<p> +With all these <i>pros</i> and <i>cons</i> our vain-glorious boast to +write the work in question stared us suddenly in the face; and, really, we +felt as much shame as can reasonably be supposed to visit a man, whose +countenance has been hawked about the streets, and sold in shilling +numbers. What was to be done? There was the public, too; but, like Tony +Lumpkin, we felt we might disappoint the company at the Three Jolly +Pigeons—but could we disappoint ourselves? +</p> +<p> +Alas! there were some excellent reasons against such a consummation. So, +respected reader, whatever liberties we might take with you, we had to +look nearer home, and bethink us of ourselves. <i>After all</i>—and +what a glorious charge to the jury of one’s conscience is your after all!—-what +a plenary indulgence against all your sins of commission and omission!—what +a makepeace to self-accusation, and what a salve to heartfelt repinings!—after +all, we did know a great deal about O’Leary: his life and opinions, his +habits and haunts, his prejudices, pleasures, and predilections: and +although we never performed Boz to his Johnson, still had we ample +knowledge of him for all purposes of book-writing; and there was no reason +why we should not assume his mantle, or rather his Macintosh, if the +weather required it. +</p> +<p> +Having in some sort allayed our scruples in this fashion, and having +satisfied our conscience by the resolve, that if we were not about to +record the actual <i>res gesto</i> of Mr. O’Leary, neither would we set +down anything which <i>might not</i> have been one of his adventures, nor +put into his mouth any imaginary conversations which <i>he might not</i> +have sustained; so that, in short, should the volume ever come under the +eyes of the respected gentleman himself, considerable mystification would +exist, as to whether he did not say, do, and think, exactly as we made +him, and much doubt lie on his mind that he was not the author himself. +</p> +<p> +We wish particularly to lay stress on the honesty of these our intentions—the +more, as subsequent events have interfered with their accomplishment; and +we can only assure the world of what we would have done, had we been +permitted. And here let us observe, <i>en passant</i>, that if other +literary characters had been actuated by similarly honourable views, we +should have been spared those very absurd speeches which Sallust +attributes to his characters in the Catiline conspiracy; and another +historian, with still greater daring, assumes the Prince of Orange <i>ought</i> +to have spoken, at various epochs in the late Belgian revolution. +</p> +<p> +With such prospective hopes, then, did we engage in the mystery of these +same “Loiterings,” and with a pleasure such as only men of the pen can +appreciate, did we watch the bulky pile of MS. that was growing up before +us, while the interest of the work had already taken hold of us; and +whether we moved our puppets to the slow figure of a minuet, or rattled +them along at the slap-dash, hurry-scurry, devil-may-care pace, for which +our critics habitually give us credit, we felt that our foot beat time +responsively to the measure, and that we actually began to enjoy the +performance. +</p> +<p> +In this position stood matters, when early one morning in December the +post brought us an ominous-looking epistle, which, even as we glanced our +eye on the outside, conveyed an impression of fear and misgiving to our +minds. If there are men in whose countenances, as Pitt remarked, “villany +is so impressed, it were impiety not to believe it,” so are there certain +letters whose very shape and colour, fold, seal, and superscription have +something gloomy and threatening—something of menace and mischief +about them. This was one of these: the paper was a greenish sickly-white, +a kind of dyspeptic foolscap; the very mill that fabricated it might have +had the shaking ague. The seal was of bottle-wax, the impression, a heavy +thumb. The address ran, “To H. L.” The writing, a species of rustic +paling, curiously interwoven and gnarled, to which the thickness of the +ink lent a needless obscurity, giving to the whole the appearance of +something like a child’s effort to draw a series of beetles and +cockroaches with a blunt stick; but what most of all struck terror to our +souls, was an abortive effort at the words “Arthur O’Leary” scrawled in +the corner. +</p> +<p> +What! had he really then escaped the perils of blubber and black men? Was +he alive, and had he come back to catch us, <i>in delicto</i>—in the +very fact of editing him, of raising our exhausted exchequer at his cost, +and replenishing our empty coffers under his credit? Our suspicions were +but too true. We broke the seal and spelled as follows— +</p> +<p> +“Sir—A lately-arrived traveller in these parts brings me +intelligence, that a work is announced for publication by you, under the +title of ‘The Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary,’ containing his opinions, +notions, dreamings, and doings during several years of his life, and in +various countries. Now this must mean me, and I should like to know what +are a man’s own, if his adventures are not? His ongoings, his +‘begebenheiten,’ as the Germans call them, are they not as much his, as +his—what shall I say; his flannel waistcoat or his tobacco-pipe? +</p> +<p> +“If I have spent many years, and many pounds (of tobacco) in my explorings +of other lands, is it for you to reap the benefit? If I have walked, +smoked, laughed, and fattened from Trolhatten to Tehran, was it that you +should have the profit? Was I to exhibit in ludicrous situations and +extravagant incidents, with ‘illustrations by Phiz,’ because I happened to +be fat, and fond of rambling? Or was it my name only that you pirated, so +that Arthur O’Leary should be a type of something ludicrous, wherever he +appeared in company? Or worse still, was it an attempt to extort money +from me, as I understand you once before tried, by assuming for one of +your heroes the name of a most respectable gentleman in private life? To +which of these counts do you plead guilty? +</p> +<p> +“Whatever is your plan, here is mine: I have given instructions to my man +of law to obtain an injunction from the Chancellor, restraining you or any +other from publishing these ‘Loiterings.’ Yes; an order of the court will +soon put an end to this most unwarrantable invasion of private rights. Let +us see then if you’ll dare to persist in this nefarious scheme. +</p> +<p> +“The Swan-river for you, and the stocks for your publisher, may, perhaps, +moderate your literary and publishing ardour—eh! Master Harry? Or do +you contemplate adding your own adventures beyond seas to the volume, and +then make something of your ‘Confessions of a Convict,’ I must conclude at +once: in my indignation this half hour, I have been swallowing all the +smoke of my meerschaum, and I feel myself turning round and round like a +smoke-jack. Once for all—stop! recall your announcement, burn your +MS., and prostrate yourself in abject humility at my feet, and with many +sighs, and two pounds of shag (to be had at No. 8, Francis-street, two +doors from the lane), you may haply be forgiven by yours, in wrath, +</p> +<p> +“Arthur O’Leary. +</p> +<p> +“Address a line, if in penitence, to me here, where the lovely scenery, +and the society remind me much of Siberia— +</p> +<p> +“Edenderry, ‘The Pig and Pot-hooks.’” +</p> +<p> +Having carefully read and re-read this letter, and having laid it before +those whose interests, like our own, were deeply involved, we really for a +time became thoroughly nonplussed. To disclaim any or all of the +intentions attributed to us in Mr. O’Leary’s letter, would have been +perfectly useless, so long as we held to our project of publishing +anything under his name. Of no avail to assure him that our “Loiterings of +Arthur O’Leary” were not his—that our hero was not himself. To +little purpose should we adduce that our Alter Ego was the hero of a book +by the Prebend of Lichfield, and “Charles Lever” given to the world as a +socialist. He cared for nothing of all this; <i>tenax propositi</i>, he +would listen to no explanation—unconditional, absolute, Chinese +submission were his only terms, and with these we were obliged to comply. +And yet how very ridiculous was the power he assumed. Was any thing more +common in practice than to write the lives of distinguished men, even +before their death, and who ever heard of the individual seeking legal +redress against his biographer except for libel? “Come, come, Arthur,” +said we to ourselves, “this threat affrights us not. Here we begin Chap. +XIV.—” +</p> +<p> +Just then we turned our eyes mechanically towards the pile of manuscript +at our elbow, and could not help admiring the philosophy with which <i>he</i> +spoke of condemning to the flames the fruit of <i>our</i> labour. Still it +was evident, that Mr. O’Leary’s was no <i>brutem fulmen</i>, but very +respectable and downright thunder; and that in fact we should soon be, +where, however interesting it may make a young lady, it by no means suits +an elderly gentleman to be, viz.—in Chancery. +</p> +<p> +“What’s to be done?” was the question, which like a tennis-ball we pitched +at each other. “We have it,” said we. “We’ll start at once for Edenderry, +and bring this with us,” pointing to our manuscript. “We’ll show O’Leary +how near immortality he was, and may still be, if not loaded with +obstinacy: We’ll read him a bit of our droll, and some snatches of our +pathetic passages. Well show him how the ‘Immortal George’ intends to +represent him. In a word, we’ll enchant him with the fascinating position +to which we mean to exalt him and before the evening ends, obtain his +special permission to deal with him, as before now we have done with his +betters, and—print him.” +</p> +<p> +Our mind made up, no time was to be lost. We took our place in the Grand +Canal passage-boat for Edenderry; and wrapping ourselves up in our virtue, +and another thin garment they call a Zephyr, began our journey. +</p> +<p> +We should have liked well, had our object permitted it, to have made some +brief notes of our own “Loiterings.” But the goal of our wanderings, as +well as of our thoughts, was ever before us, and we spent the day +imagining to ourselves the various modes by which we should make our +advances to the enemy, with most hope of success. Whether the company +themselves did not afford any thing very remarkable, or our own +preoccupation prevented our noticing it, certes, we jogged on, without any +consciousness that we were not perfectly alone, and this for some twenty +miles of the way. At last, however, the cabin became intolerably hot. +Something like twenty-four souls were imprisoned in a space ten feet by +three, which the humanity of the company of directors kindly limits to +forty-eight, a number which no human ingenuity could pack into it, if +living. The majority of the passengers were what by courtesy are called +‘small farmers,’ namely, individuals weighing from eighteen to +six-and-twenty stone; priests, with backs like the gable of a chapel; and +a sprinkling of elderly ladies from the bog towns along the bank, who +actually resembled turf clamps in their proportions. We made an effort to +reach the door, and having at length succeeded, found to our sorrow that +the rain was falling heavily. Notwithstanding this, we remained without, +as long as we could venture, the oppressive heat within being far more +intolerable than even the rain. At length, however, wet through and cold, +we squeezed ourselves into a small corner near the door, and sat down. But +what a change had our unpropitious presence evoked. We left our +fellow-travellers, a noisy, jolly, semi-riotous party, disputing over the +markets, censuring Sir Robert, abusing the poor-rates, and discussing +various matters of foreign and domestic policy, from Shah Shoojah to +subsoil ploughs. A dirty pack of cards, and even punch, were adding their +fascinations to while away the tedious hours; but now the company sat in +solemn silence. The ladies looked straight before them, without a muscle +of their faces moving; the farmers had lifted the collars of their frieze +coats, and concealed their hands within their sleeves, so as to be +perfectly invisible; and the reverend fathers, putting on dark and +dangerous looks, spoke only in monosyllables, no longer sipped their +liquor in comfort, but rang the bell from time to time, and ordered +“another beverage,” a curious smoking compound, that to our un-Matthewed +senses, savoured suspiciously of whiskey. +</p> +<p> +It was a dark night when we reached the “Pig and Pot-hooks,” the hostelry +whence Mr. O’Leary had addressed us; and although not yet eight o’clock, +no appearance of light, nor any stir, announced that the family were +about. After some little delay, our summons was answered by a bare-legged +handmaiden, who, to our question if Mr. O’Leary stopped there, without +further hesitation opened a small door to the left, and introduced us +bodily into his august presence. +</p> +<p> +Our travelled friend was seated, “<i>more suo</i>,” with his legs +supported on two chairs, while he himself in chief occupied a third, his +wig being on the arm of that one on which he reposed; a very imposing +tankard, with a floating toast, smoked on the table, and a large +collection of pipes of every grade, from the haughty hubble bubble, to the +humble dudeen, hung around on the walls. +</p> +<p> +“Ha!” said he, as we closed the door behind us, and advanced into the +room, “and so you are penitent. Well, Hal, I forgive you. It was a scurvy +trick, though; but I remember it no longer. Here, take a pull at the +pewter, and tell us all the Dublin news.” +</p> +<p> +It is not our intention, dear reader, to indulge in the same mystification +with you, that we practised on our friend Mr. O’Leary—or, in other +words, to invent for your edification, as we confess to have done for his, +all the events and circumstances which might have, but did not, take place +in Dublin for the preceding month. It is enough to say that about eleven +o’clock Mr. O’Leary was in the seventh heaven of conversational +contentment, and in the ninth flagon of purl. +</p> +<p> +“Open it—let me see it. Come, Hal, divulge at once,” said he, +kicking the carpet-bag that contained our manuscript. We undid the lock, +and emptied our papers before him. His eyes sparkled as the heavy folds +fell over each other on the table, his mouth twitched with a movement of +convulsive pleasure. “Ring the bell, my lad,” said he; “the string is +beside you. Send the master, Mary,” continued he, as the maiden entered. +</p> +<p> +Peter Mahoon soon made his appearance, rather startled at being summoned +from his bed, and evidencing in his toilette somewhat more of zeal than +dandyism. +</p> +<p> +“Is the house insured, Peter?” said Mr. O’Leary. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” rejoined he, with a searching look around the room, and a sniff +of his nose, to discover if he could detect the smell of fire. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the premises worth, Peter?” +</p> +<p> +“Sorrow one of me knows right, sir. Maybe a hundred and fifty, or it might +bring two hundred pounds.” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said O’Leary briskly, as seizing my manuscript with both +hands he hurled it on the blazing turf fire; and then grasping the poker, +stood guard over it, exclaiming as he did so,—“Touch it, and by the +beard of the Prophet I’ll brain you. Now, there it goes, blazing up the +chimney. Look how it floats up there! I never expected to travel like that +anyhow. Eh, Hal? Your work is a brilliant affair, isn’t it?—and as +well puffed as if you entertained every newspaper editor in the kingdom? +And see,” cried he, as he stamped his foot upon the blaze, “the whole +edition is exhausted already—not a copy to be had for any money.” +</p> +<p> +We threw ourselves back in our chair, and covered our face with our hands. +The toil of many a long night, of many a bright hour of sun and wind, was +lost to us for ever, and we may be pardoned if our grief was heavy. +</p> +<p> +“Cheer up, old fellow,” said he, as the last flicker of the burning paper +expired. “You know the thing was bad: it couldn’t be other. That d——d +fly-away harum-scarum style of yours is no more adapted to a work of real +merit, than a Will-o’-the-wisp would be for a light-house. Another jug, +Peter—bring two. The truth is, Hal, I was not so averse to the +publication of my life as to the infernal mess you’d have made of it. You +have no pathos, no tenderness—damn the bit.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said we: “it is enough to burn our manuscript, but, really, +as to playing the critic in this fashion——” +</p> +<p> +“Then,” continued he, “all that confounded folly you deal in, laughing at +the priests—Lord bless you, man! they have more fun, those fellows, +than you, and a score like you. There’s one Father Dolan here would tell +two stories for your one; ay, better than ever you told.” +</p> +<p> +“We really have no ambition to enter the lists with your friend.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better—you’d get the worst of it; and as to knowledge +of character, see now, Peter Mahoon there would teach you human nature; +and if I liked myself to appear in print—” +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said we, bursting out into a fit of laughter, “that would +certainly be amusing.” +</p> +<p> +“And so it would, whether you jest or no. There’s in that drawer there, +the materials of as fine a work as ever appeared since Sir John Carr’s +Travels; and the style is a happy union of Goldsmith and Jean Paul—simple +yet aphoristic—profound and pleasing—sparkling like the can +before me, but pungent and racy in its bitterness. Hand me that oak box, +Hal. Which is the key? At this hour one’s sight becomes always defective. +Ah, here it is look there!” +</p> +<p> +We obeyed the command, and truly our amazement was great, though possibly +not for the reason that Mr. O’Leary could have desired; for instead of +anything like a regular manuscript, we beheld a mass of small scraps of +paper, backs of letters, newspapers, magazines, fly-leaves of books, old +prints, &c., scrawled on, in the most uncouth fashion; and purporting +from the numbers appended to be a continued narration of one kind or +other. +</p> +<p> +“What’s all this?” said we. +</p> +<p> +“These,” said he, “are really ‘The Loiterings of Arthur O’Leary.’ Listen +to this. Here’s a bit of Goldsmith for you— +</p> +<p> +“‘I was born of poor but respectable parents in the county———.’ +What are you laughing at? Is it because I did’nt open with—‘The sun +was setting, on the 25th of June, in the year 1763, as two travellers were +seen,’ &c., &c,? Eh? That’s your way, not mine. A London fellow +told me that my papers were worth five hundred pounds. Come, that’s what I +call something. Now I’ll go over to the ‘Row.’” +</p> +<p> +“Stop a bit. Here seems something strange about the King of Holland.” +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t read them, though. No, no. That’ll never do—no, Hal; no +plagiarism. But, after all, I have been a little hasty with you, Perhaps I +ought not to have burned that thing; you were not to know it was bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh! how?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, I say, you might not see how absurd it was; so here’s your health, +Hal: either that tankard has been drugged, or a strange change has come +over my feelings. Harry Lorrequer, I’ll make your fortune, or rather your +son’s, for you are a wasteful creature, and will spend the proceeds as +fast as you get them; but the everlastingly-called-for new editions will +keep him in cash all his life. I’ll give you that box and its contents; +yes, I repeat it, it is yours. I see you are overpowered; there, taste the +pewter and you’ll get better presently. In that you’ll find—a little +irregular and carelessly-written perhaps—the sum of my experience +and knowledge of life—all my correspondence, all my private notes, +my opinions on literature, fine arts, politics, and the drama.” +</p> +<p> +But we will not follow our friend into the soaring realms of his +imaginative flight, for it was quite evident that the tankard and the +tobacco were alone responsible for the lofty promises of his production. +In plain English, Mr. O’Leary was fuddled, and the only intelligible part +of his discourse was, an assurance that his papers were entirely at our +service; and that, as in some three weeks time, he hoped to be in Africa, +having promised to spend the Christmas with Abd-el-Kader, we were left his +sole literary executor, with full power to edit him in any shape it might +please us, lopping, cutting, omitting—anything, even to adding, or +interpolating. +</p> +<p> +Such were his last orders, and having given them, Mr. O’Leary refilled his +pipe, closed his eyes, stretched out his legs to their fullest extent, and +although he continued at long intervals to evolve a blue curl of smoke +from the corner of his mouth, it was evident he was lost in the land of +dreams. +</p> +<p> +In two hours afterwards we were on our way back to Dublin, bearing with us +the oaken box, which, however, it is but justice to ourselves to say, we +felt as a sad exchange for our own carefully-written manuscript. On +reaching home, our first care was to examine these papers, and see if +anything could be made of them, which might prove readable; unfortunately, +however, the mass consisted of brief memoranda, setting forth how many +miles Mr. O’Leary had walked on a certain day in the November of 1803, and +how he had supped on camel’s milk with an amiable family of Bedouins, who +had just robbed a caravan in the desert. His correspondence, was for the +most part an angry one with washerwomen and hotel-keepers, and some rather +curious hieroglyphic replies to dinner invitations from certain people of +rank in the Sandwich Islands. Occasionally, however, we chanced on little +bits of narrative, fragments of stories, some of which his +fellow-travellers had contributed, and brief sketches of places and people +that were rather amusing; but so disjointed, broken up, and unconnected +were they all, it was almost impossible to give them anything like an +arrangement, much less anything like consecutive interest. +</p> +<p> +All that lay in our power was to select from the whole, certain portions, +which, from their length, promised more of care than the mere fragments +about them, and present them to our readers with this brief notice of the +mode in which we obtained them—our only excuse for a most irregular +and unprecedented liberty in the practice of literature. With this apology +for the incompleteness and abruptness of “the O’Leary Papers”—which +happily we are enabled to make freely, as our friend Arthur has taken his +departure—we offer them to our readers, only adding, that in proof +of their genuine origin, the manuscript can be seen by any one so desiring +it, on application to our publishers; while, for all their follies, +faults, and inaccuracies, we desire to plead our irresponsibility, as +freely, as we wish to attribute any favour the world may show them, to +their real author: and with this last assurance, we beg to remain, your +ever devoted and obedient servant, +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h1> +ARTHUR O’LEARY. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. THE “ATTWOOD.” +</h2> +<p> +Old Woodcock says, that if Providence had not made him a Justice of the +Peace, he’d have been a vagabond himself. No such kind interference +prevailed in my case. I was a vagabond from my cradle. I never could be +sent to school, alone, like other children—they always had to see me +there safe, and fetch me back again. The rambling bump monopolized my +whole head. I’m sure my god-father must have been the wandering Jew, or a +king’s messenger. Here I am again, <i>en route</i>, and sorely puzzled to +know whither? There’s the fellow for my trunk. +</p> +<p> +“What packet, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What packet? The vessel at the Tower stairs?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; there are two with the steam up, the Rotterdam and the +Hamburgh.” +</p> +<p> +“Which goes first?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, I think the Attwood, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, shove aboard the Attwood. Where is she for?” +</p> +<p> +“She’s for Rotterdam.——He’s a queer cove too,” said the fellow +under his teeth, as he moved out of the room, “and don’t seem to care +where he goes.” +</p> +<p> +A capital lesson in life may be learned from the few moments preceding +departure from an inn. The surly waiter that always said “coming” when he +was leaving the room, and never came, now grown smiling and smirking; the +landlord expressing a hope to see you again, while he watches your +upthrown eyebrows at the exorbitancy of his bill: the boots attentively +looking from your feet to your face, and back again; the housemaid passing +and repassing a dozen times, on her way, no where, with a look half saucy, +half shy; the landlord’s son, an abortion of two feet high, a kind of +family chief remembrancer, that sits on a high stool in the bar, and +always detects something you have had, that was not “put down in the bill”—two +shillings for a cab, or a “brandy and water;” a curse upon them all; this +poll-tax upon travellers is utter ruin; your bill, compared to its +dependencies, is but Falstaffs “pennyworth of bread,” to all the score for +sack. +</p> +<p> +Well, here I am at last. “Take care I say! you’ll upset us. Shove off, +Bill; ship your oar,” splash, splash. “Bear a hand. What a noise, they +make,” bang, crash, buzz; what a crowd of men in pilot coats and caps; +women in plaid shawls and big reticules, band-boxes, bags, and babies, and +what higgling for sixpences with the wherrymen. +</p> +<p> +All the places round the companion are taken by pale ladies in black silk, +with a thin man in spectacles beside them; the deck is littered with +luggage, and little groups seated thereon; some very strange young +gentlemen with many-coloured waistcoats are going to Greenwich, and one as +far as Margate; a widow and daughters, rather prettyish girls, for Herne +Bay; a thin, bilious-looking man of about fifty, with four outside coats, +and a bearskin round his legs, reading beside the wheel, occasionally +taking a sly look at the new arrivals.—I’ve seen him before; he is +the Secretary of Embassy at Constantinople; and here’s a jolly-looking, +rosy-cheeked fellow, with a fat florid face, and two dashing-looking girls +in black velvet. Eh! who’s this? Sir Peter, the steward calls him; a +London Alderman going up the Rhine for two months—he’s got his +courier, and a strong carriage, with the springs well corded for the <i>pavé</i>;—but +they come too fast for counting: so now I’ll have a look after my berth. +</p> +<p> +Alas! the cabin has been crowded all the while by some fifty others, +wrangling, scolding, laughing, joking, complaining, and threatening, and +not a berth to be had. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve put me next the tiller,” said one; “I’m over the boiler,” screamed +another. +</p> +<p> +“I have the pleasure of speaking to Sir Willoughby Steward,” said the +captain, to a tall, gray-headed, soldier-like figure, with a +closely-buttoned blue, frock. “Sir Willoughby, your berth is No. 8.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh! that’s the way they come it,” whispers a Cockney to his friend. “That +ere chap gets a berth before us all.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon, sir,” says the baronet mildly, “I took mine three days +ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I didn’t mean anything,” stammers out the other, and sneaks off. +</p> +<p> +“Laura-Mariar—where’s Laurar?” calls out a shrill voice from the +aft-cabin. +</p> +<p> +“Here, Ma,” replies a pretty girl, who is arranging her ringlets at a +glass, much to the satisfaction of a young fellow in a braided frock, that +stands gazing at her in the mirror with something very like a smile on his +lip. +</p> +<p> +There’s no mistaking that pair of dark-eyed fellows with aquiline noses +and black ill-shaven beards—Hamburgh or Dutch Jews, dealers in +smuggled lace, cigars, and Geneva watches, and occasionally small +money-lenders. How they scan the company, as if calculating the profit +they might turn them to! The very smile they wear seems to say, ‘<i>Comment +c’est doux de tromper les Chrétiens</i>.’ But, holloa! there was a splash! we +are moving, and the river is now more amusing than the passengers. +</p> +<p> +I should like to see the man that ever saw London from the Thames; or any +part of it, save the big dome of St. Paul’s, the top of the Monument, or +the gable of the great black wharf inscribed with “Hodson’s Pale Ale.” +What a devil of a row they do make. I thought we were into that fellow. +See, here’s a wherry actually under our bow; where is she now? are they +all lost already? No! there they go bobbing up and down, and looking after +us, as if asking, why we didn’t sail over them. Ay! there comes an +Indiaman, and that little black slug that ‘s towing her up against the +stream, is one of the Tug Company’s craft; and see how all the others at +anchor keep tossing and pitching about, as we pass by, like an awkward +room full of company, rising at each new arrival. +</p> +<p> +There’s Greenwich! a fine thing Greenwich. I like the old fellows that the +first lord always makes stand in front, without legs or arms; a cheery +sight: and there’s a hulk, or an hospital ship, or something of that kind. +</p> +<p> +“That’s the Hexcellent,” saith a shrill voice behind me. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I know her, she’s a revenue cruizer.” +</p> +<p> +Lord, what liars are the Cockneys! The plot thickens every moment; here +come little bright green and gold things, shooting past, like dragon-flies +skimming the water, steaming down to Gravesend. What a mob of parasols +cover the deck, and what kissing of hands and waving of handkerchiefs to +anonymous acquaintances nowhere. More steamers—here’s the “Boulogne +boat,” followed by the Ostender, and there, rounding the reach, comes the +Ramsgate; and a white funnel, they say, is the Cork packet; and yonder, +with her steam escaping, is the Edinburgh, her deck crowded with soldiers. +</p> +<p> +“Port—port it is—steady there—steady.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you dine, sir!” quoth the steward to the pale gentleman. A faint +“Yes,” “And the ladies too?” A more audible “No.” +</p> +<p> +“I say, steward,” cries Sir Peter, “what’s the hour for dinner?” +</p> +<p> +“Four o’clock, sir, after we pass Gravesend.” +</p> +<p> +“Bring me some brandy and water and a biscuit, then.” +</p> +<p> +“Lud, Pa!” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, dear, we shall be sick in the pool. They say there’s a head +wind.” +</p> +<p> +How crowded they are on the fore-part of the vessel! six carriages and +eight horses; the latter belong to a Dutch dealer, who, by-the-by, seems a +shrewd fellow, who, well knowing the extreme sympathy between horses and +asses, leaves the care of his, to some Cockneys, who come down every half +hour to look after the tarpaulins, inspect the coverings, see the +knee-caps safe, find ask if they want “‘ay;” and all this, that to some +others on board, they may appear as sporting characters, well versed in +turf affairs, and quite up to stable management. +</p> +<p> +When the life and animation of the crowded river is passed, how vexatious +it is to hear for the thousandth time the dissertation’s on English +habits, customs, and constitution, delivered by some ill-informed, +underbred fellow or other, to some eager German—a Frenchman happily +is too self-sufficient ever to listen—who greedily swallows the +farrago of absurdity, which, according to the politics of his informant, +represents the nation in a plethora of prosperity, or the last stage of +inevitable ruin. I scarcely know which I detest the more: the insane +toryism of the one, is about as sickening as the rabid radicalism of the +other. The absurd misapprehensions foreigners entertain about us, are, in +nine cases out of ten, communicated by our own people; and in this way, I +have always remarked a far greater degree of ignorance about England and +the English, to prevail among those who have passed some weeks in the +country, than, among such, as had never visited our shores. With the +former the Thames Tunnel is our national boast; raw beef and boxing our +national predilections; the public sale of our wives a national practice. +</p> +<p> +“But what’s this? our paddles are backed. Anything wrong, steward?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, only another passenger coming aboard.” “How they pull, and +there’s a stiff sea tunning too. A queer figure that is in the stern +sheets; what a beard he has!” +</p> +<p> +I had just time for the observation, when a tall, athletic man, wrapped in +a wide blue cloak, sprang on the deck—his eyes were shaded by large +green spectacles and the broad brim of a very projecting hat; a black +beard, a rabbi might have envied, descended from his chin, and hung down +upon his bosom; he chucked a crown-piece to the boatman as he leaned over +the bulwark, and then turning to the steward, called out—“Eh, Jem! +all right?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, all right,” said the man, touching his hat respectfully! The +tall figure immediately disappeared down the companion-ladder, leaving me +in the most puzzling state of doubt as to what manner of man he could +possibly be. Had the problem been more easy of solution I should scarcely +have resolved it when he again emerged—but how changed! The broad +beaver had given place to a blue cloth foraging cap with a gold band +around it; the beard had disappeared totally, and left no successor save a +well-rounded chin; the spectacles also had vanished, and a pair of sharp, +intelligent, grey eyes, with a most uncommon degree of knowingness in +their expression, shone forth; and a thin and most accurately-curled +moustache graced his upper lip and gave a character of Vandykism to his +features, which were really handsome. In person he was some six feet two, +gracefully but strongly built; his costume, without anything approaching +conceit, was the perfection of fashionable attire—even to his gloves +there was nothing which D’Orsay could have criticised; while his walk was +the very type of that mode of progression which is only learned thoroughly +by a daily stroll down St. James Street, and the frequent practice of +passing to and from Crockford’s, at all hours of the day and night. +</p> +<p> +The expression of his features was something so striking, I cannot help +noting it: there was a jauntiness, an ease, no smirking, half-bred, +self-satisfied look, such as a London linendraper might wear on his trip +to Margate; but a consummate sense of his own personal attractions and +great natural advantages, had given a character to his features which +seemed to say—it’s quite clear there’s no coming up to <i>me</i>; +don’t try it—<i>nascitur non fit</i>. His very voice implied it. +The veriest commonplace fell from him with a look, a smile, a gesture, a +something or other that made it tell; and men repeated his sayings without +knowing, that his was a liquor, that was lost in decanting. The way he +scanned the passengers, and it was done in a second, was the practised +observance of one, who reads character at a glance. Over the Cockneys, and +they were numerous, his eyes merely passed without bestowing any portion +of attention; while to the lady part of the company his look was one of +triumphant satisfaction, such as Louis XIV. might have bestowed when he +gazed at the thousands in the garden of Versailles, and exclaimed, “<i>Oui! +ces sont mes sujets</i>.” Such was the Honourable Jack Smallbranes, +younger son of a peer, ex-captain in the Life Guards, winner of the Derby, +but now the cleared-out man of fashion flying to the Continent to escape +from the Fleet, and cautiously coming aboard in disguise below Gravesend, +to escape the bore of a bailiff, and what he called the horror of bills +“detested.” +</p> +<p> +We read a great deal about Cincinnatus cultivating his cabbages, and we +hear of Washington’s retirement when the active period of his career had +passed over, and a hundred similar instances are quoted for our +admiration, of men, who could throw themselves at once from all the +whirlwind excitement of great events, and seek, in the humblest and least +obtrusive position, an occupation and an enjoyment. But I doubt very much +if your ex-man of fashion, your <i>ci-devant</i> winner of the Derby—the +adored of Almack’s—the <i>enfant chéri</i> of Crockford’s and the +Clarendon, whose equipage was a model, whose plate was perfection, for +whom life seemed too short for all the fascinations wealth spread around +him, and each day brought the one embarrassment how to enjoy enough. I +repeat it, I doubt much if he, when the hour of his abdication arrives—and +that it will arrive sooner or later not even himself entertains a doubt—when +Holditch protests, and Bevan proceeds; when steeds are sold at +Tattersall’s, and pictures at Christie’s; when the hounds pass over to the +next new victim, and the favourite for the St. Léger, backed with mighty +odds, is now entered under another name; when in lieu of the bright eyes +and honied words that make life a fairy tale, his genii are +black-whiskered bailiffs and auctioneers’ appraisers—if he, when the +tide of fortune sets in so strong against him, can not only sustain +himself for a while against it, and when too powerful at last, can lie +upon the current and float as gaily down, as ever he did joyously, up, the +stream—then, say I, all your ancient and modern instances are far +below him: all your warriors and statesmen are but poor pretenders +compared to him, they have retired like rich shopkeepers, to live on the +interest of their fortune, which is fame; while he, deprived of all the +accessories which gave him rank, place, and power, must seek within his +own resources for all the future springs of his pleasure, and be satisfied +to stand spectator of the game, where he was once the principal player. A +most admirable specimen of this philosophy was presented by our new +passenger, who, as he lounged against the binnacle, and took a deliberate +survey of his fellow-travellers, seemed the very ideal of unbroken ease +and undisturbed enjoyment: he knew he was ruined; he knew he had neither +house in town, or country; neither a steed, nor a yacht, nor a preserve; +he was fully aware, that Storr and Mortimer, who would have given him a +mountain of silver but yesterday, would not trust him with a mustard-pot +today; that even the “legs” would laugh at him if he offered the odds on +the Derby; and yet if you were bound on oath to select the happiest fellow +on board, by the testimony of your eyes, the choice would not have taken +you five minutes. His attitude was ease itself: his legs slightly crossed, +perhaps the better to exhibit a very well-rounded instep, which shone +forth in all the splendour of French varnish: his travelling cap jauntily +thrown on one side, so as to display to better advantage his perfumed +locks, that floated in a graceful manner somewhat lengthily on his neck; +the shawl around his neck had so much of negligence, as to show that the +splendid enamel pin that fastened it, was a thing of little moment to the +wearer: all were in keeping with the <i>nonchalant</i> ease, and +self-satisfaction of his look, as with half-drooping lids he surveyed the +deck, caressing with his jewelled fingers the silky line of his moustache, +and evidently enjoying in his inmost soul the triumphant scene of conquest +his very appearance excited. Indeed, a less practised observer than +himself could not fail to remark the unequivocal evidences the lady +portion of the community bore to his success: the old ones looked boldly +at him with that fearless intrepidity that characterizes conscious +security—their property was insured, and they cared not how near the +fire came to them; the very young participated in the sentiment from an +opposite reason—theirs was the unconsciousness of danger; but there +was a middle term, what Balzac calls, “<i>la femme de trente ans</i>,” and +she either looked over the bulwarks, or at the funnel, or on her book, any +where in short but at our friend, who appeared to watch this studied +denial on her part, with the same kind of enjoyment the captain of a +frigate would contemplate the destruction his broadsides were making on +his enemy’s rigging—and perhaps the latter never deemed his conquest +more assured by the hauling down of he enemy’s colours, than did the +“Honourable Jack,” when a letdown veil convinced him that the lady could +bear no more. +</p> +<p> +I should like to have watched the proceedings on deck, where, although no +acquaintance had yet been formed, the indications of such were clearly +visible: the Alderman’s daughters evincing a decided preference for +walking on that side where Jack was standing, he studiously performing +some small act of courtesy from time to time as they passed, removing a +seat, kicking any small fragment of rope, &c.; but the motion of the +packet began to advertize me that note-taking was at an end, and the best +thing I could do would be to compose myself. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the number, sir?” said the steward, as I staggered down the +companion. +</p> +<p> +“I have got no berth,” said I mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“A dark horse, not placed,” said the Honourable Jack, smiling pleasantly +as he looked after me, while I threw myself on a sofa, and cursed the sea. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. THE BOAR’S HEAD AT ROTTERDAM. +</h2> +<p> +If the noise and bustle which attend a wedding, like trumpets in a battle, +are intended as provisions against reflection, so firmly do I feel, the +tortures of sea-sickness, are meant as antagonists to all the terrors of +drowning, and all the horrors of shipwreck. +</p> +<p> +Let him who has felt the agonies of that internal earthquake which the +“pitch and toss” motion of a ship communicates—who knows what it is, +to have his diaphragm vibrating between his ribs and the back of his +throat, confess, how little to him was all the confusion which he listened +to, over head! how poor the interest he took in the welfare of the craft +wherein he was “only a lodger,” and how narrowed were all his sympathies +within the small circle of bottled porter, and brandy and water, the +steward’s infallibles in suffering. +</p> +<p> +I lay in my narrow crib, moody pondering over these things, now wondering +within myself, what charms of travel could recompense such agonies as +these; now muttering a curse, “not loud, but deep,” on the heavy +gentleman, whose ponderous tread on the quarter-deck seemed to promenade +up and down the surface of my own pericranium: the greasy steward, the +jolly captain, the brown-faced, black-whiskered king’s messenger, who +snored away on the sofa, all came in for a share of my maledictions, and +took out my cares, in curses upon the whole party. Meanwhile I could +distinguish, amid the other sounds, the elastic tread of certain light +feet that pattered upon the quarter-deck; and I could not mistake the +assured footstep which accompanied them, nor did I need the happy roar of +laughter that mixed with the noise, to satisfy myself that the “Honourable +Jack” was then cultivating the Alderman’s daughters, discoursing most +eloquently upon the fascinations of those exclusive circles wherein he was +wont to move, and explaining, on the clearest principles, what a frightful +chasm his absence must create in the London world—how deplorably +flat would the season go off, where he was no actor—and wondering, +who, among the aspirants of high ambition, would venture to assume his +line of character, and supply his place, either on the turf, or at the +table. +</p> +<p> +But at length the stage of semi-stupor came over me; the noises became +commixed in my head, and I lost all consciousness so completely, that, +whether from brandy or sickness, I fancied I saw the steward flirting with +the ladies, and the “Honourable Jack” skipping about with a white apron, +uncorking porter bottles, and changing sixpences. +</p> +<p> +***** ***** +</p> +<p> +The same effect which the announcement of dinner produces on the stiff +party in the drawing-room, is caused by the information of being alongside +the quay, to the passengers of a packet. It is true the procession is not +so formal in the latter as in the former case: the turbaned dowagers that +take the lead in one, would, more than probably, be last in the other: but +what is lost in decorum, is more than made up in hilarity. What hunting +for carpet-bags! what opening and shutting of lockers! what researches +into portmanteaus, to extricate certain seizable commodities, and stow +them away upon the person of the owner, till at last he becomes an +impersonation of smuggling, with lace in his boots, silk stockings in his +hat, brandy under his waistcoat, and jewelry in the folds of his cravat. +There is not an item in the tariff that might not be demonstrated in his +anatomy: from his shoes to his night-cap, he is a living sarcasm upon the +revenue. And, after all, what is the searching scrutiny of your Quarterly +Reviewer, to the all-penetrating eye of an excise officer? He seems to +look into the whole contents, of your wardrobe before you have unlocked +the trunk “warranted solid leather,” and with a glance appears to +distinguish the true man from the knave, knowing, as if by intuition, the +precise number of cambric handkerchiefs that befits your condition in +life, and whether you have transgressed the bounds of your station, by a +single bottle. +</p> +<p> +What admirable training for a novelist would a year or two spent in such +duties afford; what singular views of life; what strange people must he +see; how much of narrative would even the narrow limits of a hat-box +present to him; and how naturally would a story spring from the +rosy-cheeked old gentleman, paying his duty upon a “<i>pâté de fois-gras</i>” +to his pretty daughter, endeavouring, by a smile, to diminish the tariff +on her French bonnet, and actually captivate a custom-house officer by the +charms of her “<i>robe a la Victorine</i>.” +</p> +<p> +The French “<i>douaniers</i>,” are droll fellows, and are the only ones I +have ever met who descend from the important gravity of their profession, +and venture upon a joke. I shall never forget entering Valenciennes late +one night, with a large “Diligence” party, among which was a corpulent +countryman of my own, making his first continental tour. It was in those +days when a passport presented a written portrait of the bearer; when the +shape of your nose, the colour of your hair, the cut of your beard, and +the angle of incidence of your eyebrow, were all noted down and commented +on, and a general summing up of the expression of your features, +collectively, appended to the whole; and you went forth to the-world with +an air “mild,” or “military;” “feeble,” “fascinating,” or “ferocious,” +exactly as the foreign office deemed it. It was in those days, I say, +when, on entering the fortress of Valenciennes, the door of the +“Diligence” was rudely thrown open, and, by the dim nicker of a lamp, we +beheld a moustached, stern-looking fellow, who rudely demanded our +passports. My fat companion, suddenly awakened from his sleep, searched +his various pockets with all the trepidation of a new traveller, and at +length, produced his credentials, which he handed, with a polite bow, to +the official. Whatever the nature of the description I cannot say, but it +certainly produced the most striking effect on the passport officers, who +laughed loud and long as they read it over. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Descendez, Monsieur</i>” said the chief of the party, in a tone of +stern command. +</p> +<p> +“What does he say?” said the traveller, in a very decided western accent. +</p> +<p> +“You must get out, sir” said he. +</p> +<p> +“Tare-an-ages,” said Mr. Moriarty, “what’s wrong?” +</p> +<p> +After considerable squeezing, for he weighed about twenty stone, he +disengaged himself from the body of the “Diligence,” and stood erect upon +the ground. A second lantern was now produced, and while one of the +officers stood on either side of him, with a light beside his face, a +third read out the clauses of the passport, and compared the description +with the original. Happily, Mr. Moriarty’s ignorance of French saved him +from the penalty of listening to the comments which were passed upon his “<i>nez +retroussé</i>” “<i>bouche ouverte</i>” &c.; but what was his surprise +when, producing some yards of tape, they proceeded to measure him round +the body, comparing the number of inches his circumference made, with the +passport. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10032.jpg" width="100%" alt="032 " /> +</div> +<p> +“<i>Quatre-vingt-dix pouces</i>,” said the measurer, looking at the +document, “<i>Il en a plus</i>,” added he, rudely. +</p> +<p> +“What is he saying, sir, if I might be so bowld?” said Mr. Moriarty to me, +imploringly. +</p> +<p> +“You measure more than is set down in your passport,” said I, endeavouring +to suppress my laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, murther! that dish of boiled beef and beet-root will be the ruin of +me. Tell them, sir, I was like a greyhound before supper.” +</p> +<p> +As he said this, he held in his breath, and endeavoured, with all his +might, to diminish his size; while the Frenchmen, as if anxious to strain +a point in his favour, tightened the cord round him, till he almost became +black in the face. +</p> +<p> +“<i>C’est ça</i>” said one of the officers, smiling blandly as he took off +his hat; “<i>Monsieur peut continuer sa route</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“All right,” said I, “you may come in, Mr. Moriarty.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Tis civil people I always heard they wor,” said he; “but it’s a sthrange +country where it’s against the laws to grow fatter.” +</p> +<p> +I like Holland;—it is the antipodes of France. No one is ever in a +hurry here. Life moves on in a slow majestic stream, a little muddy and +stagnant, perhaps, like one of their own canals, but you see no waves, no +breakers—not an eddy, nor even a froth-bubble breaks the surface. +Even a Dutch child, as he steals along to school, smoking his short pipe, +has a mock air of thought about him. The great fat horses, that wag along, +trailing behind them some petty, insignificant truck, loaded with a little +cask, not bigger than a life-guardsman’s helmet, look as though Erasmus +was performing duty as a quadruped, and walking about his own native city +in harness. It must be a glorious country to be born in. No one is ever in +a passion; and as to honesty, who has energy enough to turn robber? The +eloquence, which in other lands might wind a man from his allegiance, +would be tried in vain here. Ten minutes’ talking would set any audience +asleep, from Zetland to Antwerp. Smoking, beer-drinking, stupifying, and +domino-playing, go on, in summer, before, in winter, within, the <i>cafés</i>, +and every broad flat face that you look upon, with its watery eyes and +muddy complexion, seems like a coloured chart of the country that gave it +birth. +</p> +<p> +How all the industry, that has enriched them, is ever performed—how +all the cleanliness, for which their houses are conspicuous, is ever +effected, no one can tell. Who ever saw a Dutchman labour? Every thing in +Holland seems typified by one of their own drawbridges, which rises as a +boat approaches, by invisible agency, and then remains patiently aloft, +till a sufficiency of passengers arrives to restore it to its place, and +Dutch gravity seems the grand centre of all prosperity. +</p> +<p> +When, therefore, my fellow-passengers stormed and swore because they were +not permitted to land their luggage; when they heard that until nine +o’clock the following morning, no one would be astir to examine it; and +that the Rhine steamer sailed at eight, and would not sail again for three +days more, and cursed the louder thereat; I chuckled to myself that I was +going no where, that I cared not how long I waited, nor where, and began +to believe that something of very exalted philosophy must have been +infused into my nature without my ever being aware of it. +</p> +<p> +For twenty minutes and more, Sir Peter abused the Dutch; he called them +hard names in English, and some very strong epithets in bad French. +Meanwhile, his courier busied himself in preparations for departure, and +the “Honourable Jack” undertook to shawl the young ladies, a performance +which, whether from the darkness of the night, or the intricacy of the +muffling, took a most unmerciful time to accomplish. +</p> +<p> +“We shall never find the hotel at this hour,” said Sir Peter, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“The house will certainly be closed,” chimed in the young ladies. +</p> +<p> +“Take your five to two on the double event,” replied Jack, slapping the +Alderman on the shoulder, and preparing to book the wager. +</p> +<p> +I did not wait to see it accepted, but stepped over the side, and trudged +along the “Boomjes,” that long quay, with its tall elm trees, under whose +shade many a burgomaster has strolled at eve, musing over the profits +which his last venture from Batavia was to realize; and then, having +crossed the narrow bridge at the end, I traversed the Erasmus Plata, and +rang boldly, as an old acquaintance has a right to do, at the closed door +of the “Schwein Kopf.” My summons was not long unanswered, and following +the many-petticoated handmaiden along the well-sanded passage, I asked, +“Is the Holbein chamber unoccupied?” while I drew forth a florin from my +purse. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Mynheer knows it then,” said she, smiling. “It is at your service. We +have had no travellers for some days past, and you are aware, that, except +greatly crowded, we never open it.” +</p> +<p> +This I knew well, and having assured her that I was an <i>habitué</i> of +the Schwein Kopf, in times long past, I persuaded her to fetch some dry +wood and make me a cheerful fire, which, with a “krug of schiedam” and +some “canastre,” made me as happy as a king. +</p> +<p> +The “Holbeiner Kammer” owes its name, and any repute that it enjoys, to a +strange, quaint portrait, of that master seated at a fire, with a fair +headed, handsome child, sitting cross-legged on the hearth before him. A +certain half resemblance seems to run through both faces, although the age +and colouring are so different. But the same contemplative expression, the +deep-set eye, the massive forehead and pointed chin, are to be seen in the +child, as in the man. +</p> +<p> +This was Holbein and his nephew, Franz von Holbein, who in after years +served with distinction in the army of Louis Quatorze. The background of +the picture represents a room exactly like the chamber—a few +highly-carved oak chairs, the Utrecht velvet-backs glowing with their +scarlet brilliancy, an old-fashioned Flemish bed, with groups of angels, +neptunes, bacchanals, and dolphins, all mixed up confusedly in quaint +carving; and a massive frame to a very small looking-glass, which hung in +a leaning attitude over the fire-place, and made me think, as I gazed at +it, that the plane of the room was on an angle of sixty-five, and that the +least shove would send me clean into the stove. +</p> +<p> +“Mynheer wants nothing?” said the <i>Vrow</i> with a courtsy. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing,” said I, with my most polite bow. +</p> +<p> +“Good night, then,” said she; “<i>schlaf wohl</i>, and don’t mind the +ghost.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, I know him of old,” replied I, striking the table three times with my +cane. The woman, whose voice the moment before was in a tone of jest, +suddenly grew pale, and, as she crossed herself devoutly, muttered—“<i>Nein! +Nein!</i> don’t do that;” and shutting the door, hurried down stairs with +all the speed she could muster. +</p> +<p> +I was in no hurry to bed, however. The “krug” was racy, the “canastre” +excellent: so, placing the light where it should fall with good effect on +the Holbein, I stretched out my legs to the blaze; and, as I looked upon +the canvas, began to muse over the story with which it was associated, and +which I may as well jot down here, for memory’s sake. +</p> +<p> +Frank Holbein, having more ambition and less industry than the rest of his +family, resolved to seek his fortune; and early in the September of the +year 1681, he found himself wandering in the streets of Paris, without a +<i>liard</i> in his pocket, or any prospects of earning one. He was a +fine-looking, handsome youth, of some eighteen or twenty years, with a +sharp, piercing look, and that Spanish cast of face for which so many +Dutch families are remarkable. He sat down, weary and hungry, on one of +the benches of the Pont de la Cité, and looked about him wistfully, to see +what piece of fortune might come to his succour. A loud shout, and the +noise of people flying in every direction, attracted him. He jumped up, +and saw persons running hither and thither to escape from a calèche, which +a pair of runaway horses were tearing along at a frightful rate. Frank +blessed himself, threw off his cloak, pressed his cap firmly upon his +brow, and dashed forward. The affrighted animals slackened their speed as +he stood before them, and endeavoured to pass by; but he sprang to their +heads, and with one vigorous plunge, grasped the bridle; but though he +held on manfully, they continued their way; and, notwithstanding his every +effort, their mad speed scarcely felt his weight, as he was dragged along +beside them. With one tremendous effort, however, he wrested the near +horse’s head from the pole, and, thus compelling him to cross his +fore-legs, the animal tripped, and came headlong to the ground with a +smash, that sent poor Frank spinning some twenty yards before them. Frank +soon got up again; and though his forehead was bleeding, and his hand +severely cut, his greatest grief was, his torn doublet, which, threadbare +before, now hung around him in ribbons. +</p> +<p> +“It was you who stopped them?—are you hurt?” said a tall, handsome +man, plainly but well dressed, and in whose face the trace of agitation +was clearly marked. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Frank, bowing respectfully. “I did it; and see how my +poor doublet has suffered!” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing worse than that?” said the other, smiling blandly. “Well, well, +that is not of so much moment. Take this,” said he, handing him his purse; +“buy yourself a new doublet, and wait on me to-morrow by eleven.” +</p> +<p> +With these words the stranger disappeared in a calèche, which seemed to +arrive at the moment, leaving Frank in a state of wonderment at the whole +adventure. +</p> +<p> +“How droll he should never have told me where he lives!” said he, aloud, +as the bystanders crowded about him, and showered questions upon him. +</p> +<p> +“It is Monsieur le Ministre, man—M. de Louvois himself, whose life +you’ve saved. Your fortune is made for ever.” +</p> +<p> +The speech was a true one. Before three months from that eventful day, M. +de Louvois, who had observed and noted down certain traits of acuteness in +Frank’s character, sent for him to his <i>bureau</i>. +</p> +<p> +“Holbein,” said he, “I have seldom been deceived in my opinion of men—you +can be secret, I think.” +</p> +<p> +Frank placed his hand upon his breast, and bowed in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Take the dress you will find on that chair: a carriage is now ready, +waiting in the court-yard—get into it, and set out for Bâle. On your +arrival there, which will be—mark me well—about eight o’clock +on the morning of Thursday, you’ll leave the carriage, and send it into +the town, while you must station yourself on the bridge over the Rhine, +and take an exact note of everything that occurs, and every one that +passes, till the cathedral clock strikes three. Then, the calèche will be +in readiness for your return; and lose not a moment in repairing to +Paris.” +</p> +<p> +It was an hour beyond midnight, in the early part of the following week, +that a calèche, travel-stained and dirty, drove into the court of the +minister’s hotel, and five minutes after, Frank, wearied and exhausted, +was ushered into M. de Louvois’ presence. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Monsieur,” said he impatiently, “what have you seen?” +</p> +<p> +“This, may it please your Excellency,” said Frank, trembling, “is a note +of it; but I am ashamed that so trivial an account——” +</p> +<p> +“Let us see—let us see,” said the minister. +</p> +<p> +“In good truth, I dare scarcely venture to read such a puerile detail.” +</p> +<p> +“Read it at once, Monsieur,” was the stern command. +</p> +<p> +Frank’s face became deep-red with shame, as he began thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Nine o’clock.—I see an ass coming along, with a child leading him. +The ass is blind of one eye.—A fat German sits on the balcony, and +is spitting into the Rhine——” +</p> +<p> +“Ten.—A livery servant from Bâle rides by, with a basket. An old +peasant in a yellow doublet——” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, what of him? +</p> +<p> +“Nothing remarkable, save that he leans over the rails, and strikes three +blows with his stick upon them. +</p> +<p> +“Enough, enough,” said M. de Louvois, gaily. “I must awake the king at +once.” +</p> +<p> +The minister disappeared, leaving Frank in a state of bewilderment. In +less than a quarter of an hour he entered the chamber, his face covered +with smiles. +</p> +<p> +“Monsieur,” said he, “you have rendered his majesty good service. Here is +your brevet of colonel.—The king has this instant signed it.” +</p> +<p> +In eight days after, was the news known in Paris, that Strasburg, then +invested by the French army, had capitulated, and been reunited to the +kingdom. The three strokes of the cane being the signal, which announced +the success of the secret negotiation between the ministers of Louis XIV., +and the magistrates of Strasburg. +</p> +<p> +This, was the Franz Holbein of the picture, and if the three <i>coups de +bâton</i> are not attributable to his ghost, I can only say, I am totally +at a loss to say where they should be charged; for my own part, I ought to +add, I never heard them, conduct which I take it was the more ungracious +on the ghost’s part, as I finished the schiedam, and passed my night on +the hearth rug, leaving the feather-bed with its down coverlet quite at +master Frank’s disposal. +</p> +<p> +Although the “Schwein Kopf” stands in one of the most prominent squares of +Rotterdam, and nearly opposite the statue of Erasmus, it is comparatively +little known to English travellers. The fashionable hotels which are near +the quay of landing, anticipate the claims of this more primitive house; +and yet, to any one desirous of observing the ordinary routine of a Dutch +family, it is well worth a visit. The buxsom Vrows who trudge about with +short but voluminous petticoats, their heads ornamented by those gold or +silver circlets, which no Dutch peasant seems ever to want, are exactly +the very types of what you see in an Ostade or a Teniers. The very host +himself, old Hoogendorp, is a study; scarcely five feet in height, he +might measure nearly nine, in circumference, and in case of emergency +could be used as a sluicegate, should any thing happen to the dykes. He +was never to be seen before one o’clock in the day, but exactly as the +clock tolled that hour, the massive soup-tureen, announcing the +commencement of the <i>table d’hôte</i>, was borne in state before him, +while with “solemn step and slow,” ladle in hand, and napkin round his +neck, he followed after. His conduct at table was a fine specimen of Dutch +independence of character—he never thought of bestowing those petty +attentions which might cultivate the good-will of his guests; he spoke +little, he smiled never; a short nod of recognition bestowed upon a +townsman, was about the extent of royal favour he was ever known to +confer; or occasionally, when any remark made near him seemed to excite +his approbation, a significant grunt of approval ratified the wisdom of +the speech, and made a Solon of the speaker. His spoon descended into the +soup, and emerged therefrom with the ponderous regularity of a crane into +the hold of a ship. Every function of the table was performed with an +unbroken monotony, and never, in the course of his forty years’ +sovereignty, was he known to distribute an undue quantity of fat, or an +unseemly proportion of beet-root sauce, to any one guest in preference to +another. +</p> +<p> +The <i>table d’hôte</i>, which began at one, concluded a little before +three, during which time our host, when not helping others, was busily +occupied in helping himself, and it was truly amazing to witness the +steady perseverance with which he waded through every dish, making himself +master in all its details of every portion of the dinner, from the greasy +soup, to that <i>acmé</i> of Dutch epicurism—Utrecht cheese. About a +quarter before three, the long dinner drew to its conclusion. Many of the +guests, indeed, had disappeared long before that time, and were deep in +all their wonted occupations of timber, tobacco, and train-oil. A few, +however, lingered on to the last. A burly major of infantry, who, +unbuttoning his undress frock, towards the close of the feast, would sit +smoking, and sipping his coffee, as if unwilling to desert the field; a +grave, long-haired professor; and, perhaps, an officer of the excise, +waiting for the re-opening of the custom-house, would be the extent of the +company. But even these dropped off at last, and, with a deep bow to mine +host, passed away to their homes, or their haunts. Meanwhile, the waiters +hurried hither and thither, the cloth was removed, in its place a fresh +one was spread, and all the preliminaries for a new dinner were set about +with the same activity as before. The napkins inclosed in their little +horn cases, the decanters of beer, the small dishes of preserved fruit, +without which no Dutchman dines, were all set forth, and the host, without +stirring from his seat, sat watching the preparations with calm +complacency. Were you to note him narrowly, you could perceive that his +eyes alternately opened and shut, as if relieving guard, save which, he +gave no other sign of life, nor even at last, when the mighty stroke of +three rang out from the cathedral, and the hurrying sound of many feet +proclaimed the arrival of the guests of the second table, did he ever +exhibit the slightest show or mark of attention, but sat calm, and still, +and motionless. +</p> +<p> +For the next two hours, it was merely a repetition of the performance +which preceded it, in which the host’s part was played with untiring +energy, and all the items of soup, fish, <i>bouilli</i>, fowl, pork, and +vegetables, had not to complain of any inattention to their merits, or any +undue preference for their predecessors, of an hour before. If the +traveller was astonished at his appetite during the first table, what +would he say to his feats at the second? As for myself, I honestly confess +I thought that some harlequin trick was concerned, and that mine host of +the “Schwein Kopf” was not a real man, but some mechanical contrivance by +which, with a trapdoor below him, a certain portion of the dinner was +conveyed to the apartments beneath. I lived, however, to discover my +error; and after four visits to Rotterdam, was at length so far +distinguished as actually to receive an invitation to pass an evening with +“Mynheer” in his own private den, which, I need scarcely say, I gladly +accepted. +</p> +<p> +I have a note of that evening some where—ay, here it is—“Mynheer +is waiting supper,” said a waiter to me, as I sat smoking my cigar, one +calm evening in autumn, in the porch of the “Schwein Kopf.” I followed the +man through a long passage, which, leading to the kitchen, emerged on the +opposite side, and conducted us through a little garden to a small +summer-house. The building, which was of wood, was painted in gaudy +stripes of red, blue, and yellow, and made in some sort to resemble those +Chinese pagodas, we see upon a saucer. Its situation was conceived in the +most perfect Dutch taste—one side, flanked by the little garden of +which I have spoken, displayed a rich bed of tulips and ranunculuses, in +all the gorgeous luxuriance of perfect culture—it was a mass of +blended beauty, and perfume, superior to any thing I have ever witnessed. +On the other flank, lay the sluggish, green-coated surface, of a Dutch +canal, from which rose the noxious vapours of a hot evening, and the harsh +croakings of ten thousand frogs, “fat, gorbellied knaves,” the very +burgomasters of their race, who squatted along the banks, and who, except +for the want of pipes, might have been mistaken for small Dutchmen +enjoying an evening’s promenade. This building was denominated “Lust und +Rust,” which, in letters of gold, was displayed on something resembling a +sign-board, above the door, and intimated to the traveller, that the +temple was dedicated to pleasure, and contentment. To a Dutchman, however, +the sight of the portly figure, who sat smoking at the open window, was a +far more intelligible illustration of the objects of the building, than +any lettered inscription. Mynheer Hoogendorp, with his long Dutch pipe, +and tall flagon, with its shining brass lid, looked the concentrated +essence of a Hollander, and might have been hung out, as a sign of the +country, from the steeple of Haarlem. +</p> +<p> +The interior was in perfect keeping with the designation of the building: +every appliance that could suggest ease, if not sleep, was there; the +chairs were deep, plethoric-looking, Dutch chairs, that seemed as if they +had led a sedentary life, and throve upon it; the table was a short, +thick-legged one, of dark oak, whose polished surface reflected the tall +brass cups, and the ample features of Mynheer, and seemed to hob-nob with +him when he lifted the capacious vessel to his lips; the walls were +decorated with quaint pipes, whose large porcelain bowls bespoke them of +home origin; and here and there a sea-fight, with a Dutch three-decker +hurling destruction on the enemy. But the genius of the place was its +owner, who, in a low fur cap and slippers, whose shape and size might have +drawn tears of envy from the Ballast Board, sat gazing upon the canal in a +state of Dutch rapture, very like apoplexy. He motioned me to a chair +without speaking—he directed me to a pipe, by a long whiff of smoke +from his own—he grunted out a welcome, and then, as if overcome by +such unaccustomed exertion, he lay back in his chair, and sighed deeply. +</p> +<p> +We smoked till the sun went down, and a thicker haze, rising from the +stagnant ditch, joined with the tobacco vapour, made an atmosphere, like +mud reduced to gas. Through the mist, I saw a vision of soup tureens, hot +meat, and smoking vegetables. I beheld as though Mynheer moved among the +condiments, and I have a faint dreamy recollection of his performing some +feat before me; but whether it was carving, or the sword exercise, I won’t +be positive. +</p> +<p> +Now, though the schiedam was strong, a spell was upon me, and I could not +speak; the great green eyes that glared on me through the haze, seemed to +chill my very soul; and I drank, out of desperation, the deeper. +</p> +<p> +As the evening wore on, I waxed bolder: I had looked upon the Dutchman so +long, that my awe of him began to subside, and I at last grew bold enough +to address him. +</p> +<p> +I remember well, it was pretty much with that kind of energy, that +semi-desperation, with which a man nerves himself to accost a spectre, +that I ventured on addressing him: how or in what terms I did it, heaven +knows! Some trite every-day observation about his great knowledge of life—his +wonderful experience of the world, was all I could muster; and when I had +made it, the sound of my own voice terrified me so much, that I finished +the can at a draught, to reanimate my courage. +</p> +<p> +“Ja! Ja!” said Van Hoogendorp, in a cadence as solemn as the bell of the +cathedral; “I have seen many strange things; I remember what few men +living can remember: I mind well the time when the ‘Hollandische Vrow’ +made her first voyage from Batavia, and brought back a paroquet for the +burgomaster’s wife; the great trees upon the Boomjes were but saplings +when I was a boy; they were not thicker than my waist;” here he looked +down upon himself with as much complacency as though he were a sylph. “Ach +Gott! they were brave times, schiedam cost only half a guilder the krug.” +</p> +<p> +I waited in hopes he would continue, but the glorious retrospect he had +evoked, seemed to occupy all his thoughts, and he smoked away without +ceasing. +</p> +<p> +“You remember the Austrians, then?” said I, by way of drawing him on. +</p> +<p> +“They were dogs!” said he, spitting out. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” said I, “the French were better then?” +</p> +<p> +“Wolves!” ejaculated he, after glowing on me fearfully. +</p> +<p> +There was a long pause after this; I perceived that I had taken a wrong +path to lead him into conversation, and he was too deeply overcome with +indignation to speak. During this time, however, his anger took a thirsty +form, and he swigged away at the schiedam most manfully. +</p> +<p> +The effect of his libations became at last evident, his great green +stagnant eyes flashed and flared, his wide nostrils swelled and +contracted, and his breathing became short and thick, like the convulsive +sobs of a steam-engine when they open and shut the valves alternately; I +watched these indications for some time, wondering what they might +portend, when at length he withdrew his pipe from his mouth, and with such +a tone of voice as he might have used, if confessing a bloody and +atrocious murder, he said— +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you a story.” +</p> +<p> +Had the great stone figure of Erasmus beckoned to me across the +marketplace, and asked me the news “on change,” I could not have been more +amazed; and not venturing on the slightest interruption, I refilled my +pipe, and nodded sententiously across the table, while he thus began. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. VAN HOOGENDORP’S TALE. +</h2> +<p> +It was in the winter of the year 1806, the first week of December, the +frost was setting in, and I resolved to pay a visit to my brother, whom I +hadn’t seen for forty years; he was burgomaster of Antwerp. It is a long +voyage and a perilous one, but with the protection of Providence, our +provisions held out, and on the fourth night after we sailed, a violent +shock shook the vessel from stem to stern, and we found ourselves against +the quay of Antwerp. +</p> +<p> +When I reached my brother’s house I found him in bed, sick; the doctors +said it was a dropsy, I don’t know how that might be, for he drank more +gin than any man in Holland, and hated water all his life. We were twins, +but no one would have thought so, I looked so thin and meagre beside him. +</p> +<p> +Well, since I was there, I resolved to see the sights of the town; and the +next morning, after breakfast, I set out by myself, and wandered about +till evening. Now there were many things to be seen—very strange +things too; the noise, and the din, and the bustle, addled and confused +me; the people were running here and there, shouting as if they were mad, +and there were great flags hanging out of the windows, and drums beating, +and, stranger than all, I saw little soldiers with red breeches and red +shoulder-knots, running about like monkeys. +</p> +<p> +“What is all this?” said I to a man near me. +</p> +<p> +“Methinks,” said he, “the burgomaster himself might well know what it +is.” +</p> +<p> +“I am not the burgomaster,” quoth I, “I am his brother, and only came from +Rotterdam yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! then,” said another, with a strange grin, “you didn’t know these +preparations were meant to welcome your arrival.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said I; “but they are very fine, and if there were not so much +noise, I would like them well.” +</p> +<p> +And so, I sauntered on till I came to the great Platz, opposite the +cathedral—that was a fine place—and there was a large man +carved in cheese over one door, very wonderful to see; and there was a big +fish, all gilt, where they sold herrings; but, in the town-hall there +seemed something more than usual going on, for great crowds were there, +and dragoons were galloping in and galloping out, and all was confusion. +</p> +<p> +“What’s this?” said I. “Are the dykes open?” +</p> +<p> +But not one would mind me; and then suddenly I heard some one call out my +name. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Van Hoogendorp?” said one; and then another cried, “Where is Van +Hoogendorp?” +</p> +<p> +“Here am I,” said I; and the same moment two officers, covered with gold +lace, came through the crowd, and took me by the arms. +</p> +<p> +“Come along with us, Monsieur de Hoogendorp,” said they, in French; “there +is not a moment to lose; we have been looking for you every where.” +</p> +<p> +Now, though I understand that tongue, I cannot speak it myself, so I only +said “Ja, Ja,” and followed them. +</p> +<p> +They led me up an oak stair, and through three or four large rooms, +crowded with officers in fine uniforms, who all bowed as I passed, and +some one went before us, calling out in a loud voice, “Monsieur de +Hoogendorp!” +</p> +<p> +“This is too much honour,” said I, “far too much;” but as I spoke in +Dutch, no one minded me. Suddenly, however, the wide folding-doors were +flung open, and we were ushered into a large hall, where, although above a +hundred people were assembled, you might have heard a pin drop; the few +who spoke at all, did so, only in whispers. +</p> +<p> +“Monsieur de Hoogendorp!” shouted the man again. +</p> +<p> +“For shame,” said I; “don’t disturb the company;” and I thought some of +them laughed, but he only bawled the louder, “Monsieur de Hoogendorp!” +</p> +<p> +“Let him approach,” said a quick, sharp voice, from the fireplace. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” thought I, “they are going to read me an address. I trust it may be +in Dutch.” +</p> +<p> +They led me along in silence to the fire, before which, with his back +turned towards it, stood a short man, with a sallow, stern countenance, +and a great, broad forehead, his hair combed straight over it. He wore a +green coat with white facings, and over that a grey surtout with fur. I am +particular about all this, because this little man was a person of +consequence. +</p> +<p> +“You are late, Monsieur de Hoogendorp,” said he, in French; “it is +half-past four;” and so saying, he pulled out his watch, and held it up +before me. +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” said I, taking out my own, “we are just the same time.” +</p> +<p> +At this he stamped upon the ground, and said something I thought was a +curse. +</p> +<p> +“Where are the <i>Echevins</i>, monsieur?” said he. +</p> +<p> +“God knows,” said I; “most probably at dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Ventrebleu!</i>——” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t swear,” said I. “If I had you in Rotterdam, I’d fine you two +guilders.” +</p> +<p> +“What does he say?” while his eyes flashed fire. “Tell <i>La grande morue</i>, +to speak French.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him I am not a cod fish,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Who speaks Dutch here?” said he. “General de Ritter, ask him where are +the <i>Echevins</i>, or, is the man a fool?” +</p> +<p> +“I have heard,” said the General, bowing obsequiously—“I have heard, +your Majesty, that he is little better.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Tonnerre de Dieu!</i>” said he; “and this is their chief magistrate! +Maret, you must look to this to-morrow; and as it grows late now, let us +see the citadel at once; he can show us the way thither, I suppose”; and +with this he moved forward, followed by the rest, among whom I found +myself hurried along, no one any longer paying me the slightest respect, +or attention. +</p> +<p> +“To the citadel,” said one. +</p> +<p> +“To the citadel,” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Hoogendorp, lead the way,” cried several together; and so they +pushed me to the front, and, notwithstanding all I said, that I did not +know the citadel, from the Dome Church, they would listen to nothing, but +only called the louder, “Step out, old ‘<i>Grande culotte</i>,’” and +hurried me down the street, at the pace of a boar-hunt. +</p> +<p> +“Lead on,” cried one. “To the front,” said another. “Step out,” roared +three or four together; and I found myself at the head of the procession, +without the power to explain or confess my ignorance. +</p> +<p> +“As sure as my name is Peter van Hoogendorp, I’ll give you all a devil’s +dance,” said I to myself; and with that, I grasped my staff, and set out +as fast as I was able. Down, one narrow street we went, and up, another; +sometimes we got into a <i>cul de sac</i>, where there was no exit, and +had to turn back again; another time, we would ascend a huge flight of +steps, and come plump into a tanner’s yard, or a place where they were +curing fish, and so, we blundered on, till there wasn’t a blind alley, nor +crooked lane, of Antwerp, that we didn’t wade through, and I was becoming +foot-sore, and tired myself, with the exertion. +</p> +<p> +All this time the Emperor—for it was Napoleon—took no note of +where we were going; he was too busy conversing with old General de +Ritter, to mind anything else. At last, after traversing a long narrow +street, we came down upon an arm of the Scheldt, and so overcome was I +then, that I resolved I would go no further without a smoke, and I sat +myself down on a butter firkin, and took out my pipe, and proceeded to +strike a light with my flint. A titter of laughter from the officers now +attracted the Emperor’s attention, and he stopped short, and stared at me +as if I had been some wonderful beast. +</p> +<p> +“What is this?” said he. “Why don’t you move forward?” +</p> +<p> +“It ‘s impossible,” replied I, “I never walked so far, since I was born.” +</p> +<p> +“Where is the citadel?” cried he in a passion. +</p> +<p> +“In the devil’s keeping,” said I, “or we should have seen it long ago.” +</p> +<p> +“That must be it yonder,” said an aide-de-camp, pointing to a green, +grassy eminence, at the other side of the Scheldt. +</p> +<p> +The Emperor took the telescope from his hand, and looked through it +steadily for a couple of minutes. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, “that’s it: but why have we come all this round, the road +lay yonder.” +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” said I, “so it did.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Ventre bleu!</i>” roared he, while he stamped his foot upon the +ground, “<i>ce gaillard se moque de nous</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” said I again, without well knowing why. +</p> +<p> +“The citadel is there! It is yonder!” cried he, pointing with his finger. +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” said I once more. +</p> +<p> +“<i>En avant!</i> then,” shouted he, as he motioned me to descend the +flight of steps which led down to the Scheldt; “if this be the road you +take, <i>par Saint Denis </i>! you shall go first.” +</p> +<p> +Now the frost, as I have said, had only set in a few days before, and the +ice on the Scheldt would scarcely have borne the weight of a drummer-boy; +so I remonstrated at once, at first in Dutch, and then in French, as well +as I was able, but nobody would mind me. I then endeavoured’ to show the +danger his Majesty himself would incur; but they only laughed at this, and +cried— +</p> +<p> +“<i>En avant, en avant toujours</i>,” and before I had time for another +word, there was a corporal’s guard behind me, with fixed bayonets; the +word “march” was given, and out I stepped. +</p> +<p> +I tried to say a prayer, but I could think of nothing but curses upon the +fiends, whose shouts of laughter behind put all my piety to flight. When I +came to the bottom step I turned round, and, putting my hand to my sides, +endeavoured by signs to move their pity; but they only screamed the louder +at this, and at a signal from an officer, a fellow touched me with a +bayonet. +</p> +<p> +“That was an awful moment,” said old Hoogendorp, stopping short in his +narrative, and seizing the can, which for half an hour he had not tasted. +“I think I see the river before me still, with its flakes of ice, some +thick and some thin, riding on each other; some whirling along in the +rapid current of the stream; some lying like islands where the water was +sluggish. I turned round, and I clenched my fist, and I shook it in the +Emperor’s face, and I swore by the bones of the Stadtholder, that if I had +but one grasp of his hand, I’d not perform that dance without a partner. +Here I stood,” quoth he, “and the Scheldt might be, as it were, there. I +lifted my foot thus, and came down upon a large piece of floating ice, +which, the moment I touched it, slipped away, and shot out into the +stream.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10047.jpg" width="100%" alt="047 " /> +</div> +<p> +At this moment Mynheer, who had been dramatizing this portion of his +adventure, came down upon the waxed floor, with a plump, that shook the +pagoda to its centre, while I, who had during the narrative been working +double tides at the schiedam, was so interested at the catastrophe, that I +thought he was really in the Scheldt, in the situation he was describing. +The instincts of humanity were, I am proud to say, stronger in me than +those of reason. I kicked off my shoes, threw away my coat, and plunged +boldly after him. I remember well, catching him by the throat, and I +remember too, feeling, what a dreadful thing was the grip of a drowning +man; for both his hands were on my neck, and he squeezed me fearfully. Of +what happened after, the waiters, or the Humane Society may know +something: I only can tell, that I kept my bed, for four days, and when I +next descended to the <i>table d’hôte</i>, I saw a large patch of black +sticking-plaster across the bridge of old Hoogendorp’s nose—and I +never was a guest in “Lust und Rust” afterwards. +</p> +<hr /> +<hr /> +<p> +The loud clanking of the <i>table d’hôte</i> bell aroused me, as I lay +dreaming of Frank Holbein and the yellow doublet. I dressed hastily and +descended to the <i>saal</i>; everything was exactly as I left it ten +years before; even to the cherry-wood pipe-stick that projected from +Mynheer’s breeches-pocket, nothing was changed. The clatter of +post-horses, and the heavy rattle of wheels drew me to the window, in time +to see the Alderman’s carriage with four posters, roll past; a kiss of the +hand was thrown me from the rumble. It was the “Honourable Jack” himself, +who somehow, had won their favour, and was already installed, their +travelling companion. +</p> +<p> +“It is odd enough,” thought I, as I arranged my napkin across my knee, +“what success lies in a well-curled whisker—particularly if the +wearer be a fool.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. MEMS. AND MORALIZINGS. +</h2> +<p> +He who expects to find these “Loiterings” of mine of any service as a +“Guide Book” to the Continent, or a “Voyager’s Manual,” will be sorely +disappointed; as well might he endeavour to devise a suit of clothes from +the patches of cloth scattered about a tailor’s shop, there might be, +indeed, wherewithal to repair an old garment, or make a pen-wiper, but no +more. +</p> +<p> +My fragments, too, of every shape and colour—sometimes showy and +flaunting, sometimes a piece of hodden-grey or linsey-wolsey—are all +I have to present to my friends; whatever they be in shade or texture, +whether fine or homespun, rich in Tyrian dye, or stained with russet +brown, I can only say for them, they are all my own—I have never +“cabbaged from any man’s cloth.” And now to abjure decimals, and talk like +a unit of humanity: if you would know the exact distance between any two +towns abroad—the best mode of reaching your destination—the +most comfortable hotel to stop at, when you have got there—who built +the cathedral—who painted the altar-piece—who demolished the +town in the year fifteen hundred and—fiddlestick—then take +into your confidence the immortal John Murray, he can tell you all these, +and much more; how many kreutzers make a groschen, how many groschen make +a gulden, reconciling you to all the difficulties of travel by historic +associations, memoirs of people who lived before the flood, and learned +dissertations on the etymology of the name of the town, which all your +ingenuity can’t teach you how to pronounce. +</p> +<p> +Well, it’s a fine thing, to be sure, when your carriage breaks down in a +<i>chaussée</i>, with holes large enough to bury a dog—it’s a great +satisfaction to know, that some ten thousand years previous, this place, +that seems for all the world like a mountain torrent, was a Roman way. If +the inn you sleep in, be infested with every annoyance to which inns are +liable—all that long catalogue of evils, from boors to bugs—never +mind, there’s sure to be some delightful story of a bloody murder +connected with its annals, which will amply repay you for all your +suffering. +</p> +<p> +And now, in sober seriousness, what literary fame equals John Murray’s? +What portmanteau, with two shirts and a night-cap, hasn’t got one +“Hand-book?” What Englishman issues forth at morn, without one beneath his +arm? How naturally, does he compare the voluble statement of his <i>valet-de-place</i>, +with the testimony of the book. Does he not carry it with him to church, +where, if the sermon be slow, he can read a description of the building? +Is it not his guide at <i>table-d’hôte</i>, teaching him, when to eat, and +where to abstain? Does he look upon a building, a statue, a picture, an +old cabinet, or a manuscript, with whose eyes does he see it? With John +Murray’s to be sure! Let John tell him, this town is famous for its +mushrooms, why he’ll eat them, till he becomes half a fungus himself; let +him hear that it is celebrated for its lace manufactory, or its iron work—its +painting on glass, or its wigs; straightway he buys up all he can find, +only to discover, on reaching home, that a London shopkeeper can undersell +him in the same articles, by about fifty per cent. +</p> +<p> +In all this, however, John Murray is not to blame; on the contrary, it +only shows his headlong popularity, and the implicit trust, with which is +received, every statement he makes. I cannot conceive anything more +frightful than the sudden appearance of a work which should contradict +everything in the “Hand-book,” and convince English people that John +Murray was wrong. National bankruptcy, a defeat at sea, the loss of the +colonies, might all be borne up against; but if we awoke one morning to +hear that the “Continent” was no longer the Continent we have been +accustomed to believe it, what a terrific shock it would prove. Like the +worthy alderman of London, who, hearing that Robinson Crusoe was only a +fiction, confessed he had lost one of the greatest pleasures of his +existence; so, should we discover that we have been robbed of an innocent +and delightful illusion, for which no reality of cheating waiters and +cursing Frenchmen, would ever repay us. +</p> +<p> +Of the implicit faith with which John and his “Manual” are received, I +remember well, witnessing a pleasant instance a few years back on the +Rhine. +</p> +<p> +On the deck of the steamer, amid that strange commingled mass of Cockneys +and Dutchmen, Flemish boors, German barons, bankers and blacklegs, +money-changers, cheese-mongers, quacks, and consuls, sat an elderly +couple, who, as far apart from the rest of the company as circumstances +would admit, were industriously occupied in comparing the Continent with +the “Hand-book,” or, in other words, were endeavouring to see, if nature +had dared to dissent from the true type, they held in their hands. +</p> +<p> +“‘Andernach, formerly. Andemachium,’” read the old lady aloud. “Do you see +it, my dear?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said the old gentleman, jumping up on the bench, and adjusting his +pocket telescope—“yes,” said he, “go on. I have it.” +</p> +<p> +“‘Andernach,’” resumed she, “‘is an ancient Roman town, and has twelve +towers——‘” +</p> +<p> +“How many did you say?” +</p> +<p> +“Twelve, my dear—” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” said the old gentleman; while, with outstretched +finger, he began to count them, one, two, three, four, and so on till he +reached eleven, when he came to a dead stop, and then dropping his voice +to a tone of tremulous anxiety, he whispered, “There’s one a-missing.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t say so!” said the lady, “dearee me, try it again.” +</p> +<p> +The old gentleman shook his head, frowned ominously, and recommenced the +score. +</p> +<p> +“You missed the little one near the lime-kiln,” interrupted the lady. +</p> +<p> +“No!” said he abruptly, “that’s six, there’s seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven—and +see, not another.” +</p> +<p> +Upon this, the old lady mounted beside him, and the enumeration began in +duet fashion, but try it how they would, let them take them up hill, or +down hill, along the Rhine first, or commence inland, it was no use, they +could not make the dozen of them. +</p> +<p> +“It is shameful!” said the gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“Very disgraceful, indeed!” echoed the lady, as she closed the book, and +crossed her hands before her; while her partner’s indignation took a +warmer turn, and he paced the deck in a state of violent agitation. +</p> +<p> +It was clear that no idea of questioning John Murray’s accuracy had ever +crossed their minds. Far from it—the “Handbook” had told them +honestly what they were to have at Ander-nach—“twelve towers built +by the Romans,” was part of the bill of fare; and some rascally Duke of +Hesse something, had evidently absconded with a stray castle; they were +cheated, “bamboozled, and bit,” inveigled out of their mother-country +under false pretences, and they “wouldn’t stand it for no one,” and so +they went about complaining to every passenger, and endeavouring, with all +their eloquence, to make a national thing of it, and, determined to +represent the case to the minister, the moment they reached Frankfort. And +now, as the <i>a propos</i> reminds me, what a devil of a life an English +minister has, in any part of the Continent, frequented by his countrymen. +</p> +<p> +Let John Bull, from his ignorance of the country, or its language, involve +himself in a scrape with the authorities—let him lose his passport +or his purse—let him forget his penknife or his portmanteau; +straightway he repairs to the ambassador, who, in his eyes, is a cross +between Lord Aberdeen and a Bow-street officer. The minister’s functions +are indeed multifarious—now, investigating the advantages of an +international treaty; now, detecting the whereabouts of a missing cotton +umbrella; now, assigning the limits of a territory; now, giving +instructions on the ceremony of presentation to court; now, estimating the +fiscal relations of the navigation of a river; now, appraising the price +of the bridge of a waiter’s nose; as these pleasant and harmless pursuits, +so popular in London, of breaking lamps, wrenching off knockers, and +thrashing the police, when practised abroad, require explanation at the +hands of the minister, who hesitates not to account for them as national +predilections, like the taste for strong ale and underdone beef. +</p> +<p> +He is a proud man, indeed, who puts his foot upon the Continent with that +Aladdin’s lamp—a letter to the ambassador. The credit of his banker +is, in his eyes, very inferior to that all-powerful document, which opens +to his excited imagination the salons of royalty, the dinner table of the +embassy, a private box at the opera, and the attentions of the whole +fashionable world; and he revels in the expectation of crosses, cordons, +stars, and decorations—private interviews with royalty, ministerial +audiences, and all the thousand and one flatteries, which are heaped upon +the highest of the land. If he is single, he doesn’t know but he may marry +a princess; if he be married, he may have a daughter for some German +archduke, with three hussars for an army, and three acres of barren +mountain for a territory—whose subjects are not so numerous as the +hairs of his moustache, but whose quarterings go back to Noah; and an ark +on a “field azure” figures in his escutcheon. Well, well! of all the +expectations of mankind these are about the vainest. These foreign-office +documents are but Bellerophon letters,—born to betray. Let not their +possession dissuade you from making a weekly score with your hotel-keeper, +under the pleasant delusion that you are to dine out, four days, out of +the seven. Alas and alack! the ambassador doesn’t keep open-house for his +rapparee countrymen: his hôtel is no shelter for females, destitute of any +correct idea as to where they are going, and why; and however strange it +may seem, he actually seems to think his dwelling as much his own, as +though it stood in Belgrave-square, or Piccadilly. +</p> +<p> +Now, John Bull has no notion of this—he pays for these people—they +figure in the budget, and for a good round sum, too—and what do they +do for it? John knows little of the daily work of diplomacy. A treaty, a +tariff, a question of war, he can understand; but the red-tapery of +office, he can make nothing of. Court gossip, royal marriages—how +his Majesty smiled at the French envoy, and only grinned at the Austrian +<i>chargé d’affaires</i>—how the queen spoke three minutes to the +Danish minister’s wife, and only said “<i>Bon jour, madame</i>,” to the +Neapolitan’s—how plum-pudding figured at the royal table, thus +showing that English policy was in the ascendant;—-all these signs +of the times, are a Chaldee MS. to him. But that the ambassador should +invite him and Mrs. Simpkins, and the three Misses and Master Gregory +Simpkins, to take a bit of dinner in the family-way—should bully the +landlord at the “Aigle,” and make a hard bargain with the “Lohn-Kutcher” +for him at the “Sechwan”—should take care that he saw the sights, +and wasn’t more laughed at than was absolutely necessary;—all that, +is comprehensible, and John expects it, as naturally as though it was set +forth in his passport, and sworn to by the foreign secretary, before he +left London. +</p> +<p> +Of all the strange anomalies of English character, I don’t know one so +thoroughly inexplicable as the mystery by which so really independent a +fellow as John Bull ought to be—and as he, in nineteen cases out of +twenty, is, should be a tuft hunter. The man who would scorn any pecuniary +obligation, who would travel a hundred miles back, on his journey, to +acquit a forgotten debt—who has not a thought that is not +high-souled, lofty, and honourable, will stoop to any thing, to be where +he has no pretension to be—to figure in a society, where he is any +thing but at his ease—unnoticed, save by ridicule. Any one who has +much experience of the Continent, must have been struck by this. There is +no trouble too great, no expense too lavish, no intrigue too difficult, to +obtain an invitation to court, or an embassy <i>soirée</i>. +</p> +<p> +These embassy <i>soirées</i>, too, are good things in their way—a +kind of terrestrial <i>inferno</i>, where all ranks and conditions of men +enter—stately Prussians, wily Frenchmen, roguish-looking Austrians, +stupid Danes, haughty English, swarthy, mean-looking Spaniards, and here +and there some “eternal swaggerer” from the States, with his hair “<i>en +Kentuck</i>,” and “a very pretty considerable damned loud smell” of +tobacco about him. Then there are the “<i>grandes dames</i>,” glittering +in diamonds, and sitting in divan, and the ministers’ ladies of every +gradation, from plenipos’ wives to <i>chargé d’àfaires</i>, with their <i>cordons</i> +of whiskered <i>attachés</i> about them—maids of honour, <i>aides-de-camp +du roi</i>, Poles, <i>savans</i>, newspaper editors, and a Turk. Every +rank has its place in the attention of the host: and he poises his +civilities, as though a ray the more, one shade the less, would upset the +balance of nations, and compromise the peace of Europe. In that respect, +nothing ever surpassed the old Dutch embassy, at Dresden, where the <i>maître +d’hôtel</i> had strict orders to serve coffee, to the ministers, <i>eau +sucrée</i>, to the secretaries, and, nothing, to the <i>attachés</i>. No +plea of heat, fatigue, or exhaustion, was ever suffered to infringe a +rule, founded on the broadest views of diplomatic rank. A cup of coffee +thus became, like a cordon or a star, an honourable and a proud +distinction; and the enviable possessor sipped his Mocha, and coquetted +with the spoon, with a sense of dignity, ordinary men know nothing of in +such circumstances; while the secretary’s <i>eau sucrée</i> became a goal +to the young aspirant in the career; which must have stirred his early +ambition, and stimulated his ardour for success. +</p> +<p> +If, as some folk say, human intellect is never more conspicuous, than +where a high order of mind can descend to some paltry, insignificant +circumstance, and bring to its consideration all the force it possesses; +certes diplomatic people must be of a no mean order of capacity. +</p> +<p> +From the question of a disputed frontier, to that of a place at dinner, +there is but one spring from the course of a river towards the sea, and a +procession to table, the practised mind bounds as naturally, as though it +were a hop, and a step. A case in point occurred some short time since at +Frankfort. +</p> +<p> +The etiquette in this city gives the president of the diet precedence of +the different members of the <i>corps diplomatique</i>, who, however, all +take rank before the rest of the diet. +</p> +<p> +The Austrian minister, who occupied the post of president, being absent, +the Prussian envoy held the office <i>ad interim</i>, and believed that, +with the duties, its privileges became his. +</p> +<p> +M. Anstett, the Russian envoy, having invited his colleagues to dinner, +the grave question arose who was to go first? On one hand the dowager, was +the Minister of France, who always preceded the others; on the other was +the Prussian, a <i>pro tempore</i> president, and who showed no +disposition to concede his pretensions. +</p> +<p> +The important moment arrived—the door was flung wide; and an +imposing voice proclaimed—“<i>Madame la Baronne est servie</i>.” +Scarce were the words spoken, when the Prussian sprang forward, and, +offering his arm gallantly to Madame d’Anstett, led the way, before the +Frenchman had time to look around him. +</p> +<p> +When the party were seated at table, M. d’Anstett looked about him in a +state of embarrassment and uneasiness: then, suddenly rallying, he called +out in a voice audible throughout the whole room—“Serve the soup to +the Minister of France first!” The order was obeyed, and the French +minister had lifted his third spoonful to his lips before the humbled +Prussian had tasted his. +</p> +<p> +The next day saw couriers flying, extra post through all Europe, conveying +the important intelligence; that when all other precedence failed, soup, +might be resorted to, to test rank and supremacy. +</p> +<p> +And now enough for the present of ministers ordinary and extraordinary, +envoys and plenipos; though I intend to come back to them at another +opportunity. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. ANTWERP—“THE FISCHER’S HAUS.” +</h2> +<p> +It was through no veneration for the memory of Van Hoogen-dorp’s +adventure, that I found myself one morning at Antwerp. I like the old +town: I like its quaint, irregular streets, its glorious cathedral, the +old “Place,” with its alleys of trees; I like the Flemish women, and their +long-eared caps; and I like the <i>table d’hôte</i> at the “St. Antoine”—among +other reasons, because, being at one o’clock, it affords a capital +argument for a hot supper, at nine. +</p> +<p> +I do not know how other people may feel, but to me, I must confess, much +of the pleasure the Continent affords me, is destroyed by the jargon of +the “<i>Commissionnaires</i>,” and the cant of guidebooks. Why is not a +man permitted to sit down before that great picture, “The Descent from the +Cross,” and “gaze his fill” on it? Why may he not look till the whole +scene becomes, as it were, acting before him, and all those faces of +grief, of care, of horror, and despair, are graven in his memory, never to +be erased again? Why, I say, may he not study this in tranquillity and +peace, without some coarse, tobacco-reeking fellow, at his elbow, in a +dirty blouse and wooden shoes, explaining, in <i>patois</i> French, the +merits of a work, which he is as well fitted to paint, as to appreciate. +</p> +<p> +But I must not myself commit the very error I am reprobating. I will not +attempt any description of a picture, which, to those who have seen it, +could realize not one of the impressions the work itself afforded, and to +those who have not, would convey nothing at all. I will not bore my reader +with the tiresome cant of “effect.” “expression,” “force,” “depth,” and +“relief,” but, instead of all this, will tell him a short story about the +painting, which, if it has no other merit, has at least that of +authenticity. +</p> +<p> +Rubens—who, among his other tastes, was a great florist—was +very desirous to enlarge his garden, by adding to it a patch of ground +adjoining. It chanced unfortunately, that this piece of land did not +belong to an individual who could be tempted by a large price, but to a +society or club called the “Arquebussiers,” one of those old Flemish +guilds, which date their origin several centuries back. Insensible to +every temptation of money, they resisted all the painter’s offers, and at +length only consented to relinquish the land on condition that he would +paint a picture for them, representing their patron saint, St. +Christopher. To this, Rubens readily acceded, his only difficulty being to +find out some incident in the good saint’s life, which might serve as a +subject. What St. Christopher had to do with cross-bows or sharp-shooters, +no one could tell him; and for many a long day he puzzled his mind, +without ever being able to hit upon a solution of the difficulty. At last, +in despair, the etymology of the word suggested a plan; and +“christopheros,” or cross-bearer, afforded the hint on which he began his +great picture of “The Descent.” For months long, he worked industriously +at the painting, taking an interest in its details, such as he confesses +never to have felt in any of his previous works. He knew it to be his <i>chef-d’oeuvre</i>, +and looked forward, with a natural eagerness, to the moment when he should +display it before its future possessors, and receive their congratulations +on his success. +</p> +<p> +The day came; the “Arquebuss” men assembled, and repaired in a body to +Rubens’ house; the large folding shutters which concealed the painting +were opened, and the triumph of the painter’s genius was displayed before +them: but not a word was spoken; no exclamation of admiration, or wonder, +broke from the assembled throng; not a murmur of pleasure, or even +surprise was there: on the contrary, the artist beheld nothing but faces +expressive of disappointment, and dissatisfaction; and at length, after a +considerable-pause, one question burst from every lip—“Where is St. +Christopher?” +</p> +<p> +It was to no purpose he explained the object of his work: in vain he +assured them, that the picture was the greatest he had ever painted, and +far superior to what he had contracted to give them. They stood obdurate, +and motionless: it was St. Christopher they wished for; it was for him +they bargained, and him, they would have. +</p> +<p> +The altercation continued long, and earnest. Some of them, more moderate, +hoping to conciliate both parties, suggested that, as there was a small +space unemployed in the left of the painting, St. Christopher could be +introduced, there, by making him somewhat diminutive. Rubens rejected the +proposal with disgust: his great work was not to be destroyed by such an +anomaly as this: and so, breaking off the negotiation at once, he +dismissed the “Arquebuss” men, and relinquished all pretension to the +“promised land.” +</p> +<p> +Matters remained for some months thus, when the burgomaster, who was an +ardent admirer of Rubens’ genius, came to hear the entire transaction; +and, waiting on the painter, suggested an expedient by which every +difficulty might be avoided, and both parties rest content. “Why not,” +said he, “make a St. Christopher on the outside of the shutter? You have +surely space enough there, and can make him of any size you like.” The +artist caught at the proposal, seized his chalk, and in a few minutes +sketched out, a gigantic saint, which the burgomaster at once pronounced +suited to the occasion. +</p> +<p> +The “Arquebuss” men were again introduced; and, immediately on beholding +their patron, professed themselves perfectly satisfied. The bargain was +concluded, the land ceded, and the picture hung up in the great cathedral +of Antwerp, where, with the exception of the short period that French +spoliation carried it to the Louvre, it has remained ever since, a +monument of the artist’s genius, the greatest and most finished of all his +works. And now that I have done my story, I’ll try and find out that +little quaint hotel they call the “Fischer’s Haus.” +</p> +<p> +Fifteen years ago, I remember losing my way one night in the streets of +Antwerp. I couldn’t speak a word of Flemish: the few people I met couldn’t +understand a word of French. I wandered about, for full two hours, and +heard the old cathedral clock play a psalm tune, and the St. Joseph tried +its hand on another. A watchman cried the hour through a cow’s horn, and +set all the dogs a-barking; and then all was still again, and I plodded +along, without the faintest idea of the points of the compass. +</p> +<p> +In this moody frame of mind I was, when the heavy clank of a pair of +sabots, behind, apprised me that some one was following. I turned sharply +about, and accosted him in French. +</p> +<p> +“English?” said he, in a thick, guttural tone. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, thank heaven” said I, “do you speak English?” +</p> +<p> +“Ja, Mynheer,” answered he. Though this reply didn’t promise very +favourably, I immediately asked him to guide me to my hotel, upon which he +shook his head gravely, and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t you speak English?” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” said he once more. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve lost my way,” cried I; “I am a stranger.” +</p> +<p> +He looked at me doggedly for a minute or two, and then, with a stern +gravity of manner, and a phlegm, I cannot attempt to convey, he said— +</p> +<p> +“D——n <i>my</i> eyes!” +</p> +<p> +“What!” said I, “do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” was the only reply. +</p> +<p> +“If you know English, why won’t you speak it?” +</p> +<p> +“D——n <i>his</i> eyes!” said he with a deep solemn tone. +</p> +<p> +“Is that all you know of the language?” cried I, stamping with impatience. +“Can you say no more than that?” +</p> +<p> +“D——n <i>your</i> eyes!” ejaculated he, with as much +composure, as though he were maintaining an earnest conversation. +</p> +<p> +When I had sufficiently recovered from the hearty fit of laughter this +colloquy occasioned me, I began by signs, such as melodramatic people make +to express sleep, placing my head in the hollow of my hand, snoring and +yawning, to represent, that I stood in need of a bed. +</p> +<p> +“Ja!” cried my companion with more energy than before, and led the way +down one narrow street and up another, traversing lanes, where two men +could scarcely go abreast, until at length we reached a branch of the +Scheldt, along which, we continued for above twenty minutes. Suddenly the +sound of voices shouting a species of Dutch tune—-for so its +unspeakable words, and wooden turns, bespoke it—apprised me, that we +were near a house where the people were yet astir. +</p> +<p> +“Ha!” said I, “this a hotel then.” +</p> +<p> +Another “Ja!” +</p> +<p> +“What do they call it?” +</p> +<p> +A shake of the head. +</p> +<p> +“That will do, good night,” said I, as I saw the bright lights gleaming +from the small diamond panes of an old Flemish window; “I am much obliged +to you.” +</p> +<p> +“D——n <i>your</i> eyes!” said my friend, taking off his hat +politely, and making me a low bow, while he added something in Flemish, +which I sincerely trust was of a more polite and complimentary import, +than his parting benediction in English. +</p> +<p> +As I turned from the Fleming, I entered a narrow hall, which led by a +low-arched door into a large room, along which, a number of tables were +placed, each, crowded by its own party who clinked their cans and +vociferated a chorus, which, from constant repetition, rings still in my +memory— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Wenn die wein ist in die maun, +Der weisdheid den iut in die kan.” +</pre> +<p> +or in the vernacular— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“When the wine is in the man, +Then is the wisdom in the can.” +</pre> +<p> +A sentiment, which a very brief observation of their faces, induced me +perfectly to concur in. Over the chimney-piece, an inscription was painted +in letters of about a foot long, “Hier verkoopt man Bier,” implying, what +a very cursory observation might have conveyed to any one, even on the +evidence of his nose,—that beer was a very attainable fluid in the +establishment. The floor was sanded, and the walls white-washed, save +where some pictorial illustrations of Flemish habits were displayed in +black chalk, or the smoke of a candle. +</p> +<p> +As I stood, uncertain whether to advance or retreat, a large portly +Fleming, with a great waistcoat, made of the skin of some beast, eyed me +steadfastly from head to foot, and then, as if divining my embarrassment, +beckoned me to approach, and pointed to a seat on the bench beside him. I +was not long in availing myself of his politeness, and before a half an +hour elapsed, found myself with a brass can of beer, about eighteen inches +in height, before me; while I was smoking away as though I had been born +within the “dykes,” and never knew the luxury of dry land. +</p> +<p> +Around the table sat some seven or eight others, whose phlegmatic look and +sententious aspect, convinced me, they were Flemings. At the far end, +however, was one, whose dark eyes, flashing beneath heavy shaggy eyebrows, +huge whiskers, and bronzed complexion, distinguished him sufficiently from +the rest. He appeared, too, to have something of respect paid him, +inasmuch as the others invariably nodded to him, whenever they lifted +their cans to their mouths. He wore a low fur cap on his head, and his +dark blue frock was trimmed also with fur, and slashed with a species of +braiding, like an undress uniform. +</p> +<p> +Unlike the rest, he spoke a great deal, not only to his own party, but +maintaining a conversation with various others through the room—sometimes +speaking French, then Dutch, and occasionally changing to German, or +Italian, with all which tongues he appeared so familiar, that I was fairly +puzzled to what country to attribute him. +</p> +<p> +I could mark at times that he stole a sly glance over, towards where I was +sitting, and, more than once, I thought I observed him watching what +effect his voluble powers as a linguist, was producing upon me. At last +our eyes met, he smiled politely, and taking up the can before him, he +bowed, saying, “A votre santé, monsieur.” +</p> +<p> +I acknowledged the compliment at once, and seizing the opportunity, begged +to know, of what land so accomplished a linguist was a native. His face +brightened up at once, a certain smile of self-satisfied triumph passed +over his features, he smacked his lips, and then poured out a torrent of +strange sounds, which, from their accent, I guessed to be Russian. +</p> +<p> +“Do you speak Sclavonic?” said he in French; and as I nodded a negative, +he added—“Spanish,—Portuguese?” +</p> +<p> +“Neither,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“Where do you come from then?” asked he, retorting my question. +</p> +<p> +“Ireland, if you may have heard of such a place.” +</p> +<p> +“Hurroo!” cried he, with a yell that made the room start with amazement. +“By the powers! I thought so; come up my hearty, and give me a shake of +your hand.” +</p> +<p> +If I were astonished before, need I say how I felt now. +</p> +<p> +“And are you really a countryman of mine?” said I, as I took my seat +beside him. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, I believe so. Con O’Kelly, does not sound very like Italian, and +that’s my name, any how; but wait a bit, they’re calling on me for a Dutch +song, and when I’ve done, we’ll have a chat together.” +</p> +<p> +A very uproarious clattering of brass and pewter cans on the tables, +announced that the company was becoming impatient for Mynheer O’Kelly’s +performance, which he immediately began; but of either the words or air, I +can render no possible account, I only know, there was a kind of <i>refrain</i> +or chorus, in which, all, round each table, took hands, and danced a +“grand round,” making the most diabolical clatter with wooden shoes, I +ever listened to. +</p> +<p> +After which, the song seemed to subside into a low droning sound, implying +sleep. The singer nodded his head, the company followed the example, and a +long heavy note, like snoring, was heard through the room, when suddenly, +with a hiccup, he awoke, the others also, and then the song broke out once +more, in all its vigour, to end as before, in another dance, an exercise +in which I certainly fared worse than my neighbours, who tramped on my +corns without mercy, leaving it a very questionable fact how far his +“pious, glorious, and immortal memory” was to be respected, who had +despoiled my country of “wooden shoes” when walking off with its brass +money. +</p> +<p> +The melody over, Mr. O’Kelly proceeded to question me somewhat minutely, +as to how I had chanced upon this house, which was not known to many, even +of the residents of Antwerp. +</p> +<p> +I briefly explained to him the circumstances which led me to my present +asylum, at which he laughed heartily. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know, then, where you are?” said he, looking at me, with a +droll half-suspicious smile. +</p> +<p> +“No; it’s a Schenk Haus, I suppose,” replied I. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, to be sure, it is a Schenk Haus, but it’s the resort only of +smugglers, and those connected with their traffic. Every man about you, +and there are, as you see, some seventy or eighty, are all, either +sea-faring folks, or landsmen associated with them, in contraband trade.” +</p> +<p> +“But how is this done so openly? the house is surely known to the police.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, and they are well paid for taking no notice of it.” +</p> +<p> +“And you?” +</p> +<p> +“Me! Well, <i>I</i> do a little that way too, though it’s only a branch of +my business. I’m only Dirk Hatteraik, when I come down to the coast: then +you know a man doesn’t like to be idle; so that when I’m here, or on the +Bretagny shore, I generally mount the red cap, and buckle on the cutlass, +just to keep moving; as when I go inland, I take an occasional turn with +the gypsy folk in Bohemia, or their brethren, in the Basque provinces. +There’s nothing like being up to every thing—that’s <i>my</i> way.” +</p> +<p> +I confess I was a good deal surprised at my companion’s account of +himself, and not over impressed with the rigour of his principles; but my +curiosity to know more of him, became so much the stronger. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said I, “you seem to have a jolly life of it; and, certainly a +healthful one.” +</p> +<p> +“Aye, that it is,” replied he quickly. “I’ve more than once thought of +going back to Kerry, and living quietly for the rest of my days, for I +could afford it well enough; but, somehow, the thought of staying in one +place, talking always to the same set of people, seeing every day the same +sights, and hearing the same eternal little gossip about little things, +and little folk, was too much for me, and so I stuck to the old trade, +which I suppose I’ll not give up now as long as I live.” +</p> +<p> +“And what may that be?” asked I, curious to know how he filled up moments +snatched from the agreeable pursuits he had already mentioned. +</p> +<p> +He eyed me with a shrewd, suspicious look, for above a minute, and then, +laying his hand on my arm, said— +</p> +<p> +“Where do you put up at, here in Antwerp?” +</p> +<p> +“The St. Antoine.’” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’ll come over for you to-morrow evening about nine o’clock; you’re +not engaged, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’ve no acquaintance here.” +</p> +<p> +“At nine, then, be ready, and you’ll come and take a bit of supper with +me; and, in exchange for your news of the old country, I’ll tell you +something of my career.” +</p> +<p> +I readily assented to a proposal which promised to make me better +acquainted with one evidently a character; and after half an hour’s +chatting, I arose. +</p> +<p> +“You’re not going away, are you?” said he. “Well, I can’t leave this yet; +so I’ll just send a boy, to show you the way to the ‘St. Antoine.’” +</p> +<p> +With that, he beckoned to a lad at one of the tables, and addressing a few +words in Flemish to him, he shook me warmly by the hand: the whole room +rose respectfully as I took my leave, and I could see, that “Mr. O’Kelly’s +friend,” stood in no small estimation with the company. +</p> +<p> +The day was just breaking when I reached my hotel; but I knew I could +poach on the daylight for what the dark had robbed me; and, besides, my +new acquaintance promised to repay the loss of a night’s sleep, should it +even come to that. +</p> +<p> +Punctual to his appointment, my newly-made friend knocked at my door +exactly as the cathedral was chiming for nine o’clock. +</p> +<p> +His dress was considerably smarter than on the preceding evening, and his +whole air and bearing bespoke a degree of quiet decorum and reserve, very +different from his free-and-easy carriage in the “Fischer’s Haus.” As I +accompanied him through the <i>parte-cochère</i>, we passed the landlord, +who saluted us with much politeness, shaking my companion, by the hand, +like an old friend. +</p> +<p> +“You are acquainted here, I see,” said I. +</p> +<p> +“There are few landlords from Lubeck to Leghorn I don’t know by this +time,” was the reply, and he smiled as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +A calèche with one horse, was waiting for us without, and into this we +stepped. The driver had got his directions, and plying his whip briskly, +we rattled over the paved streets, and passing through a considerable part +of the town, arrived at last at one of the gates. Slowly crossing the +draw-bridge at a walk, we set out again at a trot, and soon I could +perceive, through the half light, that we had traversed the suburbs, and +were entering the open country. +</p> +<p> +“We’ve not far to go now,” said my companion, who seemed to suspect that I +was meditating over the length of the way; “where you see the lights +yonder—that’s our ground.” +</p> +<p> +The noise of the wheels over the <i>pavé</i> soon after ceased, and I +found we were passing across a grassy lawn in front of a large house, +which, even by the twilight, I could detect was built in the old Flemish +taste. A square tower flanked one extremity, and from the upper part of +this, the light gleamed, to which my companion pointed. +</p> +<p> +We descended from the carriage, at the foot of a long terrace, which, +though dilapidated and neglected, bore still some token of its ancient +splendour. A stray statue here and there, remained, to mark its former +beauty, while, close by, the hissing splash of water told that a <i>jet +d’eau</i> was playing away, unconscious that its river gods, dolphins, and +tritons, had long since departed. +</p> +<p> +“A fine old place once,” said my new friend; “the old chateau of Overghem—one +of the richest seignories of Flanders in its day—sadly changed now; +but come, follow me.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he led the way into the hall, where detaching a rude lantern +that was hung against the wall, he ascended the broad oak stairs. +</p> +<p> +I could trace, by the fitful gleam of the light, that the walls had been +painted in fresco, the architraves of the windows and doors being richly +carved, in all the grotesque extravagance of old Flemish art; a gallery, +which traversed the building, was hung with old pictures, apparently +family portraits, but they were all either destroyed by damp or rotting +with neglect; at the extremity of this, a narrow stair conducted us by a +winding ascent to the upper story of the tower, where, for the first time, +my companion had recourse to a key; with this, he opened a low, pointed +door, and ushered me into an apartment, at which, I could scarcely help +expressing my surprise, aloud, as I entered. +</p> +<p> +The room was of small dimensions, but seemed actually, the boudoir of a +palace. Rich cabinets in buhl, graced the walls, brilliant in all the +splendid costliness of tortoise-shell and silver inlaying; bronzes of the +rarest kind; pictures; vases; curtains of gorgeous damask covered the +windows; and a chimney-piece of carved black oak, representing a +pilgrimage, presented a depth of perspective, and a beauty of design, +beyond any thing I had ever witnessed. The floor was covered with an old +tapestry of Ouden-arde, spread over a heavy Persian rug, into which the +feet sank at every step, while a silver lamp, of antique mould, threw a +soft, mellow light, around, revolving on an axis, whose machinery played a +slow but soothing melody, delightfully in harmony with all about. +</p> +<p> +“You like this kind of thing,” said my companion, who watched, with +evident satisfaction, the astonishment and admiration, with which I +regarded every object around me. “That’s a pretty bit of carving there—that +was done by Van Zoost, from a design of Schneider’s; see how the lobsters +are crawling over the tangled sea-weed there, and look how the leaves seem +to fall heavy and flaccid, as if wet with spray. This is good, too; it was +painted by Gherard Dow: it is a portrait of himself; he is making a study +of that little boy who stands there on the table; see how he has disposed +the light, so as to fall on the little fellow’s side, tipping him from the +yellow curls of his round bullet head, to the angle of his white sabot. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, you’re right, that is by Van Dyck; only a sketch to be sure, but has +all his manner. I like the Velasquez yonder better, but they both possess +the same excellence. <i>They</i>, could represent <i>birth</i>. Just see +that dark fellow there, he’s no beauty you’ll say, but regard him closely, +and tell me, if he’s one to take a liberty with; look at his thin, +clenched lip, and that long thin, pointed chin, with its straight stiff +beard—can there be a doubt he was a gentleman? Take care, gently, +your elbow grazed it. That, is a specimen of the old Japan china—a +lost art now, they cannot produce the blue colour, you see there, running +into green. See, the flowers are laid on after the cup is baked, and the +birds are a separate thing after all; but come, this is, perhaps, tiresome +work to you, follow me.” +</p> +<p> +Notwithstanding my earnest entreaty to remain, he took me by the arm, and +opening a small door, covered by a mirror, led me into another room, the +walls and ceiling of which were in dark oak wainscot; a single picture +occupied the space above the chimney, to which, however, I gave little +attention, my eyes being fixed upon a most appetizing supper, which +figured on a small table in the middle of the room. Not even the savoury +odour of the good dishes, or my host’s entreaty to begin, could turn me +from the contemplation of the antique silver covers, carved in the richest +fashion. The handles of the knives were fashioned into representations of +saints and angels, and the costly ruby glasses, of Venetian origin, were +surrounded with cases of gold filagree, of the most delicate and beautiful +character. +</p> +<p> +“We must be our own attendants,” said the host. “What have you there? Here +are some Ostende oysters, <i>en matelot;</i> that is a small capon <i>truffé</i>; +and, here are some cutlets <i>aux points d’asperge</i>, But let us begin, +and explore as we proceed; a glass of Chablis, with your oysters; what a +pity these Burgundy wines are inaccessible to you in England! Chablis, +scarcely bears the sea, of half a dozen bottles, one, is drinkable; the +same of the red wines; and what is there so generous? not that we are to +despise our old friend, Champagne; and now that you’ve helped yourself to +<i>paté</i>, let’s us have a bumper. By-the-bye, have they abandoned that +absurd notion they used to have in England about Champagne? when I was +there, they never served it during the first course. Now Champagne should +come, immediately after your soup—your glass of Sherry or Madeira, +is a holocaust offered up to bad cookery; for if the soup were safe, +Chablis or Sauterne is your fluid. How is the capon? good, I’m glad of it. +These countries excel in their <i>poulardes</i>.” +</p> +<p> +In this fashion my companion ran on, accompanying each plate with some +commentary on its history, or concoction; a kind of dissertation, I must +confess, I have no manner of objection to, especially, when delivered by a +host who illustrates his theorem, not by “plates” but “dishes.” +</p> +<p> +Supper over, we wheeled the table to the wall; and drawing forward +another, on which the wine and desert were already laid out, prepared to +pass a pleasant and happy evening, in all form. +</p> +<p> +“Worse countries than Holland, Mr. O’Leary,” said my companion, as he +sipped his Burgundy, and looked with ecstasy at the rich colour of the +wine through the candle. +</p> +<p> +“When seen thus,” said I, “I don’t know its equal.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, perhaps this is rather a favourable specimen of a smuggler’s cave,” +replied he, laughing. “Better than old Dirk’s, eh? By-the-bye, do you +know, Scott?” +</p> +<p> +“No; I am sorry to say that I am not acquainted with him.” +</p> +<p> +“What the devil could have led him into such a blunder as to make +Hatteraik, a regular Dutchman, sing a German song? Why, ‘Ich Bin +liederlich’ is good Hoch-Deutsch, and Saxon to boot. A Hollander, might +just as well have chanted modern Greek, or Coptic. I’ll wager you that +Rubens there, over the chimney, against a crown-piece, you’ll not find a +Dutchman, from Dort to Nimegen, could repeat the lines, that he has made a +regular national song of; and again, in Quentin Durward, he has made all +the Liege folk speak German, That, was even, a worse mistake. Some of them +speak French; but the nation, the people, are Walloons, and have as much +idea of German as a Hottentot has, of the queen of hearts. Never mind, +he’s a glorious fellow for all that, and here’s his health. When will +Ireland have his equal, to chronicle her feats of field and flood, and +make her land as classic, as Scott has done his own!” +</p> +<p> +While we rambled on, chatting of all that came uppermost, the wine passed +freely across the narrow table, and the evening wore on. My curiosity to +know more of one, who, on whatever he talked, seemed thoroughly informed, +grew gradually more and more; and at last I ventured to remind him, that +he had half promised me the previous evening, to let me hear something of +his own history. +</p> +<p> +“No, no,” said he laughing; “story telling is poor work for the teller and +the listener too; and when a man’s tale has not even brought a moral to +himself, it’s scarcely likely, to be more generous towards his neighbour.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” said I, “I have no claim, as a stranger——” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that,” interrupted he, “somehow I feel as though we were longer +acquainted. I’ve seen much of the world, and know by this time that some +men begin to know each other from the starting post—others never do, +though they travel a life long together;—so that on that score, no +modesty. If you care for my story, fill your glass, and let’s open another +flask, and here it’s for you, though I warn you beforehand the narrative +is somewhat of the longest.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. MR. O’KELLY’S TALE +</h2> +<p> +“I can tell you but little about my family,” said my host, stretching out +his legs to the fire, and crossing his arms easily before him. “My +grandfather was in the Austrian service, and killed in some old battle +with the Turks. My father, Peter O’Kelly, was shot in a duel by an +attorney from Youghal. Something about nailing his ear to the pump, I’ve +heard tell was the cause of the row; for he came down to my father’s, with +a writ, or a process, or something of the kind. No matter—the thief +had pluck in him; and when Peter—my father that was—told him, +he’d make a gentleman of him, and fight him, if he’d give up the bill of +costs; why the temptation was too strong to resist; he pitched the papers +into the fire, went out the same morning, and faith he put in his bullet, +as fair, as if he was used to the performance. I was only a child then, +ten or eleven years old, and so I remember nothing of the particulars; but +I was packed off the next day to an old aunt’s, a sister of my father’s, +who resided in the town of Tralee. +</p> +<p> +“Well, to be sure, it was a great change for me, young as I was, from +Castle O’Kelly to Aunt Judy’s. At home, there was a stable full of horses, +a big house, generally full of company, and the company as fall of fun; we +had a pack of harriers, went out twice or thrice a week, plenty of +snipe-shooting, and a beautiful race-course was made round the lawn: and +though I wasn’t quite of an age to join in these pleasures myself, I had a +lively taste for them all, and relished the free-and-easy style of my +father’s house, without any unhappy forebodings, that the amusements there +practised would end in leaving me a beggar. +</p> +<p> +“Now, my Aunt Judy lived in what might be called, a state of +painfully elegant poverty. Her habitation was somewhat more capacious than +a house in a toy-shop; but then it had all the usual attributes of a +house. There was a hall-door, and two windows, and a chimney, and a brass +knocker, and, I believe, a scraper; and within, there were three little +rooms, about the dimensions of a mail-coach, each. I think I see the +little parlour before me, now this minute; there was a miniature of my +father in a red coat over the chimney, and two screens painted by my aunt—landscapes, +I am told, they were once; but time and damp had made them look something +like the moon seen through a bit of smoked glass; and there were +fire-irons as bright as day, for they never performed any other duty than +standing on guard beside the grate,—a kind of royal beef-eaters, +kept for show; and there was a little table covered with shells and +minerals, bits of coral, conchs, and cheap curiosities of that nature, and +over them, again, was a stuffed macaw. Oh, dear! I see it all before me, +and the little tea-service, that if the beverage had been vitriol, a cup +full couldn’t have harmed you. There were four chairs;—human +ingenuity couldn’t smuggle in a fifth. There was one for Father Donnellan, +another for Mrs. Brown, the post mistress, another for the barrack-master, +Captain Dwyer, the fourth for my aunt herself; but then no more were +wanted. Nothing but real gentility, the ‘ould Irish blood,’ would be +received by Miss Judy; and if the post-mistress wasn’t fourteenth cousin +to somebody, who was aunt to Phelim O’Brien, who was hanged for some +humane practice towards the English in former times, the devil a cup of +bohea she’d have tasted there! The priest was <i>ex officio</i>, but +Captain Dwyer was a gentleman, born and bred. His great-grandfather had an +estate; the last three generations had lived on the very reputation of its +once being in the family: ‘<i>they</i> weren’t upstarts, no, sorrow bit of +it;’ when they had it they spent it,’ and so on, were the current +expressions concerning them. Faith I will say, that in my time, in Ireland—I +don’t know how it may be now—the aroma of a good property stood to +the descendants long after the substance had left them; and if they only +stuck fast to the place where the family had once been great, it took at +least a couple of generations before they need think of looking out for a +livelihood. +</p> +<p> +“Aunt Judy’s revenue was something like eighty pounds a year; but in +Tralee she was not measured by the rule of the ‘income tax.’ ‘Wasn’t she +own sister to Peter O’Kelly of the Castle; didn’t Brien O’Kelly call at +the house when he was canvassing for the member, and leave his card;’ and +wasn’t the card displayed on the little mahogany table every evening, and +wiped and put by, every morning, for fifteen years; and sure the O’Kellys +had their own burial ground, the ‘O’Kelly’s pound,’ as it was called, +being a square spot inclosed within a wall and employed for all +‘trespassers’ of the family, within death’s domain. Here was gentility +enough in all conscience, even had the reputation of her evening parties +not been the talk of the town. These were certainly exclusive enough, and +consisted as I have told you. +</p> +<p> +“Aunt Judy loved her rubber, and so did her friends; and eight o’clock +every evening saw the little party assembled at a game of ‘longs,’ for +penny points. It was no small compliment to the eyesight of the players, +that they could distinguish the cards; for with long use they had become +dimmed and indistinct. The queens, had contracted a very tatterdemalion +look, and the knaves, had got a most vagabond expression for want of their +noses, not to speak of other difficulties in dealing, which certainly +required an expert hand, all the corners having long disappeared, leaving +the operation something like playing at quoits. +</p> +<p> +“The discipline of such an establishment, I need scarcely say, was very +distasteful to me. I was seldom suffered to go beyond the door, more +rarely still, alone: my whole amusement consisted in hearing about the +ancient grandeur of the O’Kellys, and listening to a very prosy history, +of certain martyrs, not one of whom I didn’t envy in my heart; while in +the evening I slept beneath the whist-table, being too much afraid of +ghosts to venture up stairs to bed. +</p> +<p> +“It was on one of those evenings, when the party were assembled as usual; +some freak of mine—I fear I was a rebellious subject—was being +discussed between the deals, it chanced that by some accident I was awake, +and heard the colloquy. +</p> +<p> +“‘’Tis truth I’m telling you, ma’am,’ quoth my aunt, ‘you’d think he was +mild as milk, and there isn’t a name for the wickedness in him.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘When I was in the Buffs there was a fellow of the name of Clancy——’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Play a spade, captain,’ said the priest, who had no common horror of the +story, he had heard every evening for twenty years. +</p> +<p> +“‘And did he really put the kitten into the oven?’ inquired Mrs. Brown. +</p> +<p> +“‘Worse than that—he brought in Healy’s buck goat yesterday, and set +him opposite the looking-glass, and the beast, thinking he saw another, +opposite him, bolted straightforward, and, my dear, he stuck his horns +through the middle of it. There isn’t a piece as big as the ace of +diamonds.’” +</p> +<p> +“‘When I was in the Buffs—— +</p> +<p> +“‘’Tis at <i>say</i> he ought to be—don’t you think so, captain?’ +said the priest——‘them’s trumps.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘I beg your pardon, Father Donellan, let me look at the trick. Well I’m +sure I pity you, Miss O’Kelly.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘And why wouldn’t you! his mother had a bad drop in her, ‘tis easy seen. +Sure Peter, that’s gone, rest his soul in peace, he never harmed man nor +beast; but that child there, has notions of wickedness, that would +surprise you. My elegant cornelian necklace he’s taken the stones out of, +till it nearly chokes me to put it on.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘When I was in the Buffs, Miss O’Kelly, there was——’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Pay fourpence,’ said the priest pettishly, and cut the cards. As I was +saying, I’d send him to say, and if the stories be thrue, I hear, he’s not +ill fitted for it; he does be the most of his time up there at the caves +of Ballybunnion, with the smugglers.’ +</p> +<p> +“My aunt crimsoned a little at this, as I could see from my place on the +hearth rug: for it was only the day before, I had brought in a package of +green tea, obtained from the quarter alluded to. +</p> +<p> +“‘I’d send him to Banagher to-morrow,’ said he, resolutely; ‘I’d send him +to school.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘There was one Clancy, I was saying, a great devil he was—’ +</p> +<p> +“‘And faix ould Martin will flog his tricks out of him, if birch will do +it,’ said the priest. +</p> +<p> +“‘’Tis only a fortnight since he put hot cinders in the letterbox, and +burned half the Dublin bag,’ said Mrs. Brown. ‘The town will be well rid +of him.’ +</p> +<p> +“This was exactly the notion I was coming to myself, though differing +widely as to the destination by which I was to manage my exchange out of +it. The kind wishes of the party towards me, too, had another effect—it +nerved me with a courage I never felt before—and when I took the +first opportunity of a squabble at the whist-table, to make my escape from +the room, I had so little fear of ghosts and goblins, that I opened the +street door, and, although the way led under the wall of the church-yard, +set out on my travels, in a direction which was to influence all my after +life. +</p> +<p> +“I had not proceeded far, when I overtook some cars on their way to +Tarbert, on one of which I succeeded in obtaining a seat; and, by +daybreak, arrived at the Shannon, the object of my desires, and the goal +of all my wishes. +</p> +<p> +“The worthy priest had not calumniated me, in saying, that my associates +were smugglers. Indeed, for weeks past, I never missed any opportunity of +my aunt leaving the house, without setting ont to meet a party who +frequented a small public-house, about three miles from Tralee, and with +whom I made more than one excursion to the caves of Ballybunnion. It was +owing to an accidental piece of information I afforded them—that the +revenue force was on their track—that I first learned to know these +fellows; and from that moment, I was a sworn friend of every man among +them. To be sure they were a motley crew. The craft belonged to Flushing, +and the skipper himself was a Fleming; the others were Kinsale fishermen, +Ostenders, men from the coast of Bretagny, a Norwegian pilot, and a negro, +who acted as cook. Their jovial style of life, the apparent good humour +and good fellowship that subsisted among them, a dash of reckless +devil-may-care spirit, resembling a school-boy’s love of fun—all +captivated me; and when I found myself on board the ‘Dart,’ as she lay at +anchor under the shadow of the tall cliffs, and saw the crew burnishing up +pistols and cutlasses, and making ready for a cruise, I had a proud heart +when they told me, I might join, and be one among them, I suppose every +boy has something in his nature that inclines him to adventure; it was +strong enough in me, certainly. +</p> +<p> +“The hardy, weather-beaten faces of my companions—their strong +muscular frames—their coarse uniform of striped Jersey wear, with +black belts crossing on the chest—all attracted my admiration: and +from the red bunting that floated at our gaff, to the brass swivels that +peeped from our bows, the whole craft delighted me. I was not long in +acquiring the rough habits and manners of my associates, and speedily +became a favourite with every one on board. All the eccentricities of my +venerable aunt, all the peculiarities of Father Donellan, were dished up +by me for their amusement, and they never got tired laughing at the +description of the whist-table. Besides, I was able to afford them much +valuable information about the neighbouring gentry, all of whom I knew, +either personally, or by name. I was at once, therefore, employed as a +kind of diplomatic envoy to ascertain if Mr. Blennerhassett wouldn’t like +a hogshead of brandy, or the Knight of Glynn a pipe of claret, in addition +to many minor embassies among the shebeen houses of the country, +concerning nigger-heads of tobacco, packages of tea, smuggled lace, and +silk handkerchiefs. +</p> +<p> +“Thus was my education begun; and an apter scholar, in all the art and +mystery of smuggling, could scarcely have been found. I had a taste for +picking up languages; and, before my first cruise was over, had got a very +tolerable smattering of French, Dutch, and Norwegian, and some intimacy +with the fashionable dialect used on the banks of the Niger. Other +accomplishments followed these. I was a capital pistol-shot—no bad +hand with the small swords—could reef and steer, and had not my +equal on board in detecting a revenue officer, no matter how artfully +disguised. Such were my professional—my social qualifications far +exceeded these. I could play a little on the violin, and the guitar, and +was able to throw into rude verse any striking incident of our wild +career, and adapt an air to it, for the amusement of my companions. These +I usually noted down in a book, accompanying them with pen illustrations +and notes; and I assure you, however little literary reputation this +volume might have acquired, ‘O’Kelly’s Log,’ as it was called, formed the +great delight, of ‘Saturday night at sea.’ These things were all too local +and personal in their interest to amuse any one who didn’t know the +parties; but mayhap one day or other I’ll give you a sight of the ‘log,’ +and let you hear some of our songs. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t stop to detail any of the adventures of my sea-faring life; +strange and wild enough they were in all conscience: one night, staggering +under close-reefed canvas beneath a lee-shore; another, carousing with a +jolly set in a ‘Schenk Hans’ at Rotterdam, or Ostende—now, hiding in +the dark caves of Ballybunnion, while the craft stood out to sea—now, +disguised, taking a run up to Paris, and dining in the ‘Café de L’Empire,’ +in all the voluptuous extravagance of the day. Adventure fast succeeding +on adventure, escape upon escape, had given my life a character of wild +excitement, which made me feel a single day’s repose, a period of <i>ennui</i> +and monotony. +</p> +<p> +“Smuggling, too, became only a part of my occupation. My knowledge of +French, and my power of disguising my appearance, enabled me to mix in +Parisian society, of a certain class, without any fear of detection. In +this way I obtained, from time to time, information of the greatest +consequence to our government; and once brought some documents from the +war department of Napoleon, which obtained for me the honour of an +interview with Mr. Pitt himself. This part of my career, however, would +take me too far away from my story, were I to detail any of the many +striking adventures which marked it; so I’ll pass on, at once, to one of +those eventful epochs of my life, two or three of which have changed, for +the time, the current of my destiny. +</p> +<p> +“I was about eighteen: the war had just broke out with France, and the +assembled camp at Boulogne threatened the invasion of England. The morning +we left the French coast, the preparations for the embarkation of the +troops, were in great forwardness, and certain particulars had reached us, +which convinced me that Napoleon really intended an attempt, which many +were disposed to believe, was a mere menace. In fact, an officer of the +staff had given me such information as explained the mode of the descent, +and the entire plan of the expedition. Before I could avail myself of +this, however, we should land our cargo, an unusually rich one, on the +west coast of Ireland, for my companions knew nothing all this time of the +system of ‘spionage’ I had established, and little suspected that one of +their crew was in relation with the Prime Minister of England. +</p> +<p> +“I have said I was about eighteen. My wild life, if it had made me feel +older than my years, had given a hardihood and enterprise to my character, +which heightened for me the enjoyment of every bold adventure, and made me +feel a kind of ecstasy in every emergency, where danger and difficulty +were present. I longed to be the skipper of my own craft, sweeping the +seas at my own will; a bold buccaneer, caring less for gain than glory, +until my name should win for itself its own meed of fame, and my feats be +spoken of in awe and astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Van Brock, our captain, was a hardy Fleming, but all his energy of +character, all his daring, were directed to the one object—gain. For +this, there was nothing he wouldn’t attempt, nothing he wouldn’t risk. +Now, our present voyage was one in which he had embarked all his capital; +the outbreak of a war warned him that his trade must speedily be abandoned—he +could no longer hope to escape the cruisers of every country, that already +filled the channel. This one voyage, however, if successful, would give +him an ample competence for life, and he determined to hazard everything +upon it. +</p> +<p> +“It was a dark and stormy night in November, when we made the first light +on the west coast of Ireland. Part of our cargo was destined for +Ballybunnion; the remainder, and most valuable portion, was to be landed +in the Bay of Galway. It blew a whole gale from the southward and +westward, and the sea ran mountains high, not the short jobble of a +land-locked channel, but the heavy roll of the great Atlantic,—dark +and frowning, swelling to an enormous height, and thundering away on the +iron-bound coast to leeward, with a crash, that made our hearts quiver. +The ‘Dart’ was a good sea-boat, but the waves swept her from stem to +stern, and though nothing but a close-reefed topsail was bent, we went +spinning through the water, at twelve knots. The hatchways were battened +down, and every preparation made for a rough night, for as the darkness +increased, so did the gale. +</p> +<p> +“The smuggler’s fate is a dark and gloomy one. Let the breeze fall, let +the blue sky and fleecy clouds lie mirrored on the glassy deep, and +straight a boat is seen, sweeping along with sixteen oars, springing with +every jerk of the strong arms, to his capture. And when the white waves +rise like mountains, and the lowering storm descends, sending tons of +water across his decks, and wetting his highest rigging with the fleecy +drift he dares not cry for help; the signal that would speak of his +distress, would be the knell, to toll his ruin. We knew this well. We felt +that come what would, from others, there was nothing to be hoped. It was +then, with agonizing suspense we watched the little craft, as she worked +in the stormy sea; we saw that with every tack, we were losing. The strong +land current that set in shore, told upon us, at every reach; and when we +went about, the dark and beetling cliffs seemed actually toppling over us, +and the wild cries of the sea-fowl, rang, like a dirge in our ears. The +small storm-jib we were obliged to set, sunk us by the head, and at every +pitch the little vessel seemed threatening to go down, bow foremost. +</p> +<p> +“Our great endeavour was to round the headland, which forms the southern +shore of the Shannon’s mouth. There is a small sound there, between this +point and the rocks, they call the ‘Blasquets,’ and for this we were +making with all our might. Thus passed our night, and when day broke, a +cheer of joy burst from our little crew, as we beheld the Blasquets on our +weather bow, and saw that the sound lay straight before us. Scarce had the +shout died away, when a man in the rigging cried out— +</p> +<p> +“‘A sail to windward:’ and the instant after added—‘a man-of-war +brig.’ +</p> +<p> +“The skipper sprang on the bulwark, and setting his glass in the shrouds, +examined the object, which, to the naked eye, was barely a haze in the +horizon. +</p> +<p> +“‘She carries eighteen guns,’ said he slowly, ‘and is steering our course. +I say, O’Kelly, there’s no use in running in shore, to be pinioned,—what’s +to be done?’ +</p> +<p> +“The thought of the information I was in possession of, flashed across me. +Life was never so dear before, but I could not speak. I knew the old man’s +all, was on the venture, I knew, too, if we were attacked, his resolve was +to fight her to the last spar that floated. +</p> +<p> +“‘Come,’ said he again, ‘there’s a point more south’ard in the wind; we +might haul her close, and make for Galway Bay. Two hours would land the +cargo, at least enough of it, and if the craft must go—’ +</p> +<p> +“A heavy squall struck us as he spoke; the vessel reeled over, till she +laid her channels in the sea. A snap like the report of a shot was heard, +and the topmast came tumbling down upon the deck, the topsail falling to +leeward, and hanging by the bolt-ropes over our gunwale. The little craft +immediately fell off from the wind, and plunged deeper than ever in the +boiling surf; at the same instant a booming sound swept across the water, +and a shot striking the sea near, ricochetted over the bowsprit, and +passed on, dipping and bounding, towards the shore. +</p> +<p> +“‘She’s one of their newly-built ones,’ said the second-mate, an Irishman, +who chewed his quid of tobacco as he gazed at her, as coolly, as if he was +in a dock-yard. ‘I know the ring of her brass guns.’ +</p> +<p> +“A second and a third flash, followed by two reports, came almost +together, but this time they fell short of us, and passed away in our +wake. +</p> +<p> +“We cut away the fallen rigging, and seeing nothing for it, now, but to +look to our own safety, we resolved to run the vessel up the bay, and try +if we could not manage to conceal some portions of the cargo, before the +man-o’-war could overtake us. The caves along the shore were all well +known to us, every one of them had served either as a store, or a place of +concealment. The wind, however, freshened every minute; the storm jib was +all we could carry, and this, instead of aiding, dipped us heavily by the +head, while the large ship gained momentarily on us, and now, her tall +masts and white sails lowered close in our wake. +</p> +<p> +“‘Shall we stave these puncheons?’ said the mate in a whisper to the +skipper; ‘she’ll be aboard of us in no time.’ +</p> +<p> +“The old man made no reply, but his eyes turned from the man-o’-war to +shore, and back again, and his mouth quivered slightly. +</p> +<p> +“‘They’d better get the hatches open, and heave over that tobacco,’ said +the mate, endeavouring to obtain an answer. +</p> +<p> +“‘She’s hauled down her signal for us to lie to,’ observed the skipper, +‘and see there, her bow ports are open—here it comes.’ +</p> +<p> +“A bright flash burst out as he spoke, and one blended report was heard, +as the shots skimmed the sea beside us. +</p> +<p> +“‘Run that long gun aft,’ cried the old fellow, as his eyes flashed and +his colour mounted. ‘I’ll rake their after-deek for them, or I’m mistaken. +</p> +<p> +“For the first time the command was not obeyed at once. The men looked at +each other in hesitation, and as if not determined what part to take. +</p> +<p> +“‘What do you stare at there,’ cried he in a voice of passion, ‘O’Kelly, +up with the old bunting, and let them see who they’ve got to deal with.’ +</p> +<p> +“A brown flag, with a Dutch lion in the centre, was run up the +signal-halliards, and the next minute floated out bravely from our gaff. +</p> +<p> +“A cheer burst from the man-of-war’s crew, as they beheld the signal of +defiance. Its answer was a smashing discharge from our long swivel, that +tore along their decks, cutting the standing rigging, and wounding several +as it went. The triumph was short-lived for us. Shot after shot poured in +from the brig, which, already to windward, swept our entire decks; while +an incessant: roll of small arms, showed that our challenge was accepted +to the death. +</p> +<p> +“‘Down, helm,’ said the old man in a whisper to the sailor at the wheel—‘down, +helm;’ while already the spitting waves that danced half a mile ahead, +betokened a reef of rocks, over which at low water a row boat could not +float. +</p> +<p> +“‘I know it, I know it well,’ was the skippers reply to the muttered +answer of the helmsman. +</p> +<p> +“By this, time the brig was slackening sail, and still his fire was +maintained as hotly as ever. The distance between us increased at each +moment, and, had we sea-room, it was possible for us yet to escape. +</p> +<p> +“Our long gun was worked without ceasing, and we could see from time to +time, that a bustle on the deck, denoted the destruction it was dealing; +when suddenly a wild shout burst from one of our men—‘the +man-of-war’s aground, her topsails are aback,’ A mad cheer—the +frantic cry of rage and desperation—broke from us; when, at the +instant, a reeling shock shook us from stem to stern. The little vessel +trembled like a living thing; and then, with a crash like thunder, the +hatchways sprang from their fastenings, and the white sea leaped up, and +swept along the deck. One drowning cry, one last mad yell burst forth. +</p> +<p> +“‘Three cheers, my boys!’ cried the skipper, raising his cap above his +head. +</p> +<p> +“Already, she was settling in the sea—the death notes rang out high +over the storm; a wave swept me overboard at the minute, and my latest +consciousness was seeing the old skipper clinging to the bow-sprit, while +his long grey hair was floating wildly behind: but the swooping sea rolled +over and over me. A kind of despairing energy nerved me, and after being +above an hour in the water, I was taken up, still swimming, by one of the +shore boats, which, as the storm abated, had ventured out to the +assistance of the sloop; and thus was I shipwrecked, within a few hundred +yards of the spot, where first I had ventured on the sea—the only +one saved of all the crew. Of the ‘Dart,’ not a spar reached shore; the +breaking sea tore her to atoms. +</p> +<p> +“The ‘Hornet’ scarcely fared better. She landed eight of her crew, badly +wounded; one man was killed, and she herself was floated only after months +of labour, and never, I believe, went to sea afterwards. +</p> +<p> +“The sympathy which in Ireland is never refused to misfortune, no matter +how incurred, stood me in stead now; for although every effort was made by +the authorities to discover if any of the smuggler’s crew had reached +shore alive, and large rewards were offered, no one would betray me; and I +lay as safely concealed beneath the thatch of an humble cabin, as though +the proud walls of a baronial castle afforded me their protection. +</p> +<p> +“From day to day I used to hear of the hot and eager inquiry going forward +to trace out, by any means, something of the wrecked vessel; and, at last, +news reached me, that a celebrated thief-taker from Dublin had arrived in +the neighbourhood, to assist in the search. +</p> +<p> +“There was no time to be lost now. Discovery would not only have perilled +my own life, but also have involved those of my kind protectors. How to +leave the village was, however, the difficulty, Revenue and man-of-war +boats, abounded on the Shannon, since the day of the wreck; the Ennis road +was beset by police, who scrutinized every traveller that passed on the +west coast. The alarm was sounded, and no chance of escape presented +itself in that quarter. In this dilemma, fortune, which so often stood my +friend, did not desert me. It chanced that a strolling company of actors, +who had been performing for some weeks past in Kilrush, were about to set +of to Ennistymon, where they were to give several representations. Nothing +could be easier than to avoid detection in such company; and I soon +managed to be included in the corps, by accepting an engagement as a +‘walking gentleman,’ at a low salary, and on the next morning found myself +seated on the ‘van,’ among a very motley crew of associates, in whose ways +and habits I very soon contrived to familiarize myself, becoming, before +we had gone many miles, somewhat of a favourite in the party. +</p> +<p> +“I will not weary you with any account of my strolling life. Every one +knows something of the difficulties which beset the humble drama; and ours +was of the humblest. Joe Hume himself could not have questioned one +solitary item in our budget: and I defy the veriest quibbler on a grand +jury to ‘traverse,’ a spangle on a pair of our theatrical smallclothes. +</p> +<p> +“Our scenes were two in number: one represented a cottage interior—pots, +kettles, a dresser, and a large fire, being depicted in smoke-coloured +traits thereon—this, with two chairs and a table, was convertible +into a parlour in a private house; and again, by a red-covered arm-chair, +and an old banner, became a baronial hall, or the saloon in a palace: the +second, represented two houses on the flat, with an open country between +them, a mill, a mountain, a stream, and a rustic bridge inclusive. This, +then, was either a Street in a town, a wood, a garden, or any other +out-of-door place of resort, for light comedy people, lovers, passionate +fathers, waiting-maids, robbers, or chorus singers. +</p> +<p> +“The chiefs of our corps were Mr. and Mrs. M’Elwain, who, as their names +bespoke, came from the north of Ireland, somewhere near Coleraine, I +fancy, but cannot pretend to accuracy; but I know it was on the borders of +‘Darry.’ +</p> +<p> +“How, or what, had ever induced a pair of as common-place, matter-of-fact +folk, as ever lived, to take to the Thespian art, heaven can tell. Had Mr. +Mac been a bailiff, and madam a green-groceress, nature would seem to have +dealt fairly with them; he, being a stout, red-faced, black-bearded tyke, +with a thatch of straight black hair, cut in semicircles over his ears, so +as to permit character wigs without inconvenience, heavy in step, and +plodding in gait. She, a tall, raw-boned woman, of some five-and-forty, +with piercing grey eyes, and a shrill harsh voice, that would have shamed +the veriest whistle that ever piped through a key-hole. Such were the +Macbeth and the Lady Macbeth—the Romeo and Juliet—the Hamlet +and Ophelia of the company; but their appearance was a trifle to the +manner and deportment of their style. Imagine Juliet with a tattered +Leghorn bonnet, a Scotch shawl, and a pair of brown boots, declaiming +somewhat in this guise— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“’ Come, <i>gantle</i> night, come loving black-browed night, +<i>Gie</i> me my <i>Romo!</i> and when he shall <i>dee</i>, +<i>Tak</i> him, and cut him into <i>leetle</i> stars, +And he will <i>mak’</i> the face of heaven <i>sae</i> fine, +That <i>a’</i> the <i>warld</i> will be in <i>lo’e</i> with him.’ +</pre> +<p> +“With these people I was not destined long to continue. The splendid +delusion of success was soon dispelled; and the golden harvest I was to +reap, settled down into something like four shillings a week, out of which +came stoppages of so many kinds and shapes, that my salary might have been +refused at any moment, under the plea, that there was no coin of the +realm, in which to pay it. +</p> +<p> +“One by one, every article of my wardrobe went to supply the wants of my +stomach; and I remember well my great coat, preserved with the tenacity +with which a shipwrecked-mariner hoards up his last biscuit, was converted +into mutton, to regale Messrs. Iago, Mercutio, and Cassius, with Mesdames +Ophelia, Jessica, Desdemona, and Co. It would make the fortune of an +artist, could he only have witnessed the preparations for our +entertainment. +</p> +<p> +“The festival was in honour, of what, the manager was pleased by a +singular figure of speech to call, my ‘benefit;’ the only profit accruing +to me from the aforesaid benefit, being, any satisfaction I might feel in +seeing my name in capitals, and the pleasure of waiting on the enlightened +inhabitants of Kilrush, to solicit their patronage. +</p> +<p> +“There was something to me of indescribable melancholy in that morning’s +perambulation, for independent of the fact, that I was threatened by one +with the stocks, as a vagabond, another, set a policeman to dog me, as a +suspicious character, and a third, mistook me for, a rat-catcher; the +butcher, with whom I negotiated for the quarter of mutton, came gravely +up, and examined the texture of my raiment, calling in a jury of his +friends to decide, if he wasn’t making a bad bargain. +</p> +<p> +“Night came, and I saw myself dressed for Petrucio, the character in which +I was to bring down thunders of applause, and fill the treasury to +overflowing. What a conflict of feelings was mine—now rating +Catherine in good round phrase, before the audience—now slipping +behind the flats to witness the progress of the ‘cuisine,’ for which I +longed, with the appetite of starvation,—how the potatoes split +their jackets with laughing, as they bubbled up and down, in the helmet of +Coriolanus, for such I grieve to say was the vessel used on the occasion; +the roasting mutton was presided over by ‘a gentleman of Padua,’ and +Christopher Sly was employed in concocting some punch, which, true to his +name, he tasted so frequently, it was impossible to awake him, towards the +last act. +</p> +<p> +“It was in the first scene of the fourth act, in which, with the feelings +of a famished wolf, I was obliged to assist at a mock supper on the stage, +with wooden beef, parchment fowls, wax pomegranates, and gilt goblets, in +which only the air prevented a vacuum. Just as I came to the passage— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Come, Kate, sit down—I know you have a stomach, +Will you give thanks, sweet Kate, or else shall I? +What is this—mutton? +</pre> +<p> +“At that very moment, as I flung the ‘pine-saddle,’ from one end of the +stage to the other, a savoury odour reached my nose; the clatter of +knives, the crash of plates, the sounds of laughter and merriment, fell +upon my ears—the wretches were at supper! Even the ‘first servant,’ +who should have responded to my wrath, bolted from the stage like a shot, +leaving his place without a moment’s warning; and ‘Catherine, the sweetest +Kate in Christendom, my dainty Kate,’ assured me with her mouth full, ‘the +meat was well, if I were so contented.’ Determined to satisfy myself on +the point—regardless of every thing but my hunger, I rushed off the +stage, and descended like a vulture, in the midst of the supper party; +threats, denunciations, entreaties, were of no use, I wouldn’t go back; +and let the house storm and rage, I had helped myself to a slice of the +joint, and cared for nobody. It was in vain they told me, that the revenue +officer and his family were outrageous with passion; and as to the +apothecary in the stage box, he had paid for six tickets in ‘senna +mixture;’ but heaven knows, I wasn’t a case for such a regimen. +</p> +<p> +“All persuasions failing, Mr. M’Elwain, armed all in proof, rushed at me +with a tin scimitar, while Madame, more violent still, capsized the helmet +and its scalding contents over my person, and nearly flayed me alive. With +frantic energy I seized the joint, and, fighting my way through the whole +company, rushed from the spot. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10078.jpg" width="100%" alt="078 " /> +</div> +<p> +‘Romans,’ ‘countrymen,’ and ‘lovers,’ ‘Dukes,’ ‘duennas,’ ‘demigods,’ and +‘dancers,’ with a loud yell, joined in the pursuit. Across the stage we +went, amid an uproar, that would have done credit to Pandemonium. I was +‘nimblest of foot,’ however, and having forced my way through an +‘impracticable’ door, I jumped clean through the wood, and having tripped +up an ‘angel’ that was close on my heels, I seized a candle, ‘thirty-six +to the pound,’ and applying it to the edge of the kitchen aforementioned, +bounded madly on, leaving the whole concern wrapped in flames. Down the +street I went, as if bloodhounds were behind me, and never stopped my wild +career until I reached a little eminence at the end of the town; then I +drew my breath, and turned one last look upon the ‘Theatre Royal.’ It was +a glorious spectacle to a revengeful spirit—amid the volumes of +flame and smoke that rose to heaven, (for the entire building was now +enveloped,) might be seen the discordant mass of actors and audience, +mixed up madly together—Turks, tailors, tumblers, and tidewaiters, +grandees and grocers, imps and innkeepers; there they were all screaming, +in concert, while the light material of the ‘property-room’ was ascending +in myriads of sparks. Castles and forests, baronial halls and robbers’ +caves, were mounting to mid-heaven, amid the flash of blue lights, and the +report of stage combustibles. +</p> +<p> +“You may be sure, that however gratifying to my feelings this last scene +of the drama was, I did not permit myself much leisure to contemplate its +a very palpable conviction staring me full in the face, that such a +spectacle might not exactly redound to my ‘benefit,’ I, therefore, +addressed myself to the road, moralizing as I went, somewhat in this +fashion: I have lost a respectable, but homely suit of apparel; and +instead, I have acquired a green doublet, leathern hose, jack boots, a +douched hat and a feather. Had I played out my part, by this time I should +have been strewing the stage with a mock supper. Now, I was consoling my +feelings with real mutton, which, however, wanting its ordinary +accompaniments, was a delicacy of no common order to me. I had not it is +true, the vociferous applause of a delighted audience to aid my digestion +as Petrucio. But the pleasant whisper of a good conscience, was a more +flattering reward to Con O’Kelly. This balanced the account in my favour; +and I stepped out with that light heart, which is so unequivocal an +evidence of an innocent and happy disposition. +</p> +<p> +“Towards day-break, I had advanced some miles on the road to Killaloe; +when before me I perceived a drove of horses, coupled together with all +manner of strange tackle, halters, and hay ropes. Two or three country +lads were mounted among them, endeavouring as well as they were able, to +keep them quiet; while a thick, short, red-faced fellow, in dirty ‘tops,’ +and a faded green frock led the way, and seemed to preside over the +procession. As I drew near, my appearance caused no common commotion; the +drivers fixing their eyes on me, could mind nothing else; the cattle, +participating in the sentiments, started, capered, plunged, and neighed +fearfully. While the leader of the corps, furious at the disorder he +witnessed, swore like a trooper, as with a tremendous cutting whip he +dashed here and there through the crowd, slashing men and horses, with a +most praiseworthy impartiality. At last, his eyes fell upon me, and for a +moment, I was full sure my fate was sealed; as he gripped his saddle +closer, tightened his curb-rein, and grasped his powerful whip with +redoubled energy. +</p> +<p> +“The instincts of an art are very powerful; for seeing the attitude of the +man, and beholding the savage expression of his features, I threw myself +into a stage position, slapped down my beaver with one hand, and drawing +my sword with the other, called out in a rich melodramatic howl—‘Come +on, Macduff!’ my look, my gesture, my costume, and above all my voice, +convinced my antagonist that I was insane; and, as quickly the hard +unfeeling character of his face relaxed, and an expression of rude pity +passed across it. +</p> +<p> +“‘’Tis Billy Muldoon, sir, I’m sure,’ cried one of the boys, as with +difficulty he sat the plunging beast under him. +</p> +<p> +“‘No, sir,’ shouted another, ‘he’s bigger nor Billy, but he has a look of +Hogan about the eyes.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Hould your prate,’ cried the master. ‘Sure Hogan was hanged at the +summer assizes.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘I know he was, sir,’ was the answer, given as coolly, as though no +contradiction arose on that score. +</p> +<p> +“‘Who are you,’ cried the leader? ‘where do you come from?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘From Ephesus, my lord,’ said I, bowing with stage solemnity, and +replacing my sword within my scabbard. +</p> +<p> +“‘Where?’ shouted he, with his hand to his ear. +</p> +<p> +“‘From Kilrush, most potent,’ replied I, approaching near enough to +converse without being overheard by the others: while in a few words I +explained, that my costume and appearance were only professional symbols, +which a hasty departure from my friends prevented my changing. +</p> +<p> +“‘And where are you going now?’ was the next query. +</p> +<p> +“‘May I ask you the same,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +“‘Me, why I’m for Killaloe—for the fair tomorrow.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘That’s exactly my destination,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +“‘And how do you mean to go?’ retorted he, ‘It’s forty miles from here.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘I have a notion,’ replied I, ‘that the dark chesnut there, with the +white fetlock, will have the honour of conveying me.’ +</p> +<p> +“A very peculiar grin, which I did not half admire, was the reply to this +speech. +</p> +<p> +“‘There’s many a one I wouldn’t take under five shillings from, for the +day,’ said I; ‘but the times are bad, and somehow I like the look of you. +Is it a bargain?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Faix, I’m half inclined to let you try the same horse,’ said he. ‘It +would be teaching you something, any how. Did ye ever hear of the +Playboy?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘To be sure I did. Is that he?’ +</p> +<p> +“He nodded. +</p> +<p> +“‘And you’re Dan Moone,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +“‘The same,’ cried he, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“‘Come, Dan, turn about is fair play. I’ll ride the horse for you +to-morrow—where you like, and over, what you like—and in +reward, you’ll let me mount one of the others as far as Killaloe: we’ll +dine together at the cross roads.’—Here I slipped the mutton from +under the tail of my coat.—‘Do you say done?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Get upon the gray pony,’ was the short rejoinder; and the next moment I +was seated on the back of as likely a cob as I ever bestrode. +</p> +<p> +“My first care was to make myself master of my companion’s character, +which I did in a very short time, while affecting to disclose my own, +watching, with a sharp eye, how each portion of my history told upon him. +I saw that he appreciated, with a true horse-dealer’s ‘onction,’ any thing +that smacked of trick or stratagem; in fact, he looked upon all mankind as +so many ‘screws,’ he being the cleverest fellow who could detect their +imperfections, and unveil their unsoundness. In proportion as I recounted +to him the pranks and rogueries of my boyish life, his esteem for me rose +higher and higher; and, before the day was over, I had won so much of his +confidence, that he told me the peculiar vice and iniquity of every horse +he had, describing with great satisfaction the class of purchasers, he had +determined to meet with. +</p> +<p> +“‘There is little Paul there,’ said he, ‘that brown cob, with the cropped +ears, there isn’t such a trotter in Ireland; but somehow, though you can +see his knees from the saddle when he’s moving, he’ll come slap down with +you, as if he was shot, the moment you touch his flank with the spur, and +then there’s no getting him up again, till you brush his ear with the whip—the +least thing does it—he’s on his legs in a minute, and not a bit the +worse of his performance.’ +</p> +<p> +“Among all the narratives he told, this made the deepest impression on me. +That the animal had been taught the accomplishment, there could be no +doubt; and I began to puzzle my brain in what way it might best be turned +to advantage. It was of great consequence to me to impress my friend at +once with a high notion of my powers; and here was an admirable occasion +for their exercise, if I only could hit on a plan. +</p> +<p> +“The conversation turned on various subjects, and at last, as we neared +Killaloe, my companion began to ponder over the most probable mode I could +be of service to him, on the following day. It was at last agreed upon, +that, on reaching town, I should exchange my Petrucio costume for that of +a ‘squireen,’ or half gentleman; and repair to the ordinary at the +‘Green-man,’ where nearly all the buyers put up, and all the talk on +sporting matters went forward. This suited me perfectly, I was delighted +to perform a new part, particularly when the filling up was left to my own +discretion. Before an hour elapsed after our arrival, I saw myself attired +in a very imposing suit—blue coat, cords and tops, that would have +fitted me for a very high range of character in my late profession. +O’Kelly was a name, as Pistol says, ‘of good report,’ and there was no +need to change it; so I took my place at the supper-table, among some +forty others, comprising a very fair average of the raffs and raps, of the +county. The mysteries of horse-flesh, were, of course, the only subject of +conversation; and before the punch made its appearance, I astonished the +company by the extent of my information, and the acuteness of my remarks. +</p> +<p> +“I improvised steeple-chases over impossible countries, invented pedigrees +for horses yet unfoaled, and threw out such a fund of anecdote about the +‘turf’ and the ‘chace,’ that I silenced the old established authorities of +the place, and a general buzz went round the table of, ‘Who can he be, at +all—where did he come from?’ +</p> +<p> +“As the evening wore apace, my eloquence grew warm—I described my +stud and my kennel, told some very curious instances of my hunting +experience, and when at last a member of the party, piqued at my monopoly +of the conversation, endeavoured to turn my flank by an allusion to +grouse-shooting, I stopped him at once, by asserting with vehemence, that +no man deserved the name of sportsman who shot over dogs—a sudden +silence pervaded the company, while the last speaker turning towards me +with a malicious grin, begged to know how I bagged my game, for that, in +<i>his</i> county, they were ignorant enough to follow the old method. +</p> +<p> +“‘With a pony of course,’ said I, finishing my glass. +</p> +<p> +“‘A pony!’ cried one after the other—how do you mean?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Why,’ resumed I, ‘that I have a pony sets every species of game, as true +as the best pointer that ever ‘stopped.’ +</p> +<p> +“A hearty roar of laughing followed this declaration, and a less +courageous spirit than mine would have feared that all his acquired +popularity was in danger. +</p> +<p> +“‘You have him with you, I suppose,’ said a sly old fellow from the end of +the table. +</p> +<p> +“‘Yes,’ said I carelessly—‘I brought him over here to take a couple +of days’ shooting, if there is any to be had. +</p> +<p> +“‘You would have no objection,’ said another insinuatingly, ‘to let us +look at the beast?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Not the least,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +“‘Maybe you’d take a bet on it,’ said a third. +</p> +<p> +“‘I fear I couldn’t,’ said I,—‘the thing is too sure—the wager +would be an unfair one.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Oh! as to that,’ cried three or four together, ‘we’ll take our chance, +for even if we were to lose, it’s well worth paying for.’ +</p> +<p> +“The more I expressed my dislike to bet, the more warmly they pressed me, +and I could perceive that a general impression was spreading that my pony +was about as apocryphal as many of my previous stories. +</p> +<p> +“‘Ten pounds with you, he doesn’t do it,’ said an old hard-featured +squire. +</p> +<p> +“‘The same from me,’ cried another. +</p> +<p> +“‘Two to one in fifties,’ shouted a third, until every man at table had +proffered his wager, and I gravely called for pen, ink, and paper, and +booked them, with all due form. +</p> +<p> +“‘Now, when is it to come off?’ was the question of some half dozen. +</p> +<p> +“‘Now, if you like it—the night seems fine.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘No, no,’ said they, laughing, ‘there’s no such hurry as that; to-morrow +we are going to draw Westenra’s cover—what do you say if you meet us +there, by eight o’clock—and we’ll decide the bet.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Agreed,’ said I; and shaking hands with the whole party, I folded up my +paper, placed it in my pocket, and wished them good night. +</p> +<p> +“Sleep was, however, the last thing in my thoughts; repairing to the +little public-house where I left my friend Dan, I asked him if he knew any +one well acquainted with the country, and who could tell, at a moment, +where a hare, or a covey was to be found. “‘To be sure,’ said he at once; +‘there’s a boy below knows every puss and every bird in the country. Tim +Daly would bring you, dark as the night is, to the very spot where you’d +find one.’ +</p> +<p> +“In a few minutes I had made Mr. Tim’s acquaintance, and arranged with him +to meet me at the cover on the following morning, a code of signals being +established between us, by which, he was to convey to me the information +of where a hare was lying, or a covey to be sprung. +</p> +<p> +“A little before eight I was standing beside ‘Paul’ on the appointed spot, +the centre of an admiring circle, who, whatever their misgivings as to his +boasted skill, had only one opinion about his shapes and qualities. +</p> +<p> +“‘Splendid forehand’—‘what legs’—‘look at his quarters’—‘and +so deep in the heart’—were the exclamations heard on every side—till +a rosy-cheeked fat little fellow growing impatient at the delay, cried out— +</p> +<p> +“‘Come, Mr. O’Kelly, mount if you please, and come along.’ +</p> +<p> +“I tightened my girth—sprang into the saddle—my only care +being, to keep my toes in as straight a line as I could, with my feet. +Before we proceeded half a mile, I saw Tim seated on a stile, scratching +his head in a very knowing manner; upon which, I rode out from the party, +and looking intently at the furze cover in front, called out— +</p> +<p> +“‘Keep back the dogs there—call them off—hush, not a word.’ +</p> +<p> +“The hounds were called in, the party reined back their horses, and all +sat silent spectators of my movements. +</p> +<p> +“When suddenly I touched ‘Paul’ in both flanks, down he dropped, like a +parish clerk, stiff and motionless as a statue. +</p> +<p> +“‘What’s that?’ cried two or three behind. +</p> +<p> +“‘He’s setting, said I, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“‘What is it, though?’ said one. +</p> +<p> +“‘A hare!’ said I, and at the same instant I shouted to lay on the dogs, +and tipping Paul’s ears, forward I went. Out bolted puss, and away we +started across the country, I leading, and taking all before me. +</p> +<p> +“We killed in half an hour, and found ourselves not far from the first +cover; my friend Tim, being as before in advance, making the same signal +as at first. The same performance was now repeated. ‘Paul’ went through +his part to perfection; and notwithstanding the losses, a general cheer +saluted us as we sprung to our legs, and dashed after the dogs. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I didn’t spare him: everything now depended on my sustaining +our united fame; and there was nothing too high or too wide for me, that +morning. +</p> +<p> +“‘What will you take for him, Mr. O’Kelly?’ was the question of each man, +as he came up to the last field. +</p> +<p> +“‘Would you like any further proof?’ said I. ‘Is any gentleman +dissatisfied?’ +</p> +<p> +“A general ‘No’ was the answer; and again the offers were received from +every quarter, while they produced the bank-notes, and settled their bets. +It was no part of my game, however, to sell him; the trick might be +discovered before I left the country, and if so, there wouldn’t be a whole +bone remaining in my skin. +</p> +<p> +“My refusal evidently heightened both <i>my</i> value and <i>his</i>, and +I sincerely believe there was no story I could tell, on our ride back to +town, which would not have met credence that morning; and, indeed, to do +myself justice, I tried my popularity to its utmost. +</p> +<p> +“By way of a short cut back, as the fair was to begin at noon, we took a +different route, which led across some grass fields, and a small river. In +traversing this, I unfortunately was in the middle of some miraculous +anecdote, and entirely forgot my pony and his acquirements; and as he +stopped to drink, without thinking of what I was doing, with the common +instinct of a rider, I touched him with the spur. Scarcely had the rowel +reached his side, when down he fell, sending me head foremost over his +neck into the water. For a second or two the strength of the current +carried me along, and it was only after a devil of a scramble I gained my +legs, and reached the bank wet through, and heartily ashamed of myself. +</p> +<p> +“‘Eh, O’Kelly, what the deuce was that?’ cried one of the party, as a roar +of laughter broke from amongst them. +</p> +<p> +“‘Ah!’ said I, mournfully,’ I wasn’t quick enough/ +</p> +<p> +“‘Quick enough!’ cried they. ‘Egad, I never saw anything like it. Why, +man, you were shot off like an arrow.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Leaped off, if you please,’ said I, with an air of an offended dignity—‘leaped +off—didn’t you see it?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘See what?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘The salmon, to be sure. A twelve-pounder, as sure as my name’s O’Kelly. +He “set” it.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Set a salmon!’ shouted twenty voices in a breath. ‘The thing’s +impossible.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Would you like a bet on it?’ asked I drily. +</p> +<p> +“‘No, no—damn it; no more bets; but surely——’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Too provoking, after all,’ muttered I, ‘to have lost so fine a fish, and +get such a ducking’; and with that I mounted my barb, and, waving my hand, +wished them a good-bye, and galloped into Killaloe. +</p> +<p> +“This story I have only related, because, insignificant as it was, it +became in a manner the pivot of my then fate in life. The jockey at once +made me an offer of partnership in his traffic, displaying before me the +numerous advantages of such a proposal. I was a disengaged man—my +prospects not peculiarly brilliant—the state of my exchequer by no +means encouraging the favourite nostrum of a return to cash payments, and +so I acceded, and entered at once upon my new profession with all the +enthusiasm I was always able to command, no matter what line of life +solicited my adoption. +</p> +<p> +“But it’s near one o’clock, and so now, Mr. O’Leary, if you’ve no +objection, we’ll have a grill and a glass of Madeira, and then, if you can +keep awake an hour or so longer, I’ll try and finish my adventures.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. O’KELLY’S TALE.—CONTINUED. +</h2> +<p> +“I left off at that flattering portion of my history where I became a +horse-dealer; in this capacity I travelled over a considerable portion of +Ireland, now larking it in the West—jollifying in the South—and +occasionally suffering a penance for both enjoyments, by a stray trip to +Ulster. In these rambles I contrived to make acquaintance with most of the +resident gentry, who, by the special freemasonry that attends my calling, +scrupled not to treat me on terms of half equality, and even invite me to +their houses—a piece of condescension on their part, which they well +knew was paid for, in more solid advantages. +</p> +<p> +“In a word, Mr. O’Leary, I became a kind of moral amphibia, with powers to +sustain life in two distinct and opposite elements—now brushing my +way among frieze-coated farmers, trainers, dealers, sharpers, and +stablemen; now floating on the surface of a politer world, where the +topics of conversation took a different range, and were couched in a very +different vocabulary. +</p> +<p> +“My knowledge of French, and my acquaintance with Parisian life, at least +as seen in that class in which I used to mix, added to a kind of natural +tact, made me, as far as manners and ‘usage’ were concerned, fully the +equal of those with whom I associated; and I managed matters so well, that +the circumstance of my being seen in the morning with cords and tops of +jockey cut, showing off a ‘screw,’ or extolling the symmetry of a spavined +hackney, never interfered with the pretensions I put forward at night, +when, arranged in suit of accurate black, I turned over the last new +opera, or delivered a very scientific criticism on the new ‘ballet’ in +London, or the latest fashion imported from the Continent. +</p> +<p> +“Were I to trace back this part of my career, I might perhaps amuse you +more by the incidents it contained, than by any other portion of my life; +nothing indeed is so suggestive of adventure, as that anomaly which the +French denominate so significantly—‘a false position,’ The man who—come, +come, don’t be afraid, though that sounds very like Joseph Surface, I’m +not going to moralize—the man, I say, who endeavours to sustain two +distinct lines in life, is very likely to fail in both, and so I felt it, +for while my advantages all inclined to one side, my taste and +predilections leaned to the other; I could never adopt knavery as a +profession—as an amateur I gloried in it: roguery, without risk, was +a poor pettifogging policy that I spurned; but a practical joke that +involved life or limb, a hearty laugh, or a heavy reckoning, was a +temptation I never could resist. The more I mixed in society, the greater +my intimacy with persons of education and refinement, the stronger became +my repugnance to my actual condition, and the line of life I had adopted. +While my position in society was apparently more fixed, I became in +reality more nervously anxious for its stability. The fascinations which +in the better walks of life are thrown around the man of humble condition, +but high aspirings, are strong and sore temptations, while he measures and +finds himself not inferior to others, to whom the race is open, and the +course is free, and yet feels in his own heart, that there is a bar upon +his escutcheon which excludes him from the lists. I began now to +experience this in all its poignancy. Among the acquaintances I had +formed, one of my most intimate was a young baronet, who had just +succeeded to a large estate in the county Kilkenny. Sir Harvey Blundell +was an Anglo-Irishman in more than one sense: from his English father he +had inherited certain staid and quiet notions of propriety, certain +conventional ideas regarding the observance of etiquette, which are less +valued in Ireland; while, from his mother, he succeeded to an appreciation +of native fun and drollery, of all the whims and oddities of Irish life, +which, strange enough, are as well understood by the Anglo-Irishman, as by +one ‘to the manner born.’ +</p> +<p> +“I met Sir Harvey at a supper party in College. Some song I had sung of my +own composing, or some story of my inventing, I forget which, tickled his +fancy: he begged to be introduced to me, drew his chair over to my side of +the table, and ended by giving an invitation to his house for the +partridge-shooting, which was to begin in a few days; I readily assented—it +was a season in which I had nothing to do, my friend Dan had gone over to +the Highlands to make a purchase of some ponies; I was rather flush of +cash, and consequently in good spirits. It was arranged, then, that I +should drive him down in my drag, a turn-out with four spanking greys, of +whose match and colour, shape and action, I was not a little vain. +</p> +<p> +“We posted to Carlow, to which place I had sent on my horses, and arrived +the same evening at Sir Harvey’s house, in time for dinner. This was the +first acquaintance I had made, independent of my profession. Sir Harvey +knew me, as Mr. O’Kelly whom he met at an old friend’s chambers in +College; and he introduced me thus to his company, adding to his intimates +in a whisper I could overhear—‘devilish fast fellow, up to every +thing—knows life at home, and abroad, and has such a team!’ Here +were requisites enough, in all conscience, to win favour among any set of +young country-gentlemen, and I soon found myself surrounded by a circle, +who listened to my opinions on every subject, and recorded my judgments, +with the most implicit faith in their wisdom, no matter on what I +talked, women, wine, the drama, play, sporting, debts, duns, or duels, my +word was law. +</p> +<p> +“Two circumstances considerably aided me in my present supremacy: first, +Sir Harvey’s friends were all young men from Oxford, who knew little of +the world, and less of that part of it called Ireland; and secondly, they +were all strangers to me, and consequently my liberty of speech was +untrammelled by any unpleasant reminiscences of dealing, in fairs or +auctions. +</p> +<p> +“The establishment was presided over by Sir Harvey’s sister, at least, +nominally so—her presence being a reason for having ladies at his +parties; and although she was only nineteen, she gave a tone and character +to the habits of the house, which, without her, it never could have +possessed. Miss Blundell was a very charming person, combining in herself +two qualities which, added to beauty, made a very irresistible <i>ensemble</i>: +she had the greatest flow of spirits, with a retiring and almost timidly +bashful disposition: courage for any thing, and a delicacy that shrunk +abashed from all that bordered on display, or bore the slightest semblance +of effrontery. I shall say no more, than that before I was a week in the +house, I was over head and ears in love with her; my whole thoughts +centred in her; my whole endeavour, to show myself in such a light as +might win her favour. +</p> +<p> +“Every accomplishment I possessed—every art and power of amusing, +urged to the utmost by the desire to succeed, I exerted in her service; +and at last perceived, that she was not indifferent to me. Then, and then +for the first time, came the thought—who was I, that dared to do +this—what had I of station, rank, or wealth, to entitle me to sue—perhaps +to gain, the affections, of one placed like her? The whole duplicity of my +conduct started up before me, and I saw for the first time, how the mere +ardour of pursuit had led me on and on—how the daring to surmount a +difficulty, had stirred my heart, at first to win, and then to worship +her: and the bitterness of my self-reproach at that moment became a +punishment, which, even now, I remember with a shudder. It is too true! +The great misfortunes of life form more endurable subjects for memory in +old age, than the instances, however trivial, where we have acted amiss, +and where conscience rebukes us. I have had my share of calamity, one way +or other—my life has been more than once in peril—and in such +peril as might well shake the nerve of the boldest: but I can think on all +these, and do think on them, often, without fear or heart-failing; but +never can I face the hours, when my own immediate self-love and vanity +brought their own penalty on me, without a sense of self-abasement, as +vivid as the moment I first experienced it. But I must hasten over this. I +had been now about six weeks in Sir Harvey’s house, day after day +determining on my departure, and invariably yielding when the time came, +to some new request to stay for something or other—now, a day’s +fishing on the Nore—now, another morning at the partridge—then, +there was—a boat-race, or a music-party, or a pic-nic, in fact each +day led on to another, and I found myself lingering on, unable to tear +myself from where, I felt, my remaining was ruin. +</p> +<p> +“At last I made up my mind, and determined, come what would, to take my +leave, never to return. I mentioned to Sir Harvey in the morning that some +matter of importance required my presence in town, and, by a half promise +to spend my Christmas with him, obtained his consent to my departure. +</p> +<p> +“We were returning from an evening walk—Miss Blundell was leaning on +my arm—we were the last of the party who, by some chance or other, +had gone forward, leaving us to follow alone. For some time neither of us +spoke: what were her thoughts, I cannot guess: mine were, I acknowledge, +entirely fixed upon the hour I was to see her for the last time, while I +balanced whether I should speak of my approaching departure, or leave her +without even a ‘good-bye.’ +</p> +<p> +“I did not know at the time so well as I now do, how much of the interest +I had excited in her heart depended on the mystery of my life. The stray +hints I now and then dropped—the stories into which I was +occasionally led—the wild scenes and wilder adventures, in which I +bore my part—had done more than stimulate her curiosity concerning +me. This, I repeat, I knew not at the the time, and the secret of my +career weighed like a crime upon my conscience. I hesitated long whether I +should not disclose every circumstance of my life, and, by the avowal of +my utter un-worthiness, repair, as far as might be, the injury I had done +her. Then came that fatal ‘<i>amour-propre</i>’ that involved me +originally in the pursuit, and I was silent. We had not been many minutes +thus, when a servant came from the house to inform Miss Blundell that her +cousin, Captain Douglas, had arrived. As she nodded her head in reply, I +perceived the colour mounted to her cheek, and an expression of agitation +passed over her features. +</p> +<p> +“‘Who is Captain Douglas?’ said I, without, however, venturing to look +more fully at her. +</p> +<p> +“‘Oh! a cousin, a second or third cousin, I believe; but a great friend of +Harvey’s.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘And of his sister’s too, if I might presume so far?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Quite wrong for once,’ said she, with an effort to seem at ease: ‘he’s +not the least a favourite of mine, although——’ +</p> +<p> +“‘<i>You</i> are of his!’ I added quickly. ‘Well, well, I really beg +pardon for this boldness of mine.’ How I was about to continue, I know +not, when her brother’s voice, calling her aloud, broke off all further +conversation. +</p> +<p> +“‘Come, Fanny,’ said he, ‘here’s Harry Douglas, just come with all the +London gossip—he’s been to Windsor too, and has been dining with the +Prince. O’Kelly, you must know Douglas, you are just the men to suit each +other.—He’s got a heavy book on the Derby, and will be delighted to +have a chat with you about the turf. +</p> +<p> +“As I followed Miss Blundell into the drawing-room, my heart was heavy and +depressed. +</p> +<p> +“Few of the misfortunes in life come on us without foreboding. The clouds +that usher in the storm, cast their shadows on the earth before they +break; and so it is with our fate. A gloomy sense of coming evil, presages +the blow about to fall, and he who would not be stunned by the stroke, +must not neglect the warning. +</p> +<p> +“The room was full of people—the ordinary buzz and chit-chat of an +evening-party was going forward, and an hundred pleasant projects were +forming for the next day’s amusement, among which, I heard my name bandied +about, on every side. +</p> +<p> +“‘O’Kelly will arrange this,’ cried one—‘leave it all to O’Kelly—he +must decide it;’ and so on, when suddenly Blundell called out— +</p> +<p> +“‘O’Kelly, come up here,’ and then taking me by the arm, he led me to the +end of the room, where with his back turned towards us, a tall +fashionable-looking man was talking to his sister. +</p> +<p> +“‘Harry,’ cried the host, as he touched his elbow, ‘let me introduce a +very particular friend of mine—Mr. O’Kelly.’ +</p> +<p> +“Captain Douglas wheeled sharply round, and, fixing on me a pair of dark +eyes, overshadowed with heavy beetling brows, looked at me sternly without +speaking. A cold thrill ran through me from head to foot as I met his +gaze; the last time we had seen each other was in a square of the Royal +Barracks, where <i>he</i>, was purchasing a remount for his troop, and <i>I</i>, +was the horse-dealer. +</p> +<p> +“‘<i>Your</i> friend, Mr. O’Kelly!’ said he, as he fixed his glass in his +eye, and a most insulting curl, half smile, half sneer, played about his +mouth. +</p> +<p> +“‘How very absurd you are, Harry,’ said Miss Blundell, endeavouring by an +allusion to something they were speaking of, to relieve the excessive +awkwardness of the moment. +</p> +<p> +“‘Yes, to be sure, <i>my</i> friend,’ chimed in Sir Harvey, ‘and a +devilish good fellow too, and the best judge of horse-flesh.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘I havn’t a doubt of it,’ was the dry remark of the Captain; ‘but how did +he get here?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Sir,’ said I, in a voice scarce audible with passion, ‘whatever, or +whoever I am, by birth at least I am fully your equal.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘D——n your pedigree,’ said he coolly. +</p> +<p> +“‘Why, Harry, interrupted Blundell: ‘what are you thinking of? Mr. O’Kelly +is——’ +</p> +<p> +“‘A jockey—a horse-dealer, if you will, and the best hand at passing +off a screw, I’ve met for some time. I say, sir,’ continued he in a louder +tone, ‘that roan charger hasn’t answered his warranty—he stands at +Dycer’s for you.’ +</p> +<p> +“Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of us, the consternation could not +have been greater—as for me, everything around bore a look of +mockery and scorn: derision and contempt sat on every feature, and a wild +uncertainty of purpose, like coming insanity, flitted through my brain: +what I said, or how I quitted the spot, I am unable to say; my last +remembrance of that accursed moment was the burst of horrid laughter that +filled my ears, as I rushed out. I almost think that I hear it still, like +the yell of the furies; its very cadence was torture. I ran from the house—I +crossed the fields without a thought of whither I was going—escape, +concealment, my only object. I sought to hide myself for ever from the +eyes of those who had looked upon me with such withering contempt; and I +would have been thankful to him who would have given me refuge, beneath +the dank grass of the churchyard. +</p> +<p> +“Never did a guilty man fly from the scene of his crime with more +precipitate haste, than did I from the spot which had witnessed my shame, +and degradation. At every step, I thought of the cruel speeches, the harsh +railings, and the bitter irony, of all, before whom, but one hour ago, I +stood chief and pre-eminent; and although I vowed to myself never to meet +any of them again, I could not pluck from my heart the innate sense of my +despicable condition, and how low I must now stand in the estimation of +the very lowest, I had so late looked down upon. And here let me passingly +remark, that while we often hold lightly the praise of those, upon whose +powers of judgment and reach of information we place little value, by some +strange contrariety we feel most bitterly the censure of these very +people, whenever any trivial circumstance, any small or petty observance +with which they are acquainted, gives them, for the time, the power of an +opinion. The mere fact of our contempt for them adds a poignancy to their +condemnation, and I question much if we do not bear up better against the +censure of the wise, than the scoff of the ignorant. +</p> +<p> +“On I went, and on, never even turning my head; for though I had left all +the little wealth I possessed in the world, I would gladly have given it, +ten times told, to have blotted out even a particle of the shame that +rested on my character. Scarcely had I reached the high road, when I heard +the quick tramp of horses, and the rattle of wheels behind me; and, so +strong were the instincts of my fear, that I scarcely dared to look back; +at length I did so, and beheld the mail-coach coming towards me at a rapid +pace. As it neared, I hailed the coachman, and without an inquiry as to +where it was going, I sprung up to a place on the roof, thankful that ere +long I should leave miles between me, and my torturers. +</p> +<p> +“The same evening we arrived in Cork; during the journey I made +acquaintance with a sergeant of a light dragoon regiment, who was +proceeding in charge of three recruits, to the depot at Cove. With the +quick eye of his calling, the fellow saw something in my dispirited state +that promised success to his wishes; and he immediately began the +thousand-times-told tale of the happiness of a soldier’s life. I stopped +him short at once, for my mind was already made up, and before the day +broke, I had enlisted in his Majesty’s Twelfth Light Dragoons, at that +time serving in America. +</p> +<p> +“If I have spared you the recital of many passages in my life, whose +painful memory would hurt me to call up, I shall also pass over this +portion of my career, which, though not marked by any distinct feature of +calamity, was, perhaps, the most painful I ever knew. He who thinks that +in joining the ranks or an army, his only trials will be the severity of +an unaccustomed discipline, and the common hardship of a soldier’s life, +takes but a very shallow view of what is before him. Coarse and vulgar +associates—depraved tastes and brutal habits—the ribald jest +of the barrack-room—the comrade spirit of a class, the very lowest +and meanest—these are the trials, the almost insupportable trials, +of him who has known better days. +</p> +<p> +“As hour by hour, he finds himself yielding to the gradual pressure of his +fate, and feels his mind assuming, one by one, the prejudices of those +about him, his self-esteem falls with his condition, and he sees that the +time is not distant, when all inequality between him and his fellows shall +cease, and every trait of his former self be washed away, for ever. +</p> +<p> +“After four months of such endurance as I dare not even now suffer myself +to dwell upon, orders arrived at Cove for the recruits of the different +regiments at once to proceed to Chatham, whence they were to be forwarded +to their respective corps. I believe in my heart, had this order not come, +I should have deserted; so unendurable had my life become. The thought of +active service, the prospect of advancement, however remote, cheered my +spirits, and, for the first time since I joined, my heart was light on the +morning when the old ‘Northumberland’ transport anchored in the harbour, +and the signal for embarking the troops floated from the mast-head. A +motley crew we were—frieze-coated, red-coated, and no-coated; some, +ruddy-cheeked farmer’s boys, sturdy good-humoured fellows, with the bloom +of country life upon their faces; some, the pale, sickly, inhabitants of +towns, whose sharpened features and quick penetrating eyes, betokened how +much their wits had contributed to their maintenance. A few there were, +like myself, drawn from a better class, but already scarce distinguishable +amid the herd. We were nearly five hundred in number, one feature of +equality pervading all—none of us had any arms. Some instances of +revolt and mutiny that had occurred, a short time previous, on board +troop-ships, had induced the Horse Guards to adopt this resolution, and a +general order was issued, that the recruits should not receive arms before +their arrival at Chatham. At last we weighed anchor, and, with a light +easy wind stood out to sea; it was the first time I had been afloat for +many a long day, and as I leaned over the bulwark, and heard the light +rustle of the waves as they broke on the cut-water, and watched the white +foam as it rippled past, I thought on the old days of my smuggling life, +when I trod the plank of my little craft, with a step as light and a heart +as free, as ever did the proudest admiral on the poop-deck of his +three-decker; and as I remembered what I then had been, and thought of +what I now was, a growing melancholy settled on me, and I sat apart and +spoke to none. +</p> +<p> +“On the third night after we sailed, the breeze, which had set in at +sunset, increased considerably, and a heavy sea rolled in from the +westward. Now, although the weather was not such as to endanger the safety +of a good ship with an able crew, yet was it by no means a matter of +indifference in an old rotten craft like the ‘Northumberland,’ condemned +half a dozen years before, and barely able to make her voyage in light +winds and fine weather. Our skipper knew this well, and I could see by the +agitation of his features, and the altered tones of his voice, how little +he liked the freshening gale, and the low moaning sound that swept along +the sea, and threatened a storm. The pumps had been at work for some +hours, and it was clear that the most we could do, was to keep the water +from gaining on us. A chance observation of mine had attracted the +skipper’s attention, and after a few minutes’ conversation he saw that I +was a seaman, not only better informed, but more habituated to danger than +himself; he was, therefore, glad to take counsel from me, and at my +suggestion a spare sail was bent, and passed under the ship’s bottom, +which soon succeeded in arresting the progress of the leak, and, at the +same time, assisted the vessel’s sailing. Meanwhile the storm was +increasing, and it now blew what the sailors call ‘great guns.’ +</p> +<p> +“We were staggering along under light canvas, when the lookout-a-head +announced a light on the weather-bow; it was evidently coming towards us, +and scarce half a mile distant; we had no more than time to hang out a +lantern in the tops and put up the helm, when a large ship, whose sides +rose several feet above our own, swept by us, and so close, that her +yard-arms actually touched our rigging as she yawed over in the sea. A +muttered thanksgiving for our escape, for such it was, broke from every +lip; and hardly was it uttered, when again a voice cried out, ‘here she +comes to leeward,’ and sure enough the dark shadow of the large mass +moving at a speed far greater than ours, passed under our lee, while a +harsh summons was shouted out to know who we were, and whither bound. ‘The +Northumberland,’ with troops, was the answer; and before the words were +well out, a banging noise was heard—the ports of the stranger ship +were flung open, a bright flash, like a line of flame, ran her entire +length, and a raking broadside was poured into us. The old transport +reeled over and trembled like a thing of life,—her shattered sides +and torn bulwarks let in the water as she heeled to the shock, and for an +instant, as she bent beneath the storm, I thought she was settling, to go +down by the head. I had little time, however, for thought: one wild cheer +broke from the attacking ship—its answer was the faint, sad cry, of +the wounded and dying on our deck. The next moment the grapples were +thrown into us, and the vessel was boarded from stem to stern. The noise +of the cannonade, and the voices on deck, brought all our men from below, +who came tumbling up the hatches, believing we had struck. +</p> +<p> +“Then began a scene, such as all I have ever witnessed of carnage and +slaughter cannot equal. The Frenchmen, for such they were, rushed down +upon us as we stood defenceless, and unarmed; a deadly roll of musketry +swept our thick and trembling masses. The cutlass and the boarding-pike +made fearful havoc among us, and an unresisted slaughter tore along our +deck, till the heaps of dead and dying made the only barrier for the few +remaining. +</p> +<p> +“A chance word in French, and a sign of masonry, rescued me from the fate +of my comrades, and my only injury was a slight sabre-wound in the +fore-arm, which I received in warding off a cut intended for my head. The +carnage lasted scarce fifteen minutes; but in that time, of all the crew +that manned our craft—what between those who leaped overboard in +wild despair, and those who fell beneath fire and steel—scarce +twenty remained, appalled and trembling, the only ones rescued from this +horrible slaughter. +</p> +<p> +“A sudden cry of ‘she’s sinking!’ burst from the strange ship, and in a +moment the Frenchmen clambered up their bulwarks, the grapples were cast +off, the dark mass darted onwards on her course, and we, drifted away to +leeward—a moving sepulchre! +</p> +<p> +“As the clouds flew past, the moon shone out and threw a pale sickly light +on the scene of slaughter, where the dead and dying lay in indiscriminate +heaps together—so frightful a spectacle never did eye rest upon! The +few who, like myself, survived, stood trembling, half stunned by the +shock, not daring to assist the wretched men at they writhed in agony +before us. I was the first to recover from this stupor, and turning to the +others, I made signs to clear the decks of the dead bodies—speak I +could not. It was some time before they could be made to understand me; +unhappily, not a single sailor had escaped the carnage; a few raw recruits +were the only survivors of that dreadful night. +</p> +<p> +“After a little they rallied so far as to obey me, and I, taking the +wheel, assumed the command of the vessel, and endeavoured to steer a +course for any port on the west coast of England. +</p> +<p> +“Day broke at length, but a wide waste of waters lay around us: the wind +had abated considerably, but still the sea ran high; and although our +foresail and trysail remained bent, as before the attack, we laboured +heavily, and made little way through the water. Our decks were quite +covered with the dying, whose heart-rending cries, mingled with the wilder +shouts of madness, were too horrible to bear. But I cannot dwell on such a +picture. Of the little party who survived, scarcely three were +serviceable: some sat cold and speechless from terror, and seemed +insensible to every threat or entreaty; some sternly refused to obey my +orders, and prowled about between decks in search of spirits; and one, +maddened by the horrors he beheld, sprang with a scream into the sea, and +never was seen more. +</p> +<p> +“Towards evening we heard a hail, and on looking put saw a pilot-boat +making for us, and in a short time we were boarded by a pilot, who, with +some of his crew, took the vessel into their hands, and before sunset we +anchored in Milford. +</p> +<p> +“Immediately on landing, I was sent up to London under a strong escort, to +give an account of the whole affair to the Admiralty. For eight days my +examination was continued during several hours every day, and at last I +was dismissed, with promotion to the rank of sergeant, for my conduct in +saving the ship, and appointed to the fortieth foot, then under orders for +Quebec. +</p> +<p> +“Once more at sea and in good spirits, I sailed for Quebec on a fine +morning in April, on board the ‘Abercrombie.’ Nothing could be more +delightful than the voyage: the weather was clear, with a fair fresh +breeze and a smooth sea; and at the third week we dropped our lead on the +green bank of Newfoundland, and brought up again a cod fish, every time we +heaved it. We now entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and began anxiously to +look for land. +</p> +<p> +“On the third morning after we made the ‘Gulf,’ a heavy snow-storm came +on, which prevented our seeing a cable’s length ahead of us. It was so +cold too, that few remained on deck; for although the first of May, it was +about as severe a day as I remember. Anxious to see something of the +country, I remained with the lookout-a-head, straining my eyes to catch a +glimpse of the land through the dense snow-drift. All I could distinguish, +however, was the dim outline of distant mountains, apparently covered with +snow; but, as the day wore on, we came in sight of the long low island of +Anticosti, which, though considerably more than a hundred miles in length, +is not, in any part, more than fifteen feet above the level of the water. +</p> +<p> +“Towards evening the land became much clearer to view; and now I could +perceive tall, peaked mountains some thousand feet in height, their bases +clad with stunted pine-trees—their white summits stretching away +into the clouds. As I looked, my astonishment was great, to find that the +vast gulf, which at day-break was some sixty miles in width, seemed now +diminished to about eight or ten, and continued to narrow rapidly, as we +proceeded on our course. +</p> +<p> +“The skipper, who had only made the voyage once before, seemed himself +confused, and endeavoured to explain our apparent vicinity to the land, as +some mere optical delusion—now, attributing it to something in the +refraction of the light; now, the snow: but although he spoke with all the +assurance of knowledge, it was evident to me, that he was by no means +satisfied in his own mind, of the facts he presented to ours. +</p> +<p> +“As the snow-storm abated, we could see that the mountains which lay on +either side of us, met each other in front, forming a vast amphitheatre +without any exit. +</p> +<p> +“This surely is not the Gulf of St. Lawrence?’ said I to an old sailor who +sat leisurely chewing tobacco with his back to the capstern. +</p> +<p> +“‘No, that it ain’t,’ said he coolly; ‘it’s Gaspé Bay, and I shouldn’t +wish to be in a worse place.’ +</p> +<p> +“What could have brought us here then? the skipper surely doesn’t know +where we are?’ +</p> +<p> +“I’ll tell you what has brought us here. There’s a current from the Gulf +stream sets in to this bay, at seven, or eight knots the hour, and brings +in all the floating ice along with it--There, am I right? do you hear +that?’ +</p> +<p> +“As he spoke, a tremendous crash, almost as loud as thunder, was heard at +our bow; and as I rushed to the bulwark and looked over, I beheld vast +fragments of ice more than a foot thick, encrusted with frozen snow, +flying past us in circling eddies; while further on, the large flakes were +mounting, one above the other, clattering, and crashing, as the waves +broke among them. Heaven knows how much farther our mulish Cumberland +skipper would have pursued his voyage of discovery, had not the soundings +proclaimed but five fathom water. Our sails were now backed; but as the +current continued to bear us along, a boat was got out, and an anchor put +in readiness to warp us astern; but by an unhappy accident the anchor +slipped in lowering over the side, stove in the boat, and of the four poor +fellows who were under it, one was carried under the ice, and never seen +again. This was a sad beginning, and matters now appeared each moment more +threatening. As we still continued to drift with the current, a +bower-anchor was dropped where we were, and the vessel afterwards swung +round, head to wind, while the ice came crashing upon the cut-water, and +on the sides, with a noise that made all else inaudible. It was found by +this time that the water was shoaling, and this gave new cause for fear; +for if the ship were to touch the ground; it was clear, all chance of +saving her was at an end. +</p> +<p> +“After a number of different opinions given and canvassed, it was +determined that four men should be sent ashore in the yawl, to find out +some one who knew the pilotage of the bay; for we could descry several +log-huts along the shore, at short distances from each other. With my +officer’s permission, I obtained leave to make one of this party, and I +soon found myself tugging away at the bow-oar through a heavy surf, whose +difficulty was tenfold increased by the fragments of ice that floated +past. After rowing about an hour, the twilight began to fall, and we could +but faintly perceive the outline of the ship, while the log-huts on shore +seemed scarcely nearer than at the moment when we quitted the vessel. By +this time, large fields of ice were about us on every side; rowing was no +longer possible, and we groped along with our boat-hooks, finding a +channel, where we could avoid the floating masses. +</p> +<p> +“The peril of this proceeding grew with every moment; sometimes our frail +boat would be struck with such force as threatened to stave in every +plank; sometimes was she driven high upon a piece of ice, which took all +our efforts to extricate her from, while, as we advanced, no passage +presented itself before us, but flake upon flake of frozen matter, among +which were fragments of wrecks, and branches of trees, mixed up together. +The sailors, who had undertaken the enterprise against their will, now +resolved they would venture no further, but make their way back to the +ship while it was yet possible. I alone opposed this plan—to return, +without at least having reached the shore, I told them, would be a +disgrace, the safety of all on board was in a manner committed to our +efforts; and I endeavoured by every argument to induce them to proceed. To +no purpose did I tell them this; of no use was it that I pointed out the +lights on shore, which we could now see moving from place to place, as +though we had been perceived, and that some preparations were making for +our rescue. I was outvoted, however: back they would go; and one of them +as he pushed the boat’s head round, jeeringly said to me— +</p> +<p> +“‘Why, with such jolly good foot-way, don’t you go yourself? you’ll have +all the honour, you know.’ +</p> +<p> +“The taunt stung me to the quick, the more as it called forth a laugh from +the rest. I made no answer, but seizing a boat-hook, sprang over the side +upon a large mass of ice. The action drove the boat from me. I heard them +call to me to come back; but come what would, my mind was made up. I never +turned my head, but with my eyes fixed on the shore-lights, I dashed on, +glad to find that with every stroke of the sea the ice was borne onwards +towards the land. At length the sound of the breakers ahead, made me +fearful of venturing farther; for as the darkness fell, I had to trust +entirely to my hearing as my guide. I stood then rooted to the spot, and +as the wind whistled past, and the snow-drift was borne in eddying +currents by me, I drove my boat-hook into the ice, and held on firmly by +it. Suddenly, through the gloom a bright flash flared out, and then I +could see it flitting along, and at last, I thought I could mark it, +directing its course towards the ship; I strained my eyes to their utmost, +and in an ecstasy of joy I shouted aloud, as I beheld a canoe manned by +Indians, with a pine torch blazing in the prow. The red light of the +burning wood lit up their wild figures as they came along—now +carrying their light bark over the fields of ice; now launching it into +the boiling surf, and thus, alternately walking, and sailing, they came at +a speed almost inconceivable. They soon heard my shouts, and directed +their course to where I stood; but the excitement of my danger, the +dreadful alternations of hope and fear thus suddenly ceasing, so stunned +me that I could not speak, as they took me in their arms and placed me in +the bottom of the canoe. Of our course back to shore I remember little: +the intense cold, added to the stupefaction of my mind, brought on a state +resembling sleep; and even when they lifted me on land, the drowsy +lethargy clung to me; and only when I found myself beside the blaze of a +wood-fire, did my faculties begin to revive, and, like a seal under the +rays of the sun, did I warm into life, once more. The first thing I did, +when morning broke, was to spring from my resting-place beside the fire, +and rush out, to look for the ship. The sun was shining brilliantly—the +bay lay calm as a mirror before me, reflecting the tall mountains and the +taper pines: but the ship was gone, not a sail appeared in sight; and I +now learned, that when the tide began to make, and she was enabled to +float, a land breeze sprung up which carried her gently out to sea, and +that she was in all likelihood, by that time, some thirty miles in her +course up the St. Lawrence. For a moment, my joy at the deliverance of my +companions was unchecked by any thought of my own desolate condition; the +next minute, I remembered myself, and sat down upon a stone, and gazed out +upon the wide waters with a sad and sinking heart.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. MR. O’KELLY’S TALE.—CONCLUDED +</h2> +<p> +“Life had presented too many vicissitudes before me, to make much +difference in my temperament, whatever came uppermost. Like the gambler, +who if he lose to-day, goes off consoling himself, that he may be a winner +to-morrow, I had learned never to feel very acutely any misfortune, +provided only that I could see some prospect of its not being permanent:—and +how many are there who go through the world in this fashion, getting the +credit all the while of being such true philosophers, so much elevated +above the chances and changes of fortune, and who, after all, only apply +to the game of life the same rule of action they practise at the ‘<i>rouge +et noir</i>’ table. +</p> +<p> +“The worthy folks among whom my lot was now cast, were a tribe of red men, +called the Gaspé Indians, who, among other pastimes peculiar to +themselves, followed the respectable and ancient trade, of wreckers, in +which occupation the months of October and November usually supplied them +with as much as they could do—after that, the ice closed in, on the +bay and no vessel could pass up or down the St. Lawrence, before the +following spring. +</p> +<p> +“It was for some time to me a puzzle, how people so completely barbarous +as they were, possessed such comfortable and well-appointed dwellings, for +not only had they log-huts well jointed, and carefully put together, but +many of the comforts of civilized life were to be seen in the internal +decorations. The reason I at length learned, from the chief, in whose +house I dwelt, and with whom I had already succeeded in establishing a +sworn friendship. About fifteen years previous, this bay was selected by a +party of emigrants, as the <i>locale</i> of a settlement. They had been +wrecked on the island of Anticosti themselves, and made their escape to +Gaspé, with such remnants of their effects as they could rescue from the +wreck. There, they built houses for themselves, made clearings in the +forest, and established a little colony, with rules and regulations for +its government. Happily for them, they possessed within their number +almost every description of artificer requisite for such an undertaking, +their original intention being to found a settlement in Canada, and thus +carpenters, shoe-makers, weavers, tailors, mill-wrights, being all ready +to contribute their aid and assistance to each other, the colony made +rapid progress, and soon assumed the appearance of a thriving and +prosperous place. The forest abounded in wild deer and bears, the bay not +less rich in fish, while the ground, which they sowed with potatoes and +Indian-corn, yielded most successful crops, and as the creek was never +visited by sickness, nothing could surpass the success that waited on +their labours. +</p> +<p> +“Thus they lived, till in the fall of the year, a detachment of the Gaspé +Indians, who came down every autumn for the herring-fishery, discovered +that their territory was occupied, and that an invading force were in +possession of their hunting-grounds. The result could not be doubted; the +red men returned home to their friends with the news, and speedily came +back again with reinforcements of the whole tribe, and made an attack on +the settlement. The colonists, though not prepared, soon assembled, and +being better armed, for their fire-arms and cutlasses had all been saved, +repelled the assailants, and having killed and wounded several of them, +drove them back into the forest. The victory, however complete, was the +first day of their misfortunes; from that hour they were never safe; +sometimes a marauding party of red men would dash into the village at +nightfall, and carry away some of the children before their cries could +warn their parents. Instead of venturing as before into the ‘bush’ +whenever they pleased, and in small numbers, they were now obliged to go +with the greatest circumspection and caution, stationing scouts here and +there, and, above all, leaving a strong garrison to protect the settlement +against attack in their absence. Fear and distrust prevailed everywhere, +and instead of the peace and prosperity that attended the first year of +their labours, the land now remained but half tilled; the hunting yielded +scarcely any benefit; and all their efforts were directed to their safety, +and their time consumed in erecting outworks and forts to protect the +village. +</p> +<p> +“While matters were in this state, a large timber ship, bound for England, +struck on a reef of rocks at the entrance of the bay. The sea ran high, +and a storm of wind from the north-west soon rent her in fragments. The +colonists, who knew every portion of the bay well, put out, the first +moment they could venture, to the wreck, not, however, to save the lives +and rescue the poor fellows who yet clung to the rigging, but to pillage +the ship ere she went to pieces. The expedition succeeded far beyond their +most ardent hopes, and a rich harvest of plunder resulted from this +venture, casks of powder, flour, pork, and rum, were landed by every tide +at their doors, and once more, the sounds of merriment and rejoicing, were +heard in the village. But how different from before was it! Then, they +were happy and contented settlers, living like one united family in +brotherly affection and kind good-will; now, it was but the bond of crime +that bound, and the wild madness of intoxication, that excited them. Their +hunting grounds were no longer cared for; the fields, with so much labour +rescued from the forest, were neglected; the fishing was abandoned; and a +life given up to the most intemperate abandonment, succeeded to days of +peaceful labour and content. Not satisfied with mere defence, they now +carried the war into the Indian settlements, and cruelties the most +frightful ensued in their savage reprisals. +</p> +<p> +“In this dangerous coast a winter never passed without several wrecks +occurring, and as they now practised every device, by false signals and +fires, to lure vessels to their ruin, their infamous traffic succeeded +perfectly, and wrecking became a mode of subsistence, far more plentiful +than their former habits of quiet industry. +</p> +<p> +“One long reef of rocks that ran from the most southerly point of the bay, +and called by the Indians ‘the Teeth,’ was the most fatal spot of the +whole coast, for while these rocks stretched for above a mile, to sea, and +were only covered at high water, a strong land current drew vessels +towards them, which, with the wind on shore, it was impossible to resist. +</p> +<p> +“To this fatal spot, each eye was turned at day-break, to see if some +ill-starred vessel had not struck during the night. This, was the last +point each look was bent on, as the darkness was falling; and when the +wind howled, and the sea ran mountains high, and dashed its white foam +over their little huts, then, was every one astir in the village. Many an +anxious gaze pierced through the mist, hoping some white sail might gleam +through the storm, or some bending spar show where a perishing crew yet +cried for help. The little shore would then present a busy scene, boats +were got out, coils of rope, and oars strewed on every side, lanterns +flitted rapidly from place to place. With what energy and earnestness they +moved, how their eyes gleamed with excitement, and how their voices rung +out, in accents of hoarse command. Oh! how horrible to think that the same +features of a manly nature—the bold and daring courage that fears +not the rushing wave, nor the sweeping storm, the heroic daring that can +breast the wild breakers as they splash on the dark rocks, can arise from +impulses so opposite; and that humanity the fairest, and crime the +blackest, have but the same machinery to work with. +</p> +<p> +“It was on a dark November night—the heavy sough of a coming storm +sent large and sullen waves on shore, where they broke with that low +hollow cadence, that seamen recognise as boding ill. A dense, thick fog, +obscured all objects sea-ward, and though many scouts were out upon the +hills, they could detect nothing; still, as the night grew more and more +threatening, the wreckers felt assured a gale was coming, and already +their preparation was made for the approaching time. Hour after hour +passed by, but though the gale increased, and blew with violence on the +shore, nothing could be seen. Towards midnight, however, a scout came in +to say, that he thought he could detect at intervals, through the dense +mist, and spray, a gleaming light in the direction of ‘the Teeth.’ The +drift was too great to make it clearly perceptible, but still, he +persisted he had seen something. +</p> +<p> +“A party was soon assembled on the beach, their eyes turned towards the +fatal rocks, which at low water rose some twelve or fifteen feet above the +surface. They gazed long and anxiously, but nothing could they make out, +till, as they were turning away, one cried out, ‘Ay, see there—there +it is now;’ and as he spoke, a red-forked flame shot up through the +drifting spray, and threw a lurid flash upon the dark sea. It died away +almost as quickly, and though seen at intervals again, it seemed ever to +wax fainter, and fainter. ‘She’s on fire,’ cried one. ‘No, no; it’s a +distress signal,’ said another. ‘One thing is certain,’ cried a third, +‘the craft that’s on the “Teeth” on such a night as this, won’t get off +very readily; and so, lads, be alive and run out the boats.’ +</p> +<p> +“The little colony was soon astir. It was a race of avarice too; for, +latterly, the settlement had been broken up by feuds and jealousies, into +different factions; and each strove to overreach the other. In less than +half an hour, eight boats were out, and breasting the white breakers, +headed out to sea. All, save the old and decrepit, the women, and +children, were away, and even they, stood watching on the shore, following +with their eyes the boats in which they felt most interested. +</p> +<p> +“At last they disappeared in the gloom—not a trace could be seen of +them, nor did the wind carry back their voices, over which the raging +storm was now howling. A few still remained straining their eye-balls +towards the spot where the light was seen, the others had returned towards +the village; when all of a sudden a frightful yell, a long sustained and +terrible cry arose from the huts, and the same instant a blaze burst +forth, and rose into a red column towards the sky. The Indians were upon +them. The war shout—that dreadful sound they knew too well—resounded +on every side. Then began a massacre, which nothing in description can +convey. The dreadful rage of the vengeful savage—long pent up—long +provoked—had now its time for vengeance. The tomahawk and the +scalping knife ran red with blood, as women and infants rushed madly +hither and thither in the flight. Old men lay weltering in their gore +beside their daughters, and grandchildren; while the wild red men, unsated +with slaughter, tore the mangled corpses as they lay, and bathed +themselves in blood. But not there did it end. The flame that gleamed from +the ‘Teeth’ rocks, was but an Indian device, to draw the wreckers out to +sea. A pine-wood fire had been lighted on the tallest cliff at low water, +to attract their attention, by some savages in canoes, and left to burn +away slowly during the night. +</p> +<p> +“Deceived and baffled, the wreckers made towards shore, to which already +their eyes were turned in terror, for the red blaze of the burning huts +was seen, miles off, in the bay. Scarcely had the first boat neared the +shore, when a volley of fire-arms poured in upon her—while the +war-cry that rose above it, told them their hour was come. The Indians +were several hundred in number, armed to the teeth; the others few, and +without a single weapon. Contest, it was none. The slaughter scarce lasted +many minutes, for ere the flame from the distant rock subsided, the last +white man lay a corpse on the bloody strand. Such was the terrible +retribution that followed on crime, and at the very moment too, when their cruel hearts +were bent on its perpetration. +</p> +<p> +“This tale, which was told me in a broken jargon, between Canadian-French +and English, concluded with words, which were not to me, at the time, the +least shocking part of the story; as the narrator, with glistening eyes, +and in a voice whose guttural tones seemed almost too thick for utterance +said, ‘It was I, that planned it!’ +</p> +<p> +“You will ask me, by what chance did I escape with life among such a +tribe. An accident—the merest accident—saved me. When a +smuggler, as I have already told you I was, I once, when becalmed in the +Bay of Biscay, got one of the sailors to tattoo my arm with gunpowder, a +very common practice at sea. The operator had been in the North American +trade, and had passed ten years as a prisoner among the Indians, and +brought away with him innumerable recollections of their habits and +customs. Among others, their strange idols had made a great impression on +his mind; and, as I gave him a discretionary power as to the frescos he +was to adorn me with, he painted a most American-looking savage with two +faces on his head—his body all stuck over with arrows and +spear-points, while he, apparently unmoved by such visitors, was skipping +about, in something that might be a war-dance. +</p> +<p> +“This, with all its appropriate colours—for as the heraldry folk +say, ‘It was proper’—was a very conspicuous object on my arm, and no +sooner seen by the chief, than he immediately knelt down beside me, +dressed my wounds and tended me; while the rest of the tribe, recognising +me as one whose existence was charmed, showed me every manner of respect, +and even devotion. Indeed, I soon felt my popularity to be my greatest +difficulty; for whatever great event was going forward among the tribe, it +became the etiquette to consult me on it, as a species of soothsayer, and +never was a prophet more sorely tested. Sometimes, it was a question of +the whale-fishery—whether ‘bottle noses,’ or ‘sulphur bottoms,’ were +coming up the bay, and whether, in the then season, it was safe, or not, +to strike the ‘calf whales’ first. Now, it was a disputed point as to the +condition of bears; or worse than either, a little marauding party would +be undertaken into a neighbour’s premises, where I was expected to perform +a very leading part, which, not having the same strong convictions of my +invulnerable nature, as my worthy associates, I undertook with as few +feelings of satisfaction as you may imagine. But these were not all; +offers of marriage from many noble families pressed me on every side; and +though polygamy to any extent was permissible, +I never could persuade myself, to make my fortune in this manner. The +ladies too, I am bound to say, were not so seductive as to endanger my +principles: flattened heads, bent-down noses and lip stones, are very +strong antidotes to the tender passion. And I was obliged to declare, that +I was compelled, by a vow, not to marry for three moons. I dared not +venture on a longer period of amnesty, lest I should excite suspicion of +any insult to them, on a point where their vengeance never forgives; and I +hoped, ere that time elapsed, that I should be able to make my escape—though +how, or when, or where to, were points I could not possibly guess at. +</p> +<p> +“Before the half of my probation had expired, we were visited by an old +Indian of a distant tribe—a strange old fellow he was, clothed in +goats’ skins, and wearing strong leather boots and rackets (snow shoes), a +felt hat, and a kind of leather sack strapped on his back, and secured by +a lock. This singular-looking fellow was, ‘the post.’ He travelled once a +year from a small settlement near Miramichi, to Quebec, and back, carrying +the letters to and from these places, a distance of something like seven +hundred miles, which he accomplished entirely on foot, great part of it +through dense forests and over wild uninhabited prairies, passing through +the hunting-grounds of several hostile tribes, fording rivers and climbing +mountains, and all, for the moderate payment of ten pounds a year, half of +which he spent in rum before he left Quebec, and while waiting for the +return mail; and strangest of all, though for forty years he had continued +to perform this journey, not only no accident had ever occurred to the +letters, but he himself was never known to be behind his appointed time at +his destination. +</p> +<p> +“‘Tahata,’ for such was his name, was, however, a character of great +interest; even to the barbarous tribes through whose territories he +passed. He was a species of savage newspaper, recounting various details +respecting the hunting and fishing seasons,—the price of skins at +Quebec or Montreal,—what was the peltry most in request, and how it +would bring its best price. Cautiously abstaining from the local politics +of these small states, his information only bore on such topics as are +generally useful and interesting, and never for a moment partook of any +partisan character; besides, he had ever some petty commission or other, +from the squaws, to discharge at Quebec. There was an amber bead, or a tin +ornament, a bit of red ribbon or a glass button, or some such valuable, +everywhere he went; and his coming was an event as much longed and looked +for, as any other that marked their monotonous existence. +</p> +<p> +“He rested for a few days at our village, when I learned these few +particulars of his life, and at once resolved, come what might, to make my +escape with him, and, if possible, reach Quebec. An opportunity, +fortunately, soon offered for my doing so with facility. The day of the +courier’s departure was fixed for a great fishing excursion, on which the +tribe were to be absent for several days. Affecting illness, I remained on +shore, and never stirred from the wigwam till the last canoe had +disappeared from sight: then I slowly sauntered out, and telling the +squaws that I would stroll about, for an hour or so, to breathe the air, I +followed the track which was pointed out to me by the courier, who had +departed early on the same morning. Before sunset I came up with my +friend, and with a heart overflowing with delight, sat down to partake of +the little supper he had provided for our first day’s journey; after that, +each day was to take care of itself. +</p> +<p> +“Then began a series of adventures, to which all I have hitherto told you, +are, as nothing. It was the wild life of the prairies in companionship +with one, who felt as much at home in the recesses of a pine forest, as +ever I did in the snug corner of mine inn. Now, it was a night spent under +the starry sky, beside some clear river’s bank, where the fish lay +motionless beneath the red glare of our watch-fire; now, we bivouacked in +a gloomy forest, planting stockades around to keep off the wild beasts; +then, we would chance upon some small Indian settlement, where we were +regaled with hospitality, and spent half the night listening to the low +chant of a red man’s song, as he deplored the downfall of his nation, and +the loss of their hunting-grounds. Through all, my guide preserved the +steady equability of one who was travelling a well-worn path—some +notched tree, some small stone heap, some fissured rock, being his guide +through wastes, where, it seemed to me, no human foot had ever trod. He +lightened the road with many a song and many a story, the latter always +displaying some curious trait of his people, whose high sense of truth and +unswerving fidelity to their word, once pledged, appeared to be an +invariable feature in every narrative; and though he could well account +for the feeling that makes a man more attached to his own nation, he more +than once half expressed his surprise, how, having lived among the +simple-minded children of the forest, I could ever return to the haunts of +the plotting, and designing white men. +</p> +<p> +“This story of mine,” continued Mr. O’Kelly, “has somehow spun itself out +far more than I intended. My desire was, to show you briefly, in what +strange and dissimilar situations I have been thrown in life—how, I +have lived among every rank, and class, at home and abroad, in comparative +affluence—in narrow poverty; how, I have looked on, at the world, in +all its gala dress of wealth, and rank, and beauty—of power, of +station, and command of intellect; and how I have seen it poor, and mean, +and naked—the companion of gloomy solitudes, and the denizen of +pathless forests; and yet found the same human passions, the same love, +and hate, the same jealousy, and fear, courage, and daring—the same +desire for power, and the same wish to govern, in the red Indian of the +prairie, as in the starred noble of Europe. The proudest rank of civilized +life has no higher boast, than in the practice of such virtues as I have +seen rife among the wild dwellers in the dark forest. Long habit of moving +thus among my fellow men, has worn off much of that conventional reverence +for class, which forms the standing point of all our education at home. +The tarred and weather-beaten sailor, if he be but a pleasant fellow, and +has seen life, is to me as agreeable a companion as the greatest admiral +that ever trod a quarter-deck. My delight has been thus, for many a year +back, to ramble through the world, and look on its game, like one who sits +before the curtain, and has no concern with the actors, save, in so far as +they amuse him. +</p> +<p> +“There is no cynicism in this. No one enjoys life more than I do. Music +is a passion with me—in painting, I take the greatest delight, and +beauty, has still her charm for me. Society, never was a greater pleasure. +Scenery, can give me a sense of happiness, which none but solitary men +ever feel—yet, it is less as one identified with these, than as a +mere spectator. All this is selfish, and egotistical, you will say—and +so it is. But then, think what chance has one like me of any other +pleasure! To how many annoyances should I expose myself, if I adopted a +different career: think of the thousand inquiries, of,—who is he? +what is his family? where did he come from? what are his means? and all +such queries, which would beset me, were I the respectable denizen of one +of your cities. Without some position, some rank, some settled place in +society, you give a man nothing—he can neither have friend, nor +home. Now, I am a wanderer—my choice of life, happily took an +humble turn. I have placed myself in a good situation for seeing the game—and +I am not too fastidious, if I get somewhat crushed by the company about +me. But now, to finish this long story, for I see the day is breaking, and +I must leave Antwerp by ten o’clock. +</p> +<p> +“At last, then, we reached Quebec. It was on a bright, clear, frosty day +in December, when all the world was astir—sledges flying here and +there—men slipping along in rackets—women, wrapped up in furs, +sitting snugly in chairs, and pushed along the ice some ten or twelve +miles the hour—all gay, all lively, and all merry-looking—while +I and my Indian friend bustled our way through the crowd towards the +post-office. He was a well-known character, and many a friendly nod, and a +knowing shake of the head welcomed him as he passed along. I, however, was +an object of no common astonishment, even in a town where every variety of +costume, from full dress to almost nakedness, was to be met with daily. +Still, something remained as a novelty, and it would seem I had hit on it. +Imagine, then, an old and ill-used foraging-cap, drawn down over a red +night-cap, from beneath which my hair descended straight, somewhere about +a foot in length—beard and moustaches to match—a red uniform +coat, patched with brown seal-skin, and surmounted by a kind of blanket of +buffalo hide—a pair of wampum shorts, decorated with tin and copper, +after the manner of a marquetrie table—gray stockings, gartered with +fish skin—and moccasins made after the fashion of high-lows, an +invention of my own, which I trust are still known as ‘O’Kellies,’ among +my friends the red men. +</p> +<p> +“That I was not an Indian, was sufficiently apparent—if by nothing +else, the gingerly delicacy with which I trod the pavement, after a +promenade of seven hundred miles, would have shown it; and yet there was +an evident reluctance on all sides to acknowledge me as one of themselves. +The crowd that tracked our steps had by this time attracted the attention +of some officers, who stopped to see what was going forward, when I +recognised the major of my own regiment among the number. I saw, however, +that he did not remember me, and hesitated with myself whether I should +return to my old servitude. The thought that no mode of subsistence was +open to me—that I was not exactly prepossessing enough to make my +way in the world by artificial advantages, decided the question, and I +accosted him at once. +</p> +<p> +“I will not stop to paint the astonishment of the officer, nor shall I +dwell on the few events which followed the recognition—suffice it to +say, that, the same evening I received my appointment, not as a sergeant, +but as regimental interpreter between our people and the Indians, with +whom we were then in alliance against the Yankees. The regiment soon left +Quebec for Trois Rivières, where my ambassadorial functions were +immediately called into play—not, I am bound to confess, under such +weighty and onerous reponsibilities as I had been led to suspect would +ensue between two powerful nations—but, on matters of less moment, +and fully as much difficulty, viz., the barter of old regimental coats and +caps for bows and arrows; the exchange of rum and gunpowder for moccasins, +and wampum ornaments—in a word, the regulation of an Anglo-Indian +tariff, which accurately defined the value of everything, from a black fox +skin to a pair of old gaiters—from an Indian tomahawk to a +tooth-pick. +</p> +<p> +“In addition to these fiscal regulations, I drew up a criminal code—which, +in simplicity at least, might vie with any known system of legislation—by +which it was clearly laid down, that any unknown quantity of Indians were +only equal to the slightest inconvenience incurred, or discomfort endured +by an English officer; that the condescension of any intercourse with +them, was a circumstance of the greatest possible value—and its +withdrawal the highest punishment. A few other axioms of the like nature, +greatly facilitated all bargains, and promoted universal good feeling. +Occasionally, a knotty point would arise, which somewhat puzzled me to +determine. Now and then, some Indian prejudice, some superstition of the +tribe would oppose a barrier to the summary process of my cheap justice; +but then, a little adroitness and dexterity could soon reconcile matters—and +as I had no fear that my decisions were to be assumed as precedents, and +still less dread of their being rescinded by a higher court, I cut boldly, +and generally severed the difficulty at a blow. +</p> +<p> +“My life was now a pleasant one enough—for our officers treated me +on terms of familiarity, which gradually grew into intimacy, as our +quarters were in remote stations, and as they perceived that I possessed +a certain amount of education—which, it is no flattery to say, +exceeded their own. My old qualities of convivialism, also, gave me +considerable aid; and as I had neither forgotten to compose a song, nor +sing it afterwards, I was rather a piece of good fortune in this solitary +and monotonous state of life. Etiquette prevented my being asked to the +mess, but, most generously, nothing interfered with their coming over to +my wigwam almost every evening, and taking share of a bowl of sangaree, +and a pipe—kindnesses I did my uttermost to repay, by putting in +requisition all the amusing talents I possessed: and certainly, never did +a man endeavour more for great success in life, nor give himself greater +toil, than did I, to make time pass over pleasantly to some half-dozen +silly subalterns, a bloated captain or two, and a plethoric, old +snuff-taking major, that dreamed of nothing but rappee, punch and +promotion. Still, like all men in an ambiguous, or a false position, I +felt flattered by the companionship of people, whom, in my heart, I +thoroughly despised and looked down upon; and felt myself honoured by the +society of the most thick-headed set of noodles ever a man sat down with—Aye! +and laughed at their flat witticisms, and their old stale jokes—and +often threw out hints for <i>bon mots</i>, which, if they caught, I +immediately applauded, and went about, saying, did you hear ‘Jones’s +last?’—‘do you know what the major said this morning?’ bless my +heart! what a time it was. Truth will out—the old tuft-hunting +leaven was strong in me, even yet—hardship and roughing had not +effaced it from my disposition—one more lesson was wanting, and I +got it. +</p> +<p> +“Among my visitors was an old captain of the rough school of military +habit, with all the dry jokes of the recruiting service, and all the +coarseness which a life spent for the most part in remote stations, and small +detachments, is sure to impart. This old fellow, Mat Hubbart, a well known +name in the Glengarries, had the greatest partiality for practical jokes—and +could calculate to a nicety, the precise amount of a liberty which any +man’s rank in the service permitted, without the risk of being called to +account: and the same scale of equivalents, by which he established the +nomenclature for female rank in the army, was regarded by him as the test +for those licences he permitted himself to take with any man beneath him: +and as he spoke of the colonel’s ‘lady,’ the major’s ‘wife,’ the captain’s +‘woman,’ the lieutenant’s ‘thing’—so did he graduate his conduct to +the husbands—never transgressing for a moment on the grade, by any +undue familiarity, or any unwonted freedom. With me, of course, his powers +were discretionary—or rather, had no discretion whatever. I was a +kind of military outlaw, that any man might shoot at—and certainly, +he spared not his powder in my behalf. +</p> +<p> +“Among the few reliques of my Indian life, was a bear-skin cap and hood, +which I prised highly. It was a present from my old guide—his +parting gift—when I put into his hands the last few pieces of silver +I possessed in the world. This was then to me a thing, which, as I had met +with not many kindnesses in the world, I valued at something far beyond +its mere price; and would rather have parted with any, or everything I +possessed, than lose it. Well, one day on my return from a fishing +excursion, as I was passing the door of the mess-room, what should I see +but a poor idiot that frequented the barrack, dressed in my bear-skin. +</p> +<p> +“‘Holloa! Rokey,’ said I, ‘where did you get that?’ scarce able to +restrain my temper. +</p> +<p> +“‘The captain gave it me,’ said the fellow, touching his cap, with a +grateful look towards the mess-room window, where I saw Captain Hubbart +standing, convulsed with laughter. +</p> +<p> +“‘Impossible!’ said I—yet half-fearing the truth of his assertion. +‘The Captain couldn’t give away what’s mine, and not his.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Yes, but he did though,’ said the fool, ‘and told me, too, he’d make me +the “talk man” with the Indians, if you didn’t behave better in future.’ +</p> +<p> +“I felt my blood boil up as I heard these words. I saw at once that the +joke was intended to insult and offend me; and he probably meant as, a +lesson, for my presumption, a few evenings before, since I had the folly, +in a moment of open-hearted gaiety, to speak of my family, and perhaps to +boast of my having been a gentleman: I hung my head in shame, and all my +presence of mind was too little to allow me to feign a look of +carelessness as I walked by the window: from whence the coarse laughter of +the captain was now heard peal after peal. I shall not tell you how I +suffered when I reached my hut, and what I felt at every portion of this +transaction. One thing forcibly impressed itself on my mind, that the part +I was playing must be an unworthy one, or I had never incurred such a +penalty; that if these men associated with me, it was on terms which +permitted all from them—nothing, in return; and for a while, I +deemed no vengeance enough to satisfy my wounded pride. Happily for me, my +thoughts took another turn, and I saw that the position in which I had +placed myself, invited the insolence it met with; and that if any man +stoop to be kicked in this world, he’ll always find some kind friend ready +to oblige him with the compliment. Had an equal so treated me, my course +had presented no difficulty whatever Now, what could I do? +</p> +<p> +“While I pondered over these things, a corporal came up to say, that a +party of the officers were about to pay me a visit after evening parade, +and hoped I’d have something for supper for them. Such was the general +tone of their invitations, and I had received in my time above a hundred +similar messages, without any other feeling than one of pride, at my being +in a position to have so many distinguished guests. Now, on the contrary, +the announcement was a downright insult: my long sleeping pride suddenly +awakened, I felt all the contumely of my condition; and: my spirit, sunk +for many a day in the slavish observance of a miserable vanity, rebelled +against farther outrage. I muttered a hasty ‘all right,’ to the soldier, +and turned away to meditate on some scheme of vengeance. +</p> +<p> +“Having given directions to my Indian follower, a half-breed fellow of the +most cunning description, to have all ready in the wigwam; I wandered into +the woods. To no use was it that I thought over my grievance, nothing +presented itself in any shape as a vindication of my wounded feelings—nor +could I see how anything short of ridicule could ensue, from all mention +of the transaction. The clanking sound of an Indian drum broke on my +musings, and told me that the party were assembled; and on my entering the +wigwam, I found them all waiting for me. There were full a dozen; many who +had never done me the honour of a visit previously, came on this occasion +to enjoy the laugh at my expense, the captain’s joke was sure to excite. +Husbanding their resources, they talked only about indifferent matters—the +gossip and chit-chat of the day—but still with such a secret air of +something to come, that even an ignorant observer could notice, that there +was in reserve somewhat that must abide its time for development. By mere +accident, I overheard the captain whisper in reply to a question of one of +the subalterns—‘No! no!—not now—wait, till we have the +punch up.’ I guessed at once that such was the period they proposed to +discuss the joke played off at my cost, and I was right; for no sooner had +the large wooden bowl of sangaree made its appearance, than Hubbart +filling his glass; proposed a bumper to our new ally, Rokey; a cheer +drowned half his speech, which ended in a roar of laughter, as the +individual, so complimented, stood at the door of the wigwam, dressed out +in full costume with my bear-skin. +</p> +<p> +“I had just time to whisper a command to my Indian imp, concluding with an +order for another bowl of sangaree, before the burst of merriment had +subsided—a hail-storm of jokes, many, poor enough, but still cause +for laughter, now pelted me on every side. My generosity was lauded, my +good taste extolled, and as many impertinences as could well be offered up +to a man at his own table, went the round of the party. No allusion was +spared either to my humble position as interpreter to the force, or my +former life among the Indians, to furnish food for joke; even my family—of +whom, as I have mentioned, I foolishly spoke to them lately—they +introduced into their tirade of attack and ridicule, which nothing but a +sense of coming vengeance could hove enabled me to endure. +</p> +<p> +“‘Come, come,’ said one, ‘the bowl is empty. I say, O’Kelly, if you wish +us to be agreeable, as I’m certain you find us, will you order a fresh +supply?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘Most willingly,’ said I, ‘but there is just enough left in the old bowl +to drink the health of Captain Hubbart, to whom we are certainly indebted +for most of the amusement of the evening. Now, therefore, if you please, +with all the honours, gentlemen—for let me say, in no one quality +has he his superior in the regiment. His wit we can all appreciate; his +ingenuity I can speak to; his generosity—you have lauded ‘mine’—but +think of ‘his.’ As I spoke I pointed to the door, where my +ferocious-looking Indian stood, in all his war-paint, wearing on his head +the full-dress cocked-hat of the captain, while over his shoulders was +thrown his large blue military-cloak, over which, he had skilfully +contrived to make a hasty decoration of brass ornaments, and wild-birds’ +feathers. +</p> +<p> +“‘Look there!’ said I, exultingly, as the fellow nodded his plumed-hat and +turned majestically round, to be fully admired. +</p> +<p> +“‘Have you dared, sir?’—roared he, frothing with passion and +clenching his fist towards me—but a perfect cheer of laughter +overpowered his words. Many rolled off their seats and lay panting and +puffing on the ground; some, turned away half-suffocated with their +struggles, while a few, more timid than the rest, endeavoured to conceal +their feelings, and seemed half-alarmed at the consequences of my +impertinence. When the mirth had a little subsided, it was remarked, that +Hubbart was gone—no one had seen how or when—but he was no +longer among us. +</p> +<p> +“‘Come, gentlemen, said I, ‘the new bowl is ready for you, and your toast +is not yet drunk. All going so early? Why, it’s not eleven yet.’ +</p> +<p> +“But so it was—the impulse of merriment over—the <i>esprit du +corps</i> came back in all its force, and the man, whose feelings they had +not scrupled to outrage and insult, they turned on, the very moment he had +the courage to assert his honour. One by one passed out—some, with a +cool nod—others, a mere look—many, never even noticed me at +all; and one, the last, I believe, dropping a little behind, whispered as +he went, ‘Sorry for you, faith, but all your own doing, though.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘My own doing,’ said I in bitterness, as I sat me down at the door of the +wigwam. ‘My own doing!’ and the words ate into my very heart’s core. +Heaven knows, had any one of them who left me, but turned his head, and +looked at me then, as I sat—my head buried in my hands, my frame +trembling with strong passion—-he had formed a most false estimate +of my feelings. In all likelihood, he would have regarded me as a man +sorrowing over a lost position in society—grieved at the mistaken +vanity that made him presume upon those who associated with him by grace +especial, and never, on terms of equality. Nothing in the world was then +farther from my heart: no, my humiliation had another source—my +sorrowing penetrated into a deeper soil. I awoke to the conviction that my +position was such, that even the temporary countenance they gave me by +their society, was to be deemed my greatest honour, as its withdrawal +should be my deepest disgrace—that these poor heartless brainless +fools for whom I taxed my time, my intellect, and my means, were in the +light of patrons to me. Let any man who has felt what it is to live among +those on whose capacity he has looked down, while he has been obliged to +pay homage to their rank—whose society he has frequented, not for +pleasure nor enjoyment—not for the charm of social intercourse, or +the interchange of friendly feeling, but for the mere vulgar object that +he might seem to others to be in a position to which he had no claim—to +be intimate, when he was only endured—to be on terms of ease, when +he was barely admitted; let him sympathise with me. Now, I awoke to the +full knowledge of my state, and saw myself at last in a true light. ‘My +own doing!’ repeated I to myself. Would it had been so many a day since, +ere I lost self-respect—ere I had felt the humiliation I now feel.” +</p> +<p> +“‘You are under arrest, sir,’ said the sergeant, as with a party of +soldiers he stood prepared to accompany me to the quarters. “‘Under +arrest! By whose orders?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘The colonel’s orders,’ said the man briefly, and in a voice that showed +I was to expect little compassion from one of a class who had long +regarded me as an upstart, giving himself airs unbecoming his condition. +</p> +<p> +“My imprisonment, of which I dared not ask the reason, gave me time to +meditate on my fortunes, and think over the vicisicitudes of my life,—to +reflect on the errors which had rendered abortive every chance of success +in whatever career I adopted; but, more than all, to consider how poor +were all my hopes of happiness in the road I had chosen, while I dedicated +to the amusement of others, the qualities which, if cultivated for myself, +might be made sources of contentment and pleasure. If I seem prolix in all +this—if I dwell on these memories, it is, first, because few men may +not reap a lesson from considering them; and again, because on them +hinged my whole future life. +</p> +<p> +“There, do you see that little drawing yonder? it is a sketch, a mere +sketch I made from recollection, of the room I was confined in. That’s the +St. Lawrence flowing beneath the window, and there, far in the distance, +you see the tall cedars of the opposite bank. On that little table I laid +my head the whole night long; I slept too, and soundly, and when I awoke +the next day I was a changed man. +</p> +<p> +“‘You are relieved from arrest,’ said the same sergeant who conducted me +to prison, ‘and the colonel desires to see you on parade.’ +</p> +<p> +“As I entered the square, the regiment was formed in line, and the +officers, as usual, stood in a group chatting together in the centre. A +half smile, quickly subdued as I came near, ran along the party. +</p> +<p> +“‘O’Kelly,’ said the colonel, ‘I have sent for you to hear a reprimand +which it is fitting you should receive at the head of the regiment, and +which, from my knowledge of you, I have supposed would be the most +effectual punishment I could inflict for your late disrespectful conduct +to Captain Hubbart.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘May I ask, colonel, have you heard of the provocation which induced my +offence?’ +</p> +<p> +“‘I hope, sir,’ replied he, with a look of stern dignity, ‘you are aware of +the difference of your relative rank and station, and that, in +condescending to associate with you, Captain Hubbart conferred an honour +which doubly compensated for any liberty he was pleased to take. Read the +general order, Lieutenant Wood.’ +</p> +<p> +“A confused murmur of something, from which I could collect nothing, +reached me; a vague feeling of weight seemed to press my head, and a +giddiness that made me reel, was on me; and I only knew the ceremony was +over, as I heard the order to march given, and saw the troops begin to +move off the ground. +</p> +<p> +“‘A moment, colonel,’ said, I, in a voice that made him start and drew on +me the look of all the others. ‘I have too much respect for you, and I +hope also for myself, to attempt any explanation of a mere jest, where the +consequences have taken a serious turn; besides, I feel conscious of one +fault, far too grave a one, to venture on an excuse for any other I have +been guilty of. I wish to resign my post. I here leave the badge of the +only servitude I ever did, or ever intend to submit to; and now, as a free +man once more, and a gentleman, too, if you’ll permit me, I beg to wish +you adieu: and as for you, captain, I have only to add, that whenever you +feel disposed for a practical joke, or any other interchange of +politeness, Con O’Kelly will be always delighted to meet your views—the +more so as he feels, though you may not believe it, something still in +your debt.’ +</p> +<p> +“With that I turned on my heel, and left the barrack-yard, not a word +being spoken by any of the others, nor any evidence of their being so much +amused as they seemed to expect from my exposure. +</p> +<p> +“Did it never strike you as a strange thing, that while none but the very +poorest and humblest people can bear to confess to present poverty, very +few men decline to speak of the narrow circumstances they have struggled +through—nay, rather take a kind of pleasure in relating what +difficulties once beset their path—what obstacles were opposed to +their success? The reason perhaps is, there is a reflective merit in thus +surmounting opposition. +</p> +<p> +“The acknowledgment implies a sense of triumph. It seams to say—‘Here +am I, such as you see me now, and yet time was, when I was houseless and +friendless—when the clouds darkened around my path, and I saw not +even the faintest glimmer of hope to light up the future; yet with a stout +heart and strong courage, with the will came the way; and I conquered.’ I +do confess, I could dwell, and with great pleasure too, on those portions +of my life when I was poorest and most forsaken, in preference to the days +of my prosperity, and the hours of my greatest wealth: like the traveller +who, after a long journey through some dark winter’s day, finds himself at +the approach of night, seated by the corner of a cheery fire in his inn; +every rushing gust of wind that shakes the building, every plash of the +beating rain against the glass, but adds to this sense of comfort, and +makes him hug himself with satisfaction to think how he is no longer +exposed to such a storm—that his journey is accomplished—his +goal is reached—and as he draws his chair closer to the blaze, it is +the remembrance of the past, gives all the enjoyment to the present. In +the same way, the pleasantest memories of old age are of those periods in +youth when we have been successful over difficulty, and have won our way +through every opposing obstacle. ‘Joy’s memory is indeed no longer joy.’ +Few can look back on happy hours without thinking of those with whom they +spent them, and then comes the sad question, Where are they now? What man +reaches even the middle term of life with a tithe of the friends he +started with in youth; and as they drop off, one by one around him, comes +the sad reflection, that the period is passed when such ties can be formed +anew—The book of the heart once closed, opens no more. But why these +reflections? I must close them, and with them my story at once. +</p> +<p> +“The few pounds I possessed in the world enabled me to reach Quebec, and +take my passage in a timber vessel bound for Cork. Why I returned to +Ireland, and with what intentions, I should be sorely puzzled, were you to +ask of me. Some vague, indistinct feeling of home, connected with my +birthplace had, perhaps, its influence over me. So it was—I did so. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +[Editor’s Note: Another edition of this book (Downey and +Co., 1897) was scannned for the middle part of this etext as +large portions of the original 1845 edition were defective. +The reader will note that the two editions initiate a quoted +passages in different ways: the 1845 edition with a double +quote and the 1897 edition with a single quotation mark.] +</pre> +<p> +‘After a good voyage of some five weeks, we anchored in Cove, where I +landed, and proceeded on foot to Tralee. It was night when I arrived. A +few faint glimmering lights could be seen here and there from an upper +window; but all the rest was in darkness. Instinctively I wandered on, +till I came to the little street where my aunt had lived. I knew every +stone in it. There was not a house I passed but I was familiar with all +its history. There was Mark Cassidy’s provision store, as he proudly +called a long dark room, the ceiling thickly studded with hams and bacon, +coils of rope, candles, flakes of glue, and loaves of sugar; while a +narrow pathway was eked out below between a sugar-hogshead, some sacks of +flour and potatoes, hemp-seed, tar, and treacle, interspersed with +scythe-blades, reaping-hooks, and sweeping-brushes—a great +coffee-roaster adorning the wall, and forming a conspicuous object for the +wonderment of the country-people, who never could satisfy themselves +whether it was a new-fashioned clock or a weather-glass, or a little +thrashing-machine or a money-box. Next door was Maurice Fitzgerald’s, the +apothecary, a cosy little cell of eight feet by six, where there was just +space left for a long-practised individual to grind with a pestle without +putting his right elbow through a blue-glass bottle that figured in the +front window, or his left into active intercourse with a regiment of +tinctures that stood up, brown and muddy and fetid, on a shelf hard by. +Then came Joe M’Evoy’s, “licensed for spirits and enthertainment,” where I +had often stood as a boy to listen to the pleasant sounds of Larry +Branaghan’s pipes, or to the agreeable ditties of “Adieu, ye shinin’ +daisies, I loved you well and long,” as sung by him, with an +accompaniment. Then there was Misther Moriarty’s, the attorney, a great +man in the petty sessions, a bitter pill for all the country gentlemen; he +was always raking up knotty cases of their decisions, and reporting them +to the <i>Limerick Vindicator</i> under the cognomen of “Brutus” or +“Coriolanus.” I could just see by the faint light that his house had been +raised a storey higher, and little iron balconies, like railings, stuck to +the drawing-room windows. +</p> +<p> +‘Next came my aunt’s. There it was: my foot was on the door where I stood +as a child, my little heart wavering between fears of the unknown world +without and hopes of doing something—Heaven knows what!—which +would make me a name hereafter. And there I was now, after years of toil +and peril of every kind, enough to have won me distinction, success enough +to have made me rich, had either been but well directed; and yet I was +poor and humble, as the very hour I quitted that home. I sat down on the +steps, my heart heavy and sad, my limbs tired, and before many minutes +fell fast asleep, and never awoke till the bright sun was shining gaily on +one side of the little street, and already the preparations for the coming +day were going on about me. I started up, afraid and ashamed of being +seen, and turned into the little ale-house close by, to get my breakfast. +Joe himself was not forthcoming; but a fat, pleasant-looking, +yellow-haired fellow, his very image, only some dozen years younger, was +there, bustling about among some pewter quarts and tin measures, arranging +tobacco-pipes, and making up little pennyworths of tobacco. +</p> +<p> +‘“Is your name M’Evoy?” said I. +</p> +<p> +‘“The same, at your service,” said he, scarce raising his eyes from his +occupation. +</p> +<p> +‘“Not Joe M’Evoy?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, sir, Ned M’Evoy; the old man’s name was Joe.” +</p> +<p> +‘“He ‘s dead, then, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Ay, sir; these eight years come Micklemass. Is it a pint or a naggin of +sperits?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Neither; it’s some breakfast, a rasher and a few potatoes, I want most. +I’ll take it here, or in the little room.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Faix, ye seem to know the ways of the place,” said he, smiling, as he +saw me deliberately push open a small door, and enter a little parlour +once reserved for favourite visitors. +</p> +<p> +‘“It’s many years since I was here before,” said I to the host, as he +stood opposite to me, watching the progress I was making with my breakfast—“so +many that I can scarce remember more than the names of the people I knew +very-well. Is there a Miss O’Kelly living in the town? It was somewhere +near this, her house.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, above Mr. Moriarty’s, that’s where she lived; but sure she’s dead +and gone, many a day ago. I mind Father Donnellan, the priest that was +here before Mr. Nolan, saying Masses for her sowl, when I was a slip of a +boy.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Dead and gone,” repeated I to myself sadly—for, though I scarcely +expected to meet my poor old relative again, I cherished a kind of half +hope that she might still be living. “And the priest, Father Donnellan, is +he dead too?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, sir; he died of the fever, that was so bad four years ago.” +</p> +<p> +‘“And Mrs. Brown that kept the post-office?” +</p> +<p> +‘“She went away to Ennis when her daughter was married there; I never +heard tell of her since.” +</p> +<p> +‘“So that, in fact, there are none of the old inhabitants of the town +remaining. All have died off?” +</p> +<p> +“Every one, except the ould captain; he’s the only one left” +</p> +<p> +‘“Who is he?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Captain Dwyer; maybe you knew him?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, I knew him well; and he’s alive? He must be very old by this time.” +</p> +<p> +‘“He ‘s something about eighty-six or seven; but he doesn’t let on to more +nor sixty, I believe; but, sure, talk of——- God preserve us, +here he is!” +</p> +<p> +‘As he spoke, a thin, withered-looking old man, bent double with age, and +walking with great difficulty, came to the door, and, in a cracked voice, +called out— +</p> +<p> +‘“Ned M’Evoy; here’s the paper for you; plenty of news in it, too, about +Mister O’Connell and the meetings in Dublin. If Cavanagh takes any fish, +buy a sole or a whiting for me, and send me the paper back.” +</p> +<p> +‘“There’s a gentleman, inside here, was just asking for you, sir,” said +the host. +</p> +<p> +‘“Who is he? Is it Mr. Creagh? At your service, sir,” said the old man, +sitting down on a chair near me, and looking at me from under the shadow +of his hand spread over his brow. “You ‘re Mr. Studdart, I ‘m thinking?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, sir; I do not suspect you know me; and, indeed, I merely mentioned +your name as one I had heard of many years ago when I was here, but not as +being personally known to you.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Oh, troth, and so you might, for I ‘m well known in these parts—eh, +Ned?” said he, with a chuckling cackle, that sounded very like hopeless +dotage. “I was in the army—in the ‘Buffs’; maybe you knew one Clancy +who was in them?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, sir; I have not many military acquaintances. I came here this +morning on my way to Dublin, and thought I would just ask a few questions +about some people I knew a little about. Miss O’Kelly——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Ah, dear! Poor Miss Judy—she’s gone these two or three years.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Ay, these fifteen,” interposed Ned. +</p> +<p> +‘“No, it isn’t though,” said the captain crossly, “it isn’t more than +three at most—cut off in her prime too. She was the last of an old +stock—I knew them all well. There was Dick—blazing Dick +O’Kelly, as they called him—that threw the sheriff into the +mill-race at Kilmacud, and had to go to France afterwards; and there was +Peter—Peter got the property, but he was shot in a duel. Peter had a +son—a nice devil he was too; he was drowned at sea; and except the +little girl that has the school up there, Sally O’Kelly—she is one +of them—there’s none to the fore.” +</p> +<p> +‘“And who was she, sir?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Sally was—what’s this? Ay, Sally is daughter to a son Dick left in +France. He died in the war in Germany, and left this creature; and Miss +Judy heard of her, and got her over here, just the week she departed +herself. She’s the last of them now—the best family in Kerry—and +keeping a child’s school! Ay, ay, so it is; and there’s property too +coming to her, if they could only prove that chap’s death, Con O’Kelly. +But sure no one knows anything where it happened. Sam Fitzsimon advertised +him in all the papers, but to no use.” +</p> +<p> +‘I did not wait for more of the old captain’s reminiscences, but snatching +up my hat I hurried down the street, and in less than an hour was closeted +with Mr. Samuel Fitzsimon, attorney-at-law, and gravely discussing the +steps necessary to be taken for the assumption of my right to a small +property, the remains of my Aunt Judy’s—a few hundred pounds, +renewal fines of lands, that had dropped since my father’s death. My next +visit was to the little school, which was held in the parlour where poor +Aunt Judy used to have her little card parties. The old stuffed macaw—now +from dirt and smoke he might have passed for a raven—was still over +the fireplace, and there was the old miniature of my father, and on the +other side was one which I had not seen before, of Father Donnellan in +full robes. All the little old conchologies were there too; and except the +black plethoric-looking cat that sat staring fixedly at the fire as if she +was grieving over the price of coals, I missed nothing. Miss Sally was a +nice modest-looking woman, with an air of better class about her than her +humble occupation would seem to imply. I made known my relationship in a +few words, and having told her that I had made all arrangements for +settling whatever property I possessed upon her, and informed her that Mr. +Fitzsimon would act as her guardian, I wished her good-bye and departed. I +saw that my life must be passed in occupation of one kind or other—idleness +would never do; and with the only fifty I reserved to myself of my little +fortune, I started for Paris. What I was to do I had no idea whatever; but +I well knew that you have only to lay the bridle on Fortune’s neck, and +you ‘ll seldom be disappointed in adventures. +</p> +<p> +‘For some weeks I strolled about Paris, enjoying myself as thoughtlessly +as though I had no need of any effort to replenish my failing exchequer. +The mere human tide that flowed along the Boulevards and through the gay +gardens of the Tuileries would have been amusement enough for me. Then +there were theatres and cafés and restaurants of every class—from +the costly style of the “Rocher” down to the dinner beside the fountain +Des Innocents, where you feast for four sous, and where the lowest and +poorest class of the capital resorted. Well, well, I might tell you some +strange scenes of those days, but I must hurry on. +</p> +<p> +‘In my rambles through Paris, visiting strange and out-of-the-way places, +dining here and supping there, watching life under every aspect I could +behold it, I strolled one evening across the Pont Neuf into the Ile St. +Louis, that quaint old quarter, with its narrow straggling streets, and +its tall gloomy houses, barricaded like fortresses. The old <i>portes +cochères</i> studded with nails and barred with iron, and having each a +small window to peer through at the stranger without, spoke of days when +outrage and attack were rife, and it behoved every man to fortify his +stronghold as best he could. There were now to be found the most abandoned +and desperate of the whole Parisian world; the assassin, the murderer, the +housebreaker, the coiner, found a refuge in this confused wilderness of +gloomy alleys and dark dismal passages. When night falls, no lantern +throws a friendly gleam along the streets; all is left in perfect +darkness, save when the red light of some cabaret lamp streams across the +pavement. In one of these dismal streets I found myself when night set in, +and although I walked on and on, somehow I never could extricate myself, +but continually kept moving in some narrow circle—so I guessed at +least, for I never wandered far from the deep-toned bell of Notre Dame, +that went on chanting its melancholy peal through the stillness of the +night air. I often stopped to listen. Now it seemed before, now behind me; +the rich solemn sound floating through those cavernous streets had +something awfully impressive. The voice that called to prayer, heard in +that gloomy haunt of crime, was indeed a strange and appalling thing. At +last it ceased, and all was still. For some time I was uncertain how to +act. I feared to knock at a door and ask my way; the very confession of my +loneliness would have been an invitation to outrage, if not murder. No one +passed me; the streets seemed actually deserted. +</p> +<p> +‘Fatigued with walking, I sat down on a door-sill and began to consider +what was best to be done, when I heard the sound of heavy feet moving +along towards me, the clattering of sabots on the rough pavement, and +shortly after a man came up, who, I could just distinguish, seemed to be a +labourer. I suffered him to pass me a few paces, and then called out— +</p> +<p> +‘“Halloa, friend! can you tell me the shortest way to the Pont Neuf?” +</p> +<p> +‘He replied by some words in a patois so strange I could make nothing of +it. I repeated my question, and endeavoured by signs to express my wish. +By this time he was standing close beside me, and I could mark was +evidently paying full attention to all I said. He looked about him once or +twice, as if in search of some one, and then turning to me said, in a +thick guttural voice— +</p> +<p> +‘“Halte-là, I’ll come”; and with that he moved down in the direction he +originally came from, and I could hear the clatter of his heavy shoes till +the sounds were lost in the winding alleys. +</p> +<p> +‘A sudden thought struck me that I had done wrong. The fellow had +evidently some dark intention by his going back, and I repented bitterly +having allowed him to leave me. But then, what were easier for him than to +lead me where he pleased, had I retained him! and so I reflected, when the +noise of many voices speaking in a half-subdued accent came up the street. +I heard the sound, too, of a great many feet. My heart sickened as the +idea of murder, so associated with the place, flashed across me; and I had +just time to squeeze myself within the shelter of the doorway, when the +party came up. +</p> +<p> +‘“Somewhere hereabouts, you said, wasn’t it?” said one in a good accent +and a deep clear voice. +</p> +<p> +‘“Oui-da!” said the man I had spoken to, while he felt with his hands upon +the walls and doorway of the opposite house. “Halloa there!” he shouted. +</p> +<p> +‘“Be still, you fool! don’t you think that he suspects something by this +time? Did the others go down the Rue des Loups?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, yes,” said a voice close to where I stood. +</p> +<p> +‘“Then all’s safe; he can’t escape that way. Strike a light, Pierre.” +</p> +<p> +‘A tall figure, wrapped up in a cloak, produced a tinder-box, and began to +clink deliberately with a steel and flint. Every flash showed me some +savage-looking face, where crime and famine struggled for mastery; while I +could mark that many had large clubs of wood, and one or two were armed +with swords. I drew my breath with short efforts, and was preparing myself +for the struggle, in which, though I saw death before me, I resolved to +sell life dearly, when a hand was passed across the pillar of the door, +and rested on my leg. For a second it never stirred; then slowly moved up +to my knee, where it stopped again. My heart seemed to cease its beating; +I felt like one around whose body some snake is coiling, fold after fold, +his slimy grasp. The hand was gently withdrawn, and before I could recover +from my surprise I was seized by the throat and hurled out into the +street. A savage laugh rang through the crowd, and a lantern, just +lighted, was held up to my face, while he who spoke first called out— +</p> +<p> +‘“You didn’t dream of escaping us, <i>bête</i>, did you?” ‘At the same +moment hands were thrust into my various pockets; the few silver pieces I +possessed were taken, my watch torn off, my hat examined, and the lining +of my coat ripped open—and all so speedily, that I saw at once I had +fallen into experienced hands. +</p> +<p> +‘“Where do you live in Paris?” said the first speaker, still holding the +light to my face, and staring fixedly at me. +</p> +<p> +‘“I am a stranger and alone,” said I, for the thought struck me that in +such a circumstance frankness was as good policy as any other. “I came +here to-night to see the cathedral, and lost my way in returning.” +</p> +<p> +‘“But where do you live—in what quarter of Paris?” ‘“The Rue +d’Alger; No. 12; the second storey.” ‘“What effects have you there in +money?” ‘“One English bank-note for five pounds; nothing more.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Any jewels, or valuables of any kind?” +</p> +<p> +‘“None; I am as poor as any man in Paris.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Does the porter know your name, in the house?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No; I am only known as the Englishman of No. 12.” +</p> +<p> +‘“What are your hours—irregular, are they not?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, I often come home very late.” +</p> +<p> +‘“That’s all right. You speak French well. Can you write it?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, sufficiently so for any common purpose.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Here, then,” said he, opening a large pocket-book, “write an order, +which I’ll tell you, to the <i>concierge</i> of the house. Take this pen.” +</p> +<p> +‘With a trembling hand I took the pen, and waited for his direction. +</p> +<p> +‘“Is it a woman keeps the door of your hotel?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” said I. +</p> +<p> +‘“Well, then, begin:—” +</p> +<p> +‘“Madame La Concierge, let the bearer of this note have the key of my +apartment——” +</p> +<p> +‘As I followed with my hand the words, I could mark that one of the party +was whispering in the ear of the speaker, and then moved slowly round to +my back. +</p> +<p> +‘“Hush! what’s that?” cried the chief speaker. “Be still there!” and as we +listened, the chorus of a number of voices singing in parts was heard at +some little distance off. +</p> +<p> +‘“That infernal nest of fellows must be rooted out of this, one day or +other,” said the chief; “and if I end my days on the Place de Grève, I’ll +try and do it. Hush there! be still! they’re passing on.” +</p> +<p> +‘True enough, the sound began to wax fainter, and my heart sank heavily, +as I thought the last hope was leaving me. Suddenly a thought dashed +through my mind—“Death in one shape is as bad as another. I’ll do +it!” I stooped down as if to continue my writing, and then collecting my +strength for the effort, and taking a deep breath, I struck the man in +front a blow with all my might that felled him to the ground, and clearing +him with a spring, I bounded down the street. My old Indian teaching had +done me good service here; few white men could have caught me in an open +plain, with space and sight to guide me, and I gained at every stride. +But, alas! I dared not stop to listen whence the sounds proceeded, and +could only dash straight forward, not knowing where it might lead me. Down +a steep, rugged street, that grew narrower as I went, I plunged, when—horror +of horrors!—I heard the Seine plashing at the end; the rapid current +of the river surged against the heavy timbers that defended the banks, +with a sound like a death-wail. A solitary, trembling light lay afar off +in the river from some barge that was at anchor there; I fixed my eye upon +it, and was preparing for a plunge, when, with a half-suppressed cry, my +pursuers sprang up from a low wharf I had not seen, below the quay, and +stood in front of me. In an instant they were upon me; a shower of blows +fell upon my head and shoulders, and one, armed with desperate resolution, +struck me on the forehead and felled me on the spot. +</p> +<p> +‘“Be quick now, be quick!” said a voice I well knew; “into the river with +him—the filets de St. Cloud will catch him by daybreak—into +the river with him!” +</p> +<p> +‘They tore off my coat and shoes, and dragged me along towards the wharf. +My senses were clear, though the blow had deprived me of all the power to +resist, and I could calculate the little chance still left me when once I +had reached the river, when a loud yell and a whistle was heard afar off—another, +louder, followed; the fellows around me sprang to their legs, and with a +muttered curse and a cry of terror darted off in different directions. I +could hear now several pistol-shots following quickly on one another, and +the noise of a scuffle with swords; in an instant it was over, and a cheer +burst forth like a cry of triumph. +</p> +<p> +‘“Any one wounded there?” shouted a deep manly voice, from the end of the +street. I endeavoured to call out, but my voice failed me. “Halloa, there! +any one wounded?” said the voice again, when a window was opened over my +head, and a man held a candle out, and looked into the street. +</p> +<p> +‘“This way, this way!” said he, as he caught sight of my shadow where I +lay. +</p> +<p> +‘“Ay, I guessed they went down here,” said the same voice I heard first, +as he came along, followed by several others. “Well, friend, are you much +hurt? any blood lost?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, only stunned,” said I, “and almost well already.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Have you any friends here? Were you quite alone?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes; quite alone.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Of course you were; why should I ask? That murderous gang never dared to +face two men yet. Come, are you able to walk? Oh, you’re a stout fellow, I +see; come along with us. Come, Ludwig, put a hand under him, and we ‘ll +soon bring him up.” +</p> +<p> +‘When they lifted me up, the sudden motion caused a weakness so complete +that I fainted, and knew little more of their proceedings till I found +myself lying on a sofa in a large room, where some forty persons were +seated at a long table, most of them smoking from huge pipes of regular +German proportions. +</p> +<p> +‘“Where am I?” was my question, as I looked about, and perceived that the +party wore a kind of blue uniform, with fur on the collar and cuffs, and a +greyhound worked in gold on the arm. +</p> +<p> +‘“Why, you’re safe, my good friend,” said a friendly voice beside me; +“that’s quite enough to know at present, isn’t it?” +</p> +<p> +‘“I begin to agree with you,” said I coolly; and so, turning round on my +side, I closed my eyes, and fell into as pleasant a sleep as ever I +remember in my life. +</p> +<p> +‘They were, indeed, a very singular class of restoratives which my kind +friends thought proper to administer to me; nor am I quite sure that a <i>bavaroise</i> +of chocolate dashed with rum, and friction over the face with hot Eau de +Cologne are sufficiently appreciated by the “faculty”; but this I do know, +that I felt very much revived by the application without and within; and +with a face somewhat the colour of a copper preserving-pan, and far too +hot to put anything on, I sat up and looked about me. A merrier set of +gentlemen not even my experience had ever beheld. They were mostly +middle-aged, grizzly-looking fellows, with very profuse beards and +moustaches; their conversation was partly French, partly German, while +here and there a stray Italian diminutive crept in; and to season the +whole, like cayenne in a ragoût, there was an odd curse in English. Their +strange dress, their free-and-easy manner, their intimacy with one +another, and, above all, the <i>locale</i> they had chosen for their +festivities, made me, I own, a little suspicious about their spotless +morality, and I began conjecturing to what possible calling they might +belong—now guessing them smugglers, now police of some kind or +other, now highwaymen outright, but without ever being able to come to any +conclusion that even approached satisfaction. The more I listened, the +more did my puzzle grow on me. That they were either the most +distinguished and exalted individuals or the most confounded story-tellers +was certain. Here was a fat, greasy little fellow, with a beard like an +Armenian, who was talking of a trip he made to Greece with the Duke of +Saxe-Weimar; apparently they were on the best of terms together, and had a +most jolly time of it. There was a large handsome man, with a short black +moustache, describing a night attack made by wolves on the caravan he was +in, during a journey to Siberia. I listened with intense interest to his +narrative; the scenery, the danger, the preparation for defence, had all +those little traits that bespeak truth, when, confound him! he destroyed +the whole as he said, “At that moment the Archduke Nicholas said to <i>me</i>——” +The Archduke Nicholas, indeed! very good that! he’s just as great a liar +as the other. +</p> +<p> +‘“Come,” thought I, “there’s a respectable-looking old fellow with a bald +head—let us hear him; there’s no boasting of the great people he +ever met with from that one, I’m sure.” +</p> +<p> +‘“We were now coming near to Vienna,” continued he, “the night was dark as +pitch, when a vedette came up to say that a party of brigands, well known +thereabouts, were seen hovering about the post station the entire evening. +We were well armed, but still by no means numerous, and it became a grave +question what we were to do. I got down immediately, and examined the +loading and priming of the carbines; they were all right, nothing had been +stirred. ‘What’s the matter?’ said the duke.” (“Oh,” thought I, “then +there’s a duke here also!”) “‘What’s the matter?’ said the Duke of +Wellington.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Oh, by Jove! that beats all!” cried I, jumping up on the sofa, and +opening both my hands with astonishment. “I ‘d have wagered a trifle on +that little fellow, and hang me if he isn’t the worst of the whole set!” +</p> +<p> +‘“What ‘s the matter; what’s happened?” said they all, turning round in +amazement at my sudden exclamation. “Is the man mad?” +</p> +<p> +‘“It’s hard to say,” replied I; “but if I ‘m not, you must be—unless +I have the honour, which is perfectly possible, to be at this moment in +company with the Holy Alliance; for, so help me, since I’ve sat here and +listened to you, there is not a crowned head in Europe, not a queen, not +an archduke, ambassador, and general-in-chief, whom some of you have not +been intimate with; and the small man with a red beard has just let slip +something about the Shah of Persia.” +</p> +<p> +‘The torrent of laughter that shook the table never ceased for a full +quarter of an hour. Old and young, smooth and grizzly, they laughed till +their faces were seamed with rivulets like a mountain in winter; and when +they would endeavour to address me, they’d burst out again, as fresh as +ever. +</p> +<p> +‘“Come over and join us, worthy friend,” said he who sat at the head of +the board—“you seem well equal to it; and perhaps our character as +men of truth may improve on acquaintance.” +</p> +<p> +‘“What, in Heaven’s name, are you?” said I. +</p> +<p> +‘Another burst of merriment was the only reply they made me. I never found +much difficulty in making my way in certain classes of society where the +tone was a familiar one. Where a <i>bon mot</i> was good currency and a +joke passed well, there I was at home, and to assume the features of the +party was with me a kind of instinct which I could not avoid; it cost me +neither effort nor strain; I caught up the spirit as a child catches up an +accent, and went the pace as pleasantly as though I had been bred among +them. I was therefore but a short time at table when by way of +matriculation I deemed it necessary to relate a story; and certainly if +they had astounded me by the circumstances of their high and mighty +acquaintances, I did not spare them in my narrative—in which the +Emperor of Japan figured as a very commonplace individual, and the King of +Candia came in, just incidentally, as a rather dubious acquaintance might +do. For a time they listened, like people who are well accustomed to give +and take these kinds of miracle; but when I mentioned something about a +game of leap-frog on the wall of China with the Celestial himself, a +perfect shout of incredulous laughter interrupted me. +</p> +<p> +‘“Well,” said I, “don’t believe me, if you don’t like; but here have I +been the whole evening listening to you, and if I ‘ve not bolted as much +as that, my name’s not Con O’Kelly.” +</p> +<p> +‘But it is not necessary to tell you how, step by step, they led me to +credit all they were saying, but actually to tell my own real story to +them—which I did from beginning to end, down to the very moment I +sat down there, with a large glass of hot claret before me, as happy as +might be. +</p> +<p> +‘“And you really are so low in purse?” said one. ‘“And have no prospect of +any occupation, nor any idea of a livelihood?” cried another. +</p> +<p> +‘“Just as much as I expect promotion from my friend the Emperor of China,” +said I. +</p> +<p> +‘“You speak French and German well enough, though?” ‘“And a smattering of +Italian,” said I. ‘“Come, you ‘ll do admirably; be one of us.” ‘“Might I +make bold enough to ask what trade that is?” ‘“You don’t know—you +can’t guess even?” ‘“Not even guess,” said I, “except you report for the +papers, and come here to make up the news.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Something better than that, I hope,” said the man at the head of the +table. “What think you of a life that leads a man about the world from +Norway to Jerusalem; that shows him every land the sun shines on, and +every nation of the globe, travelling with every luxury that can make a +journey easy and a road pleasant; that enables him to visit whatever is +remarkable in every city of the universe—to hear Pasta at St. +Petersburg in the winter, and before the year’s end to see an Indian +war-dance among the red men of the Rocky Mountains; to sit beneath the +shadow of the Pyramids as it were to-day, and ere two months be over to +stand in the spray of Trolhattan, and join a wolf-chase through the +pine-forests of the north. And not only this, but to have opportunities of +seeing life on terms the most intimate, so that society should be unveiled +to an extent that few men of any station can pretend to; to converse with +the greatest and the wisest, the most distinguished in rank—ay! and +better than all, with the most beautiful women of every land in Europe, +who depend on your word, rely on your information, and permit a degree of +intimacy which in their own rank is unattainable; to improve your mind by +knowledge of languages, acquaintance with works of art, scenery, and more +still by habits of intelligence which travelling bestows.” +</p> +<p> +‘“And to do this,” said I, burning with impatience at a picture that +realised all I wished for, “to do this——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Be a courier!” said thirty voices in a cheer. “Vive la Grande Route!” +and with the word each man drained his glass to the bottom. +</p> +<p> +‘“Vive la Grande Route!” exclaimed I, louder than the rest; “and here I +join you.” +</p> +<p> +‘From that hour I entered on a career that each day I follow is becoming +dearer to me. It is true that I sit in the rumble of the carriage, while +<i>monseigneur</i>, or my lord, reclines within; but would I exchange his +ennui and depression for my own light-heartedness and jollity? Would I +give up the happy independence of all the intrigue and plotting of the +world I enjoy, for all his rank and station? Does not Mont Blanc look as +grand in his hoary panoply to me as to him; are not the Danube and the +Rhine as fair? If I wander through the gallery of Dresden, have I not the +sweet smile of the great Raphael’s Madonna bent on me, as blandly as it is +on him? Is not mine host, with less of ceremony, far more cordial to me +than to him? Is not mine a rank known and acknowledged in every town, in +every village? Have I not a greeting wherever I pass? Should sickness +overtake me, where have I not a home? Where am I among strangers? Then, +what care I for the bill—mine is a royal route where I never pay. +And, lastly, how often is the <i>soubrette</i> of the rumble as agreeable +a companion as the pale and care-worn lady within? +</p> +<p> +‘Such is my life. Many would scoff, and call it menial. Let them, if they +will. I never <i>felt</i> it so; and once more I say, “Vive la Grande +Route!”’ +</p> +<p> +‘But your friends of the “Fischer’s Haus”?’ +</p> +<p> +‘A jolly set of smugglers, with whom for a month or two in summer I take a +cruise, less for profit than pleasure. The blue water is a necessary of +life to the man that has been some years at sea. My little collection has +been made in my wanderings; and if ever you come to Naples, you must visit +a cottage I have at Castella Mare, where you ‘ll see something better +worth your looking at. And now, though it does not seem very hospitable, I +must say adieu.’ +</p> +<p> +With these words Mr. O’Kelly opened a drawer, and drew forth a blue jacket +lined with rich dark fur and slashed with black braiding; a greyhound was +embroidered in gold twist on the arm, and a similar decoration ornamented +the front of his blue-cloth cap. I start for Genoa in half an hour. We’ll +meet again, and often, I hope.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Good-bye,’ said I, ‘and a hundred thanks for a pleasant evening, and one +of the strangest stories I ever heard. I half wish I were a younger man, +and I think I ‘d mount the blue jacket too.’ +</p> +<p> +‘It would show you some strange scenes,’ said Mr. O’Kelly, while he +continued to equip himself for the road. ‘All I have told is little +compared to what I might tell, were I only to give a few leaves of my life +<i>en courier</i>; but, as I said before, we ‘ll live to meet again. Do +you know who my party is this morning?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I can’t guess.’ +</p> +<p> +‘My old flame, Miss Blundell; she’s married now and has a daughter, so +like what I remember herself once. Well, well, it’s a strange world! +Good-bye.’ +</p> +<p> +With that we shook hands for the last time, and parted; and I wandered +back to Antwerp when the sun was rising, to get into a bed and sleep for +the next eight hours. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. TABLE-TRAITS +</h2> +<p> +Morgan O’Dogherty was wrong—and, sooth to say, he was not often so—when +he pronounced a Mess to be ‘the perfection of dinner society.’ In the +first place, there can be no perfection anywhere or in anything, it is +evident, where ladies are not. Secondly, a number of persons so purely +professional, and therefore so very much alike in their habits, tone of +thinking, and expression, can scarcely be expected to make up that complex +amalgam so indispensable to pleasant society. Lastly, the very fact of +meeting the same people each day, looking the very same way too, is a sad +damper to that flow of spirits which for their free current demand all the +chances and vicissitudes of a fresh audience. In a word, in the one case a +man becomes like a Dutch canal, standing stagnant and slow between its +trim banks; in the other, he is a bounding rivulet, careering pleasantly +through grassy meadows and smiling fields—now basking in the gay +sunshine, now lingering in the cool shade; at one moment hurrying along +between rocks and moss-grown pebbles, brawling, breaking, and foaming; at +the next, expanding into some little lake, calm and deep and mirrorlike. +</p> +<p> +It is the very chances and changes of conversation, its ups and downs, its +lights and shadows—so like those of life itself—that make its +great charm; and for this, generally, a mixed party gives the only +security. Now, a Mess has very little indeed of this requisite; on the +contrary, its great stronghold is the fact that it offers an easy +tableland for all capacities. It has its little, dry, stale jokes, as flat +and as dull as the orderly book—the regular quiz about Jones’s +whiskers, or Tobin’s horse; the hackneyed stories about Simpson of Ours, +or Nokes of Yours—of which the major is never tired, and the +newly-joined sub is enraptured. Bless their honest hearts! very little fun +goes far in the army; like the regimental allowance of wine, it will never +intoxicate, and no man is expected to call for a fresh supply. +</p> +<p> +I have dined at more Messes than any red-coat of them all, at home and +abroad—cavalry, artillery, and infantry, ‘horse, foot, and +dragoons,’ as Grattan has it. In gala parties, with a general and his +staff for guests; after sweltering field-days, where all the claret could +not clear your throat of pipe-clay and contract-powder; in the colonies, +where flannel-jackets were substituted for regulation coats, and +land-crabs and pepper-pot for saddles and sirloins; in Connemara, +Calcutta, or Corfu—it was all the same: <i>caelum non animum</i>, +etc. Not but that they had all their little peculiarities among themselves— +so much so, indeed, that I offer a fifty, that, if you set me down +blindfolded at any Mess in the service, I will tell you what corps they +belong to before the cheese appears; and before the bottle goes half +around, I’ll engage to distinguish the hussars from the heavies, the +fusiliers from the light-bobs; and when the president is ringing for more +claret, it will go hard with me if I don’t make a shrewd guess at the +number of the regiment. +</p> +<p> +The great charm of the Mess is to those young, ardent spirits fresh from +Sandhurst or Eton, sick of mathematics and bored with false quantities. To +them the change is indeed a glorious one, and I’d ask nothing better than +to be sixteen, and enjoy it all; but for the old stagers, it is slow work +indeed. A man curls his whiskers at forty with far less satisfaction than +he surveys their growth and development at eighteen; he tightens his +waist, too, at that period, with a very different sense of enjoyment. His +first trip to Jamaica is little more than a ‘lark’; his fourth or fifth, +with a wife and four brats, is scarcely a party of pleasure—and all +these things react on the Mess. Besides, it is against human nature itself +to like the people who rival us; and who could enjoy the jokes of a man +who stands between him and a majority? +</p> +<p> +Yet, taking them all in all, the military ‘cut up’ better than any other +professionals. The doctors might be agreeable; they know a vast deal of +life, and in a way too that other people never see it; but meet them <i>en +masse</i>, they are little better than body-snatchers. There is not a +malady too dreadful, nor an operation too bloody, to tell you over your +soup; every slice of the turkey suggests an amputation, and they sever a +wing with the anatomical precision they would extirpate a thigh bone. Life +to them has no interest except where it verges on death; and from habit +and hardening, they forget that human suffering has any other phase than a +source of wealth to the medical profession. +</p> +<p> +The lawyers are even worse. To listen to them, you would suppose that the +highest order of intellect was a skill in chicanery; that trick and +stratagem were the foremost walks of talent; that to browbeat a poor man +and to confound a simple one were great triumphs of genius; and that the +fairest gift of the human mind was that which enabled a man to feign every +emotion of charity, benevolence, pity, anger, grief, and joy, for the sum +of twenty pounds sterling, wrung from abject poverty and briefed by an +‘honest attorney.’ +</p> +<p> +As to the parsons, I must acquit them honestly of any portion of this +charge. It has been my fortune to ‘assist’ at more than one visitation +dinner, and I can safely aver that never by any accident did the +conversation become professional, nor did I hear a word of piety during +the entertainment. +</p> +<p> +Country gentlemen are scarcely professional, however the similarity of +their tastes and occupations might seem to warrant the classification—fox-hunting, +grouse-shooting, game-preserving, road-jobbing, rent-extracting, +land-tilling, being propensities in common. They are the slowest of all; +and the odds are long against any one keeping awake after the conversation +has taken its steady turn into shorthorns, Swedish turnips, subsoiling, +and southdowns. +</p> +<p> +Artists are occasionally well enough, if only for their vanity and +self-conceit. +</p> +<p> +Authors are better still, for ditto and ditto. +</p> +<p> +Actors are most amusing from the innocent delusion they labour under that +all that goes on in life is unreal, except what takes place in Covent +Garden or Drury Lane. +</p> +<p> +In a word, professional cliques are usually detestable, the individuals +who compose them being frequently admirable ingredients, but intolerable +when unmixed; and society, like a <i>macédoine</i>, is never so good as +when its details are a little incongruous. +</p> +<p> +For my own part, I knew few things better than a table d’hôte, that +pleasant reunion of all nations, from Stockholm to Stamboul; of every +rank, from the grand-duke to the bagman; men and women, or, if you like +the phrase better, ladies and gentlemen—some travelling for +pleasure, some for profit; some on wedding tours, some in the grief of +widowhood; some rattling along the road of life in all the freshness of +youth, health, and well-stored purses, others creeping by the wayside +cautiously and quietly; sedate and sententious English, lively Italians, +plodding Germans, witty Frenchmen, wily Russians, and stupid Belgians— +all pell-mell, seated side by side, and actually shuffled into momentary +intimacy by soup, fish, fowl, and entremets. The very fact that you are <i>en +route</i> gives a frankness and a freedom to all you say. Your passport is +signed, your carriage packed; to-morrow you will be a hundred miles away. +What matter, then, if the old baron with the white moustache has smiled at +your German, or if the thin-faced lady in the Dunstable bonnet has frowned +at your morality?—you ‘ll never, in all likelihood, meet either +again. You do your best to be agreeable—it is the only distinction +recognised; here are no places of honour, no favoured guests—each +starts fair in the race, and a pleasant course I have always deemed it. +</p> +<p> +Now, let no one, while condemning the vulgarity of this taste of mine—for +such I anticipate as the ready objection, though the dissentient should be +a tailor from Bond Street or a schoolmistress from Brighton—for a +moment suppose that I mean to include all tables d’hôte in this sweeping +laudation; far, very far from it. I, Arthur O’Leary, have travelled some +hundreds of thousands of miles in every quarter and region of the globe, +and yet would have considerable difficulty in enumerating even six such as +fairly to warrant the praise I have pronounced. +</p> +<p> +In the first place, the table d’hôte, to possess all the requisites I +desire, should not have its <i>locale</i> in any first-rate city, like +Paris, London, or St. Petersburg; no, it should rather be in Brussels, +Dresden, Munich, Berne, or Florence. Again, it should not be in the great +overgrown mammoth-hotel of the town, with three hundred daily devourers, +and a steam-engine to slice the <i>bouilli</i>. It should, and will +usually, be found in some retired and quiet spot—frequently within a +small court, with orange-trees round the walls, and a tiny modest <i>jet +d’eau</i> in the middle; a glass-door entering from a flight of low steps +into a neat ante-chamber, where an attentive but unobtrusive waiter is +ready to take your hat and cane, and, instinctively divining your dinner +intentions, ushers you respectfully into the salon, and leans down your +chair beside the place you select. +</p> +<p> +The few guests already arrived have the air of <i>habitués</i>; they are +chatting together when you enter, but they conceive it necessary to do the +honours of the place to the stranger, and at once include you in the +conversation; a word or two suffices, and you see that they are not chance +folk, whom hunger has overtaken at the door, but daily visitors, who know +the house and appreciate it. The table itself is far from large—at +most sixteen persons could sit down at it; the usual number is about +twelve or fourteen. There is, if it be summer, a delicious bouquet in the +midst; and the snowy whiteness of the cloth and the clear lustre of the +water strike you instantly. The covers are as bright as when they left the +hands of the silversmith, and the temperature of the room at once shows +that nothing has been neglected that can contribute to the comfort of the +guests. The very plash of the fountain is a grateful sound, and the long +necks of the hock-bottles, reposing in the little basin, have an air of +luxury far from unpleasing. While the champagne indulges its more southern +character in the ice-pails in the shade, a sweet, faint odour of +pineapples and nectarines is diffused about; nor am I disposed to quarrel +with the chance view I catch, between the orange-trees, of a window where +asparagus, game, oranges, and melons are grouped confusedly together, yet +with a harmony of colour and effect Schneider would have gloried in. There +is a noiseless activity about, a certain air of preparation—not such +as by bustle can interfere with the placid enjoyment you feel, but +something which denotes care and skill. You feel, in fact, that impatience +on your part would only militate against your own interest, and that when +the moment arrives for serving, the potage has then received the last +finishing touch of the artist. By this time the company are assembled; the +majority are men, but there are four or five ladies. They are <i>en +chapeau</i> too; but it is a toilette that shows taste and elegance, and +the freshness—that delightful characteristic of foreign dress—of +their light muslin dresses is in keeping with all about. Then follows that +little pleasant bustle of meeting; the interchange of a number of small +courtesies, which cost little but are very delightful; the news of the +theatre for the night; some soiree, well known, or some promenade, forms +the whole—and we are at table. +</p> +<p> +The destiny that made me a traveller has blessed me with either the +contentment of the most simple or the perfect enjoyment of the most +cultivated cuisine; and if I have eaten <i>tripe de rocher</i> with Parry +at the Pole, I have never lost thereby the acme of my relish for truffles +at the ‘Frères.’ Therefore, trust me that in my mention of a table d’hôte +I have not forgotten the most essential of its features—for this, +the smallness and consequent selectness of the party is always a +guarantee. +</p> +<p> +Thus, then, you are at table; your napkin is spread, but you see no soup. +The reason is at once evident, and you accept with gratefulness the little +plate of Ostend oysters, each somewhat smaller than a five-franc piece, +that are before you. Who would seek for pearls without when such treasures +are to be found within the shell—cool and juicy and succulent; +suggestive of delights to come, and so suited to the limpid glass of +Chablis. What preparatives for the potage, which already I perceive to be +a <i>printanière</i>. +</p> +<p> +But why dwell on all this? These memoranda of mine were intended rather to +form a humble companion to some of John Murray’s inestimable treatises on +the road; some stray recollection of what in my rambles had struck me as +worth mention; something that might serve to lighten a half-hour here or +an evening there; some hint for the wanderer of a hotel or a church or a +view or an actor or a poet, a picture or a <i>pâte</i>, for which his +halting-place is remarkable, but of whose existence he knew not. And to +come back once more, such a picture as I have presented is but a weak and +imperfect sketch of the Hôtel de France in Brussels—at least, of +what I once remember it. +</p> +<p> +Poor Biennais, he was an <i>artiste!</i> He commenced his career under +Chicaud, and rose to the dignity of <i>rôtisseur</i> under Napoleon. With +what enthusiasm he used to speak of his successes during the Empire, when +Bonaparte gave him carte-blanche to compose a dinner for a ‘party of +kings!’ Napoleon himself was but an inferior gastronome. With him, the +great requisite was to serve anywhere and at any moment; and though the +bill of fare was a modest one, it was sometimes a matter of difficulty to +prepare it in the depths of the Black Forest or on the sandy plains of +Prussia, amid the mud-covered fields of Poland or the snows of Muscovy. A +poulet, a cutlet, and a cup of coffee was the whole affair; but it should +be ready as if by magic. Among his followers were several distinguished +gourmets. Cambacérès was well known; Murat also, and Decrès, the Minister +of Marine, kept admirable tables. Of these, Biennais spoke with ecstasy; +he remembered their various tastes, and would ever remark, when placing +some masterpiece of skill before you, how the King of Naples loved or the +arch-chancellor praised it. To him the overthrow of the empire was but the +downfall of the cuisine; and he saw nothing more affecting in the last +days of Fontainebleau than that the Emperor had left untouched a <i>fondue</i> +he had always eaten of with delight. ‘After that,’ said Biennais, ‘I saw +the game was up.’ With the Hundred Days he was ‘restored,’ like his +master; but, alas! the empire of casseroles was departed; the thunder of +the cannon foundries, and the roar of the shot furnaces were more +congenial sounds than the simmering of sauces and the gentle murmur of a +stew-pan. No wonder, thought he, there should come a Waterloo, when the +spirit of the nation had thus degenerated. Napoleon spent his last days in +exile; Biennais took his departure for Belgium. The park was his Longwood; +and, indeed, he himself saw invariable points of resemblance in the two +destinies. Happily for those who frequented the Hôtel de France, he did +not occupy his remaining years in dictating his memoirs to some Las Casas +of the kitchen, but persevered to the last in the practice of his great +art, and died, so to speak, ladle in hand. +</p> +<p> +To me the Hôtel de France has many charms. I remember it, I shall not say +how many years—its cool, delightful salon, looking out upon that +beautiful little park whose shady alleys are such a resource in the +evenings of summer; its lime-trees, beneath which you may sit and sip your +coffee, as you watch the groups that pass and repass before you, weaving +stories to yourself which become thicker and thicker as the shade deepens, +and the flitting shapes are barely seen as they glide along the silent +alleys, while a distant sound of music—some air of the Fatherland—is +all that breaks the stillness, and you forget in the dreamy silence that +you are in the midst of a great city. +</p> +<p> +The Hôtel de France has other memories than these, too. I ‘m not sure that +I shall not make a confession, yet somehow I half shrink from it. You +might call it a love adventure, and I should not like that; besides, there +is scarcely a moral in it—though who knows? +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. A DILEMMA +</h2> +<p> +It was in the month of May—I won’t confess to the year—that I +found myself, after trying various hotels in the Place Royale, at last +deposited at the door of the Hôtel de France. It seemed to me, in my then +ignorance, like a <i>pis aller</i>, when the postillion said, ‘Let us try +the “France,”’ and little prepared me for the handsome, but somewhat +small, hotel before me. It was nearly five o’clock when I arrived, and I +had only time to make some slight change in my dress when the bell sounded +for table d’hôte. +</p> +<p> +The guests were already seated when I entered, but a place had been +reserved for me, which completed the table. I was a young—perhaps +after reading a little farther you’ll say a <i>very young</i>—traveller +at the time, but was soon struck by the quiet and decorous style in which +the dinner was conducted. The servants were prompt, silent, and observant; +the guests, easy and affable; the equipage of the table was even elegant; +and the cookery, Biennais! I was the only Englishman present, the party +being made up of Germans and French; but all spoke together like +acquaintances, and before the dinner had proceeded far were polite enough +to include me in the conversation. +</p> +<p> +At the head of the table sat a large and strikingly handsome man, of about +eight-and-thirty or forty years of age—his dress a dark frock, +richly braided, and ornamented by the decorations of several foreign +orders; his forehead high and narrow, the temples strongly indented; his +nose arched and thin, and his upper lip covered by a short black moustache +raised at either extremity and slightly curled, as we see occasionally in +a Van Dyck picture; indeed, his dark-brown features, somewhat sad in their +expression, his rich hazel eyes and long waving hair, gave him all the +character that great artist loved to perpetuate on his canvas. He spoke +seldom, but when he did there was something indescribably pleasing in the +low, mellow tones of his voice; a slight smile too lit up his features at +these times, and his manner had in it—I know not what; some strange +power it seemed, that made whoever he addressed feel pleased and flattered +by his notice of them, just as we see a few words spoken by a sovereign +caught up and dwelt upon by those around. +</p> +<p> +At his side sat a lady, of whom when I first came into the room I took +little notice; her features seemed pleasing, but no more. But gradually, +as I watched her I was struck by the singular delicacy of traits that +rarely make their impression at first sight. She was about twenty-five, +perhaps twenty-six, but of a character of looks that preserves something +almost childish in their beauty. She was pale, and with brown hair—that +light sunny brown that varies in its hue with every degree of light upon +it; her face was oval and inclined to plumpness; her eyes were large, +full, and lustrous, with an expression of softness and candour that won on +you wonderfully the longer you looked at them; her nose was short, perhaps +faultily so, but beautifully chiselled, and fine as a Greek statue; her +mouth, rather large, displayed, however, two rows of teeth beautifully +regular and of snowy whiteness; while her chin, rounded and dimpled, +glided by an easy transition into a throat large and most gracefully +formed. Her figure, as well as I could judge, was below the middle size, +and inclined to embonpoint; and her dress, denoting some national +peculiarity of which I was ignorant, was a velvet bodice laced in front +and ornamented with small silver buttons, which terminated in a white +muslin skirt; a small cap, something like what Mary Queen of Scots is +usually represented in, sat on the back of her head and fell in deep lace +folds on her shoulders. Lastly, her hands were small, white, and dimpled, +and displayed on her taper and rounded fingers several rings of apparently +great value. +</p> +<p> +I have been somewhat lengthy in my description of these two persons, and +can scarcely ask my reader to accompany me round the circle; however, it +is with them principally I have to do. The others at table were remarkable +enough. There was a leading member of the Chamber of Deputies—an +ex-minister—a tall, dark-browed, ill-favoured man, with a retiring +forehead and coal-black eyes; he was a man of great cleverness, spoke +eloquently and well, and was singularly open and frank in giving his +opinion on the politics of the time. There was a German or two, from the +grand-duchy of something—somewhat proud, reserved personages, as all +the Germans of petty states are; they talked little, and were evidently +impressed with the power they possessed of tantalising the company by not +divulging the intention of the Gross Herzog of Hoch Donnerstadt regarding +the present prospects of Europe. There were three Frenchmen and two French +ladies, all pleasant, easy, and affable people; there was a doctor from +Louvain, a shrewd, intelligent man; a Prussian major and his wife—well-bred, +quiet people, and, like all Prussians, polite without inviting +acquaintance. An Austrian secretary of legation, a wine-merchant from +Bordeaux, and a celebrated pianist completed the party. +</p> +<p> +I have now put my readers in possession of information which I only +obtained after some days myself; for though one or other of these +personages was occasionally absent from table d’hôte, I soon perceived +that they were all frequenters of the house, and well known there. +</p> +<p> +If the guests were seated at table wherever chance or accident might place +them, I could perceive that a tone of deference was always used to the +tall man, who invariably maintained his place at the head; and an air of +even greater courtesy was assumed towards the lady beside him, who was his +wife. He was always addressed as Monsieur le Comte, and her title of +Countess was never forgotten in speaking to her. During dinner, whatever +little chit-chat or gossip was the talk of the day was specially offered +up to her. The younger guests occasionally ventured to present a bouquet, +and even the rugged minister himself accomplished a more polite bow in +accosting her than he could have summoned up for his presentation to +royalty. To all these little attentions she returned a smile or a look or +a word, or a gesture with her white hand, never exciting jealousy by any +undue degree of favour, and distributing her honours with the practised +equanimity of one accustomed to it. +</p> +<p> +Dinner over and coffee, a handsome britzka, drawn by two splendid dark-bay +horses, would drive up, and Madame la Comtesse, conducted to the carriage +by her husband, would receive the homage of the whole party, as they stood +to let her pass. The count would then linger some twenty minutes or so, +and take his leave to wander for an hour about the park, and afterwards to +the theatre, where I used to see him in a private box with his wife. +</p> +<p> +Such was the little party at the ‘France’ when I took up my residence +there in the month of May, and gradually one dropped off after another as +the summer wore on. The Germans went back to sauer kraut and kreutzer +whist; the secretary of legation was on leave; the wine-merchant was off +to St. Petersburg; the pianist was in the bureau he once directed—and +so on, leaving our party reduced to the count and madame, a stray +traveller, a deaf abbé, and myself. +</p> +<p> +The dog-days in a Continental city are, every one knows, stupid and +tiresome enough. Every one has taken his departure either to his château, +if he has one, or to the watering-places; the theatre has no attraction, +even if the heat permitted one to visit it; the streets are empty, +parched, and grass-grown; and except the arrival and departure of that +incessant locomotive, John Bull, there is no bustle or stir anywhere. +Hapless, indeed, is the condition then of the man who is condemned from +any accident to toil through this dreary season; to wander about in +solitude the places he has seen filled by pleasant company; to behold the +park and promenades given up to Flemish <i>bonnes</i> or Norman nurses, +where he was wont to glad his eye with the sight of bright eyes and trim +shapes, flitting past in all the tasty elegance of Parisian toilette; to +see the lazy <i>frotteur</i> sleeping away his hours at the <i>porte +cochere</i>, which a month before thundered with the deep roll of equipage +coming and going. All this is very sad, and disposes one to be dull and +discontented too. +</p> +<p> +For what reason I was detained at Brussels it is unnecessary to inquire. +Some delay in remittances, if I remember aright, had its share in the +cause. Who ever travelled without having cursed his banker or his agent or +his uncle or his guardian, or somebody, in short, who had a deal of money +belonging to him in his hands, and would not send it forward? In all my +long experience of travelling and travellers, I don’t remember meeting +with one person, who, if it were not for such mischances, would not have +been amply supplied with cash. Some with a knowing wink throw the blame on +the ‘Governor’; others, more openly indignant, confound Coutts and +Drummond; a stray Irishman will now and then damn the ‘tenantry that +haven’t paid up the last November’; but none, no matter how much their +condition bespeaks that out-at-elbows habit which a ways-and-means style +of life contracts, will ever confess to the fact that their expectations +are as blank as their banker’s book, and that the only land they are ever +to pretend to is a post-obit right in some six-feet-by-two in a +churchyard. And yet the world is full of such people—well-informed, +pleasant, good-looking folk, who inhabit first-rate hotels; drink, dine, +and dress well; frequent theatres and promenades; spend their winters at +Paris or Florence or Rome, their summers at Baden or Ems or Interlachen; +have a strange half-intimacy with men in the higher circles, and +occasionally dine with them; are never heard of in any dubious or unsafe +affair; are reputed safe fellows to talk to; know every one, from the +horse-dealer who will give credit to the Jew who will advance cash; and +notwithstanding that they neither gamble nor bet nor speculate, yet +contrive to live—ay, and well, too—without any known resources +whatever. If English (and they are for the most part so), they usually are +called by some well-known name of aristocratic reputation in England: they +are thus Villiers or Paget or Seymour or Percy, which on the Continent is +already a kind of half-nobility at once; and the question which seemingly +needs no reply, ‘Ah, vous êtes parent de milord!’ is a receipt in full +rank anywhere. +</p> +<p> +These men—and who that knows anything of the Continent has not met +such everywhere—are the great riddles of our century; and I ‘d +rather give a reward for their secret than all the discoveries about +perpetual motion, or longitude, or North-west Passages, that ever were +heard of. And strange it is, too, no one has ever blabbed. Some have +emerged from this misty state to inherit large fortunes and live in the +best style; yet I have never heard of a single man having turned king’s +evidence on his fellows. And yet what a talent theirs must be, let any man +confess who has waited three posts for a remittance without any tidings of +its arrival! Think of the hundred-and-one petty annoyances and ironies to +which he is subject! He fancies that the very waiters know he is <i>à sec</i>; +that the landlord looks sour, and the landlady austere; the very clerk in +the post-office appears to say, ‘No letter for you, sir,’ with a jibing +and impertinent tone. From that moment, too, a dozen expensive tastes that +he never dreamed of before enter his head: he wants to purchase a hack or +give a dinner-party or bet at a racecourse, principally because he has not +got a sou in his pocket, and he is afraid it may be guessed by others—such +is the fatal tendency to strive or pretend to something which has no other +value in our eyes than the effect it may have on our acquaintances, +regardless of what sacrifices it may demand. +</p> +<p> +Forgive, I pray, this long digression, which although I hope not without +its advantages would scarcely have been entered into were it not <i>à +propos</i> to myself. And to go back—I began to feel excessively +uncomfortable at the delay of my money. My first care every morning was to +repair to the post-office; sometimes I arrived before it was open, and had +to promenade up and down the gloomy Rue de l’Evecque till the clock +struck; sometimes the mail would be late (a foreign mail is generally late +when the weather is peculiarly fine and the roads good!); but always the +same answer came, ‘Rien pour vous, Monsieur O’Leary’; and at last I +imagined from the way the fellow spoke that he had set the response to a +tune, and sang it. +</p> +<p> +Béranger has celebrated in one of his very prettiest lyrics ‘how happy one +is at twenty in a garret.’ I have no doubt, for my part, that the vicinity +of the slates and the poverty of the apartment would have much contributed +to my peace of mind at the time I speak of. The fact of a magnificently +furnished salon, a splendid dinner every day, champagne and Seltzer +promiscuously, cab fares and theatre tickets innumerable being all scored +against me were sad dampers to my happiness; and from being one of the +cheeriest and most light-hearted of fellows, I sank into a state of +fidgety and restless impatience, the nearest thing I ever remember to low +spirits. +</p> +<p> +Such was I one day when the post, which I had been watching anxiously from +mid-day, had not arrived at five o’clock. Leaving word with the +commissionaire to wait and report to me at the hotel, I turned back to the +table d’hôte. By accident, the only guests were the count and madame. +There they were, as accurately dressed as ever; so handsome and so +happy-looking; so attached, too, in their manner towards each other—that +nice balance between affection and courtesy which before the world is so +captivating. Disturbed as were my thoughts, I could not help feeling +struck by their bright and pleasant looks. +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, a family party!’ said the count gaily, as I entered, while madame +bestowed on me one of her very sweetest smiles. +</p> +<p> +The restraint of strangers removed, they spoke as if I had been an old +friend—chatting away about everything and everybody, in a tone of +frank and easy confidence perfectly delightful; occasionally deigning to +ask if I did not agree with them in their opinions, and seeming to enjoy +the little I ventured to say, with a pleasure I felt to be most +flattering. The count’s quiet and refined manner, the easy flow of his +conversation, replete as it was with information and amusement, formed a +most happy contrast with the brilliant sparkle of madame’s lively sallies; +for she seemed rather disposed to indulge a vein of slight satire, but so +tempered with good feeling and kindliness withal that you would not for +the world forego the pleasure it afforded. Long, long before the dessert +appeared I ceased to think of my letter or my money, and did not remember +that such things as bankers, agents, or stockbrokers were in the universe. +Apparently they had been great travellers: had seen every city in Europe, +and visited every court; knew all the most distinguished people, and many +of the sovereigns intimately; and little stories of Metternich, <i>bons +mots</i> of Talleyrand, anecdotes of Goethe and Chateaubriand, seasoned +the conversation with an interest which to a young man like myself was +all-engrossing. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly the door opened, and the commissionaire called out, ‘No letter +for Monsieur O’Leary!’ I immediately became pale and faint; and though the +count was too well bred to take any direct notice of what he saw was +caused by my disappointment, he contrived adroitly to direct some +observation to madame, which relieved me from any burden of the +conversation. +</p> +<p> +‘What hour did you order the carriage, Duischka?’ said he. +</p> +<p> +‘At half-past six. The forest is so cool that I like to go slowly through +it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘That will give us ample time for a walk, too,’ said he; ‘and if Monsieur +O’Leary will join us, the pleasure will be all the greater.’ +</p> +<p> +I hesitated, and stammered out an apology about a headache, or something +of the sort. +</p> +<p> +‘The drive will be the best thing in the world for you,’ said madame; ‘and +the strawberries and cream of Boitsfort will complete the cure.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, yes,’ said the count, as I shook my head half sadly, ‘La comtesse is +infallible as a doctor.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And, like all the faculty, very angry when her skill is called in +question,’ said she. +</p> +<p> +‘Go, then, and find your shawl, madame,’ said he, ‘and, meanwhile, +monsieur and I will discuss our liqueur, and be ready for you.’ +</p> +<p> +Madame smiled gaily, as if having carried her point, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +The door was scarcely closed when the count drew his chair closer to mine, +and, with a look of kindliness and good-nature I cannot convey, said, ‘I +am going, Monsieur O’Leary, to take a liberty—a very great liberty +indeed—with you, and perhaps you may not forgive it.’ He paused for +a minute or two, as if waiting some intimation on my part. I merely +muttered something intended to express my willingness to accept of what he +hinted, and he resumed: ‘You are a very young man; I not a very old, but a +very experienced one. There are occasions in life in which such knowledge +as I possess of the world and its ways may be of great service. Now, +without for an instant obtruding myself on your confidence, or inquiring +into affairs which are strictly your own, I wish to say that my advice and +counsel, if you need either, are completely at your service. A few minutes +ago I perceived that you were distressed at hearing there was no letter +for you——’ +</p> +<p> +‘I know not how to thank you,’ said I, ‘for such kindness as this; and the +best proof of my sincerity is to tell you the position in which I am +placed.’ +</p> +<p> +‘One word, first,’ added he, laying his hand gently on my arm—‘one +word. Do you promise to accept of my advice and assistance when you have +revealed the circumstances you allude to? If not, I beg I may not hear +it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Your advice I am most anxious for,’ said I hastily. +</p> +<p> +‘The other was an awkward word, and I see that your delicacy has taken the +alarm. But come, it is spoken now, and can’t be recalled. I must have my +way; so go on.’ +</p> +<p> +I seized his hand with enthusiasm, and shook it heartily. ‘Yes,’ said I, +‘you shall have your way. I have neither shame nor concealment before +you.’ And then, in as few words as I could explain such tangled and +knotted webs as envelop all matters where legacies and lawyers and +settlements and securities and mortgages enter, I put him in possession of +the fact that I had come abroad with the assurance from my man of business +of a handsome yearly income, to be increased after a time to something +very considerable; that I was now two months in expectation of +remittances, which certain forms in Chancery had delayed and deferred; and +that I watched the post each day with an anxious heart for means to +relieve me from certain trifling debts I had incurred, and enable me to +proceed on my journey. +</p> +<p> +The count listened with the most patient attention to my story, only +interfering once or twice when some difficulty demanded explanation, and +then suffering me to proceed to the end. Then leisurely withdrawing a +pocket-book from the breast of his frock, he opened it slowly. +</p> +<p> +‘My dear young friend,’ said he, in a measured and almost solemn tone, +‘every hour that a man is in debt is a year spent in slavery. Your +creditor is your master; it matters not whether a kind or a severe one, +the sense of obligation you incur saps the feeling of manly independence +which is the first charm of youth—and, believe me, it is always +through the rents in moral feeling that our happiness oozes out quickest. +Here are five thousand francs; take as much as you want. With a friend, +and I insist upon you believing me to be such, these things have no +character of obligation: I accommodate you to-day; you do the same for me +to-morrow. And now put these notes in your pocket; I see madame is waiting +for us.’ +</p> +<p> +For a second or two I felt so overpowered I could not speak. The generous +confidence and friendly interest of one so thoroughly a stranger were too +much for my astonished and gratified mind. At last I recovered myself +enough to reply, and assuring my worthy friend that when I spoke of my +debts they were in reality merely trifling ones; that I had still ample +funds in my banker’s hands for all necessary outlay, and that by the next +post, perhaps, my long-wished-for letter might arrive. +</p> +<p> +‘And if it should not?’ interposed he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +‘Why then the next day——’ +</p> +<p> +‘And if not then?’ continued he, with a half-quizzing look at my +embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +‘Then your five thousand francs shall tremble for it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘That’s a hearty fellow!’ cried he, grasping my hand in both of his; ‘and +now I feel I was not deceived in you. My first meeting with Metternich was +very like this. I was at Presburg in the year 1804, just before the +campaign of Austerlitz opened—’ +</p> +<p> +‘You are indeed most gallant, messieurs,’ said the countess, opening the +door, and peeping in. ‘Am I to suppose that cigars and maraschino are +better company than mine?’ +</p> +<p> +We rose at once to make our excuses; and thus I lost the story of Prince +Metternich, in which I already felt an uncommon interest from the +similarity of the adventure to my own, though whether I was to represent +the prince or the count I could not even guess. +</p> +<p> +I was soon seated beside the countess in the luxurious britzka; the count +took his place on the box, and away we rattled over the stones through the +Porte de Namur, and along the pretty suburbs of Etterbech, where we left +the highroad, and entered the Bois de Cambre by that long and beautiful <i>allée</i> +which runs on for miles, like some vast aisle in a Gothic cathedral—the +branches above bending into an arched roof, and the tall beech-stems +standing like the pillars. +</p> +<p> +The pleasant odour of the forest, the tempered light, the noiseless roll +of the carriage, gave a sense of luxury to the drive I can remember +vividly to this hour. Not that my enjoyment of these things was my only +one; far from it. The pretty countess talked away about everything that +came uppermost, in that strain of spirited and lively chit-chat which +needs not the sweetest voice and the most fascinating look to make it most +captivating. I felt like one in a dream; the whole thing was fairy-land; +and whether I looked into the depths of the leafy wood, where some +horsemen might now and then be seen to pass at a gallop, or my eyes fell +upon that small and faultless foot that rested on the velvet cushion in +the carriage, I could not trust the reality of the scene, and could only +mutter to myself, ‘What hast thou ever done, Arthur O’Leary, or thy father +before thee, to deserve happiness like this?’ +</p> +<p> +Dear and kind reader, it may be your fortune to visit Brussels; and +although not exactly under such circumstances as I have mentioned here, +let me advise you, even without a beautiful Polonaise for your companion, +to make a trip to Boitsfort, a small village in the wood of Soignies. Of +course your nationality will lead you to Waterloo; and equally of course, +if you have any tact (which far be it from me not to suppose you gifted +with), you’ll not dine there, the little miserable cabarets that are +called restaurants being wretched beyond description; you may have a glass +of wine—and if so, take champagne, for they cannot adulterate it—but +don’t venture on a dinner, if you hope to enjoy one again for a week +after. Well, then, ‘having done your Waterloo,’ as the Cockneys say, seen +Sergeant Cotton and the church, La Haye Sainte, Hougomont, and Lord +Anglesey’s boot—take your road back, not by that eternal and noisy +<i>chaussée</i> you have come by, but turn off to the right, as if going +to Wavre, and enter the forest by an earth road, where you’ll neither meet +waggons nor postillions nor even a ‘’pike.’ Your coachman will say, ‘Where +to?’ Reply, ‘Boitsfort’—which, for safety, pronounce ‘Boshfort’—and +lie back and enjoy yourself. About six miles of a delightful drive, all +through forest, will bring you to a small village beside a little lake +surrounded by hills, not mountains, but still waving and broken in +outline, and shaded with wood. The red-tiled roofs, the pointed gables, +the green jalousies, and the background of dark foliage will all remind +you of one of Berghem’s pictures; and if a lazy Fleming or so are seen +lounging over the little parapet next the water, they ‘ll not injure the +effect. Passing over the little bridge, you arrive in front of a long, +low, two-storeyed house, perforated by an arched doorway leading into the +court; over the door is an inscription, which at once denotes the object +of the establishment, and you read, ‘Monsieur Dubos fait noces et +festins.’ Not that the worthy individual officiates in any capacity +resembling the famed Vulcan of the North: as far be it from him to invade +the prerogative of others as for any to rival him in his own peculiar +walk. No; Monsieur D.‘s functions are limited to those delicate devices +which are deemed the suitable diet of newly-married couples—those <i>petits +plats</i> which are, like the orange-flower, only to be employed on great +occasions. And as such he is unrivalled; for notwithstanding the simple +and unpretending exterior, this little rural tavern can boast the most +perfect cook and the best-stored cellar. Here may be found the earliest +turkey of the year, with a dowry of truffles; here, the first peas of +spring, the newest strawberries and the richest cream, iced champagne and +grapy Hermitage, Steinberger and Johannisberg, are all at your orders. You +may dine in the long salon, <i>en cabinet</i>; in the garden, or in the +summer-house over the lake, where the carp is flapping his tail in the +clear water, the twin-brother of him at table. The garden beneath sends up +its delicious odours from beds of every brilliant hue; the sheep are +moving homeward along the distant hills to the tinkle of the faint bell; +the plash of an oar disturbs the calm water as the fisherman skims along +the lake, and the subdued murmurs of the little village all come floating +in the air—pleasant sounds, and full of home thoughts. Well, well! +to be sure I am a bachelor, and know nothing of such matters; but it +strikes me I should like to be married now and then, and go eat my +wedding-dinners at Boitsfort! And now once more let me come back to my +narrative—for leaving which I should ask your pardon, were it not +that the digression is the best part of the whole, and I should never +forgive myself if I had not told you not to stop at Brussels without +dining at Boitsfort. +</p> +<p> +When we reached Boitsfort, a waiter conducted us at once to a little table +in the garden where the strawberries and the iced champagne were in +waiting. Here and there, at some distance, were parties of the Brussels +bourgeoisie enjoying themselves at their coffee, or with ice; while a +large salon that occupied one wing of the building was given up to some +English travellers, whose loud speech and boisterous merriment bespoke +them of that class one is always ashamed to meet with out of England. +</p> +<p> +‘Your countrymen are very merry yonder,’ said the countess, as a more +uproarious burst than ever broke from the party. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said the count, perceiving that I felt uncomfortable at the +allusion, ‘Englishmen always carry London about with them wherever they +go. Meet them in the Caucasus, and you’ll find that they’ll have some +imitation of a Blackwall dinner or a Greenwich party.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How comes it,’ said I, amazed at the observation, ‘that you know these +places you mention?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, my dear sir, I have been very much about the world in my time, and +have always made it my business to see each people in their own peculiar +haunts. If at Vienna, I dine not at the “Wilde Man,” but at the “Puchs” in +the Leopoldstadt. If in Dresden, I spend my evening in the Grün-Garten, +beyond the Elbe. The bourgeoisie alone of any nation preserve traits +marked enough for a stranger’s appreciation; the higher classes are pretty +much alike everywhere, and the nationality of the peasant takes a narrow +range, and offers little to amuse.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The count is a quick observer,’ remarked madame, with a look of pleasure +sparkling in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +‘I flatter myself,’ rejoined he, ‘I seldom err in my guesses. I knew my +friend here tolerably accurately without an introduction.’ +</p> +<p> +There was something so kind in the tone he spoke in that I could have no +doubt of his desire to compliment me. +</p> +<p> +‘Independently, too, of speaking most of the languages of Europe, I +possess a kind of knack for learning a patois,’ continued he. ‘At this +instant, I’ll wager a cigar with you that I ‘ll join that little knot of +sober Belgians yonder, and by the magic of a few words of genuine Brussels +French, I’ll pass muster as a Boss.’ +</p> +<p> +The countess laughed heartily at the thought, and I joined in her mirth +most readily. +</p> +<p> +‘I take the wager,’ cried I—‘and hope sincerely to lose it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Done!’ said he, springing up and putting on his hat, while he made a +short circuit in the garden, and soon afterwards appeared at the table +with the Flemings, asking permission, as it seemed, to light a cigar from +a lantern attached to the tree under which they sat. +</p> +<p> +If we were to judge from the merriment of the little group, his success +was perfect, and we soon saw him seated amongst them, busily occupied in +concocting a bowl of flaming <i>ponche</i>, of which it was clear by his +manner he had invited the party to partake. +</p> +<p> +‘Now Gustav is in his delight,’ said the countess, in a tone of almost +pique; ‘he is a strange creature, and never satisfied if not doing +something other people never think of. In half an hour he’ll be back here, +with the whole history of Mynheer van Houdendrochen and his wife and their +fourteen “mannikins”; all their little absurdities and prejudices he ‘ll +catch up, and for a week to come we shall hear nothing but Flemish French, +and the habitudes of the Montagne de la Cour.’ +</p> +<p> +For a few seconds I was vastly uncomfortable; a thought glanced across me, +what if it were for some absurd feature in me, in my manner or my +conversation, that he had deigned to make my acquaintance. Then came the +recollection of his generous proposal, and I saw at once that I was +putting a somewhat high price on my originality, if I valued it at five +thousand francs. +</p> +<p> +‘What ails you?’ said the countess, in a low, soft voice, as she lifted +her eyes and let them fall upon me with a most bewitching expression of +interest. ‘I fear you are ill, or in low spirits.’ I endeavoured to rally +and reply, when she went on— +</p> +<p> +‘We must see you oftener. Gustav is so pleasant and so gay, he will be of +great use to you. When he really takes a liking, he is delightful; and he +has in your case, I assure you.’ +</p> +<p> +I knew not what to say, nor how to look my gratitude for such a speech, +and could only accomplish some few and broken words of thanks. +</p> +<p> +‘Besides, you are about to be a traveller,’ continued she; ‘and who can +give you such valuable information of every country and people as the +count? Do you intend to make a long absence from England?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, at least some years. I wish to visit the East.’ ‘You ‘ll go into +Poland?’ said she quickly, without noticing my reply. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, I trust so; Hungary and Poland have both great interest for me.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You know that we are Poles, don’t you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes.’ +</p> +<p> +‘We are both from beyond Varsovie. Gustav was there ten years ago. I have +never seen my native country since I was a child. +</p> +<p> +At the last words her voice dropped to a whisper, and she leaned her head +upon her hand, and seemed lost in thought. I did not dare to break in upon +the current of recollections I saw were crowding upon her, and was silent. +She looked up at length, and by the faint light of the moon, just risen, I +saw that her eyes were tearful and her cheeks still wet. +</p> +<p> +‘What,’ said I to myself, ‘and has sorrow come even here—here, where +I imagined if ever the sunny path of life existed, it was to be found?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Would you like to hear a sad story?’ said she, smiling faintly, with a +look of indefinable sweetness. +</p> +<p> +‘If it were yours, it would make my heart ache,’ said I, carried away by +my feelings at the instant. +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ll tell it to you one of these days, then: not now! not now, though!—I +could not here; and there comes Gustav. How he laughs!’ +</p> +<p> +And true enough, the merry sounds of his voice were heard through the +garden as he approached; and strangely, too, they seemed to grate and jar +upon my ear, with a very different impression from what before they +brought to me. +</p> +<p> +Our way back to Brussels led again through the forest, which now was +wrapped in the shade, save where the moon came peeping down through the +leafy branches, and fell in bright patches on the road beneath. The +countess spoke a little at first, but gradually relapsed into perfect +silence. The stillness and calm about seemed only the more striking from +the hollow tramp of the horses, as they moved along the even turf; the air +was mild and sweet, and loaded with that peculiar fragrance which a wood +exhales after nightfall; and all the influences of the time and place were +of that soothing, lulling kind that wraps the mind in a state of dreamy +reverie. But one thought dwelt within me: it was of her who sat beside me, +her head cast down, and her arms folded. She was unhappy; some secret +sorrow was preying upon that fair bosom, some eating care corroding her +very heart. A vague, shadowy suspicion shot through me that her husband +might have treated her cruelly and ill. But why suspect this? Was not +everything I witnessed the very reverse of such a fact? What could surpass +the mutual kindliness and good feeling that I saw between them! And yet +their dispositions were not at all alike: she seemed to hint as much. The +very waywardness of his temperament; the incessant demand of his spirit +for change, excitement, and occupation—how could it harmonise with +her gentle and more constant nature? From such thoughts I was awakened by +her saying, in a low faint voice— +</p> +<p> +‘You must forget what I said to-night. There are moments when some strong +impulse will force the heart to declare the long-buried thoughts of years. +Perhaps some secret instinct tells us that we are near to those who can +sympathise and feel for us; perhaps these are the overflowings of grief, +without which the heart would grow full to bursting. Whatever they be, +they seem to calm and soothe us, though afterwards we may sorrow for +having indulged in them. You will forget it all, won’t you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I will do my best,’ said I timidly, ‘to do all you wish; but I cannot +promise you what may be out of my power. The few words you spoke have +never left my mind since; nor can I say when I shall cease to remember +them.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What do you think, Duischka?’ said the count, as he flung away the +fragment of his cigar, and turned round on the box—’ what do you +think of an invitation to dinner I have accepted for Tuesday next?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Where, pray?’ said she, with an effort to seem interested. +</p> +<p> +‘I am to dine with my worthy friend Van Houdicamp, Rue de Lacken, No. 28. +A very high mark, let me tell you; his father was burgomaster at Alost, +and he himself has a great sugar bakery, or salt <i>raffinerie</i>, or +something equivalent, at Scharbeck.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How can you find any pleasure in such society, Gustav?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Pleasure you call it!—delight is the word. I shall hear all the +gossip of the Basse Ville—quite as amusing, I ‘m certain, as of the +Place and the Boulevards. Besides, there are to be some half-dozen <i>échevins</i>, +with wives and daughters, and we shall have a round game for the most +patriarchal stakes. I have also obtained permission to bring a friend; so +you see, Monsieur O’Leary——’ +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘m certain,’ interposed madame, ‘he has much better taste than to avail +himself of your offer.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ll bet my life on it he ‘ll not refuse.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I say he will,’ said the lady. +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ll wager that pearl ring at Mertan’s that if you leave him to himself +he says “Yes.”’ +</p> +<p> +‘Agreed,’ said madame; ‘I accept the bet. We Poles are as great gamblers +as yourselves, you see,’ added she, turning to me. ‘Now, monsieur, decide +the question. Will you dine with Van Hottentot on Tuesday next—or +with me?’ +</p> +<p> +The last three words were spoken in so low a tone as made me actually +suspect that my imagination alone had conceived them. +</p> +<p> +‘Well,’ cried the count, ‘what say you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I pronounce for the—Hôtel de. France,’ said I, fearing in what +words to accept the invitation of the lady. +</p> +<p> +‘Then I have lost my bet,’ said the count, laughing; ‘and, worse still, +have found myself mistaken in my opinion.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And I,’ said madame, in a faint whisper, ‘have won mine, and found my +impressions more correct.’ +</p> +<p> +Nothing more occurred worth mentioning on our way back; when we reached +the hotel in safety, we separated with many promises to meet early next +day. +</p> +<p> +From that hour my intimacy took a form of almost friendship. I visited the +count, or the countess if he was out, every morning; chatted over the news +of the day; made our plans for the evening, either for Boitsfort or +Lacken, or occasionally the <i>allée verte</i> or the theatre, and +sometimes arranged little excursions to Antwerp, Louvain, or Ghent. +</p> +<p> +It is indeed a strange thing to think of what slight materials happiness +is made up. The nest that incloses our greatest pleasure is a thing of +straws and feathers, gathered at random or carried towards us by the winds +of fortune. If you were to ask me now what I deemed the most delightful +period of my whole life, I don’t hesitate to say I should name this. In +the first place, I possessed the great requisite of happiness—every +moment of my whole day was occupied; each hour was chained to its fellow +by some slight but invisible link; and whether I was hammering away at my +Polish grammar, or sitting beside the pianoforte while the countess sang +some of her country’s ballads, or listening to legends of Poland in its +times of greatness, or galloping along at her side through the forest of +Soignies, my mind was ever full; no sense of weariness or ennui ever +invaded me, while a consciousness of a change in myself—I knew not +what it was—suggested a feeling of pleasure and delight I cannot +account for or convey. And this, I take it—though speaking in +ignorance and merely from surmise—this, I suspect, is something like +what people in love experience, and what gives them the ecstasy of the +passion. There is sufficient concentration in the admiration of the loved +object to give the mind a decided and firm purpose, and enough of change +in the various devices to win her praise to impart the charm of novelty. +</p> +<p> +Now, for all this, my reader, fair or false as she or he may be, must not +suspect that anything bordering on love was concerned in the present case. +To begin—the countess was married, and I was brought up at an +excellent school at Bangor, where the catechism, Welsh and English, was +flogged into me until every commandment had a separate welt of its own on +my back. No; I had taken the royal road to happiness. I was delighted +without stopping to know why, and enjoyed myself without ever thinking to +inquire wherefore. New sources of information and knowledge were opened to +me by those who possessed vast stores of acquirement; and I learned how +the conversation of gifted and accomplished persons may be made a great +agent in training and forming the mind, if not to the higher walks of +knowledge, at least to those paths in which the greater part of life is +spent, and where it imports each to make the road agreeable to his +fellows. I have said to you I was not in love—how could I be, under +the circumstances?—but still I own that the regular verbs of the +Polish grammar had been but dry work, if it had not been for certain +irregular glances at my pretty mistress; nor could I ever have seen my way +through the difficulties of the declensions if the light of her eyes had +not lit up the page, and her taper finger pointed out the place. +</p> +<p> +And thus two months flew past, during which she never even alluded most +distantly to our conversation in the garden at Boitsfort, nor did I learn +any one particular more of my friends than on the first day of our +meeting. Meanwhile, all ideas of travelling had completely left me; and +although I had now abundant resources in my banker’s hands for all the +purposes of the road, I never once dreamed of leaving a place where I felt +so thoroughly happy. +</p> +<p> +Such, then, was our life, when I began to remark a slight change in the +count’s manner—an appearance of gloom and preoccupation, which +seemed to increase each day, and against which he strove, but in vain. It +was clear something had gone wrong with him; but I did not dare to allude +to, much less ask him on the subject. At last, one evening, just as I was +preparing for bed, he entered my dressing-room, and closing the door +cautiously behind him, sat down. I saw that he was dressed as if for the +road, and looking paler and more agitated than usual. +</p> +<p> +‘O’Leary,’ said he, in a tremulous voice, ‘I am come to place in your +hands the highest trust a man can repose in another. Am I certain of your +friendship?’ I shook his hand in silence, and he went on. ‘I must leave +Brussels to-night, secretly. A political affair, in which the peace of +Europe is involved, has just come to my knowledge; the Government here +will do their best to detain me; orders are already given to delay me at +the frontier, perhaps send me back to the capital; in consequence, I must +cross the boundary on horseback, and reach Aix-la-Chapelle by to-morrow +evening. Of course, the countess cannot accompany me.’ He paused for a +second. ‘You must be her protector. A hundred rumours will be afloat the +moment they find I have escaped, and as many reasons for my departure +announced in the papers. However, I’m content if they amuse the public and +occupy the police; and meanwhile I shall obtain time to pass through +Prussia unmolested. Before I reach St. Petersburg, the countess will +receive letters from me, and know where to proceed to; and I count on your +friendship to remain here until that time—a fortnight, three weeks +at farthest. If money is any object to you——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not in the least; I have far more than I want.’ ‘Well, then, may I +conclude that you consent?’ ‘Of course you may,’ said I, overpowered by a +rush of sensations I must leave to my reader to feel, if it has ever been +his lot to be placed in such circumstances, or to imagine if he has not. +</p> +<p> +‘The countess,’ I said, ‘is of course aware——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Of everything,’ interrupted he, ‘and bears it all admirably. Much, +however, is attributable to the arrangement with you, which I promised her +was completed even before I asked your consent—such was my +confidence in your friendship.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You have not deceived yourself,’ was my reply, while I puzzled my brain +to think how I could repay such proofs of his trust. ‘Is there, then, +anything more,’ said I—‘can you think of nothing else in which I may +be of service?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Nothing, dear friend, nothing,’ said he. ‘Probably we shall meet at St. +Petersburg.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, yes,’ said I; ‘that is my firm intention.’ +</p> +<p> +‘That’s all I could wish for,’ rejoined he. ‘The grand-duke will be +delighted to acknowledge the assistance your friendship has rendered us, +and Potoski’s house will be your own.’ So saying, he embraced me most +affectionately, and departed; while I sat to muse over the singularity of +my position, and to wonder if any other man was ever similarly situated. +</p> +<p> +When I proceeded to pay my respects to the countess the next morning, I +prepared myself to witness a state of great sorrow and depression. How +pleasantly was I disappointed at finding her gay—perhaps gayer than +ever—and evidently enjoying the success of the count’s scheme! +</p> +<p> +‘Gustav is at St. Tron by this,’ said she, looking at the map; ‘he ‘ll +reach Liege two hours before the post; fresh horses will then bring him +rapidly to Battiste. Oh, here are the papers; let us see the way his +departure is announced.’ She turned over one journal after another without +finding the wished-for paragraph, until at last, in the corner of the <i>Handelsblad</i>, +she came upon the following:— +</p> +<p> +‘Yesterday morning an express reached the minister for the home affairs +that the celebrated <i>escroc</i>, the Chevalier Duguet, whose famous +forgery on the Neapolitan bank may be in the memory of our readers, was +actually practising his art under a feigned name in Brussels, where, +having obtained his <i>entrée</i> among some respectable families of the +lower town, he has succeeded in obtaining large sums of money under +various pretences. His skill at play is, they say, the least of his many +accomplishments.’ +</p> +<p> +She threw down the paper in a fit of laughter at these words, and called +out, ‘Is it not too absurd? That’s Gustav’s doing; anything for a quiz, no +matter what. He once got himself and Prince Carl of Prussia brought up +before the police for hooting the king.’ +</p> +<p> +‘But Duguet,’ said I—‘what has he to do with Duguet?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Don’t you see that’s a feigned name,’ replied she—‘assumed by him +as if he had half-a-dozen such? Read on, and you’ll learn it all.’ +</p> +<p> +I took the paper, and continued where she ceased reading— +</p> +<p> +‘This Duguet is then, it would appear, identical with a very well-known +Polish Count Czaroviski, who with his lady had been passing some weeks at +the Hôtel de France. The police have, however, received his <i>signalement</i>, +and are on his track.’ +</p> +<p> +‘But why, in Heaven’s name, should he spread such an odious calumny on +himself?’ said I. +</p> +<p> +‘Dear me, how very simple you are! I thought he had told you all. As a +mere <i>escroc</i>, money will always bribe the authorities to let him +pass; as a political offender, and as such the importance of his mission +would proclaim him, nothing would induce the officials to further his +escape—their own heads would pay for it. Once over the frontier, the +ruse will be discovered, the editors obliged to eat their words and be +laughed at, and Gustav receive the Black Eagle for his services. But see, +here’s another.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Among the victims at play of the well-known Chevalier Duguet—or, as +he is better known here, the Count Czaroviski—is a simple +Englishman, resident at the Hôtel de France, and from whom it seems he has +won every louis-d’or he possessed in the world. This miserable dupe, whose +name is O’Learie, or O’Leary——’ +</p> +<p> +At these words the countess leaned back on the sofa and laughed +immoderately. +</p> +<p> +‘Have you, then, suffered so deeply?’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘has +Gustav really won all your louis-d’ors?’ +</p> +<p> +‘This is too bad, far too bad,’ said I; ‘and I really cannot comprehend +how any intrigue could induce him so far to asperse his character in this +manner. I, for my part, can be no party to it.’ +</p> +<p> +As I said this, my eyes fell on the latter part of the paragraph, which +ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +‘This poor boy—for we understand he is no more—has been lured +to his ruin by the beauty and attraction of Madame Czaroviski.’ +</p> +<p> +I crushed the odious paper without venturing to see more, and tore it in a +thousand pieces; and, not waiting an instant, hurried to my room and +seized a pen. Burning with indignation and rage, I wrote a short note to +the editor, in which I not only contradicted the assertions of his +correspondent, but offered a reward of a hundred louis for the name of the +person who had invented the infamous calumny. +</p> +<p> +It was some time before I recovered my composure sufficiently to return to +the countess, whom I now found greatly excited and alarmed at my sudden +departure. She insisted with such eagerness on knowing what I had done +that I was obliged to confess everything, and show her a copy of the +letter I had already despatched to the editor. She grew pale as death as +she read it, flushed deeply, and then became pale again, while she sank +faint and sick into a chair. +</p> +<p> +‘This is very noble conduct of yours,’ said she, in a low, hollow voice; +‘but I see where it will lead to. Czaroviski has great and powerful +enemies; they will become yours also.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Be it so,’ said I, interrupting her. ‘They have little power to injure +me; let them do their worst.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You forget, apparently,’ said she, with a most bewitching smile, ‘that +you are no longer free to dispose of your liberty: that as <i>my</i> +protector you cannot brave dangers and difficulties which may terminate in +a prison.’ ‘What, then, would you have me do?’ ‘Hasten to the editor at +once; erase so much of your letter as refers to the proposed reward. The +information could be of no service to you if obtained—some <i>misérable</i>, +perhaps some spy of the police, the slanderer. What could you gain by his +punishment, save publicity? A mere denial of the facts alleged is quite +sufficient; and even that,’ continued she, smiling, ‘how superfluous is it +after all! A week—ten days at farthest—and the whole mystery +is unveiled. Not that I would dissuade you from a course I see your heart +is bent upon, and which, after all, is a purely personal consideration.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said I, after a pause, ‘I’ll take your advice; the letter shall be +inserted without the concluding paragraph.’ The calumnious reports on the +count prevented madame dining that day at the table d’hôte; and I +remarked, as I took my place at table, a certain air of constraint and +reserve among the guests, as though my presence had interdicted the +discussion of a topic which occupied all Brussels. Dinner over, I walked +into the park to meditate on the course I should pursue under present +circumstances, and deliberate with myself how far the habits of my former +intimacy with the countess might or might not be admissible during her +husband’s absence. The question was solved for me sooner than I +anticipated, for a waiter overtook me with a short note, written with a +pencil; it ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +‘They play the <i>Zauberflotte</i> to-night at the Opera. I shall go at +eight: perhaps you would like a seat in the carriage? Duischka.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Whatever doubts I might have conceived about my conduct, the manner of +the countess at once dispelled them. A tone of perfect ease, and almost +sisterly confidence marked her whole bearing; and while I felt delighted +and fascinated by the freedom of our intercourse, I could not help +thinking how impossible such a line of acting would have been in my own +more rigid country, and to what cruel calumnies and aspersions it would +have subjected her. ‘Truly,’ thought I, ‘if they manage these things—as +Sterne says they do—“better in France,” they also far excel in them +in Poland.’ And so my Polish grammar and the canzonettes and the drives to +Boitsfort all went on as usual, and my dream of happiness, interrupted for +a moment, flowed on again in its former channel with increased force. +</p> +<p> +A fortnight had now elapsed without any letter from the count, save a few +hurried lines written from Magdeburg; and I remarked that the countess +betrayed at times a degree of anxiety and agitation I had not observed in +her before. At last the secret cause came out. We were sitting together in +the park, eating ice after dinner, when she suddenly rose and prepared to +leave the place. +</p> +<p> +‘Has anything happened to annoy you?’ said I hurriedly. ‘Why are you +going?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I can bear it no longer!’ cried she, as she drew her veil down and +hastened forward, and without speaking another word, continued her way +towards the hotel. On reaching her apartments, she burst into a torrent of +tears, and sobbed most violently. +</p> +<p> +‘What is it?’ said I, having followed her, maddened by the sight of such +sorrow. ‘For heaven’s sake tell me! Has any one dared——’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, no,’ replied she, wiping the tears away with her handkerchief, +‘nothing of the kind. It is the state of doubt, of trying, harassing +uncertainty I am reduced to here, which is breaking my heart. Don’t you +see that whenever I appear in public, by the air of insufferable impudence +of the men, and the still more insulting looks of the women, how they dare +to think of me? I have borne it as well as I was able hitherto; I can do +so no longer.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What!’ cried I impetuously, ‘and shall one dare to——’ +</p> +<p> +‘The world will always dare what may be dared in safety,’ interrupted she, +laying her hand on my arm. ‘They know that you could not make a quarrel on +my account without compromising my honour; and such an occasion to trample +on a poor weak woman could not be lost. Well, well; Gustav may write +to-morrow or next day. A little more patience; and it is the only cure for +these evils.’ +</p> +<p> +There was a tone of angelic sweetness in her voice as she spoke these +words of resignation, and never did she seem more lovely in my eyes. +</p> +<p> +‘Now, then, as I shall not go to the opera, what shall we do to pass the +time? You are tired—I know you are—of Polish melodies and +German ballads. Well, well; then I am. I have told you that we Poles are +as great gamblers as yourselves. What say you to a game at piquet?’ +</p> +<p> +‘By all means,’ said I, delighted at the prospect of anything to while +away the hours of her sorrowing. +</p> +<p> +‘Then you must teach me,’ rejoined she, laughing, ‘for I don’t know it. +I’m wretchedly stupid about all these things, and never could learn any +game but <i>écarté</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Then écarté be it,’ said I; and in a few minutes more I had arranged the +little table, and down we sat to our party. +</p> +<p> +‘There,’ said she, laughing, and throwing her purse on the table, ‘I can +only afford to lose so much; but you may win all that if you’re +fortunate.’ A rouleau of louis escaped at the instant, and fell about the +table. +</p> +<p> +‘Agreed,’ said I, indulging the quiz. ‘I am an inveterate gambler, and +always play high. What shall be our stakes?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Fifty, I suppose,’ said she, still laughing: ‘we can increase our bets +afterwards.’ +</p> +<p> +After some little badinage, we each placed a double louis-d’or on the +board, and began. For a while the game employed our attention; but +gradually we fell into conversation, the cards gradually dropped +listlessly from our hands, the tricks remained unclaimed, and we could +never decide whose turn it was to deal. +</p> +<p> +‘This wearies you, I see,’ said she; ‘perhaps you’d like to stop?’ +</p> +<p> +‘By no means,’ said I. ‘I like the game, of all things.’ This I said +rather because I was a considerable winner at the time than from any other +motive; and so we played on till eleven o’clock, at which hour I usually +took my leave, and by which time my gains had increased to some seventy +louis. +</p> +<p> +‘Is it not fortunate,’ said she, laughing, ‘that eleven has struck? You ‘d +certainly have won all my gold; and now you must leave off in the midst of +your good fortune—and so, <i>bonsoir, et à revanche</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +Each evening now saw our little party at écarté usurp the place of the +drive and the opera; and though our successes ran occasionally high at +either side, yet on the whole neither was a winner; and we jested about +the impartiality with which fortune treated us both. At last, one evening, +eleven struck when I was a greater winner than ever, and I thought I saw a +little pique in her manner at the enormous run of luck I had experienced +throughout. +</p> +<p> +‘Come,’ said she, laughing, ‘you have really wounded a national feeling in +a Polish heart—you have asserted a superiority at a game of skill. I +must beat you;’ and with that she placed five louis on the table. She +lost. Again the same stake followed, and again the same fortune, +notwithstanding that I did all in my power to avoid winning—of +course without exciting her suspicions. +</p> +<p> +‘And so,’ said she, as she dealt the cards, ‘Ireland is really so +picturesque as you say?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Beautifully so,’ replied I, as, warmed up by a favourite topic, I +launched forth into a description of the mountain scenery of the south and +west. The rich emerald green of the valleys, the wild fantastic character +of the mountains, the changeful skies, were all brought up to make a +picture for her admiration; and she did indeed seem to enjoy it with the +highest zest, only interrupting me in my harangue by the words, ‘Je marque +le Roi,’ to which circumstance she directed my attention by a sweet smile, +and a gesture of her taper finger. And thus hour followed hour; and +already the grey dawn was breaking, while I was just beginning an eloquent +description of the Killeries, and the countess suddenly looking at her +watch, cried out— +</p> +<p> +‘How very dreadful! only think of three o’clock!’ +</p> +<p> +True enough, it was that hour; and I started up to say good-night, shocked +at myself for so far transgressing, and yet secretly flattered that my +conversational powers had made time slip by uncounted. +</p> +<p> +‘And the Irish are really so clever, so gifted as you say?’ said she, as +she held out her hand to wish me good-night. +</p> +<p> +‘The most astonishing quickness is theirs,’ replied I, half reluctant to +depart; ‘nothing can equal their intelligence and shrewdness.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How charming! Bonsoir,’ said she, and I closed the door. +</p> +<p> +What dreams were mine that night! What delightful visions of lake scenery +and Polish countesses, of mountain gorges and blue eyes, of deep ravines +and lovely forms! I thought we were sailing up Lough Corrib; the moon was +up, spangling and flecking the rippling lake; the night was still and +calm, not a sound save the cuckoo being heard to break the silence. As I +listened I started, for I thought, instead of her wonted note, her cry was +ever, ‘Je marque le Roi.’ +</p> +<p> +Morning came at last; but I could not awake, and endeavoured to sink back +into the pleasant realm of dreams, from which daylight disturbed me. It +was noon when at length I succeeded in awaking perfectly. +</p> +<p> +‘A note for monsieur,’ said a waiter, as he stood beside the bed. +</p> +<p> +I took it eagerly. It was from the countess; its contents were these:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘My dear Sir,—A hasty summons from Count Czaroviski has +compelled me to leave Brussels without wishing you good-bye, +and thanking you for all your polite attentions. Pray accept +these hurried acknowledgments, and my regret that +circumstances do not enable me to visit Ireland, in which, +from your description, I must ever feel the deepest +interest. + +‘The count sends his most affectionate greetings.—Yours +ever sincerely, + +‘Duischka Czaroviski née Gutzaff.’ +</pre> +<p> +‘And is she gone?’ said I, starting up in a state of frenzy. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, sir; she started at ten o’clock.’ +</p> +<p> +‘By what road?’ cried I, determined to follow her on the instant. +</p> +<p> +‘Louvain was the first stage.’ +</p> +<p> +In an instant I was up, and dressed; in ten minutes more I was rattling +over the stones to my banker’s. +</p> +<p> +‘I want three hundred napoleons at once,’ said I to the clerk. +</p> +<p> +‘Examine Mr. O’Leary’s account,’ was the dry reply of the functionary. +</p> +<p> +‘Overdrawn by fifteen hundred francs,’ said the other. +</p> +<p> +‘Overdrawn? Impossible!’ cried I, thunderstruck. ‘I had a credit for six +hundred pounds.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Which you drew out by cheque this morning,’ said the clerk. ‘Is not that +your handwriting?’ +</p> +<p> +‘It is,’ said I faintly, as I recognised my own scrawl, dated the evening +before. +</p> +<p> +I had lost above seven hundred, and had not a sou left to pay post-horses. +</p> +<p> +I sauntered back sadly to the ‘France,’ a sadder man than ever in my life +before. A thousand tormenting thoughts were in my brain; and a feeling of +contempt for myself, somehow, occupied a very prominent place. Well, well; +it’s all past and gone now, and I must not awaken buried griefs. +</p> +<p> +I never saw the count and countess again; and though I have since that +been in St. Petersburg, the grand-duke seems to have forgotten my +services, and a very pompous-looking porter in a bear-skin did not look +exactly the kind of person to whom I should wish to communicate my +impression about ‘Count Potoski’s house being my own.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI, A FRAGMENT OF FOREST LIFE +</h2> +<p> +I am half sorry already that I have told that little story of myself. +Somehow the recollection is painful. And now I would rather hasten away +from Brussels, and wander on to other scenes; and yet there are many +things I fain would speak of, and some people, too, worth a mention in +passing. I should like to have taken you a moonlight walk through the +Grande Place, and after tracing against the clear sky the delicate outline +of the beautiful spire, whose gilded point seemed stretching away towards +the bright star above it, to have shown you the interior of a Flemish club +in the old Salle de Loyauté. Primitive, quaint fellows they are, these +Flemings; consequential, sedate, self-satisfied, simple creatures; +credulous to any extent of their own importance, but kindly withal; not +hospitable themselves, but admirers of the virtue in others; easily +pleased, when the amusement costs little; and, in a word, a people +admirably adapted by nature to become a kind of territorial coinage +alternately paid over by one great State to another, as the balance of +Europe inclines to this side or that; with industry enough always to be +worth robbing, and with a territory perfectly suitable to pitched battles—two +admirable reasons for Belgium being a species of Houns-low Heath or +Wormwood Scrubs, as the nations of the Continent feel disposed for theft +or fighting. It was a cruel joke, however, to make them into a nation. One +gets tired of laughing at them at last; and even Sancho’s Island of +Barataria had become a nuisance, were it long-lived. +</p> +<p> +Well, I must hasten away now. I can’t go back to the ‘France’ yet awhile, +so I’ll even take to the road. But what road? that’s the question. What a +luxury it would be, to be sure, to have some person of exquisite taste, +who could order dinner every day in the year, arranging the carte by a +physiognomical study of your countenance, and plan out your route by some +innate sense of your desires. Arthur O’Leary has none such, however, his +whole philosophy in life being to throw the reins on the hack Fortune’s +neck, and let the jade take her own way. Not that he has had any reason to +regret his mode of travel. No: his nag has carried him pleasantly on +through life, now cantering softly over the even turf, now picking her way +more cautiously among bad ground and broken pebbles; and if here and there +an occasional side leap or a start has put him out of saddle, it has +scarcely put him out of temper; for one great secret has he at least +learned—and, after all, it’s one worth remembering—very few of +the happiest events and pleasantest circumstances in our lives have not +their origin in some incident, which, had we been able, we had prevented +happening. So then, while taking your mare Chance over a stiff country, be +advised by me: give her plenty of head, sit close, and when you come to a +‘rasper,’ let her take her own way over it. So convinced am I of the truth +of this axiom, that I should not die easy if I had not told it. And now, +if anything should prevent these Fragments being printed, I leave a clause +in my will to provide for three O’Leary treatises, to establish this fact +being written, for which my executors are empowered to pay five pounds +sterling for each. Why, were it not for this, I had been married, say at +the least some fourteen times, in various quarters of the globe, and might +have had a family of children, black and white, sufficient to make a set +of chessmen among then. There’s no saying what might have happened to me. +It would seem like boasting, if I said that the Emperor of Austria had +some notions of getting rid of Metternich to give me the ‘Foreign +Affairs,’ and that I narrowly escaped once commanding the Russian fleet in +the Baltic. But of these at another time. I only wish to keep the +principle at present in view, that Fortune will always do better for us +than we could do for ourselves; but to this end there must be no tampering +or meddling on our part. The goddess is not a West-End physician, who, +provided you are ever prepared with your fee, blandly permits you all the +little excesses you are bent on. No: she is of the Abernethy school, +somewhat rough occasionally, but always honest; never suffering any +interference from the patient, but exacting implicit faith and perfect +obedience. As for me, I follow the regimen prescribed for me, without a +thought of opposition; and wherever I find myself in this world, be it +China or the Caucasus, Ghuznee, Genoa, or Glasnevin, I feel for the time +that’s my fitting place, and endeavour to make the best of it. +</p> +<p> +The pedestrian alone, of all travellers, is thus taken by the hand by +Fortune. Your extra post, with a courier on the box, interferes sadly with +the current of all those little incidents of the road which are ever +happening to him who takes to the ‘byways’ of the world. The odds are +about one hundred to one against you that, when seated in your carriage, +the postillion in his saddle and the fat courier outside, the words <i>en +route</i> being given, you arrive at your destination that evening, +without any accident or adventure whatever of more consequence than a lost +shoe from the near leader, a snapped spring, or a heartburn from the glass +of bad brandy you took at the third stage. A blue post with white stripes +on it tells you that you are in Prussia; or a yellow-and-brown pole, that +the Grand-Duke of Nassau is giving you the hospitality of his territory—save +which you have no other evidence of change. The village inn, and its +little circle of celebrities, opens not to <i>you</i> those peeps at +humble life so indicative of national character: <i>you</i> stop not at +the wayside chapel in the sultry heat of noon to charm away your peaceful +hour of reflection, now turning from the lovely Madonna above the altar to +the peasant girl who kneels in supplication beneath, now contrasting the +stern features of some painted martyr with the wrinkled front and +weather-beaten traits of some white-haired beggar, now musing over the +quiet existence of the humble figure whose heavy sabots wake the echoes of +the vaulted aisle, or watching, perhaps, that venerable priest who glides +about before the altar in his white robes, and disappears by some unseen +door, seeming like a phantom of the place. The little relics of village +devotion, so touching in their poverty, awake no thought within <i>you</i> +of the pious souls in yonder hamlet. The old curé himself, as he jogs +along on his ambling pony, suggests nothing save the figure of age and +decrepitude. <i>You</i> have not seen the sparkling eyes and flushed +cheeks of his humble flock, who salute him as he passes, nor gazed upon +that broad high forehead, where benevolence and charity have fixed their +dwelling. The foot-sore veteran or the young conscript have not been your +fellow-travellers; mayhap you would despise them. Their joys and sorrows, +their hopes, their fears, their wishes, all move in a humble sphere, and +little suit the ears of those whose fortune is a higher one. +</p> +<p> +Not that the staff and the knapsack are the passports to only such as +these. My experience would tell very differently. With some of the most +remarkable men I ever met, my acquaintance grew on the road; some of the +very pleasantest moments of my life had their origin in the chances of the +wayside; the little glimpses I have ever enjoyed of national character +have been owing to these same accidents; and I have often hailed some +casual interruption to my route, some passing obstacle to my journey, as +the source of an adventure which might afford me the greatest pleasure. I +date this feeling to a good number of years back, and in a great measure +to an incident that occurred to me when first wandering in this country. +It is scarcely a story, but as illustrating my position I will tell it. +</p> +<p> +Soon after my Polish adventure—I scarcely like to be more particular +in my designation of it—I received a small remittance from England, +and started for Namur. My Uncle Toby’s recollections had been an +inducement for the journey, had I not the more pleasant one in my wish to +see the Meuse, of whose scenery I had already heard so much. +</p> +<p> +The season was a delightful one—the beginning of autumn; and truly +the country far surpassed all my anticipations. The road to Dinant led +along by the river, the clear stream rippling at one side; at the other, +the massive granite rocks, rising to several hundred feet, frowned above +you; some gnarled oak or hardy ash, clung to the steep cliffs, and hung +their drooping leaves above your head. On the opposite bank of the river, +meadows of emerald green, intersected with ash rows and tall poplars, +stretched away to the background of dense forest that bounded the view to +the very horizon. Here and there a little farmhouse, framed in wood and +painted in many a gaudy colour, would peep from the little inclosure of +vines and plum-trees; more rarely still, the pointed roof and turreted +gable of a venerable chateau would rise above the trees. +</p> +<p> +How often did I stop to gaze on these quaint old edifices, with their +balustrades and terraces, on which a solitary peacock walked proudly to +and fro—the only sound that stirred being the hissing plash of the +<i>jet d’ eau</i>, whose sparkling drops came pattering on the broad +water-lilies. And as I looked, I wondered within myself what kind of life +they led who dwelt there. The windows were open to the ground, bouquets of +rich flowers stood on the little tables. These were all signs of +habitation, yet no one moved about, no stir or bustle denoted that there +were dwellers within. How different from the country life of our great +houses in England, with trains of servants and equipages hurrying hither +and thither—all the wealth and magnificence of the great capital +transported to some far-off county, that ennui and fastidiousness, +fatigue, and lassitude, should lose none of their habitual aids! Well, for +<i>my</i> part, the life among green trees and flowers, where the thrush +sings, and the bee goes humming by, can scarcely be too homely for <i>my</i> +taste. It is in the peaceful aspect of all Nature, the sense of calm that +breathes from every leafy grove and rippling stream, that I feel the +soothing influence of the country. I could sit beside the trickling stream +of water, clear but brown, that comes drop by drop from some fissure in +the rocky cliff and falls into the little well below, and dream away for +hours. These slight and simple sounds that break the silence of the calm +air are all fraught with pleasant thoughts; the unbroken stillness of a +prairie is the most awful thing in all Nature. +</p> +<p> +Unoppressed in heart, I took my way along the river’s bank, my mind +revolving the quiet, pleasant thoughts that silence and lovely scenery are +so sure to suggest. Towards noon I sat myself down on a large flat rock +beside the stream, and proceeded to make my humble breakfast—some +bread and a few cresses, washed down with a little water scarce flavoured +with brandy, followed by my pipe; and I lay watching the white bubbles +that flowed by me, until I began to fancy I could read a moral lesson in +their course. Here was a great swollen fellow, rotund and full, elbowing +out of his way all his lesser brethren, jostling and pushing aside each he +met with; but at last bursting from very plethora, and disappearing as +though he had never been. There were a myriad of little bead-like specks, +floating past noiselessly, and yet having their own goal and destination; +some uniting with others, grew stronger and hardier, and braved the +current with bolder fortune, while others vanished ere you could see them +well. A low murmuring plash against the reeds beneath the rock drew my +attention to the place, and I perceived that a little boat, like a canoe, +was fastened by a hay-rope to the bank, and surged with each motion of the +stream against the weeds. I looked about to see the owner, but no one +could I detect; not a living thing seemed near, nor even a habitation of +any kind. The sun at that moment shone strongly out, lighting up all the +rich landscape on the opposite side of the river, and throwing long gleams +into a dense beech-wood, where a dark, grass-grown alley entered. Suddenly +the desire seized me to enter the forest by that shady path. I strapped on +my knapsack at once, and stepped into the little boat. There was neither +oar nor paddle, but as the river was shallow, my long staff served as a +pole to drive her across, and I reached the shore safely. Fastening the +craft securely to a branch, I set forward towards the wood. As I +approached, a little board nailed to a tree drew my eye towards it, and I +read the nearly-effaced inscription, ‘Route des Ardennes.’ What a thrill +did not these words send through my heart! And was this, indeed, the +forest of which Shakespeare told us? Was I really ‘under the greenwood +tree,’ where fair Rosalind had rested, and where melancholy Jaques had +mused and mourned? And as I walked along, how instinct with his spirit did +each spot appear! There was the oak— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Whose antique root peeps out +Upon the brook that brawls along the wood.’ +A little farther on I came upon— + +‘The bank of osiers by the murmuring stream.’ +</pre> +<p> +What a bright prerogative has genius, that thus can people space with +images which time and years erase not, making to the solitary traveller a +world of bright thoughts even in the darkness of a lonely wood! And so to +me appeared, as though before me, the scenes he pictured. Each rustling +breeze that shook the leafy shade seemed like the impetuous passion of the +devoted lover; the chirping notes of the wood-pigeon, like the flippant +raillery of beauteous Rosalind; and in the low ripple of the brook I heard +the complaining sounds of Jaques himself. +</p> +<p> +Sunk in such pleasant fancies I lay beneath a spreading sycamore, and with +half-closed lids invoked the shades of that delightful vision before me, +when the tramp of feet, moving across the low brushwood, suddenly aroused +me. I started up on one knee, and listened. The next moment three men +emerged from the wood into the path. The two foremost, dressed in blouses, +were armed with carbines and a sabre; the last carried a huge sack on his +shoulders, and seemed to move with considerable difficulty. +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Ventre du diable!</i>’ cried he passionately, as he placed his burden +on the ground; ‘don’t hasten on this way; they’ll never follow us so far, +and I am half dead with fatigue.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Come, come, Gros Jean,’ said one of the others, in a voice of command, +‘we must not halt before we reach the three elms.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Why not bury it here?’ replied the first speaker, ‘or else take your +share of the labour?’ +</p> +<p> +‘So I would,’ retorted the other violently, ‘if you could take my place +when we are attacked; but, <i>parbleu!</i> you are more given to running +away than fighting.’ +</p> +<p> +During this brief colloquy my heart rose to my mouth. The ruffianly looks +of the party, their arms, their savage demeanour, and their secret +purpose, whatever it was, to which I was now to a certain extent privy, +filled me with terror, and I made an effort to draw myself back on my +hands into the brushwood beneath the tree. The motion unfortunately +discovered me; and with a spring, the two armed fellows bounded towards +me, and levelled their pistols at my head. +</p> +<p> +‘Who are you? What brings you here?’ shouted they both in a breath. +</p> +<p> +‘For heaven’s sake, messieurs,’ said I, ‘down with your pistols! I am only +a traveller, a poor inoffensive wanderer, an Englishman—an Irishman, +rather, a good Catholic’—Heaven forgive me if I meant an +equivocation here!—‘lower the pistols, I beseech you.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Shoot him through the skull; he’s a spy!’ roared the fellow with the +sack. +</p> +<p> +‘Not a bit of it,’ said I; ‘I’m a mere traveller, admiring the country, +and an——’ +</p> +<p> +‘And why have you tracked us out here?’ said one of the first speakers. +</p> +<p> +‘I did not; I was here before you came. Do put down the pistols, for the +love of Mary! there’s no guarding against accidents, even with the most +cautious.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Blow his brains out!’ reiterated he of the bag, louder than before. +</p> +<p> +‘Don’t, messieurs, don’t mind <i>him</i>; he’s a coward! You are brave +men, and have nothing to fear from a poor devil like me.’ +</p> +<p> +The two armed fellows laughed heartily at this speech, while the other, +throwing the sack from him, rushed at me with clenched hands. +</p> +<p> +‘Hold off, Gros Jean,’ said one of his companions; ‘if he never tells a +heavier lie than that, he may make an easy confession on Sunday’; and with +that he pushed him rudely back, and stood between us. ‘Come, then,’ cried +he, ‘take up that sack and follow us.’ +</p> +<p> +My blood curdled at the order; there was something fearful in the very +look of the long bag as it lay on the ground. I thought I could actually +trace the outline of a human figure. Heaven preserve me, I believed I saw +it move! +</p> +<p> +‘Take it up,’ cried he sternly; ‘there’s no fear of its biting you.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah,’ said I to myself, ‘the poor fellow is dead, then.’ Without more ado +they placed the bag on my shoulders, and ordered me to move forward. +</p> +<p> +I grew pale and sick, and tottered at each step. +</p> +<p> +‘Is it the smell affects you?’ said one, with a demoniac sneer. +</p> +<p> +‘Pardon, messieurs,’ said I, endeavouring to pluck up courage, and seem at +ease; ‘I never carried a—a thing like this before.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Step out briskly,’ cried he; ‘you ‘ve a long way before you’; and with +that he moved to the front, while the others brought up the rear. +</p> +<p> +As we proceeded on our way, they informed me that if by any accident they +should be overtaken by any of my friends or associates, meaning thereby +any of the human race that should chance to walk that way, the first thing +they would do would be to shoot me dead—a circumstance that +considerably damped all my ardour for a rescue, and made me tremble lest +at any turn of the way some faggot-gatherer might appear in sight. +Meanwhile, never did a man labour more strenuously to win the favour of +his company. +</p> +<p> +I began by protesting my extreme innocence; vowed that a man of more +estimable and amiable qualities than myself never did nor never would +exist. To this declaration they listened with manifest impatience, if not +with actual displeasure. I then tried another tack. I abused the rich and +commended the poor; I harangued in round terms on the grabbing monopoly of +the great, who enjoyed all the good things of this life, and would share +none with their neighbours; I even hinted a sly encomium on those +public-spirited individuals whose gallantry and sense of justice led them +to risk their lives in endeavours to equalise somewhat more fairly this +world’s wealth, and who were so ungenerously styled robbers and +highwaymen, though they were in reality benefactors and heroes. But they +only laughed at this; nor did they show any real sympathy with my opinions +till in my general attack on all constituted authorities—kings, +priests, statesmen, judges, and gendarmes—by chance I included +revenue-officers. The phrase seemed like a spark on gunpowder. +</p> +<p> +‘Curses be on the wretches! they are the plague-spots of the world,’ cried +I, seeing how they caught at the bait; ‘and thrice honoured the brave +fellows who would relieve suffering humanity from the burden of such +odious oppression.’ +</p> +<p> +A low whispering now took place among my escort, and at length he who +seemed the leader stopped me short, and placing his hand on my shoulder, +cried out— +</p> +<p> +‘Are you sincere in all this? Are these your notions?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Can you doubt me?’ said I. ‘What reasons have I for speaking them? How do +I know but you are revenue-officers that listen to me?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Enough, you shall join us. We are going to pass this sack of cigars.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ho! these are cigars, then,’ said I, brightening up. ‘It is not a—a—eh?’ +</p> +<p> +‘They are Dutch cigars, and the best that can be made,’ said he, not +minding my interruption. ‘We shall pass them over the frontier by Sedan +to-morrow night, and then we return to Dinant, where you shall come with +us.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Agreed!’ said I, while a faint chill ran through my limbs, and I could +scarcely stand—images of galley life, irons with cannon-shot, and a +yellow uniform all flitting before me. From this moment they became +extremely communicative, detailing for my amusement many pleasing +incidents of their blameless life—how they burned a custom-house +here, and shot an inspector there—and in fact displaying the +advantages of my new profession, with all its attractions, before me. How +I grinned with mock delight at atrocities that made my blood curdle, and +chuckled over the roasting of a revenue-officer as though he had been a +chestnut! I affected to see drollery in cruelties that deserved the +gallows, and laughed till the tears came at horrors that nearly made me +faint. My concurrence and sympathy absolutely delighted the devils, and we +shook hands a dozen times over. +</p> +<p> +It was evening, when, tired and ready to drop with fatigue, my companions +called a halt. +</p> +<p> +‘Come, my friend,’ said the chief, ‘we’ll relieve you now of your burden. +You would be of little service to us at the frontier, and must wait for us +here till our return.’ +</p> +<p> +It was impossible to make any proposal more agreeable to my feelings. The +very thought of being quit of my friends was ecstasy. I did not dare, +however, to vent my raptures openly, but satisfied myself with a simple +acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +‘And when,’ said I, ‘am I to have the pleasure of seeing you again, +gentlemen?’ +</p> +<p> +‘By to-morrow forenoon at farthest.’ +</p> +<p> +By that time, thought I, I shall have made good use of my legs, please +Heaven! +</p> +<p> +‘Meanwhile,’ said Gros Jean, with a grin that showed he had neither +forgotten nor forgiven my insults to his courage—‘meanwhile we’ll +just beg leave to fasten you to this tree’; and with the words, he pulled +from a great canvas pocket he wore at his belt a hank of strong cord, and +proceeded to make a slip noose on it. +</p> +<p> +‘It’s not your intention, surely, to tie me here for the whole night?’ +said I, in horror. +</p> +<p> +‘And why not?’ interposed the chief. ‘Do you think there are bears or +wolves in the Ardennes forest in September?’ +</p> +<p> +‘But I shall die of cold or hunger! I never endured such usage before!’ +</p> +<p> +‘You’ll have plenty worse when you’ve joined us, I promise you,’ was the +short reply, as without further loss of time they passed the cord round my +waist, and began, with a dexterity that bespoke long practice, to fasten +me to the tree. I protested vigorously against the proceeding; I declaimed +loudly about the liberty of the subject; vowed that England would take a +frightful measure of retribution on the whole country, if a hair of my +head were injured, and even went so far in the fervour of my indignation +as to threaten the party with future consequences from the police. +</p> +<p> +The word was enough. The leader drew his pistol from his belt, and +slapping down the pan, shook the priming with his hand. +</p> +<p> +‘So,’ cried he, in a harsh and savage voice, unlike his former tone, ‘you +‘d play the informer would you? Well, it’s honest at least to say as much. +Now then, my man, a quick shrift and a short prayer, for I’ll send you +where you’ll meet neither gendarmes nor revenue-officers, or if you do, +they’ll have enough of business on their hands not to care for yours.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Spare my life, most amiable monsieur,’ said I, with uplifted hands. +‘Never shall I utter one word about you, come what will. I’ll keep all +I’ve seen a secret. Don’t kill the father of eight children. Let me live +this time, and I’ll never wander off a turnpike road three yards as long +as I breathe.’ +</p> +<p> +They actually screamed with laughter at the terror of my looks; and the +chief, seemingly satisfied with my protestation, replaced his pistol in +his belt, and kneeling down on the ground began leisurely to examine my +knapsack, which he coolly unstrapped and emptied on the grass. +</p> +<p> +‘What are these papers?’ said he, as he drew forth a most voluminous roll +of manuscript from a pocket. +</p> +<p> +‘They are notes of my travels,’ said I obsequiously—little pen +sketches of men and manners in the countries I’ve travelled in. I call +them “Adventures of Arthur O’Leary.” That’s my name, gentlemen, at your +service.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, indeed. Well, then, we’ve given you a very pretty little incident for +your journal this evening,’ said he, laughing, ‘in return for which I’ll +ask leave to borrow these memoranda for wadding for my gun. Believe me, +Monsieur O’Leary, they’ll make a greater noise in the world under my +auspices than under yours’; and with that he opened a rude clasp-knife and +proceeded to cut my valued manuscript into pieces about an inch square. +This done, he presented two of my shirts to each of his followers, +reserving three for himself; and having made a most impartial division of +my other effects, he pocketed the purse I carried, with its few gold +pieces, and then, rising to his feet said— +</p> +<p> +‘Antoine, let us be stirring now; the moon will be up soon. Gros Jean, +throw that sack on your shoulder and move forward. And now, monsieur, I +must wish you a good-night; and as in this changeful life we can never +answer for the future, let me commend myself to your recollection +hereafter, if, as may be, we should not meet again. Adieu, adieu,’ said +he, waving his hand. +</p> +<p> +‘Adieu,’ said I, with a great effort to seem at ease; ‘a pleasant journey, +and every success to your honest endeavours.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You are a fine fellow,’ said he, stopping and turning about suddenly—‘a +superb fellow; and I can’t part from you without a <i>gage d’amitié</i> +between us’; and with the word he took my handsome travelling-cap from my +head and placed it on his own, while he crowned me with a villainous straw +thing that nothing save my bondage prevented me from hurling at his feet. +</p> +<p> +He now hurried forward after the others, and in a few minutes I was in +perfect solitude. +</p> +<p> +‘Well,’ thought I (it was my first thought), ‘it might all have been +worse; the wretches might have murdered me, for such reckless devils as +practise their trade care little for human life. Murder, too, would only +meet the same punishment as smuggling, or nearly so—a year more or a +year less at the galleys; and, after all, the night is fine, and if I +mistake not he said something about the moon.’ I wondered where was the +pretty countess—travelling away, probably, as hard as extra post +could bring her. Ah, she little thought of my miserable plight now! Then +came a little interval of softness; and then a little turn of indignation +at my treatment—that I, an Englishman, should be so barbarously +molested; a native of the land where freedom was the great birthright of +every one! I called to mind all the fine things Burke used to say about +liberty, and if I had not begun to feel so cold I’d have tried to sing +‘Rule, Britannia,’ just to keep up my spirits; and then I fell asleep, if +sleep it could be called—that frightful nightmare of famished wolves +howling about me, tearing and mangling revenue-officers; and grisly bears +running backward and forward with smuggled tobacco on their backs. The +forest seemed peopled by every species of horrible shapes—half men, +half beast—but all with straw hats on their heads and leather +gaiters on their legs. +</p> +<p> +However, the night passed over, and the day began to break; the purple +tint, pale and streaky, that announces the rising sun, was replacing the +cold grey of the darker hours. What a different thing it is, to be sure, +to get out of your bed deliberately, and rubbing your eyes for two or +three minutes with your fingers, as you stand at the half-closed curtain, +and then through the mist of your sleep look out upon the east, and think +you see the sun rising, and totter back to the comfortable nest again, the +whole incident not breaking your sleep, but merely being interwoven with +your dreams, a thing to dwell on among other pleasant fancies, and to be +boasted of the whole day afterwards—what a different thing it is, I +say, from the sensations of him who has been up all night in the mail; +shaken, bruised, and cramped; sat on by the fat man, and kicked by the +lean one—still worse of him who spends his night <i>dos à dos</i> to +an oak in a forest, cold, chill, and comfortless; no property in his limbs +beneath the knees, where all sensation terminates, and his hands as +benumbed as the heart of a poor-law guardian! +</p> +<p> +If I have never, in all my after-life, seen the sun rise from the Rigi, +from Snowdon, or the Pic du Midi, or any other place which seems +especially made for this sole purpose, I owe it to the experience of this +night, and am grateful therefore. Not that I have the most remote notion +of throwing disrespect on the glorious luminary, far from it—I cut +one of my oldest friends for speaking lightly of the equator; but I hold +it that the sun looks best, as every one else does, when he’s up and +dressed for the day. It’s a piece of prying, impertinent curiosity to peep +at him when he ‘s rising and at his toilette; he has not rubbed the clouds +out of his eyes, or you dared not look at him—and you feel it too. +The very way you steal out to catch a glimpse shows the sneaking, +contemptible sense you have of your own act. Peeping Tom was a gentleman +compared to your early riser. +</p> +<p> +The whole of which digression simply seems to say that I by no means +enjoyed the rosy-fingered morning’s blushes the more for having spent the +preceding night in the open air. I need not worry myself, still less my +reader, by recapitulating the various frames of mind which succeeded each +other every hour of my captivity. At one time my escape with life served +to console me for all I endured; at another, my bondage excited my whole +wrath. I vowed vengeance on my persecutors too, and meditated various +schemes for their punishment—my anger rising as their absence was +prolonged, till I thought I could calculate my indignation by an +algebraical formula, and make it exactly equal to the ‘squares of the +distance’ of my persecutors. Then I thought of the delight I should +experience in regaining my freedom, and actually made a bold effort to see +something ludicrous in the entire adventure: but no—it would not do; +I could not summon up a laugh. +</p> +<p> +At last—it might have been towards noon—I heard a merry voice +chanting a song, and a quick step coming up the <i>allée</i> of the wood. +Never did my heart beat with such delight! The very mode of progression +had something joyous in it; it seemed a hop and a step and a spring, +suiting each motion to the tune of the air—when suddenly the singer, +with a long bound, stood before me. It would, indeed, have been a puzzling +question which of us more surprised the other; however, as I can render no +accurate account of <i>his</i> sensations on seeing me, I must content +myself with recording mine on beholding him, and the best way to do so is +to describe him. He was a man, or a boy—Heaven knows which—of +something under the middle size, dressed in rags of every colour and +shape; his old white hat was crushed and bent into some faint resemblance +of a chapeau, and decorated with a cockade of dirty ribbons and a cock’s +feather; a little white jacket, such as men-cooks wear in the kitchen, and +a pair of flaming crimson-plush shorts, cut above the knee, and displaying +his naked legs, with sabots, formed his costume. A wooden sword was +attached to an old belt round his waist—an ornament of which he +seemed vastly proud, and which from time to time he regarded with no small +satisfaction. +</p> +<p> +‘Holloa!’ cried he, starting back, as he stood some six paces off, and +gazed at me with most unequivocal astonishment; then recovering his +self-possession long before I could summon mine, he said, ‘Bonjour, +bonjour, camarade! a fine day for the vintage.’ +</p> +<p> +‘No better,’ said I; ‘but come a little nearer, and do me the favour to +untie these cords.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, are you long fastened up there?’ +</p> +<p> +‘The whole night,’ said I, in a lamentable accent, hoping to move his +compassion the more speedily. +</p> +<p> +‘What fun!’ said he, chuckling. ‘Were there many squirrels about?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Thousands of them. But, come, be quick and undo this, and I ‘ll tell you +all about it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Gently, gently,’ said he, approaching with great caution about six inches +nearer me. ‘When did the rabbits come out? Was it before day?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, yes, an hour before. But I’ll tell you everything when I ‘m loose. +Be alive now, do!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Why did you tie yourself so fast?’ said he eagerly, but not venturing to +come closer. +</p> +<p> +‘Confound the fellow!’ said I passionately. ‘I didn’t tie myself; it was +the—the—— +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, I know; it was the mayor, old Pierre Bogout. Well, well, he knows +best when you ought to be set free. Bonjour,’ and with that he began once +more his infernal tune, and set out on his way as if nothing had happened; +and though I called, prayed, swore, promised, and threatened with all my +might, he never turned his head, but went on capering as before, and soon +disappeared in the dark wood. +</p> +<p> +For a full hour, passion so completely mastered me that I could do nothing +but revile fools and idiots of every shade and degree—inveighing +against mental imbecility as the height of human wickedness, and wondering +why no one had ever suggested the propriety of having ‘naturals’ publicly +whipped. I am shocked at myself now, as I call to mind the extravagance of +my anger; and I grieve to say that had I been for that short interval the +proprietor of a private madhouse, I fear I should have been betrayed into +the most unwarrantable cruelties towards the patients; indeed, what is +technically called ‘moral government’ would have formed no part of my +system. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile time was moving on, if not pleasantly, at least steadily; and +already the sun began to decline somewhat—his rays, that before came +vertically, being now slanting as they fell upon the wood. For a while my +attention was drawn off from my miseries by watching the weasels as they +played and sported about me, in the confident belief that I was at best +only a kind of fungus—an excrescence on an oak-tree. One of them +came actually to my feet, and even ran across my instep in his play. +Suddenly the thought ran through me—and with terror—how soon +may it come to pass that I shall only be a miserable skeleton, pecked at +by crows, and nibbled by squirrels! The idea was too dreadful; and as if +the hour had actually come, I screamed out to frighten off the little +creatures, and sent them back scampering into their dens. +</p> +<p> +‘Holloa there! what’s the matter?’ shouted a deep mellow voice from the +middle of the wood; and before I could reply, a fat, rosy-cheeked man of +about fifty, with a pleasant countenance terminating in a row of double +chins, approached me, but still with evident caution, and halting when +about five paces distant, stood still. +</p> +<p> +‘Who are you?’ said I hastily, resolving this time at least to adopt a +different method of effecting my liberation. +</p> +<p> +‘What’s all this?’ quoth the fat man, shading his eyes with his palm, and +addressing some one behind him, whom I now recognised as my friend the +fool who visited me in the morning. +</p> +<p> +‘I say, sir,’ repeated I, in a tone of command somewhat absurd from a man +in my situation, ‘who are you, may I ask?’ +</p> +<p> +‘The Maire de Givet,’ said he pompously, as he drew himself up, and took a +large pinch of snuff with an imposing gravity, while his companion took +off his hat in the most reverent fashion, and bowed down to the ground. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, Monsieur le Maire, the better fortune mine to fall into such hands. +I have been robbed, and fastened here, as you see, by a gang of +scoundrels’—I took good care to say nothing of smugglers—‘who +have carried away everything I possessed. Have the goodness to loosen +these confounded cords, and set me at liberty.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Were there many of them?’ quoth the mayor, without budging a step +forward. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, a dozen at least. But untie me at once. I’m heartily sick of being +chained up here.’ +</p> +<p> +‘A dozen at least!’ repeated he, in an accent of wonderment. ‘<i>Ma foi</i>, +a very formidable gang. Do you remember any of their names?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Devil take their names! how should I know them? Come, cut these cords, +will you? We can talk just as well when I ‘m free.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not so fast, not so fast,’ said he, admonishing me with a bland motion of +his hand. ‘Everything must be done in order. Now, since you don’t know +their names, we must put them down as “parties unknown.”’ +</p> +<p> +‘Put them down whatever you like; but let me loose!’ +</p> +<p> +‘All in good time. Let us proceed regularly. Who are your witnesses?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Witnesses!’ screamed I, overcome with passion; ‘you’ll drive me +distracted! I tell you I was waylaid in the wood by a party of scoundrels, +and you ask me for their names, and then for my witnesses! Cut these +cords, and don’t be so infernally stupid! Come, old fellow, look alive, +will you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Softly, softly; don’t interrupt public justice,’ said he, with a most +provoking composure. ‘We must draw up the <i>procès-verbal</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +‘To be sure,’ said I, endeavouring to see what might be done by +concurrence with him, ‘nothing more natural But let me loose first; and +then we ‘ll arrange the <i>procès</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not at all; you’re all wrong,’ interposed he. ‘I must have two witnesses +first, to establish the fact of your present position; ay, and they must +be of sound mind, and able to sign their names.’ +</p> +<p> +‘May Heaven grant me patience, or I’ll burst!’ said I to myself, while he +continued in a regular sing-song tone— +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10168.jpg" width="100%" alt="168-245 " /> +</div> +<p> +‘Then we’ll take the depositions in form. Where do you come from?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ireland,’ said I, with a deep sigh, wishing I were up to the neck in a +bog-hole there, in preference to my actual misfortune. +</p> +<p> +‘What language do you usually speak?’ +</p> +<p> +‘English.’ +</p> +<p> +‘There, now,’ said he, brightening up, ‘there’s an important fact already +in the class No. 1—identity—which speaks of “all traits, +marks, and characteristic signs by which the plaintiff may be known.” Now, +we’ll set you forth as “an Irishman that speaks English.”’ +</p> +<p> +‘If you go on this way a little longer, you may put me down as “insane,” +for I vow to heaven I’m becoming so!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Come, Bobeche,’ said he, turning towards the natural, who stood in mute +admiration at his side, ‘go over to Claude Gueirans, at the mill, and see +if the <i>notaire</i> be up there—there was a marriage of his niece +this morning, and I think you ‘ll find him; then cross the bridge, and +make for Papalot’s, and ask him to come up here, and bring some stamped +paper to take informations with him. You may tell the curé as you go by +that there’s been a dreadful crime committed in the forest, and that “la +justice s’informe.’” These last words were pronounced with an accent of +the most magniloquent solemnity. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had the fool set out on his errand when my temper, so long +restrained, burst all bounds, and I abused the mayor in the most +outrageous manner. There was no insult I could think of that I did not +heap on his absurdity, his ignorance, his folly, his stupidity; and I +never ceased till actually want of breath completely exhausted me. To all +this the worthy man made no reply, nor paid even the least attention. +Seated on the stump of a beech-tree, he looked steadily at vacancy, till +at length I began to doubt whether the whole scene were real, and if he +were not a mere creature of my imagination. I verily believe I’d have +given five louis d’ors to have been free one moment, if only to pelt a +stone at him. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile, the shadow of coming night was falling on the forest; the crows +came cawing home to their dwelling in the tree-tops; the sounds of insect +life were stilled in the grass; and the odours of the forest, stronger as +night closed in, filled the air. Gradually the darkness grew thicker and +thicker, and at last all I could distinguish was the stems of the trees +near me, and a massive black object I judged to be the mayor. I called out +to him in accents intended to be most apologetic. I begged forgiveness for +my warmth of temper; protested my regrets, and only asked for the pleasure +of his entertaining society till the hour of my liberation should arrive. +But no answer came; not a word, not a syllable in reply—I could not +even hear him breathing. Provoked at this uncomplying obstinacy, I renewed +my attacks on all constituted authorities; expressed the most lively hopes +that the gang of robbers would some day or other burn down Givet and all +it contained, not forgetting the mayor and the notary; and, finally, to +fill up the measure of insult, tried to sing the <i>ça ira</i>, which in +good monarchical Holland was, I knew, a dire offence, but I broke down in +the melody, and had to come back to prose. However, it came just to the +same—all was silent. When I ceased speaking, not even an echo +returned me a reply. At last I grew wearied; the thought that all my +anathemas had only an audience of weasels and woodpeckers damped the +ardour of my eloquence, and I fell into a musing fit on Dutch justice, +which seemed admirably adapted to those good old times when people lived +to the age of eight or nine hundred years, and when a few months were as +the twinkling of an eye. Then I began a little plan of a tour from the +time of my liberation, cautiously resolving never to move out of the most +beaten tracks, and to avoid all districts where the mayor was a Dutchman. +Hunger and thirst and cold by this time began to tell upon my spirits too, +and I grew sleepy from sheer exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had I nodded my head twice in slumber, when a loud shout awoke +me. I opened my eyes, and saw a vast mob of men, women, and children +carrying torches, and coming through the wood at full speed, the +procession being led by a venerable-looking old man on a white pony, whom +I at once guessed to be the curé, while the fool, with a very imposing +branch of burning pine, walked beside him. ‘Good-evening to you, +monsieur,’ said the old man, as he took off his hat, with an air of +courtesy. +</p> +<p> +‘You must excuse the miserable plight I ‘m in, Monsieur le Curé,’ said I, +‘if I can’t return your politeness; but I ‘m tied.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Cut the cords at once,’ said the good man to the crowd that now pressed +forward. +</p> +<p> +‘Your pardon, Father Jacques,’ said the mayor, as he sat up in the grass +and rubbed his eyes, which sleep seemed to have almost obliterated; ‘but +the <i>proces verbal</i> is——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Quite unnecessary here,’ replied the old man. ‘Cut the rope, my friends.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not so fast,’ said the mayor, pushing towards me. ‘I ‘ll untie it. That’s +a good cord and worth eight sous.’ +</p> +<p> +And so, notwithstanding all my assurances that I ‘d give him a crown-piece +to use more despatch, he proceeded leisurely to unfasten every knot, and +took at least ten minutes before he set me at liberty. +</p> +<p> +‘Hurrah!’ said I, as the last coil was withdrawn, and I attempted to +spring into the air; but my cramped and chilled limbs were unequal to the +effort, and I rolled headlong on the grass. +</p> +<p> +The worthy curé, however, was at once beside me, and after a few +directions to the party to make a litter for me, he knelt down to offer up +a short prayer for my deliverance; the rest followed the act with implicit +devotion, while I took off my hat in respect, and sat still where I was. +</p> +<p> +‘I see,’ whispered he, when the <i>Ave</i> was over—’ I see you are +a Protestant. This is a fast day with us; but we ‘ll get you a poulet at +my cottage, and a glass of wine will soon refresh you.’ +</p> +<p> +With many a thankful speech, I soon suffered myself to be lifted into a +large sheet, such as they use in the vineyards; and with a strong cortege +of the villagers carrying their torches, we took our way back to Givet. +</p> +<p> +The circumstances of my adventure, considerably exaggerated of course, +were bruited over the country; and before I was out of bed next morning, a +chasseur, in a very showy livery, arrived with a letter from the lord of +the manor, entreating me to take my abode for some days at the Château de +Rochepied, where I should be received with a perfect welcome, and every +endeavour made to recover my lost effects. Having consulted with the +worthy curé, who counselled me by all means to accept this flattering +invitation—a course I was myself disposed to—I wrote a few +lines of answer, and despatched a messenger by post to Dinant to bring up +my heavy baggage, which I had left there. +</p> +<p> +Towards noon the count’s carriage drove up to convey me to the château; +and having taken an affectionate farewell of my kind host, I set out for +Rochepied. The wicker conveniency in which I travelled, all alone, albeit +not the thing for Hyde Park, was easy and pleasant in its motion; the fat +Flemish mares, with their long tails tastefully festooned over a huge +cushion of plaited straw on their backs, went at a fair, steady pace; the +road led through a part of the forest abounding in pretty vistas of +woodland scenery; and everything conspired to make me feel that even an +affair with a gang of smugglers might not be the worst thing in life, if +it were to lead to such pleasant results afterwards. +</p> +<p> +As we jogged along, I learned from the fat Walloon coachman that the +château was full of company; that the count had invited numerous guests +for the opening of the <i>chasse</i>, and that there were French and +Germans and English, and for aught he knew Chinese expected to ‘assist’ at +the ceremony. I confess the information considerably damped the pleasure I +at first experienced. I was in hopes to see real country life, the regular +course of château existence, in a family quietly domesticated on their own +property. I looked forward to a peep at that <i>vie intime</i> of Flemish +household, of which all I knew was gathered from a Wenix picture, and I +wanted to see the thing in reality. The good vrow, with her high cap and +her long waist, her pale features lit up with eyes of such brown as only +Van Dyck ever caught the colour of; the daughters, prim and stately, with +their stiff, quaint courtesy, moving about the terraced walks, like +figures stepping from an ancient canvas, with bouquets in their white and +dimpled fingers, or mayhap a jess-hawk perched upon their wrist; the +Mynheer Baron, a large and portly Fleming, with a slouched beaver and a +short trim moustache, deep of voice, heavy of step, seated on a grey +Cuyp-like horse, with a flowing mane and a huge tassel of a tail, flapping +lazily his brawny flanks, or slapping with heavy stroke the massive +jack-boots of his rider—such were my notions of a Dutch household. +The unchanged looks of the dwellings, which for centuries were the same, +in part suggested these thoughts. The quaint old turrets, the stiff and +stately terraces, the fosse, stagnant and sluggish, the carved tracery of +the massive doorway, were all as we see them in the oldest pictures of the +land; and when the rind looks so like, it is hard to imagine the fruit +with a different flavour. +</p> +<p> +It was then with considerable regret I learned that I should see the +family <i>en gala</i>; that I had fallen upon a time of feasting and +entertainment. Had it not been too late, I should have beaten my retreat, +and taken up my abode for another day with the curé of Givet; as it was, I +resolved to make my visit as brief as possible, and take to the road with +all convenient despatch. +</p> +<p> +As we neared the château, the Walloon remembered a number of apologies +with which the count charged him to account for his not having gone +himself to fetch me, alleging the claims of his other guests, and the +unavoidable details which the forthcoming <i>ouverture de la chasse</i> +demanded at his hands. I paid little attention to the mumbled and broken +narrative, interrupted by imprecations on the road and exhortations to the +horses; for already we had entered the precincts of the demesne, and I was +busy in noting down the appearance of the place. There was, however, +little to remark. The transition from the wide forest to the park was only +marked by a little improvement in the road; there was neither lodge nor +gate—no wall, no fence, no inclosure of any kind. The trim culture, +which in our country is so observable around the approach of a house of +some consequence, was here totally wanting; the avenue was partly of +gravel, partly of smooth turf; the brushwood of prickly holly was let grow +wild, and straggled in many places across the road; the occasional views +that opened seemed to have been made by accident, not design; and all was +rank vegetation and rich verdure, uncared for—uncultivated, but like +the children of the poor, seeming only the healthier and more robust, +because left to their own unchecked, untutored impulses. The rabbits +played about within a few paces of the carriage tracks; the birds sat +motionless on the trees as we passed, while here and there through the +foliage I could detect the gorgeous colouring of some bright peacock’s +tail, as he rested on a bough and held converse with his wilder brethren +of the air, just as if the remoteness of the spot and its seclusions led +to intimacies which in the ordinary routine of life had been impossible. +At length the trees receded farther and farther from the road, and a +beautiful expanse of waving lawn, dotted with sheep, stretched before the +eye. In the distance, too, I could perceive the château itself—a +massive pile in the shape of a letter L, bristling with chimneys, and +pierced with windows of every size and shape; clumps of flowering shrubs +and fruit-trees were planted about, and little beds of flowers spangled +the even turf like stars in the expanse of heaven. The Meuse wound round +the château on three sides, and perhaps thus saved it from being inflicted +by a ditch, for without water a Dutchman can no more exist than a +mackerel. +</p> +<p> +‘Fine! isn’t it?’ said the Walloon, as he pointed with his finger to the +scene before me, and seemed to revel with delight in my look of +astonishment, while he plied his whip with renewed vigour, and soon drew +up at a wide flight of stone steps, where a row of orange-trees mounted +guard on each side, and filled the place with their fragrance. +</p> +<p> +A servant in the strange <i>mélange</i> of a livery, where the colours +seemed chosen from a bed of ranunculuses just near, came out to let down +the steps and usher me into the house. He informed me that the count had +given orders for my reception, but that he and all his friends were out on +horseback, and would not be back before dinner-time. Not sorry to have a +little time to myself, I retired to my room, and threw myself down on a +most comfortable sofa, excessively well satisfied with the locality and +well disposed to take advantage of my good fortune. The little bed, with +its snow-white curtains and gilded canopy; the brass dogs upon the hearth, +that shone like gold; the cherry-wood table, that might have served as a +mirror; the modest book-shelf, with its pleasant row of volumes; but, +better than all, the open window, from which I could see for miles over +the top of a dark forest, and watch the Meuse as it came and went, now +shining, now lost in the recesses of the wood—all charmed me; and I +fully confessed what I have had very frequently to repeat in life, that +‘Arthur O’Leary was born under a lucky planet.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. CHATEAU LIFE +</h2> +<p> +Stretched upon a large old-fashioned sofa, where a burgomaster might have +reclined with ‘ample room and verge enough,’ in all the easy abandonment +of dressing-gown and slippers; the cool breeze gently wafting the +window-blind to and fro, and tempering the lulling sounds from wood and +water; the buzzing of the summer insects and the far-off carol of a +peasant’s song—I fell into one of those delicious sleeps in which +dreams are so faintly marked as to leave us no disappointment on waking: +flitting shadowlike before the mind, they live only in a pleasant memory +of something vague and undefined, and impart no touch of sorrow for +expectations unfulfilled, for hopes that are not to be realised. I would +that my dreams might always take this shape. It is a sad thing when they +become tangible; when features and looks, eyes, hands, words, and signs, +live too strongly in our sleeping minds, and we awake to the cold reality +of our daily cares and crosses, tenfold less endurable from very contrast. +No! give me rather the faint and waving outline, the shadowy perception of +pleasure, than the vivid picture, to end only in the conviction that I am +but Christopher Sly after all; or what comes pretty much to the same, +nothing but—Arthur O’Leary. +</p> +<p> +Still, I would not have you deem me discontented with my lot; far from it. +I chose my path early in life, and never saw reason to regret the choice. +How many of you can say as much? I felt that while the tender ties of home +and family, the charities that grow up around the charmed circle of a wife +and children, are the great prizes of life, there are also a thousand +lesser ones in the wheel, in the kindly sympathies with which the world +abounds; that to him who bears no ill-will at his heart—nay, rather +loving all things that are lovable, with warm attachments to all who have +been kind to him, with strong sources of happiness in his own tranquil +thoughts—the wandering life would offer many pleasures. +</p> +<p> +Most men live, as it were, with one story of their lives, the traits of +childhood maturing into manly features; their history consists of the +development of early character in circumstances of good or evil fortune. +They fall in love, they marry, they grow old, and they die—each +incident of their existence bearing on that before and that after, like +link upon link of some great chain. He, however, who throws himself like a +plank upon the waters, to be washed hither and thither as wind or tide may +drive him, has a very different experience. To him life is a succession of +episodes, each perfect in itself; the world is but a number of tableaux, +changing with climate and country—his sorrows in France having no +connection with his joys in Italy; his delights in Spain living apart from +his griefs on the Rhine. The past throws no shadow on the future; his +philosophy is to make the most of the present; and he never forgets La +Bruyère’s maxim—‘Il faut rire avant d’être heureux, <i>de peur de +mourir sans avoir ri</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +Now, if you don’t like my philosophy, set it down as a dream, and here I +am awake once more. +</p> +<p> +And certainly I claim no great merit on the score of my vigilance; for the +tantararara that awoke me would have aroused the Seven Sleepers +themselves. Words are weak to convey the most distant conception of the +noise; it seemed as though ten thousand peacocks had congregated beneath +my window, and with brazen throats were bent on giving me a hideous +concert; the fiend-chorus in <i>Robert le Diable</i> was a psalm-tune +compared to it. I started up and rushed to the casement; and there, in the +lawn beneath, beheld some twenty persons costumed in hunting fashion, +their horses foaming and splashed, their coats stained with marks of the +forest. But the uproar was soon comprehensible, owing to some half-dozen +of the party who performed on that most diabolical of all human +inventions, the <i>cor de chasse</i>. +</p> +<p> +Imagine, if you can, and thank your stars that it is only a work of +imagination, some twenty feet of brass pipe, worn belt-fashion over one +shoulder and under the opposite arm, one end of the aforesaid tube being a +mouth-piece, and the other expanding itself into a huge trumpet-mouth; +then conceive a Fleming—one of Rubens’s cherubs, immensely +magnified, and decorated with a beard and moustaches—blowing into +this with all the force of his lungs, perfectly unmindful of the five +other performers, who at five several and distinct parts of the melody are +blasting away also—treble and bass, contralto and soprano, shake and +sostenuto, all blending into one crash of hideous discord, to which the +Scotch bagpipe in a pibroch is a soothing, melting melody. A deaf-and-dumb +institution ‘would capitulate in half an hour. Truly, the results of a +hunting expedition ought to be of the most satisfactory kind, to make the +‘Retour de la Chasse’ (it was this they were blowing) at all sufferable to +those who were not engaged in the concert. As for the performers, I can +readily believe they never heard a note of the whole. +</p> +<p> +Even Dutch lungs grow tired at last. Having blown the establishment into +ecstasies, and myself into a furious headache, they gave in; and now an +awful bell announced the time to dress for dinner. While I made my +toilette, I endeavoured, as well as my throbbing temples would permit me, +to fancy the host’s personal appearance, and to conjecture the style of +the rest of the party. My preparations over, I took a parting look in the +glass, as if to guess the probable impression I should make below-stairs, +and sallied forth. +</p> +<p> +Cautiously stealing along over the well-waxed floors, slippery as ice +itself, I descended the broad oak stairs into a great hall, wainscoted +with dark walnut and decorated with antlers’ and stags’ heads, cross-bows +and arquebuses, and, to my shuddering horror, with various <i>cors de +chasse</i>, now happily, however, silent on the walls. I entered the +drawing-room, conning over to myself a little speech in French, and +preparing myself to bow for the next fifteen minutes; but, to my surprise, +no one had yet appeared. All were still occupied in dressing, and probably +taking some well-merited repose after their exertions on the +wind-instruments. I had now time for a survey of the apartment; and, +generally speaking, a drawing-room is no bad indication of the tastes and +temperament of the owners of the establishment. +</p> +<p> +The practised eye speedily detects in the character and arrangement of a +chamber something of its occupant. In some houses, the absence of all +decoration, the simple puritanism of the furniture, bespeaks the life of +quiet souls whose days are as devoid of luxury as their dwellings. You +read in the cold grey tints the formal stiffness and unrelieved regularity +around the Quaker-like flatness of their existence. In others, there is an +air of ill-done display, a straining after effect, which shows itself in +costly but ill-assorted details, a mingling of all styles and eras without +repose or keeping. The bad pretentious pictures, the faulty bronzes, +meagre casts of poor originals, the gaudy china, are safe warranty for the +vulgarity of their owners; while the humble parlour of a village inn can +be, as I have seen it, made to evidence the cultivated tastes and polished +habits of those who have made it the halting-place of a day. We might go +back and trace how much of our knowledge of the earliest ages is derived +from the study of the interior of their dwellings; what a rich volume of +information is conveyed in a mosaic; what a treatise does not lie in a +frescoed wall! +</p> +<p> +The room in which I now found myself was a long, and for its length a +narrow, apartment; a range of tall windows, deeply sunk in the thick wall, +occupied one side, opposite to which was a plain wall covered with +pictures from floor to cornice, save where, at a considerable distance +from one another, were two splendidly carved chimney-pieces of black oak, +one representing ‘The Adoration of the Shepherds,’ and the other ‘The +Miraculous Draught of Fishes’—the latter done with a relief, a +vigour, and a movement I have never seen equalled. Above these were some +armorial trophies of an early date, in which, among the maces and +battle-axes, I could recognise some weapons of Eastern origin, which by +the family, I learned, were ascribed to the periods of the Crusades. +</p> +<p> +Between the windows were placed a succession of carved oak cabinets of the +seventeenth century—beautiful specimens of art, and for all their +quaintness far handsomer objects of furniture than our modern luxury has +introduced among us. Japan vases of dark blue-and-green were filled with +rare flowers; here and there small tables of costly buhl invited you to +the window recesses, where the downy ottomans, pillowed with Flemish +luxury, suggested rest if not sleep. The pictures, over which I could but +throw a passing glance, were all by Flemish painters, and of that +character which so essentially displays their chief merits of richness of +colour and tone—Gerard Dow and Ostade, Cuyp, Van der Meer, and +Terburg—those admirable groupings of domestic life, where the nation +is, as it were, miniatured before you; that perfection of domestic quiet, +which bespeaks an heirloom of tranquillity derived whole centuries back. +You see at once, in those dark-brown eyes and placid features, the traits +that have taken ages to bring to such perfection; and you recognise the +origin of those sturdy burgomasters and bold burghers, who were at the +same time the thriftiest merchants and the haughtiest princes of Europe. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly, and when I was almost on my knees to examine a picture by +Memling, the door opened, and a small, sharp-looking man, dressed in the +last extravagance of Paris mode, resplendent in waistcoat and glistening +in jewellery, tripped lightly forward. ‘Ah, mi Lor O’Leary!’ said he, +advancing towards me with a bow and a slide. +</p> +<p> +It was no time to discuss pedigree; so gulping the promotion, I made my +acknowledgments as best I could; and by the time that we met, which on a +moderate calculation might have been two minutes after he entered, we +shook hands very cordially, and looked delighted to see each other. This +ceremony, I repeat, was only accomplished after his having bowed round two +tables, an ottoman, and an oak <i>armoire</i>, I having performed the like +ceremony behind a Chinese screen, and very nearly over a vase of the +original ‘green dragon,’ which actually seemed disposed to spring at me +for my awkwardness. +</p> +<p> +Before my astonishment—shall I add, disappointment?—had +subsided, at finding that the diminutive, overdressed figure before me was +the representative of those bold barons I had been musing over (for such +he was), the room began to fill. Portly ladies of undefined dates sailed +in and took their places, stiff, stately, and silent as their grandmothers +on the walls; heavy-looking gentlemen, with unpronounceable names, bowed +and wheeled and bowed again; while a buzz of <i>votre serviteur</i>, +madame, or monsieur, swelled and sank amid the murmur of the room, with +the scraping of feet on the glazed <i>parquet</i>, and the rustle of silk, +whose plenitude bespoke a day when silkworms were honest. +</p> +<p> +The host paraded me around the austere circle, where the very names +sounded like an incantation; and the old ladies shook their bugles and +agitated their fans in recognition of my acquaintance. The circumstances +of my adventure were the conversation of every group; and although, I +confess, I could not help feeling that even a small spice of malice might +have found food for laughter in the absurdity of my durance, yet not one +there could see anything in the whole affair save a grave case of smuggled +tobacco, and a most unwarrantable exercise of authority on the part of the +curé who liberated me. Indeed, this latter seemed to gain ground so +rapidly, that once or twice I began to fear they might remand me and +sentence me to another night in the air, ‘till justice should be +satisfied.’ I did the worthy Maire de Givet foul wrong, said I to myself; +these people here are not a whit better. +</p> +<p> +The company continued to arrive at every moment; and now I remarked that +it was the veteran battalion who led the march, the younger members of the +household only dropping in as the hour grew later. Among these was a +pleasant sprinkling of Frenchmen, as easily recognisable among Flemings as +is an officer of the Blues from one of the new police; a German baron, a +very portrait of his class, fat, heavy-browed, sulky-looking, but in +reality a good-hearted, fine-tempered fellow; two Americans; an English +colonel, with his daughters twain; and a Danish <i>chargé d’ affaires</i>—the +minor characters being what, in dramatic phrase, are called <i>premiers</i> +and <i>premieres</i>, meaning thereby young people of either sex, dressed +in the latest mode, and performing the part of lovers; the ladies, with a +moderate share of good looks, being perfect in the freshness of their +toilette and in a certain air of ease and gracefulness almost universal +abroad; the men, a strange mixture of silliness and savagery (a bad +cross), half hairdresser, half hero. +</p> +<p> +Before the dinner was announced, I had time to perceive that the company +was divided into two different and very opposite currents—one party +consisting of the old Dutch or Flemish race, quiet, plodding, peaceable +souls, pretending to nothing new, enjoying everything old, their souvenirs +referring to some event in the time of their grandfathers; the other +section being the younger portion, who, strongly imbued with French +notions on dress and English on sporting matters, attempted to bring +Newmarket and the Boulevards des Italiens into the heart of the Ardennes. +</p> +<p> +Between the two, and connecting them with each other, was a species of <i>pont +du diable</i>, in the person of a little, dapper, olive-complexioned man +of about forty. His eyes were black as jet, but with an expression soft +and subdued, save at moments of excitement, when they flashed like +glow-worms; his plain suit of black with deep cambric ruffles, his silk +shorts and buckled shoes, had in them something of the ecclesiastic; and +so it was. He was the Abbé van Praet, the cadet of an ancient Belgian +family, a man of considerable ability, highly informed on most subjects; a +linguist, a musician, a painter of no small pretensions, who spent his +life in the <i>far niente</i> of château existence—now devising a +party of pleasure, now inventing a madrigal, now giving directions to the +chef how to make an <i>omelette à la curé</i>, now stealing noiselessly +along some sheltered walk to hear some fair lady’s secret confidence; for +he was privy counsellor in all affairs of the heart, and, if the world did +not wrong him, occasionally pleaded his own cause when no other petitioner +offered. I was soon struck by this man, and by the tact with which, while +he preserved his ascendency over the minds of all, he never admitted any +undue familiarity, yet affected all the ease and <i>insouciance</i> of the +veriest idler. I was flattered, also, by his notice of me, and by the +politeness of his invitation to sit next him at table. +</p> +<p> +The distinctions I have hinted at already, made the dinner conversation a +strange medley of Flemish history and sporting anecdotes; of reminiscences +of the times of Maria Theresa, and dissertations on weights and ages; of +the genealogies of Flemish families, and the pedigrees of English +racehorses. The young English ladies, both pretty and delicate-looking +girls, with an air of good-breeding and tone in their manner, shocked me +not a little by the intimate knowledge they displayed on all matters of +the turf and the stable—their acquaintance with the details of +hunting, racing, and steeplechasing, seeming to form the most wonderful +attraction to the moustached counts and whiskered barons who listened to +them. The colonel was a fine, mellow-looking old gentleman, with a white +head and a red nose, and with that species of placid expression one sees +in the people who perform those parts in Vaudeville theatres called <i>pères +nobles</i>. He seemed, indeed, as if he had been daily in the habit of +bestowing a lovely daughter on some happy, enraptured lover, and invoking +a blessing on their heads; there was a rich unction in his voice, an +almost imperceptible quaver, that made it seem kind and affectionate; he +finished his shake of the hand with a little parting squeeze, a kind of +‘one cheer more,’ as they say nowadays, when some misguided admirer calls +upon a meeting for enthusiasm they don’t feel. The Americans were (and +one description will serve for both, so like were they) sallow, +high-boned, silent men, with a species of quiet caution in their manner, +as if they were learning, but had not yet completed, a European education +as to habits and customs, and were studiously careful not to commit any +solecisms which might betray their country. +</p> +<p> +As dinner proceeded, the sporting characters carried the day. The <i>ouverture +de la chasse</i>, which was to take place the following morning, was an +all-engrossing topic, and I found myself established as judge on a hundred +points of English jockey etiquette, of which as my ignorance was complete +I suffered grievously in the estimation of the company, and, when referred +to, could neither apportion the weight to age, nor even tell the number of +yards in a ‘distance.’ It was, however, decreed that I should ride the +next day—the host had the ‘very horse to suit me’; and, as the abbé +whispered me to consent, I acceded at once to the arrangement. +</p> +<p> +When we adjourned to the drawing-room, Colonel Muddleton came towards me +with an easy smile and an outstretched snuff-box, both in such perfect +keeping: the action was a finished thing. +</p> +<p> +‘Any relation, may I ask, of a very old friend and brother officer of +mine, General Mark O’Leary, who was killed in Canada?’ said he. +</p> +<p> +‘A very distant one only,’ replied I. +</p> +<p> +‘A capital fellow, brave as a lion, and pleasant. By Jove, I never met the +like of him! What became of his Irish property?—he was never +married, I think?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, he died a bachelor, and left his estates to my uncle; they had met +once by accident, and took a liking to each other.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And so your uncle has them now?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No; my uncle died since. They came into my possession some two or three +years ago.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Eh—ah—upon my life!’ said he, with something of surprise in +his manner; and then, as if ashamed of his exclamation, and with a much +more cordial vein than at first, he resumed: ‘What a piece of unlooked-for +good fortune to be sure! Only think of my finding my old friend Mark’s +nephew!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not his nephew. I was only——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Never mind, never mind; he was kind of an uncle, you know—any man +might be proud of him. What a glorious fellow!—full of fun, full of +spirit and animation. Ah, just like all your countrymen! I’ve a little +Irish blood in my veins myself; my mother was an O’Flaherty or an O’Neil, +or something of that sort; and there’s Laura—you don’t know my +daughter?’ ‘I have not the honour.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Come along, and I’ll introduce you to her; a little reserved or so,’ said +he, in a whisper, as if to give me the <i>carte du pays</i>—’ rather +cold, you know, to strangers; but when she hears you are the nephew of my +old friend Mark—Mark and I were like brothers.—Laura, my +love,’ said he, tapping the young lady on her white shoulder as she stood +with her back towards us; ‘Laura, dear—-the son of my oldest friend +in the world, General O’Leary.’ +</p> +<p> +The young lady turned quickly round, and, as she drew herself up somewhat +haughtily, dropped me a low curtsy, and then resumed her conversation with +a very much whiskered gentleman near. The colonel seemed, despite all his +endeavours to overcome it, rather put out by his daughter’s hauteur to the +<i>son</i> of his old friend; and what he would have said or done I know +not, but the abbé came suddenly up, and with a card invited me to join a +party at whist. The moment was so awkward for all, that I would have +accepted an invitation even to écarté to escape from the difficulty, and I +followed him into a small boudoir where two ladies were awaiting us. I had +just time to see that they were both pleasing-looking, and of that time of +life when women, without forfeiting any of the attractions of youth, are +much more disposed to please by the attractions of manner and <i>esprit</i> +than by mere beauty, when we sat down to our game. La Baronne de Meer, my +partner, was the younger and the prettier of the two; she was one of those +Flemings into whose families the race of Spain poured the warm current of +southern blood, and gave them the dark eye and the olive skin, the +graceful figure and the elastic step, so characteristic of their nation. +</p> +<p> +‘A la bonne heure,’ said she, smiling; ‘have we rescued one from the +enchantress?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ replied the abbé, with an affected gravity; ‘in another moment he +was lost.’ +</p> +<p> +‘If you mean me,’ said I, laughing, ‘I assure you I ran no danger at all; +for whatever the young lady’s glances may portend, she seemed very much +indisposed to bestow a second on me.’ +</p> +<p> +The game proceeded with its running fire of chitchat, from which I could +gather that Mademoiselle Laura was a most established man-killer, no one +ever escaping her fascinations save when by some strange fatality they +preferred her sister Julia, whose style was, to use the abbé’s phrase, her +sister’s ‘diluted.’ There was a tone of pique in the way the ladies +criticised the colonel’s daughters, which I have often remarked in those +who, accustomed to the attentions of men themselves, without any unusual +effort to please on their part, are doubly annoyed when they perceive a +rival making more than ordinary endeavours to attract admirers. They feel +as a capitalist would, when another millionaire offers money at a lower +rate of interest. It is, as it were, a breach of conventional etiquette, +and never escapes being severely criticised. +</p> +<p> +As for me, I had no personal feeling at stake, and looked on at the game +of all parties with much amusement. +</p> +<p> +‘Where is the Comte d’Espagne to-night?’ said the baronne to the abbé. +‘Has he been false?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not at all; he was singing with mademoiselle when I was in the salon.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You’ll have a dreadful rival there, Monsieur O’Leary,’ said she +laughingly; ‘he is the most celebrated swordsman and the best shot in +Flanders.’ +</p> +<p> +‘It is likely he may rust his weapons if he have no opportunity for their +exercise till I give it,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +‘Don’t you admire her, then?’ said she. +</p> +<p> +‘The lady is very pretty, indeed,’ said I. +</p> +<p> +‘The heart led,’ interrupted the abbé suddenly, as he touched my foot +beneath the table—‘play a heart.’ +</p> +<p> +Close beside my chair, and leaning over my cards, stood Mademoiselle Laura +herself at the moment. +</p> +<p> +‘You have no heart,’ said she, in English, and with a singular expression +on the words, while her downcast eye shot a glance—one glance—through +me. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, but I have though,’ said I, discovering a card that lay concealed +behind another; ‘it only requires a little looking for.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not worth the trouble, perhaps,’ said she, with a toss of her head, as I +threw the deuce upon the table; and before I could reply she was gone. +</p> +<p> +‘I think her much prettier when she looks saucy,’ said the baronne, as if +to imply that the air of pique assumed was a mere piece of acting got up +for effect. +</p> +<p> +I see it all, said I to myself. Foreign women can never forgive English +for being so much their superior in beauty and loveliness. Meanwhile our +game came to a close, and we gathered around the buffet. +</p> +<p> +There we found the old colonel, with a large silver tankard of mulled +wine, holding forth over some campaigning exploit, to which no one +listened for more than a second or two—and thus the whole room +became joint-stock hearers of his story. Laura stood eating her ice with +the Comte d’Espagne, the black-whiskered cavalier already mentioned, +beside her. The Americans were prosing away about Jefferson and Adams; the +Belgians talked agriculture and genealogy; and the French collecting into +a group of their own, in which nearly all the pretty women joined, +discoursed the ballet, the Chambre, the court, the coulisses, the last +mode, and the last murder, and all in the same mirthful and lively tone. +And truly, let people condemn as they will this superficial style of +conversation, there is none equal to it; it avoids the prosaic flatness of +German, and the monotonous pertinacity of English, which seems more to +partake of the nature of discussion than dialogue. French chit-chat takes +a wider range—anecdotic, illustrative, and discursive by turns; it +deems nothing too light, nothing too weighty for its subject; it is a gay +butterfly, now floating with gilded wings above you, now tremulously +perched upon a leaf below, now sparkling in the sunbeam, now loitering in +the shade; embodying not only thought, but expression, it charms by its +style as well as by its matter. The language, too, suggests shades and +nuances of colouring that exist not in other tongues; you can give to your +canvas the precise tint you wish, for when mystery would prove a merit, +the equivoque is there ready to your hand—meaning so much, yet +asserting so little. For my part I should make my will in English; but I’d +rather make love in French. +</p> +<p> +While thus digressing, I have forgotten to mention that people are running +back and forward with bedroom candles; there is a confused hum of <i>bonsoir</i> +on every side; and, with many a hope of a fine day for the morrow, we +separate for the night. +</p> +<p> +I lay awake some hours thinking of Laura, and then of the baronne—they +were both arch ones; the abbé too crossed my thoughts, and once or twice +the old colonel’s roguish leer; but I slept soundly for all that, and did +not wake till eight o’clock the next morning. The silence of the house +struck me forcibly as I rubbed my eyes and looked about. Hang it, thought +I, have they gone off to the <i>chasse</i> without me? I surely could +never have slept through the uproar of their trumpets. I drew aside the +window-curtains, and the mystery was solved: such rain never fell before; +the clouds, actually touching the tops of the beech-trees, seemed to ooze +and squash like squeezed sponges. The torrent came down in that splashing +stroke as if some force behind momentarily propelled it stronger; and the +long-parched ground seethed and smoked like a heated caldron. +</p> +<p> +Pleasant this, was reflection number one, as I endeavoured to peer through +the mist, and beheld a haze of weeping foliage—pleasant to be +immured here during Heaven knows how many days, without the power to +escape. Lucky fellow, Arthur, was my second thought; capital quarters you +have fallen into. Better far the snug comforts of a Flemish chateau than +the chances of a wayside inn. Besides, here is a goodly company met +together; there will needs be pleasant people among them. I wish it may +rain these three weeks; château life is the very thing I ‘m curious about. +How do they get through the day? There’s no <i>Times</i> in Flanders; no +one cares a farthing about who’s in and who’s out. There’s no Derby, no +trials for murder. What can they do? was the question I put to myself a +dozen times over. No matter; I have abundant occupation; my journal has +never been posted up since—since—alas, I can scarcely tell! +</p> +<p> +It might be from reflections like these, or perhaps because I was less of +a sportsman than my companions, but certainly, whatever the cause, I bore +up against the disappointment of the weather with far more philosophy than +they, and dispersed a sack of proverbs about patience, hope, equanimity, +and contentment which Sancho Panza himself might have envied, until at +length no one ventured a malediction on the day in my presence, for fear +of eliciting a hailstorm of moral reflections. The company dropped down to +breakfast by detachments, the elated looks and flashing eyes of the night +before saddened and overcast at the unexpected change. Even the elders of +the party seemed discontented; and except myself and an old gentleman with +the gout, who took an airing about the hall and the drawing-room in a +wheel-chair, all seemed miserable. +</p> +<p> +Each window had its occupant posted against the glass, vainly endeavouring +to catch one bit of blue amid the dreary waste of cloud. A little group, +sulky and silent, were gathered around the weather-glass; a literary +inquirer sat down to con over the predictions of the almanac. You might as +well have looked for sociability among the inhabitants of a private +madhouse as here. The weather was cursed in every language from Cherokee +to Sanskrit; all agreed that no country had such an abominable climate. +The Yankee praised the summers of America, the Dane upheld his own, and I +took a patriotic turn, and vowed I had never seen such rain in Ireland. +The master of the house could scarcely show himself amid this torrent of +abusive criticism; and when he did by chance appear, he looked as much +ashamed as though he himself had pulled out the spigot, and deluged the +whole land with water. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile, none of those I looked for appeared. Neither the colonel’s +daughter nor the baronne came down; the abbé too, did not descend to the +breakfast room, and I was considerably puzzled and put out by the +disappointment. +</p> +<p> +After then enduring a good hour’s boredom from the old colonel on the +subject of my late lamented parent, Mark O’Leary; after submitting to a +severe cross-examination from the Yankee gentleman as to the reason of my +coming abroad, what property and expectations I had, my age and +birthplace, what my mother died of, and whether I did not feel very +miserable from the abject slavery of submitting to an English Government—I +escaped into the library, a fine, comfortable old room, which I rightly +conjectured I should find unoccupied. +</p> +<p> +Selecting a quaint-looking quarto with some curious illuminated pages for +my companion, I drew a great deep leather chair into a recess of one +window, and hugged myself in my solitude. While I listlessly turned over +the leaves of my book, or sat lost in reflection, time crept along, and I +heard the great clock of the château strike three; at the same moment a +hand fell lightly on my shoulder; I turned about—it was the abbé. +</p> +<p> +‘I half suspected I should find you here,’ said he. ‘Do I disturb you, or +may I keep you company?’ +</p> +<p> +‘But too happy,’ I replied, ‘if you ‘ll do me the favour.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I thought,’ said he, as he drew a chair opposite to me,—‘I thought +you’d scarcely play dominoes all day, or discuss waistcoats.’ +</p> +<p> +‘In truth I was scarcely better employed; this old volume here which I +took down for its plates——’ +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Ma foi</i>, a most interesting one; it is Guchardi’s <i>History of +Mary of Burgundy</i>. Those quaint old processions, those venerable +councils, are admirably depicted. What rich stores for a romance writer +lie in the details of these old books! Their accuracy as to costume, the +little traits of everyday life, are so naïvely told; every little domestic +incident is so full of its characteristic era. I wonder, when the springs +are so accessible, men do not draw more frequently from them, and more +purely also.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You forget Scott.’ +</p> +<p> +‘No; far from it. He is the great exception; and from his intimate +acquaintance with this class of reading is he so immeasurably superior to +all other writers of his style. Not merely tinctured, but deeply imbued +with the habits of the feudal period, the traits by which others attempt +to paint the time with him were mere accessories in the picture; costume +and architecture he used to heighten, not to convey his impressions; and +while no one knew better every minute particular of dress or arms that +betokened a period or a class, none more sparingly used such aid. He felt +the same delicacy certain ancient artists did as to the introduction of +pure white into their pictures, deeming such an unfair exercise of skill. +But why venture to speak of your countryman to you, save that genius is +above nationality, and Scott’s novels at least are European.’ +</p> +<p> +After chatting for some time longer, and feeling struck with, the extent +and variety of the abbé’s attainments, I half dropped a hint expressive of +my surprise that one so cultivated as he was could apparently so readily +comply with the monotonous routine of a château life, and the little +prospect it afforded of his meeting congenial associates. Far from feeling +offended at the liberty of my remark, he replied at once with a smile— +</p> +<p> +‘You are wrong there, and the error is a common one; but when you have +seen more of life, you will learn that a man’s own resources are the only +real gratifications he can count upon. Society, like a field-day, may +offer the occasion to display your troops and put them through their +manoeuvres; but, believe me, it is a rare and a lucky day when you go back +richer by one recruit, and the chance is that even he is a cripple, and +must be sent about his business. People, too, will tell you much of the +advantage to be derived from associating with men of distinguished and +gifted minds. I have seen something of such in my time, and give little +credit to the theory. You might as well hope to obtain credit for a +thousand pounds because you took off your hat to a banker.’ +</p> +<p> +The abbé paused after this, and seemed to be occupied with his own +thoughts; then raising his head suddenly, he said— +</p> +<p> +‘As to happiness, believe me, it lives only in the extremes of perfect +vacuity or true genius. Your clever fellow, with a vivid fancy and glowing +imagination, strong feeling and strong power of expression, has no chance +of it. The excitement he lives in is alone a bar to the tranquil character +of thought necessary to happiness; and however cold a man may feel, he +should never warm himself through a burning-glass.’ +</p> +<p> +There seemed through all he said something like a retrospective tone, as +though he were rather giving the fruit of past personal experiences than +merely speculating on the future; and I could not help throwing out a hint +to this purport. +</p> +<p> +‘Perhaps you are right,’ said he; then, after a long silence, he added: +‘It is a fortunate thing after all when the faults of a man’s temperament +are the source of some disappointment in early life, because then they +rarely endanger his subsequent career. Let him only escape the just +punishment, whatever it be, and the chances are that they embitter every +hour of his after-life. His whole care and study being not correction, but +concealment, he lives a life of daily duplicity; the fear of detection is +over him at every step he takes; and he plays a part so constantly that he +loses all real character at last in the frequency of dissimulation. Shall +I tell you a little incident with which I became acquainted in early life. +If you have nothing better to do, it may while away the hours before +dinner.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. THE ABBE’S STORY +</h2> +<p> +‘Without tiring you with any irrelevant details of the family and +relatives of my hero, if I dare call him such, I may mention that he was +the second son of an old Belgian family of some rank and wealth, and that +in accordance with the habits of his house he was educated for the career +of diplomacy. For this purpose, a life of travel was deemed the best +preparation—foreign languages being the chief requisite, with such +insight into history, national law, and national usages as any young man +with moderate capacity and assiduity can master in three or four years. +</p> +<p> +‘The chief of the Dutch mission at Frankfort was an old diplomat of some +distinction, but who, had it not been from causes purely personal towards +the king, would not have quitted The Hague for any embassy whatever. He +was a widower, with an only daughter—one of those true types of +Dutch beauty which Terburg was so fond of painting. There are people who +can see nothing but vulgarity in the class of features I speak of, and yet +nothing in reality is farther from it. Hers was a mild, placid face, a +wide, candid-looking forehead, down either side of which two braids of +sunny brown hair fell; her skin, fair as alabaster, had the least tinge of +colour, but her lips were full, and of a carmine hue, that gave a +character of brilliancy to the whole countenance; her figure inclined to +embonpoint, was exquisitely moulded, and in her walk there appeared the +composed and resolute carriage of one whose temperament, however mild and +unruffled, was still based on principles too strong to be shaken. She was +indeed a perfect specimen of her nation, embodying in her character the +thrift, the propriety, the high sense of honour, the rigid habits of +order, so eminently Dutch; but withal there ran through her nature the +golden thread of romance, and beneath that mild eyebrow there were the +thoughts and hopes of a highly imaginative mind. +</p> +<p> +‘The mission consisted of an old secretary of embassy, Van Dohein, a +veteran diplomat of some sixty years, and Edward Norvins, the youth I +speak of. Such was the family party, for you are aware that they all lived +in the same house, and dined together every day—the <i>attachés</i> +of the mission being specially intrusted to the care and attention of the +head of the mission, as if they were his own children. Norvins soon fell +in love with the pretty Marguerite. How could it be otherwise? They were +constantly together; he was her companion at home, her attendant at every +ball; they rode out together, walked, read, drew, and sang together, and +in fact very soon became inseparable. In all this there was nothing which +gave rise to remark. The intimate habits of a mission permitted such; and +as her father, deeply immersed in affairs of diplomacy, had no time to +busy himself about them, no one else did. The secretary had followed the +same course at every mission for the first ten years of his career, and +only deemed it the ordinary routine of an <i>attachés</i> life. +</p> +<p> +‘Such, then, was the pleasant current of their lives, when an event +occurred which was to disturb its even flow—ay, and alter the +channel for ever. A despatch arrived one morning at the mission, informing +them that a certain Monsieur von Halsdt, a son of one of the ministers, +who had lately committed some breach of discipline in a cavalry regiment, +was about to be attached to the mission. Never was such a shock as +Marguerite and her lover sustained. To her the idea of associating with a +wild, and unruly character like this was insupportable. To him it was +misery; he saw at once all his daily intimacy with her interrupted; he +perceived how their former habits could no longer be followed—that +with this arrival must cease the companionship that made him the happiest +of men. Even the baron himself was indignant at the arrangement to saddle +him with a <i>vaurien</i> to be reclaimed; but then he was the minister’s +son. The king himself had signed the appointment, and there was no help +for it. +</p> +<p> +‘It was indeed with anything but feelings of welcome that they awaited the +coming of the new guest. Even in the short interval between his +appointment and his coming, a hundred rumours reached them of his numerous +scrapes and adventures, his duels, his debts, his gambling, and his love +exploits. All of course were duly magnified. Poor Marguerite felt as +though an imp of Satan was about to pay them a visit, and Norvins dreaded +him with a fear that partook of a presentiment. +</p> +<p> +‘The day came, and the dinner-hour, in respect for the son of the great +man, was delayed twenty minutes in expectation of his coming; and they +went to table at last without him, silent and sad—the baron, annoyed +at the loss of dignity he should sustain by a piece of politeness +exercised without result; the secretary, fretting over the <i>entrées</i> +that were burned; Marguerite and Edward, mourning over happiness never to +return. Suddenly a <i>calèche</i> drove into the court at full gallop, the +steps rattled, and a figure wrapped in a cloak sprang out. Before the +first surprise permitted them to speak, the door of the <i>salle</i> +opened, and he appeared. +</p> +<p> +‘It would, I confess, have been a difficult matter to fix on that precise +character of looks and appearances which might have pleased all the party. +Whatever were the sentiments of others I know not, but Norvins’ wishes +would have inclined to see him short and ill-looking, rude in speech and +gesture—in a word, as repulsive as possible. It is indeed a strange +thing—you must have remarked it, I’m certain—that the +disappointment we feel at finding people we desire to like inferior to our +own conceptions of them, is not one-half so great as is our chagrin at +discovering those we are determined to dislike very different from our +preconceived notions, with few or none of the features we were prepared to +find fault with, and, in fact, altogether unlike the bugbear we had +created for ourselves. One would suppose that such a revulsion in feeling +would be pleasurable rather than otherwise. Not so, however; a sense of +our own injustice adds poignancy to our previous prejudice, and we dislike +the object only the more for lowering us in our own esteem. +</p> +<p> +‘Van Halsdt was well calculated to illustrate my theory. He was tall and +well made; his face, dark as a Spaniard’s (his mother was descended from a +Catalonian family), was manly-looking and frank, at once indicating +openness of temperament, and a dash of heroic daring that would like +danger for itself alone; his carriage had the easy freedom of a soldier, +without anything bordering on coarseness or effrontery. Advancing with a +quiet bow, he tendered his apologies for being late, rather as a matter he +owed to himself, to excuse his want of punctuality, than from any sense of +inconvenience to others, and ascribed the delay to the difficulty of +finding post-horses. “While waiting, therefore,” said he, “I resolved to +economise time, and so dressed for dinner at the last stage.” +</p> +<p> +‘This apology at least showed a desire on his part to be in time, and at +once disposed the secretary in his favour. The baron himself spoke little; +and as for Marguerite, she never opened her lips to him the whole time of +dinner; and Norvins could barely get out the few commonplaces of table, +and sat eyeing him from time to time with an increasing dislike. +</p> +<p> +‘Van Halsdt could not help feeling that his reception was of the coldest; +yet either perfectly indifferent to the fact, or resolved to overcome +their impressions against him, he talked away unceasingly of everything he +could think of—the dinners at court, the theatres, the diplomatic +soirées, the news from foreign countries, all of which he spoke of with +knowledge and intimacy. Yet nothing could he extract in return. The old +baron retired, as was his wont, immediately after dinner; the secretary +dropped off soon after; Marguerite went to take her evening drive on the +boulevards; and Norvins was left alone with his new comrade. At first he +was going to pretend an engagement. Then the awkwardness of the moment +came forcibly before him, and he sat still, silent and confused. +</p> +<p> +‘“Any wine in that decanter?” said Van Halsdt, with a short abrupt tone, +as he pointed to the bottle beside him. “Pray pass it over here. I have +only drunk three glasses. I shall be better aware to-morrow how soon your +party breaks up here.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” said Edward timidly, and not well knowing what to say. “The baron +retires to his study every evening at seven.” +</p> +<p> +‘“With all my heart,” said he gaily; “at six, if he prefer it, and he may +even take the old secretary with him. But the mademoiselle, shall we see +any more of her during the evening? Is there no salon? Eh, what do you do +after dinner?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Why, sometimes we drive, or we walk out on the boulevards; the other +ministers receive once or twice a week, and then there’s the opera.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Devilishly slow you must find all this,” said Van Halsdt, filling a +bumper, and taking it off at a draught. “Are you long here?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Only three months.” +</p> +<p> +‘“And well sick of it, I ‘ll be sworn.” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, I feel very happy; I like the quiet.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Oh dear! oh dear!” said he, with a long groan, “what is to become of +me?” +</p> +<p> +‘Norvins heartily wished he could have replied to the question in the way +he would have liked; but he said nothing. +</p> +<p> +‘“It’s past eight.” said Van Halsdt, as he perceived him stealing a look +at his watch. “Never mind me, if you’ve any appointment; I ‘ll soon learn +to make myself at home here. Perhaps you’d better ring for some more +claret, however, before you go; they don’t know me yet.” +</p> +<p> +‘Edward almost started from his chair at this speech. Such a liberty had +never before been heard of as to call for more wine; indeed, it was not +their ordinary habit to consume half what was placed on the table; but so +taken by surprise was he, that he actually rose and rang the bell, as he +was desired. +</p> +<p> +‘“Some claret, Johann,” said he with a gulp, as the old butler entered. +</p> +<p> +‘The man started back, and fixed his eyes on the empty decanter. +</p> +<p> +‘“And I say, ancient,” said Van Halsdt, “don’t decant it; you shook the +last bottle confoundedly. It’s old wine, and won’t bear that kind of +usage.” +</p> +<p> +‘The old man moved away with a deep sigh, and returned in about ten +minutes with a bottle from the cellar. +</p> +<p> +‘“Didn’t Providence bless you with two hands, friend?” said Van Halsdt. +“Go down for another.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Go, Johann,” said Norvins, as he saw him hesitate, and not knowing what +his refusal might call forth; and then, without waiting for further +parley, he arose and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +‘“Well,” thought he, when he was once more alone, “if he is a good-looking +fellow, and there’s no denying <i>that</i>, one comfort is, he is a +confirmed drunkard. Marguerite will never be able to endure him”; for +such, in his secret heart, was the reason of his premature dislike and +dread of his new companion; and as he strolled along he meditated on the +many ways he should be able to contrast his own acquirements with the +other’s deficiencies, for such he set them down at once, and gradually +reasoned himself into the conviction that the fear of all rivalry from him +was mere folly; and that whatever success his handsome face and figure +might have elsewhere, Marguerite was not the girl to be caught by such +attractions, when coupled with an unruly temper and an uneducated mind. +</p> +<p> +‘And he was right. Great as his own repugnance was towards Van Halsdt, +hers was far greater. She not only avoided him on every occasion, but took +pleasure, as it seemed, in marking the cold distance of her manner to him, +and contrasting it with her behaviour to others. It is true he appeared to +care little for this; and only replied to it by a half-impertinent style +of familiarity—a kind of jocular intimacy most insulting to a woman, +and horribly tantalising for those to witness who are attached to her. +</p> +<p> +‘I don’t wish to make my story a long one; nor could I without entering +into the details of everyday life, which now became so completely altered. +Marguerite and Norvins met only at rare intervals, and then less to +cultivate each other’s esteem than expatiate on the many demerits of him +who had estranged them so utterly. All the reports to his discredit that +circulated in Frankfort were duly conned over; and though they could lay +little to his charge of their own actual knowledge, they only imagined the +more, and condemned him accordingly. +</p> +<p> +‘To Norvins he became hourly more insupportable. There was in all his +bearing towards him the quiet, measured tone of a superior to an inferior, +the patronising protection of an elder to one younger and less able to +defend himself—and which, with the other’s consciousness of his many +intellectual advantages over him, added double bitterness to the insult. +As he never appeared in the bureau of the mission, nor in any way +concerned himself with official duties, they rarely met save at table; +there, his appearance was the signal for constraint and reserve —an +awkwardness that made itself felt the more, as the author of it seemed to +exult in the dismay he created. +</p> +<p> +‘Such, then, was the state of events when Norvins received his nomination +as secretary of legation at Stuttgart. The appointment was a surprise to +him; he had not even heard of the vacancy. The position, however, and the +emoluments were such as to admit of his marrying; and he resolved to ask +the baron for his daughter’s hand, to which the rank and influence of his +own family permitted him to aspire without presumption. +</p> +<p> +‘The baron gave his willing consent; Marguerite accepted; and the only +delay was now caused by the respect for an old Dutch custom—the +bride should be at least eighteen, and Marguerite yet wanted three months +of that age. This interval Norvins obtained leave to pass at Frankfort; +and now they went about to all public places together as betrothed; paid +visits in company, and were recognised by all their acquaintances as +engaged to each other. +</p> +<p> +‘Just at this time a French cuirassier regiment marched into garrison in +the town; they were on their way to the south of Germany, and only +detained in Frankfort to make up their full complement of horses. In this +regiment was a young Dutch officer, who once belonged to the same regiment +as Van Halsdt, and who was broke by the court-martial for the same quarrel. +They had fought twice with swords, and only parted with the dire resolve +to finish the affair at the next opportunity. This officer was a man of an +inferior class, his family being an obscure one of North Holland; and +thus, when dismissed the service, he had no other resource than to enter +the French army, at that time at war with Austria. He was said to be a man +of overbearing temper and passion, and it was not likely that the +circumstance of his expatriation and disgrace had improved him. However, +some pledge Van Halsdt had made to his father decided him in keeping out +of the way. The report ran that he had given a solemn promise never to +challenge nor accept any challenge from the other on any pretext +whatsoever. Whatever the promise, certain it was he left Frankfort the +same day the regiment marched into town, and retired to Wiesbaden. +</p> +<p> +‘The circumstance soon became the subject of town gossip, and plenty there +were most willing to attribute Van Halsdt’s departure to prudential +motives, rather than to give so wild a character any credit for filial +ones. Several who felt offended at his haughty, supercilious manner now +exulted in this, as it seemed, fall to his pride; and Norvins, +unfortunately, fell into the same track, and by many a sly innuendo and +half allusion to his absence gave greater currency to the report that his +absence was dictated by other considerations than those of parental +respect. +</p> +<p> +‘Through all the chit-chat of the time, Marguerite showed herself highly +indignant at Van Halsdt’s conduct. The quiet timid girl, who detested +violence and hated crime in any shape, felt disgusted at the thought of +his poltroonery, and could not hear his name mentioned without an +expression of contempt. All this delighted Edward; it seemed to be the +just retribution on the former insolence of the other, and he longed for +his return to Frankfort to witness the thousand slights that awaited him. +</p> +<p> +‘Such a strange and unaccountable thing is our triumph over others for the +want of those qualities in which we see ourselves deficient. No one is so +loud in decrying dishonesty and fraud as the man who feels the knave in his +own heart. Who can censure female frailty like her who has felt its sting +in her own conscience? You remember the great traveller, Mungo Park, used +to calculate the depths of rivers in Africa by rolling heavy stones over +their banks and watching the air-bubbles that mounted to the surface; so, +oftentimes, may you measure the innate sense of a vice by the execration +some censor of morals bestows upon it. Believe me, these heavy +chastisements of crime are many times but the cries of awakened +conscience. I speak strongly, but I feel deeply on this subject. +</p> +<p> +‘But to my story. It was the custom for Marguerite and her lover each +evening to visit the theatre, where the minister had a box; and as they +were stepping into the carriage one night as usual, Van Halsdt drove up to +the door and asked if he might accompany them. Of course, a refusal was +out of the question; he was a member of the mission; he had done nothing +to forfeit his position there, however much he had lost in the estimation +of society generally; and they acceded to his request, still with a +species of cold courtesy that would, by any other man, have been construed +into a refusal. +</p> +<p> +‘As they drove along in silence, the constraint increased at every moment, +and had it not been for the long-suppressed feeling of hated rivalry, +Norvins could have pitied Van Halsdt as he sat, no longer with his easy +smile of self-satisfied indifference, but with a clouded, heavy brow, mute +and pale. As for Marguerite, her features expressed a species of quiet, +cold disdain whenever she looked towards him, far more terrible to bear +than anything like an open reproach. Twice or thrice he made an effort to +start some topic of conversation, but in vain; his observations were +either unreplied to, or met a cold, distant assent more chilling still. At +length, as if resolved to break through their icy reserve towards him, he +asked in a tone of affected indifference— +</p> +<p> +‘“Any changes in Frankfort, mademoiselle, since I had the pleasure of +seeing you last?” +</p> +<p> +‘“None, sir, that I know of, save that the French cuirassier regiment +marched this morning for Baden, <i>of which, however, it is more than +probable you are aware already</i>.” +</p> +<p> +‘On each of these latter words she laid an undue stress, fixing her eyes +steadfastly on him, and speaking in a slow, measured tone. He grew deeply +red, almost black for a moment or two; his moustache seemed almost to +bristle with the tremulous convulsion that shook his upper lip; then as +suddenly he became lividly pale, while the great drops of perspiration +stood on his brow, and fell upon his cheek. Not another word was spoken. +They soon reached the theatre, when Norvins offered Marguerite his arm, +Van Halsdt slowly following them upstairs. +</p> +<p> +‘The play was one of Lessing’s and well acted; but somehow Norvins could +pay no attention to the performance, his whole soul being occupied by +other thoughts. Marguerite appeared to him in a different light from what +he had ever seen her—not less to be loved, but altogether different. +The staid, placid girl, whose quiet thoughts seemed never to rest on +topics of violent passion or excitement, who fled from the very approach +of anything bordering on overwrought feeling, now appeared carried away by +her abhorrence of a man to the very extreme of hatred for conduct which +Norvins scarcely thought she should have considered even faulty. If, then, +his triumph over Van Halsdt brought any pleasure to his heart, a secret +sense of his own deficiency in the very quality for which she condemned +him made him shudder. +</p> +<p> +‘While he reflected thus, his ear was struck with a conversation in the +box next his, in which were seated a large party of young men, with two or +three ladies, whose air, dress, and manners were at least somewhat +equivocal. ‘“And so, Alphonse, you succeeded after all?” said a youth to a +large, powerful, dark-moustached man, whose plain blue frock could not +conceal the soldier. +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” replied he, in a deep sonorous voice; “our doctor managed the +matter for me. He pronounced me unable to march before to-morrow; he said +that my old wound in the arm gave symptoms of uneasiness, and required a +little more rest. But, by Saint Denis, I see little benefit in the plan, +after all. This ‘white feather’ has not ventured back, and I must leave in +the morning without meeting him.” +</p> +<p> +‘These words, which were spoken somewhat loudly, could be easily heard in +any part of the adjoining box; and scarcely were they uttered when Van +Halsdt, who sat the entire evening far back, and entirely concealed from +view, covered his face with both hands, and remained in that posture for +several minutes. When he withdrew them, the alteration in his countenance +was actually fearful. Though his cheeks were pale as death, his eyes were +bloodshot, and the lids swelled and congested; his lips, too, were +protruded, and trembled like one in an ague, and his clasped hands shook +against the chair. +</p> +<p> +‘Norvins would have asked him if he were ill, but was afraid even to speak +to him, while again his attention was drawn off by the voices near him. +</p> +<p> +‘“Not got a bouquet?” said the large man to a lady beside him; “<i>pardi</i>, +that’s too bad. Let me assist you. I perceive that this pretty damsel, who +turns her shoulder so disdainfully towards us, makes little use of hers, +and so <i>avec permission</i>, mademoiselle!” With that he stood up, and +leaning across the division into their box, stretched over his hand and +took the bouquet that lay before Marguerite, and handed it to the lady at +his side. +</p> +<p> +‘Marguerite started back, as her eyes flashed with offended pride, and +then turned them on her lover. He stood up, not to resent the insult, but +to offer her his arm to leave the box. She gave him a look: never in a +glance was there read such an expression of withering contempt; and +drawing her shawl around her, she said in a low voice, “The carriage.” +Before Edward could open the box door to permit her to pass out, Van +Halsdt sprang to the front of the box, and stretched over. Then came a +crash, a cry, a confused shout of many voices together, and the word <i>polisson</i> +above all; but hurrying Marguerite along, Norvins hastened down the stairs +and assisted her into the carriage. As she took her place, he made a +gesture as if to follow, but she drew the door towards her, and with a +shuddering expression, “No!” leaned back, and closed the door. The <i>calèche</i> +moved on, and Norvins was alone in the street. +</p> +<p> +‘I shall not attempt to describe the terrific rush of sensations that came +crowding on his brain. Coward as he was, he would have braved a hundred +deaths rather than endure such agony. He turned towards the theatre, but +his craven spirit seemed to paralyse his very limbs; he felt as if were +his antagonist before him, he would not have had energy to speak to him. +Marguerite’s look was ever before him; it sank into his inmost soul; it +was burning there like a fire, that no memory nor after sorrow should ever +quench. +</p> +<p> +‘As he stood thus, an arm was passed hastily through his, and he was led +along. It was Van Halsdt, his hat drawn over his brows, and a slight mark +of blood upon his cheek. He seemed so overwhelmed with his own sensations +as not to be cognisant of his companion’s. +</p> +<p> +‘“I struck him,” said he, in a thick guttural voice, the very breathings +of vengeance—“I struck him to my feet. It is now <i>à la mort</i> +between us, and better it should be <i>so</i> at once.” As he spoke thus +he turned towards the boulevard, instead of the usual way towards the +embassy. ‘“We are going wrong,” said Norvins—“this leads to the +Breiten gasse.” +</p> +<p> +‘“I know it,” was the brief reply; “we must make for the country; the +thing was too public not to excite measures of precaution. We are to +rendezvous at Katznach.” ‘“With swords?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No; pistols, <i>this time</i>.” said he, with a fiendish emphasis on the +last words. +</p> +<p> +‘They walked on for above an hour, passing through the gate of the town, +and reaching the open country, each silent and lost in his own thoughts. +</p> +<p> +‘At a small cabaret they procured horses and a guide to Katznach, which +was about eleven miles up the mountain. The way was so steep that they +were obliged to walk their horses, and frequently to get down and lead +them; yet not a word was spoken on either side. Once, only, Norvins asked +how he was to get his pistols from Frankfort; to which the other answered +merely, “They provide the weapons!” and they were again silent. +</p> +<p> +‘Norvins was somewhat surprised, and offended also, that his companion +should have given him so little of his confidence at such a moment; +gladly, indeed, would he have exchanged his own thoughts for those of any +one else, but he left him to ruminate in silence on his unhappy position, +and to brood over miseries that every minute seemed to aggravate. +</p> +<p> +‘“They’re coming up the road yonder; I see them now,” said Van Halsdt +suddenly, as he aroused the other from a deep train of melancholy +thoughts. “Ha! how lame he walks!” cried he, with savage exultation. +</p> +<p> +‘In a few minutes the party, consisting of four persons, dismounted from +their horses, and entered the little burial-ground beside the chapel. One +of them advancing hastily towards Van Halsdt, shook him warmly by the +hand, and whispered something in his ear. The other replied; when the +first speaker turned towards Norvins with a look of ineffable scorn and +then passed over to the opposite group. Edward soon perceived that this +man was to act as Halsdt’s friend; and though really glad that such an +office fell not to his share, he was deeply offended on being thus, as it +were, passed over. In this state of dogged anger he sat down on a +tombstone, and, as if having no interest whatever in the whole +proceedings, never once looked towards them. +</p> +<p> +‘Norvins did not notice that the party now took the path towards the wood, +nor was he conscious of the flight of time, when suddenly the loud report +of two pistols, so close together as to be almost blended, rang through +his ears. Then he sprang up, a dreadful pang piercing his bosom, some +terrible sense of guilt he could neither fathom nor explain flashing +across him. At the same instant the brushwood crashed behind him, and Van +Halsdt and his companion came out; the former with his eyes glistening and +his cheek flushed, the other pale and dreadfully agitated. He nodded +towards Edward significantly, and Van Halsdt said, “Yes.” +</p> +<p> +‘Before Norvins could conjecture what this meant, the stranger approached +him, and said— +</p> +<p> +‘“I am sorry, sir, the sad work of this morning cannot end here; but of +course you are prepared to afford my friend the only reparation in your +power.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Me! reparation! what do you mean? Afford whom?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Monsieur van Halsdt,” said he coolly, and with a slight emphasis of +contempt as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +‘“Monsieur van Halsdt! he never offended <i>me</i>; I never insulted, +never injured <i>him</i>,” said Edward, trembling at every word. +</p> +<p> +‘“Never injured me!” cried Van Halsdt. “Is it nothing that you have ruined +me for ever; that your cowardice to resent an affront offered to one who +should have been dearer than your life, a hundred times told, should have +involved me in a duel with a man I swore never to meet, never to cross +swords nor exchange a shot with? Is it nothing that I am to be disgraced +by my king, disinherited by my father—a beggar and an exile at once? +Is it nothing, sir, that the oldest name of Friesland is to be blotted +from the nobles of his nation? Is it nothing that for you I should be <i>what +I now am?</i>” +</p> +<p> +‘The last words were uttered in a voice that made Norvins, very blood run +cold; but he could not speak, he could not mutter a word in answer. +</p> +<p> +‘“What!” said Van Halsdt, in an accent of cutting sarcasm, “I thought that +perhaps in the suddenness of the moment your courage, unprepared for an +unexpected call, might not have stood your part; but can it be true that +you are a coward? Is this the case?” +</p> +<p> +‘Norvins hung down his head; the sickness of death was on him. The +dreadful pause was broken at last; it was Van Halsdt who spoke— +</p> +<p> +‘“Adieu, sir; I grieve for you. I hope we may never meet again; yet let me +give you a counsel ere we part. There is but one coat men can wear with +impunity when they carry a malevolent and a craven spirit; you can be a———“’ +</p> +<p> +‘Monsieur l’Abbé, the dinner is on the table,’ said a servant, entering at +this moment of the story. +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Ma foi</i>, and so it is,’ said he, looking gaily at his watch, as he +rose from his chair. +</p> +<p> +‘But mademoiselle,’ said I, ‘what became of her?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, Marguerite: she was married to Van Halsdt in less than three months. +The cuirassier fortunately recovered from his wounds; the duel was shown +to be a thing forced by the stress of consequences. As for Van Halsdt, the +king forgave him, and he is now ambassador at Naples.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And the other, Norvins?—though I scarcely feel any interest in +him.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I’m sorry for it,’ said he, laughing; ‘but won’t you move forward?’ +</p> +<p> +With that he made me a polite bow to precede him towards the dinner-room, +and followed me with the jaunty step and the light gesture of an easy and +contented nature. +</p> +<p> +I need scarcely say that I did not sit next the abbé that day at dinner; +on the contrary, I selected the most stupid-looking old man I could find +for my neighbour, hugging myself in the thought, that, where there is +little agreeability, Nature may kindly have given in recompense some +traits of honesty and some vestiges of honour. Indeed, such a disgust did +I feel for the amusing features of the pleasantest part of the company, +and so inextricably did I connect repartee with rascality, that I trembled +at every good thing I heard, and stole away early to bed, resolving never +to take sudden fancies to agreeable people as long as I lived—an +oath which a long residence in a certain country that shall be nameless +happily permits me to keep, with little temptation to transgress. +</p> +<p> +The next morning was indeed a brilliant one—the earth refreshed by +rain, the verdure more brilliant, the mountain streams grown fuller; all +the landscape seemed to shine forth in its gladdest features. I was up and +stirring soon after sunrise; and with all my prejudices against such a +means of ‘lengthening one’s days,’ I sat at my window, actually entranced +with the beauty of the scene. Beyond the river there rose a heath-clad +mountain, along which misty masses of vapour swept hurriedly, disclosing +as they passed some tiny patch of cultivation struggling for life amid +granite rocks and abrupt precipices. As the sun grew stronger, the grey +tints became brown and the brown grew purple, while certain dark lines +that tracked their way from summit to base began to shine like silver, and +showed the course of many a mountain torrent tumbling and splashing +towards that little lake that lay calm as a mirror below. Immediately +beneath my window was the garden of the château— a succession of +terraces descending to the very river. The quaint yew hedges carved into +many a strange device, the balustrades half hidden by flowering shrubs and +creepers, the marble statues peeping out here and there, trim and orderly +as they looked, were a pleasant feature of the picture, and heightened the +effect of the desolate grandeur of the distant view. The very swans that +sailed about on the oval pond told of habitation and life, just as the +broad expanded wing that soared above the mountain peak spoke of the wild +region where the eagle was king. +</p> +<p> +My musings were suddenly brought to a close by a voice on the terrace +beneath. It was that of a man who was evidently, from his pace, enjoying +his morning’s promenade under the piazza of the château, while he hummed a +tune to pass away the time:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘“Why, soldiers, why +Should we be melancholy, boys? +Why, soldiers, why? +Whose business——” +</pre> +<p> +Holloa, there, François, ain’t they stirring yet? Why, it’s past six +o’clock!’ +</p> +<p> +The person addressed was a serving-man, who in the formidable attire of an +English groom—in which he was about as much at home as a coronation +champion feels in plate armour—was crossing the garden towards the +stables. +</p> +<p> +‘No, sir; the count won’t start before eight.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And when do we breakfast?’ +</p> +<p> +‘At seven, sir.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The devil! another hour— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Why, soldiers, why Should we be——-” +</pre> +<p> +I say, François, what horse do they mean for Mademoiselle Laura to-day?’ +</p> +<p> +‘The mare she rode on Wednesday, sir. Mademoiselle liked her very much.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And what have they ordered for the stranger that came the night before +last—the gentleman who was robbed——’ +</p> +<p> +‘I know, I know, sir; the roan, with the cut on her knee.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Why, she’s a mad one! she’s a runaway!’ +</p> +<p> +‘So she is, sir; but then monsieur is an Englishman, and the count says he +‘ll soon tame the roan filly.’ +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘“Why, soldiers, why——-”’ +</pre> +<p> +hummed the old colonel, for it was Muddleton himself; and the groom +pursued his way without further questioning. Whereupon two thoughts took +possession of my brain: one of which was, what peculiar organisation it is +which makes certain old people who have nothing to do early risers; the +other, what offence had I committed to induce the master of the château to +plot my sudden death. +</p> +<p> +The former has been a puzzle to me all my life. What a blessing should +sleep be to that class of beings who do nothing when awake; how they +should covet those drowsy hours that give, as it were, a sanction to +indolence; with what anxiety they ought to await the fall of day, as +announcing the period when they become the equals of their fellow-men; and +with what terror they should look forward to the time when the busy world +is up and stirring, and their incapacity and slothfulness only become more +glaring from contrast! Would not any one say that such people would +naturally cultivate sleep as their comforter? Should they not hug their +pillow as the friend of their bosom? On the contrary, these are invariably +your early risers. Every house where I have ever been on a visit has had +at least one of these troubled and troublesome spirits—the torment +of Boots, the horror of housemaids. Their chronic cough forms a duet with +the inharmonious crowing of the young cock, who for lack of better +knowledge proclaims day a full hour before his time. Their creaking shoes +are the accompaniment to the scrubbing of brass fenders and the twigging +of carpets, the jarring sounds of opening shutters and the cranking +discord of a hall door chain; their heavy step sounds like a nightmare’s +tread through the whole sleeping house. And what is the object of all +this? What new fact have they acquired; what difficult question have they +solved; whom have they made happier or wiser or better? Not Betty the +cook, certainly, whose morning levée of beggars they have most +unceremoniously scattered and scared; not Mary the housemaid, who, +unaccustomed to be caught <i>en déshabillé</i>, is cross the whole day +after, though he was ‘only an elderly gentleman, and wore spectacles’; not +Richard, who cleaned their shoes by candle-light; nor the venerable +butler, who from shame’s sake is up and dressed, but who, still asleep, +stands with his corkscrew in his hand, under the vague impression that it +is a late supper-party. +</p> +<p> +These people, too, have always a consequential, self-satisfied look about +them; they seem to say they know a ‘thing or two’ others have no wot of—as +though the day, more confidential when few were by, told them some capital +secrets the sleepers never heard of, and they made this pestilential habit +a reason for eating the breakfast of a Cossack, as if the consumption of +victuals was a cardinal virtue. Civilised differs from savage life as much +by the regulation of time as by any other feature. I see no objection to +your red man, who probably can’t go to breakfast till he has caught a +bear, being up betimes; but for the gentleman who goes to bed with the +conviction that hot rolls and coffee, tea and marmalade, bloaters and +honey, ham, muffins, and eggs await him at ten o’clock—for him, I +say, these absurd vagabondisms are an insufferable affectation, and a most +unwarrantable liberty with the peace and privacy of a household. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile, old Colonel Muddleton is parading below; and here we must leave +him for another chapter. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. THE CHASE +</h2> +<p> +I wish any one would explain to me why it is that the tastes and pursuits +of nations are far more difficult of imitation than their languages or +institutions. Nothing is more common than to find Poles and Russians +speaking half the tongues of Europe like natives. Germans frequently +attain to similar excellence; and some Englishmen have the gift also. In +the same way it would not be difficult to produce many foreigners well +acquainted with all the governmental details of the countries they have +visited—the policy, foreign and domestic; the statistics of debt and +taxation; the religious influences; the resources, and so forth. Indeed, +in our days of universal travel, this kind of information has more or less +become general, while the tastes and habits, which appear so much more +easily acquired, are the subjects of the most absurd mistakes, or the most +blundering imitation. To instance what I mean, who ever saw any but a +Hungarian dance the mazurka with even tolerable grace? Who ever saw +waltzing except among the Austrians? Who ever beheld ‘toilette’ out of +France? So it is, however. Some artificial boundary drawn with a red line +on a map by the hand of Nesselrode or Talleyrand, some pin stuck down in +the chart by the fingers of Metternich, decides the whole question, and +says, ‘Thus far shalt thou dance and no farther. Beyond this there are no +<i>pâtés de Perigord</i>. Here begin pipes and tobacco; there end macaroni +and music.’ +</p> +<p> +Whatever their previous tastes, men soon conform to the habits of a +nation, and these arbitrary boundaries of the gentlemen of the red tape +become like Nature’s own frontiers of flood or mountain. Not but it must +have been somewhat puzzling in the good days of the Consulate and the +Empire to trim one’s sails quick enough for the changes of the political +hurricane. You were an Italian yesterday, you are a Frenchman to-day; you +went to bed a Prussian, and you awoke a Dutchman. These were sore trials, +and had they been pushed much further, must have led to the most strange +misconceptions and mistakes. +</p> +<p> +Now, with a word of apology for the digression, let me come back to the +cause of it—and yet why should I make my excuses on this head? These +‘Loiterings’ of mine are as much in the wide field of dreamy thought as +over the plains and valleys of the material world. I never promised to +follow a regular track, nor did I set out on my journey bound, like a +king’s messenger, to be at my destination in a given time. Not a bit of +it. I ‘ll take ‘mine ease in mine inn.’ I’ll stay a week, a fortnight—ay, +a month, here, if I please it. You may not like the accommodation, nor +wish to put up with a ‘settle and stewed parsnips.’ Be it so. Here we part +company then. If you don’t like my way of travel, there’s the diligence, +or, if you prefer it, take the extra post, and calculate, if you can, how +to pay your postillion in kreutzers—invented by the devil, I +believe, to make men swear—and for miles, that change with every +little grand-duchy of three acres in extent. I wish you joy of your +travelling companions—the German who smokes, and the Frenchman who +frowns at you; the old <i>vrau</i> who falls asleep on your shoulder, and +the <i>bonne</i> who gives you a baby to hold in your lap. But why have I +put myself into this towering passion? Heaven knows it’s not my wont. And +once more to go back, and find, if I can, what I was thinking of. I have +it. This same digression of mine was <i>apropos</i> to the scene I +witnessed, as our breakfast concluded at the château. +</p> +<p> +All the world was to figure on horseback—the horses themselves no +bad evidence of the exertions used to mount the party. Here was a rugged +pony from the Ardennes, with short neck and low shoulder, his head broad +as a bull’s, and his counter like the bow of a Dutch galliot; there, a +great Flemish beast, seventeen hands high, with a tail festooned over a +straw ‘bustle,’ and even still hanging some inches on the ground—straight +in the shoulder, and straighter in the pasterns, giving the rider a shock +at every motion that to any other than a Fleming would lead to concussion +of the brain. Here stood an English thoroughbred, sadly ‘shook’ before, +and with that tremulous quivering of the forelegs that betokens a life of +hard work; still, with all his imperfections, and the mark of a spavin +behind, he looked like a gentleman among a crowd of low fellows—a +reduced gentleman it is true, but a gentleman still; his mane was long and +silky, his coat was short and glossy, his head finely formed, and well put +on his long, taper, and well-balanced neck. Beside him was a huge +Holsteiner, flapping his broad flanks with a tail like a weeping ash—a +great massive animal, that seemed from his action as if he were in the +habit of ascending stairs, and now and then got the shock one feels when +they come to a step too few. Among the mass there were some ‘Limousins’—pretty, +neatly formed little animals, with great strength for their appearance, +and showing a deal of Arab breeding—and an odd Schimmel or two from +Hungary, snorting and pawing like a war-horse; but the staple was a +collection of such screws as every week are to be seen at Tattersall’s +auction, announced as ‘first-rate weight-carriers with any foxhounds, fast +in double and single harness, and “believed” sound by the owner.’ +</p> +<p> +Well, what credulous people are the proprietors of horses! These are the +great exports to the Low Countries, repaid in mock Van Dycks, apocryphal +Rembrandts, and fabulous Hobbimas, for the exhibition of which in our +dining-rooms and libraries we are as heartily laughed at as they are for +their taste in manners equine. And in the same way exactly as we insist +upon a great name with our landscape or our battle, so your Fleming must +have a pedigree with his hunter. There must be ‘dam to Louisa,’ and ‘own +brother to Ratcatcher’ and Titus Oates, that won the ‘Levanter Handicap’ +in—no matter where. Oh dear, oh dear! when shall we have sense +enough to go without Snyders and Ostade? And when will Flemings be +satisfied to ride on beasts which befit them—strong of limb, slow of +gait, dull of temper, and not over-fastidious in feeding; whose parentage +has had no registry, and whose blood relations never were chronicled? +</p> +<p> +Truly, England is the land of ‘turn-out.’ All the foreign imitations of it +are most ludicrous—from Prince Max of Bavaria, who brought back with +him to Munich a lord-mayor’s coach, gilding, emblazonry, wigs, and all, as +the true type of a London equipage, down to those strange merry-andrew +figures in orange-plush breeches and sky-blue frocks, that one sees +galloping after their masters along the Champs Élysées, like insane comets +taking an airing on horseback. The whole thing is absurd. They cannot +accomplish it, do what they will; there’s no success in the endeavour. It +is like our miserable failures to get up a <i>petit dîner</i> or a <i>soirée</i>. +If, then, French, Italians, and Germans fail so lamentably, only think, I +beseech you, of Flemings—imagine Belgium <i>à cheval</i>! The author +of <i>Hudibras</i> discovered years ago that these people were fish; that +their land-life was a little bit of distraction they permitted themselves +to take from time to time, but that their real element was a dyke or a +canal. What would he have said had he seen them on horseback? +</p> +<p> +Now, I am free to confess that few men have less hope to win the world by +deeds of horsemanship than Arthur O’Leary. I have ever looked upon it as a +kind of presumption in me to get into the saddle. I have regarded my +taking the reins as a species of duplicity on my part—a tacit +assumption that I had any sort of control oyer the beast. I have appeared +to myself guilty of a moral misdemeanour—the ‘obtaining a ride under +false pretences.’ Yet when I saw myself astride of the ‘roan with the cut +on her knee,’ and looked around me at the others, I fancied that I must +have taken lessons from Franconi without knowing it; and even among the +moustached heroes of the evening before, I bore myself like a gallant +cavalier. +</p> +<p> +‘You sit your horse devilish like your father; he had just the same easy +<i>dégagé</i> way in his saddle,’ said the old colonel, tapping his +snuff-box, and looking at me with a smile of marked approval; while he +continued in a lower tone, ‘I ‘ve told Laura to get near you if the mare +becomes troublesome. The Flemings, you know, are not much to boast of as +riders.’ +</p> +<p> +I acknowledged the favour as well as I could, for already my horse was +becoming fidgety—every one about me thinking it essential to spur +and whip his beast into the nearest approach to mettle, and caper about +like so many devils, while they cried out to one another— +</p> +<p> +‘Regardez, Charles, comment il est vif ce “Tear away.” C’est une bête du +diable. Ah, tiens, tiens, vois donc “Albert.” Le voilà, c’est, +“All-in-my-eye,” fils de “Charles Fox,” frère de “Sevins-de-main.”’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, marquis, how goes it? Il est beau votre cheval.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oui, parbleu; he is frère aîné of “Kiss-mi-ladi,” qui a gagné le handicap +à l’Ile du Dogs.’ +</p> +<p> +And thus did these miserable imitators of Ascot and Doncaster, of +Leamington and the Quorn, talk the most insane nonsense, which had been +told to them by some London horse-dealer as the pedigree of their +hackneys. +</p> +<p> +It was really delightful amid all this to look at the two English girls, +who sat their horses so easily and so gracefully. Bending slightly with +each curvet, they only yielded to the impulse of the animal as much as +served to keep their own balance; the light but steady finger on the +bridle, the air of quiet composure, uniting elegance with command. What a +contrast to the distorted gesture, the desperate earnestness, and the +fearful tenacity of their much-whiskered companions! And yet it was to +please and fascinate these same pinchbeck sportsmen that these girls were +then there. If they rode over everything that day—fence or rail, +brook or bank—it was because the <i>chasse</i> to them was less <i>au +cerf</i> than <i>au mari</i>. +</p> +<p> +Such was the case. The old colonel had left England because he preferred +the Channel to the fleet; the glorious liberty which Englishmen are so +proud of would have been violated in his person had he remained. His +failing, like many others, was that he had lived ‘not wisely, but too +well’; and, in short, however cold the climate, London would have proved +too hot for him had he stayed another day in it. +</p> +<p> +What a deluge of such people float over the Continent, living well and +what is called ‘most respectably’; dining at embassies and dancing at +courts; holding their heads very high, too—most scrupulous about +acquaintances, and exclusive in all their intimacies! They usually prefer +foreign society to that of their countrymen, for obvious reasons. Few +Frenchmen read the <i>Gazette</i>. I never heard of a German who knew +anything about the list of outlaws. Of course they have no more to say to +English preserves, and so they take out a license to shoot over the +foreign manors; and though a marquis or a count are but ‘small deer,’ it’s +the only game left, and they make the best of it. +</p> +<p> +At last the host appeared, attired in a scarlet frock, and wearing a badge +at his button-hole something about the shape and colour of a new +penny-piece. He was followed by above a dozen others, similarly habited, +minus the badge; and then came about twenty more, dressed in green frocks, +with red collars and cuffs—a species of smaller deities, who I +learned were called ‘Aspirants,’ though to what they aspired, where it +was, or when they hoped for it, nobody could inform me. Then there were <i>piqueurs</i> +and grooms and whippers-in without number, all noisy and all boisterous—about +twenty couple of fox-hounds giving tongue, and a due proportion of the +scarlet folk blowing away at that melodious pipe, the <i>cor de chasse</i>. +</p> +<p> +With this goodly company I moved forward, ‘alone, but in a crowd’; for, +unhappily, my want of tact as a sporting character the previous evening +had damaged me seriously with the hunting youths, and Mademoiselle Laura +showed no desire to accept the companionship her worthy father had +selected for her. ‘No matter,’ thought I, ‘there’s a great deal to see +here, and I can do without chatting in so stirring a scene as this.’ +</p> +<p> +Her companion was the Comte d’Espagne, an admirable specimen of what the +French call ‘Tigre’; for be it known that the country which once obtained +a reputation little short of ludicrous for its excess of courtesy and the +surplusage of its ceremony, has now, in the true spirit of reaction, +adopted a degree of abruptness we should call rudeness, and a species of +cold effrontery we might mistake for insolence. The disciples of this new +school are significantly called ‘Young France,’ and are distinguished for +length of hair and beard, a look of frowning solemnity and mock +preoccupation, very well-fitting garments and yellow gloves. These +gentlemen are sparing of speech, and more so of gesture. They give one to +understand that some onerous deed of regeneration is expected at their +hands, some revival of the old spirit of the nation; though in what way it +is to originate in curled moustaches and lacquered boots is still a +mystery to the many. But enough of them now; only of these was the Comte +d’Espagne. +</p> +<p> +I had almost forgotten to speak of one part of our cortége, which should +certainly not be omitted. This was a wooden edifice on wheels, drawn by a +pair of horses at a brisk rate at the tail of the procession. At first it +occurred to me that it might be an ambulant dog-kennel, to receive the +hounds on their return. Then I suspected it to be a walking hospital for +wounded sportsmen; and certainly I could not but approve of the idea, as I +called to mind the position of any unlucky <i>chasseur</i>, in the event +of a fall, with his fifteen feet of ‘metal main’ around him, and I only +hoped that a plumber accompanied the expedition. My humanity, however, led +me astray; the pagoda was destined for the accommodation of a stag, who +always assisted at the <i>chasse</i>, whenever no other game could be +started. This venerable beast, some five-and-twenty years in the service, +was like a stock piece in the theatres, which, always ready, could be +produced without a moment’s notice. Here was no rehearsal requisite if a +prima donna was sulky or a tenor was drunk; if the fox wouldn’t show or +the deer were shy, there was the stag, perfectly prepared for a pleasant +canter of a few miles, and ready, if no one was intemperately precipitate, +to give a very agreeable morning’s sport. His perfections, however, went +further than this; for he was trained to cross the highroad at all +convenient thoroughfares, occasionally taking the main streets of a +village or the market-place of a bourg, swimming whenever the water was +shallow enough to follow him on horseback, and giving up the ghost at the +blast of a <i>grand maître’s</i> bugle with an accuracy as unerring as +though he had performed at Franconi’s. +</p> +<p> +Unhappily for me, I was not fated to witness an exhibition of his powers; +for scarcely had we emerged from the wood when the dogs were laid on, and +soon after found a fox. +</p> +<p> +For some time the scene was an animated one, as every Fleming seemed to +pin his faith on some favourite dog; and it was rather amusing to witness +the eagerness with which each followed the movements of his adopted +animal, cheering him on, and encouraging him to the top of his bent. At +last the word ‘Away’ was given, and suddenly the dogs broke cover, and +made across the plain in the direction of a great wood, or rather forest, +above a mile off. The country, happily for most of us (I know it was so +for me), was an open surface of gentle undulation, stubble and turnips the +only impediments, and clay soft enough to make a fall easy. +</p> +<p> +The sight was so far exhilarating that red coats in a gallop have always a +pleasant effect; besides which, the very concourse of riders looks well. +However, even as unsportsmanlike an eye as mine could detect the flaws in +jockeyship about me—the fierce rushings of the gentlemen who pushed +through the deepest ground with a loose rein, flogging manfully the while; +the pendulous motions of others between the mane and the haunches, with +every stride of the beast. +</p> +<p> +But I had little time for such speculations; the hour of my own trial was +approaching. The roan was getting troublesome, the pace was gradually +working up her mettle; and she had given three or four preparatory bounds, +as though to see whether she’d part company with me before she ran away or +not. My own calculations at the moment were not very dissimilar; I was +meditating a rupture of the partnership too. The matrix of a full-length +figure of Arthur O’Leary in red clay was the extent of any damage I could +receive, and I only looked for a convenient spot where I might fall +unseen. As I turned my head on every side, hoping for some secluded nook, +some devil of a hunter, by way of directing the dogs, gave a blast of his +brass instrument about a hundred yards before me. The thing was now +settled; the roan gave a whirl of her long vicious tail, plunged +fearfully, and throwing down her head and twisting it to one side, as if +to have a peep at my confusion, away she went. From having formed one of +the rear-guard, I now closed up with the main body—‘aspirants’ all—through +whom I dashed like a catapult, and notwithstanding repeated shouts of +‘Pull in, sir!’ ‘Hold back!’ etc, I continued my onward course; a few +seconds more and I was in the thick of the scarlet coats, my beast at the +stretch of her speed, and caring nothing for the bridle. Amid a shower of +<i>sacrés</i> that fell upon me like hail, I sprang through them, making +the ‘red ones’ black with every stroke of my gallop. Leaving them far +behind, I flew past the <i>grand maître</i> himself, who rode in the van, +almost upsetting him by a side spring, as I passed—a malediction +reaching me as I went; but the forest soon received me in its dark +embrace, and I saw no more. +</p> +<p> +It was at first a source of consolation to me to think that every stride +removed me from the reach of those whose denunciations I had so +unfortunately incurred; <i>grand maître, chasseurs</i>, and ‘aspirants’—they +were all behind me. Ay, for that matter, so were the dogs and the <i>piqueurs</i>, +and, for aught I knew, the fox with them. When I discovered, however, that +the roan continued her speed still unabated, I began to be somewhat +disconcerted. It was true the ground was perfectly smooth and safe—a +long <i>allée</i> of the wood, with turf shorn close as a pleasure-ground. +I pulled and sawed the bit, I jerked the bridle, and performed all the +manual exercise I could remember as advised in such extremities, but to no +use. It seemed to me that some confounded echo started the beast, and +incited her to increased speed. Just as this notion struck me, I heard a +voice behind cry out— +</p> +<p> +‘Do hold in! Try and hold in, Mr. O’Leary!’ I turned my head, and there +was Laura, scarce a length behind, her thoroughbred straining every sinew +to come up. No one else was in sight, and there we were, galloping like +mad, with the wood all to ourselves. +</p> +<p> +I can very well conceive why the second horse in a race does his best to +get foremost, if it were only the indulgence of a very natural piece of +curiosity to see what the other has been running for; but why the first +one only goes the faster because there are others behind him, that is a +dead puzzle to me. But so it was; my ill-starred beast never seemed to +have put forth her full powers till she was followed. <i>Ventre à terre</i>, +as the French say, was now the pace; and though from time to time Laura +would cry out to me to hold back, I could almost swear I heard her +laughing at my efforts. Meanwhile the wood was becoming thicker and +closer, and the <i>allée</i> narrower and evidently less travelled. Still +it seemed to have no end or exit; scarcely had we rounded one turn when a +vista of miles would seem to stretch away before us, passing over which, +another, as long again, would appear. +</p> +<p> +After about an hour’s hard galloping, if I dare form any conjecture as to +the flight of time, I perceived with a feeling of triumph that the roan +was relaxing somewhat in her stride; and that she was beginning to evince, +by an up-and-down kind of gait, what sailors call a ‘fore-and aft’ motion, +that she was getting enough of it. I turned and saw Laura about twenty +yards behind—her thoroughbred dead beat, and only able to sling +along at that species of lobbing canter blood-cattle can accomplish under +any exigency. With a bold effort I pulled up short, and she came alongside +of me; and before I could summon courage to meet the reproaches I expected +for having been the cause of her runaway, she relieved my mind by a burst +of as merry and good-tempered laughter as ever I listened to. The emotion +was contagious, and so I laughed too, and it was full five minutes before +either of us could speak. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, Mr. O’Leary, I hope you know where we are,’ said she, drying her +eyes, where the sparkling drops of mirth were standing, ‘for I assure you +I don’t.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, perfectly,’ replied I, as my eye caught a board nailed against a +tree, on which some very ill-painted letters announced ‘La route de +Bouvigne’—‘we are on the highroad to Bouvigne, wherever that may +be.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Bouvigne!’ exclaimed she, in an accent of some alarm; ‘why, it’s five +leagues from the château! I travelled there once by the highroad. How are +we ever to get back?’ +</p> +<p> +That was the very question I was then canvassing in my own mind, without a +thought of how it was to be solved. However, I answered with an easy +indifference, ‘Oh, nothing easier; we ‘ll take a <i>calèche</i> at +Bouvigne.’ +</p> +<p> +‘But they ‘ve none.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Well, then, fresh horses.’ +</p> +<p> +‘There’s not a horse in the place; it’s a little village near the Meuse, +surrounded with tall granite rocks, and only remarkable for its ruined +castle, the ancient schloss of Philip de Bouvigne.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How interesting!’ said I, delighted to catch at anything which should +give the conversation a turn; ‘and who was Philip de Bouvigne?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Philip,’ said the lady, ‘was the second or third count, I forget which, +of the name. The chronicles say that he was the handsomest and most +accomplished youth of the time. Nowhere could he meet his equal at joust +or tournament; while his skill in arms was the least of his gifts—he +was a poet and a musician. In fact, if you were only to believe his +historians, he was the most dangerous person for the young ladies of those +days to meet with. Not that he ran away with them, <i>sur la grande route</i>.’ +As she said this, a burst of laughing stopped her; and it was one I could +really forgive, though myself the object of it. ‘However,’ resumed she, ‘I +believe he was just as bad. Well, to pursue my story, when Philip was but +eighteen, it chanced that a party of warriors bound for the Holy Land came +past the Castle of Bouvigne, and of course passed the night there. From +them, many of whom had already been in Palestine, Philip heard the +wondrous stories the crusaders ever brought back of combats and +encounters, of the fearful engagements with the infidels and the glorious +victories of the Cross. And at length, so excited did his mind become by +the narrations, that he resolved on the spot to set out for the Holy Land, +and see with his own eyes the wonderful things they had been telling him. +</p> +<p> +‘This resolution could not fail of being applauded by the rest, and by +none was it met with such decided approval as by Henri de Bethune, a young +Liégeois, then setting out on his first crusade, who could not help +extolling Philip’s bravery, and above all his devotion in the great cause, +in quitting his home and his young and beautiful wife; for I must tell +you, as indeed I ought to have told you before, he had been but a few +weeks married to the lovely Alice de Franchemont, the only daughter of the +old Graf de Franchemont, of whose castle you may see the ruins near Chaude +Fontaine.’ +</p> +<p> +I nodded assent, and she went on. +</p> +<p> +‘Of course you can imagine the dreadful grief of the young countess when +her husband broke to her his determination. If I were a novelist I’d tell +you of tears and entreaties and sighs and faintings, of promises and +pledges and vows, and so forth; for, indeed, it was a very sorrowful piece +of business, as she didn’t at all fancy passing some three or four years +alone in the old keep at Bouvigne, with no society, not one single friend +to speak to. At first, indeed, she would not hear of it; and it was only +at length when Henri de Bethune undertook to plead for him—for he +kindly remained several days at the château, to assist his friend at this +conjuncture—that she gave way, and consented. Still, her consent was +wrung from her against her convictions, and she was by no means satisfied +that the arguments she yielded to were a whit too sound. And this, let me +remark, <i>en passant</i>, is a most dangerous species of assent, when +given by a lady; and one she always believes to be something of the nature +of certain Catholic vows, which are only binding while you believe them +reasonable and just.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Is that really so?’ interrupted I. ‘Do you, indeed, give me so low a +standard of female fidelity as this?’ +</p> +<p> +‘If women are sometimes false,’ replied she, ‘it is because men are never +true; but I must go on with my tale.—Away went Count Philip, and +with him his friend De Bethune—the former, if the fact were known, +just as low-spirited, when the time came, as the countess herself. But, +then, he had the double advantage that he had a friend to talk with and +make participator of his sorrows, besides being the one leaving, not +left.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I don’t know,’ interrupted I at this moment, ‘that you are right there; I +think that the associations which cling to the places where we have been +happy are a good requital for the sorrowful memories they may call up. I +‘d rather linger around the spot consecrated by the spirit of past +pleasure, and dream over again, hour by hour, day by day, the bliss I knew +there, than break up the charm of such memories by the vulgar incidents of +travel and the commonplace adventures of a journey.’ +</p> +<p> +‘There I differ from you completely,’ replied she. ‘All your reflections +and reminiscences, give them as fine names as you will, are nothing but +sighings and repinings for what cannot come back again; and such things +only injure the temper, and spoil the complexion, whereas—— +But what are you laughing at?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I was smiling at your remark, which has only a feminine application.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How teasing you are! I declare I ‘ll argue no more with you. Do you want +to hear my story?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Of all things; I ‘m greatly interested in it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Well, then, you must not interrupt me any more. Now, where was I? You +actually made me forget where I stopped.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You were just at the point where they set out, Philip and his friend, for +the Holy Land.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You must not expect from me any spirit-stirring narrative of the events +in Palestine. Indeed, I’m not aware if the <i>Chronique de Flandre</i>, +from which I take my tale, says anything very particular about Philip de +Bouvigne’s performances. Of course they were in accordance with his former +reputation: he killed his Saracens, like a true knight—that there +can be no doubt of. As for Henri de Bethune, before the year was over he +was badly wounded, and left on the field of battle, where some said he +expired soon after, others averring that he was carried away to slavery. +Be that as it might, Philip continued his career with all the enthusiasm +of a warrior and a devotee, a worthy son of the Church, and a brave +soldier—unfortunately, however, forgetting the poor countess he had +left behind him, pining away her youth at the barred casements of the old +château; straining her eyes from day to day along the narrow causeway that +led to the castle, and where no charger’s hoof re-echoed, as of old, to +tell of the coming of her lord. Very bad treatment, you ‘ll confess; and +so, with your permission, we’ll keep her company for a little while. +Madame la Comtesse de Bouvigne, as some widows will do, only become the +prettier from desertion. Her traits of beauty mellowed by a tender +melancholy, without being marked too deeply by grief, assumed an +imaginative character, or what men mistake for it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Indeed!’ said I, catching at the confession. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, I’m sure it is so,’ replied she. ‘In the great majority of cases +you are totally ignorant of what is passing in a woman’s mind. The girl +that seemed all animation to-day may have an air of deep depression +to-morrow, and of downright wildness the next, simply by changing her +coiffure from ringlets to braids, and from a bandeau to a state of +dishevelled disorder. A little flattery of yourselves, artfully and well +done, and you are quite prepared to believe anything. In any case, the +countess was very pretty and very lonely. +</p> +<p> +‘In those good days when gentlemen left home, there were neither theatres +nor concerts to amuse their poor neglected wives; they had no operas nor +balls nor soirées nor promenades. No; their only resource was to work away +at some huge piece of landscape embroidery, which, begun in childhood, +occupied a whole life, and transmitted a considerable labour of background +and foliage to the next generation. The only pleasant people in those +times, it seems to me, were the <i>jongleurs</i> and the pilgrims; they +went about the world fulfilling the destinies of newspapers; they +chronicled the little events of the day—births, marriages, deaths, +etc.—and must have been a great comfort on a winter’s evening. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, it so chanced that as the countess sat at her window one evening, +as usual, watching the sun go down, she beheld a palmer coming slowly +along up the causeway, leaning on his staff, and seeming sorely tired and +weary—— +</p> +<p> +‘But see,’ cried Laura, at this moment, as we gained the crest of a gentle +acclivity, ‘yonder is Bouvigne; it is a fine thing even yet.’ +</p> +<p> +We both reined in our horses, the better to enjoy the prospect; and +certainly it was a grand one. Behind us, and stretching for miles in +either direction, was the great forest we had been traversing; the old +Ardennes had been a forest in the times of Caesar, its narrow pathways +echoing to the tread of Roman legions. In front was a richly cultivated +plain, undulating gently towards the Meuse, whose silver current wound +round it like a garter—the opposite bank being formed by an abrupt +wall of naked rocks of grey granite, sparkling with its brilliant hues, +and shining doubly in the calm stream at its foot. On one of the highest +cliffs, above an angle of the river, and commanding both reaches of the +stream for a considerable way, stood Bouvigne. Two great square towers +rising above a battlemented wall, pierced with long loopholes, stood out +against the clear sky; one of them, taller than the other, was surmounted +by a turret at the angle, from the top of which something projected +laterally, like a beam. +</p> +<p> +‘Do you see that piece of timber yonder?’ said Laura. ‘Yes,’ said I; ‘it’s +the very thing I’ve been looking at, and wondering what it could mean.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Carry your eye downward,’ said she, ‘and try if you can’t make out a low +wall connecting two masses of rock together, far, far down: do you see +it?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I see a large archway, with some ivy over it.’ ‘That’s it; that was the +great entrance to the schloss; before it is the fosse—a huge ditch +cut in the solid rock, so deep as to permit the water of the Meuse, when +flooded, to flow into it. Well, now, if you look again, you ‘ll see that +the great beam above hangs exactly over that spot. It was one of the rude +defences of the time, and intended, by means of an iron basket which hung +from its extremity, to hurl great rocks and stones upon any assailant. The +mechanism can still be traced by which it was moved back and loaded; the +piece of rope which opened the basket at each discharge of its contents +was there not many years ago. There’s a queer, uncouth representation of +the <i>panier de la mort</i>, as it is called, in the <i>Chronique</i>, +which you can see in the old library at Rochepied. But here we are already +at the ferry.’ +</p> +<p> +As she spoke we had just reached the bank of the Meuse, and in front was a +beautifully situated little village, which, escarped in the mountain, +presented a succession of houses at different elevations, all looking +towards the stream. They were mostly covered with vines and honeysuckles, +and with the picturesque outlines of gable and roof, diamond windows and +rustic porches, had a very pleasing effect. +</p> +<p> +As I looked, I had little difficulty in believing that they were not a +very equestrian people—the little pathways that traversed their +village being inaccessible save to foot-passengers, frequently ascending +by steps cut in the rock, or by rude staircases of wood which hung here +and there over the edge of the cliff in anything but a tempting way, the +more so, as they trembled and shook with every foot that passed over them. +Little mindful of this, the peasants might now be seen leaning over their +frail barriers, and staring at the unwonted apparition of two figures on +horseback, while I was endeavouring, by signs and gestures, to indicate +our wish to cross over. +</p> +<p> +At last a huge raft appeared to move from beneath the willows of the +opposite bank, and by the aid of a rope fastened across the stream two men +proceeded slowly to ferry the great platform over. Leading our horses +cautiously forward, we embarked in this frail craft, and landed safely in +Bouvigne. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. A NARROW ESCAPE +</h2> +<p> +‘Will you please to tell me, Mr. O’Leary,’ said Laura, in the easy tone of +one who asked for information’s sake, ‘what are your plans here; for up to +this moment I only perceive that we have been increasing the distance +between us and Rochepied.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Quite true,’ said I; ‘but you know we agreed it was impossible to hope to +find our way back through the forest. Every <i>allée</i> here has not only +its brother, but a large family, so absolutely alike no one could +distinguish between them; we might wander for weeks without extricating +ourselves.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I know all that,’ said she somewhat pettishly; ‘still my question remains +unanswered. What do you mean to do here?’ +</p> +<p> +‘In the first place,’ said I, with the affected precision of one who had +long since resolved on his mode of proceeding, ‘we ‘ll dine.’ +</p> +<p> +I stopped here to ascertain her sentiments on this part of my arrangement. +She gave a short nod, and I proceeded. ‘Having dined,’ said I, ‘we’ll +obtain horses and a calèche, if such can be found, for Rochepied.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ve told you already there are no such things here. They never see a +carriage of any kind from year’s end to year’s end; and there is not a +horse in the whole village.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Perhaps, then, there may be a château near, where, on making known our +mishap, we might be able——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, that’s very simple, as far as you ‘re concerned,’ said she, with a +saucy smile; ‘but I’d just as soon not have this adventure published over +the whole country.’ +</p> +<p> +Ha! by Jove, thought I, there’s a consideration completely overlooked by +me; and so I became silent and thoughtful, and spoke not another word as +we led our horses up the little rocky causeway towards the ‘Toison d’Or.’ +</p> +<p> +If we did not admire the little <i>auberge</i> of the ‘Golden Fleece,’ +truly the fault was rather our own than from any want of merit in the +little hostelry itself. Situated on a rocky promontory on the river, it +was built actually over the stream—the door fronting it, and +approachable by a little wooden gallery, along which a range of +orange-trees and arbutus was tastefully disposed, scenting the whole air +with their fragrance. As we walked along we caught glimpses of several +rooms within, neatly and even handsomely furnished—and of one salon +in particular, where books and music lay scattered on the tables, with +that air of habitation so pleasant to look on. +</p> +<p> +So far from our appearance in a neighbourhood thus remote and secluded +creating any surprise, both host and hostess received us with the most +perfect ease, blended with a mixture of cordial civility very acceptable +at the moment. +</p> +<p> +‘We wish to dine at once,’ said I, as I handed Laura to a chair. +</p> +<p> +‘And to know in what way we can reach Rochepied,’ said she; ‘our horses +are weary and not able for the road.’ +</p> +<p> +‘For the dinner, mademoiselle, nothing is easier; but as to getting +forward to-night——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, of course I mean to-night—at once.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, voilà,’ said he, scratching his forehead in bewilderment; ‘we’re not +accustomed to that, never. People generally stop a day or two; some spend +a week here, and have horses from Dinant to meet them.’ +</p> +<p> +‘A week here!’ exclaimed she; ‘and what in Heaven’s name can they do here +for a week?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Why, there’s the château, mademoiselle—the château of Philip de +Bouvigne, and the gardens terraced in the rock; and there’s the well of +St. Sèvres, and the Ile de Notre Dame aux bois; and then there’s such +capital fishing in the stream, with abundance of trout.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, delightful, I’m sure,’ said she impatiently; ‘but we wish to get on. +So just set your mind to that, like a worthy man.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Well, we’ll see what can be done,’ replied he; ‘and before dinner’s over, +perhaps I may find some means to forward you.’ +</p> +<p> +With this he left the room, leaving mademoiselle and myself <i>tête-à-tête</i>. +And here let me confess, never did any man feel his situation more +awkwardly than I did mine at that moment; and before any of my younger and +more ardent brethren censure me, let me at least ‘show cause’ in my +defence. First, I myself, however unintentionally, had brought +Mademoiselle Laura into her present embarrassment; but for me and the +confounded roan she had been at that moment cantering away pleasantly with +the Comte d’Espagne beside her, listening to his <i>fleurettes</i> and +receiving his attentions. Secondly, I was, partly from bashfulness, partly +from fear, little able to play the part my present emergency demanded, +which should either have been one of downright indifference and ease, or +something of a more tender nature, which indeed the very pretty companion +of my travels might have perfectly justified. +</p> +<p> +‘Well,’ said she, after a considerable pause, ‘this is about the most +ridiculous scrape I’ve ever been involved in. What <i>will</i> they think +at the château?’ +</p> +<p> +‘If they saw your horse when he bolted——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Of course they did,’ said she; ‘but what could they do? The Comte +d’Espagne is always mounted on a slow horse: <i>he</i> couldn’t overtake +me; then the <i>maîtres</i> couldn’t pass the grand maître.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What!’ cried I, in amazement; ‘I don’t comprehend you perfectly.’ +</p> +<p> +‘It’s quite clear, nevertheless,’ replied she; ‘but I see you don’t know +the rules of the <i>chasse</i> in Flanders.’ +</p> +<p> +With this she entered into a detail of the laws of the hunting-field, +which more than once threw me into fits of laughter. It seemed, then, that +the code decided that each horseman who followed the hounds should not be +left to the wilfulness of his horse or the aspirings of his ambition, as +to the place he occupied in the chase. It was no momentary superiority of +skill or steed, no display of jockeyship, no blood that decided this +momentous question. No; that was arranged on principles far less +vacillating and more permanent at the commencement of the hunting season, +by which it was laid down as a rule that the <i>grand maître</i> was +always to ride first. His pace might be fast or it might be slow, but his +place was there. After him came the <i>maîtres</i>, the people in scarlet, +who in right of paying double subscription were thus costumed and thus +privileged; while the ‘aspirants’ in green followed last, their smaller +contribution only permitting them to see so much of the sport as their +respectful distance opened to them—and thus that indiscriminate +rush, so observable in our hunting-fields, was admirably avoided and +provided against. It was no headlong piece of reckless daring, no +impetuous dash of bold horsemanship; on the contrary, it was a decorous +and stately canter—not after hounds, but after an elderly gentleman +in a red coat and a brass tube, who was taking a quiet airing in the +pleasing delusion that he was hunting an animal unknown. Woe unto the man +who forgot his place in the procession! You might as well walk into dinner +before your host, under the pretence that you were a more nimble +pedestrian. +</p> +<p> +Besides this, there were subordinate rules to no end. Certain notes on the +<i>cor de chasse</i> were royalties of the <i>grand maître</i>; the <i>maîtres</i> +possessed others as their privileges which no ‘aspirant’ dare venture on. +There were quavers for one, and semiquavers for the other; and, in fact, a +most complicated system of legislation comprehended every incident, and I +believe every accident, of the sport, so much that I can’t trust my memory +as to whether the wretched ‘aspirants’ were not limited to tumbling in one +particular direction—which, if so, must have been somewhat of a +tyranny, seeing they were but men, and Belgians. +</p> +<p> +‘This might seem all very absurd and very fabulous if I referred to a +number of years back; but when I say that the code still exists, in the +year of grace, 1856, what will they say at Melton or Grantham? So you may +imagine,’ said Laura, on concluding her description, which she gave with +much humour, ‘how manifold your transgressions have been this day. You +have offended the <i>grand maître, maîtres</i>, and aspirants, in one <i>coup</i>; +you have broken up the whole “order of their going.”’ +</p> +<p> +‘And run away with the belle of the château,’ added I, <i>pour comble de +hardiesse</i>. She did not seem half to relish my jest, however; and gave +a little shake of the head, as though to say, ‘You’re not out of <i>that</i> +scrape yet.’ +</p> +<p> +Thus did we chat over our dinner, which was really excellent, the host’s +eulogy on the Meuse trout being admirably sustained by their merits; nor +did his flask of Haut-Brion lower the character of his cellar. Still no +note of preparation seemed to indicate any arrangements for our departure; +and although, sooth to say, I could have reconciled myself wonderfully to +the inconvenience of the Toison d’Or for the whole week if necessary, +Laura was becoming momentarily more impatient, as she said— +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Do</i> see if they are getting anything like a carriage ready, or even +horses; we can ride, if they’ll only get us animals.’ +</p> +<p> +As I entered the little kitchen of the inn, I found my host stretched at +ease in a wicker chair, surrounded by a little atmosphere of smoke, +through which his great round face loomed like the moon in the grotesque +engravings one sees in old spelling-books. So far from giving himself any +unnecessary trouble about our departure, he had never ventured beyond the +precincts of the stove, contenting himself with a wholesome monologue on +the impossibility of our desires, and that great Flemish consolation, that +however we might chafe at first, time would calm us in the end. +</p> +<p> +After a fruitless interrogation about the means of proceeding, I asked if +there were no château in the vicinity where horses could be borrowed. +</p> +<p> +He replied,’ No, not one for miles round.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Is there no mayor in the village—where is he?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I am the mayor,’ replied he, with a conscious dignity. +</p> +<p> +‘Alas!’ thought I, as the functionary of Givet crossed my mind, ‘why did I +not remember that the mayor is always the most stupid of the whole +community?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Then I think,’ said I, after a brief silence, ‘we had better see the curé +at once.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I thought so,’ was the sententious reply. +</p> +<p> +Without troubling my head why he ‘thought so,’ I begged that the curé +might be informed that a gentleman at the inn begged to speak with him for +a few minutes. +</p> +<p> +‘The Père José, I suppose?’ said the host significantly. +</p> +<p> +‘With all my heart,’ said I; ‘José or Pierre, it’s all alike to me.’ +</p> +<p> +‘He is there in waiting this half-hour,’ said the host, pointing with his +thumb to a small salon off the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +‘Indeed!’ said I; ‘how very polite the attention! I ‘m really most +grateful.’ +</p> +<p> +With which, without delaying another moment, I pushed open the door, and +entered. +</p> +<p> +The Père José was a short, ruddy, astute-looking man of about fifty, +dressed in the canonical habit of a Flemish priest, which from time and +wear had lost much of its original freshness. He had barely time to +unfasten a huge napkin, which he had tied around his neck during his +devotion to a great mess of vegetable soup, when I made my bow to him. +</p> +<p> +‘The Père José, I believe?’ said I, as I took my seat opposite to him. +</p> +<p> +‘That unworthy priest!’ said he, wiping his lips, and throwing up his eyes +with an expression not wholly devotional. +</p> +<p> +‘Père José,’ resumed I, ‘a young lady and myself, who have just arrived +here with weary horses, stand in need of your kind assistance.’ Here he +pressed my hand gently, as if to assure me I was not mistaken in my man, +and I went on: ‘We must reach Rochepied to-night; now, will you try and +assist us at this conjuncture? We are complete strangers.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Enough, enough!’ said he. ‘I’m sorry you are constrained for time. This +is a sweet little place for a few days’ sojourn. But if,’ said he, ‘it +can’t be, you shall have every aid in my power. I ‘ll send off to Poil de +Vache for his mule and car. You don’t mind a little shaking?’ said he, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +‘It’s no time to be fastidious, <i>père</i>, and the lady is an excellent +traveller.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The mule is a good beast, and will bring you in three hours, or even +less.’ So saying, he sat down and wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper, +with which he despatched a boy from the inn, telling him to make every +haste. ‘And now monsieur, may I be permitted to pay my respects to +mademoiselle?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Most certainly, Père José; she will be but too happy to add her thanks to +mine for what you have done for us.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Say rather, for what I am about to do,’ said he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +‘The will is half the deed, father.’ +</p> +<p> +‘A good adage, and an old,’ replied he, while he proceeded to arrange his +drapery, and make himself as presentable as the nature of his costume +would admit. +</p> +<p> +‘This was a rapid business of yours,’ said he, as he smoothed down his few +locks at the back of his head. +</p> +<p> +‘That it was, <i>père</i>—a regular runaway.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I guessed as much,’ said he. ‘I said so, the moment I saw you at the +ferry.’ +</p> +<p> +The <i>père</i> is no bad judge of horse-flesh, thought I, to detect the +condition of our beasts at that distance. +</p> +<p> +‘“There’s something for me,” said I to Madame Guyon. “Look yonder! See how +their cattle are blowing! They’ve lost no time, and neither will I.” And +with that I put on my gown and came up here.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How considerate of you, <i>père</i>; you saw we should need your help.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Of course I did,’ said he, chuckling. ‘Of course I did. Old Grégoire, +here, is so stupid and so indolent that I have to keep a sharp lookout +myself. But he’s the <i>maire</i>, and one can’t quarrel with him.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Very true,’ said I. ‘A functionary has a hundred opportunities of doing +civil things, or the reverse.’ +</p> +<p> +‘That’s exactly the case,’ said the <i>père</i>. ‘Without him we should +have no law on our side. It would be all <i>sous la cheminée</i>, as they +say.’ +</p> +<p> +The expression was new to me, and I imagined the good priest to mean, that +without the magistrature, respect for the laws might as well be ‘up the +chimney.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And now, if you will allow me, we ‘ll pay our duty to the lady,’ said the +Père José, when he had completed his toilette to his satisfaction. +</p> +<p> +When the ceremonial of presenting the <i>père</i> was over I informed +Laura of his great kindness in our behalf, and the trouble he had taken to +provide us with an equipage. +</p> +<p> +‘A sorry one, I fear, mademoiselle,’ interposed he, with a bow. ‘But I +believe there are few circumstances in life where people are more willing +to endure sacrifices.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Then monsieur has explained to you our position?’ said Laura, half +blushing at the absurdity of the adventure. +</p> +<p> +‘Everything, my dear young lady—everything. Don’t let the thought +give you any uneasiness, however. I listen to stranger stories every day. +</p> +<p> +‘Taste that Haut-Brion, <i>père</i>,’ said I, wishing to give the +conversation a turn, as I saw Laura felt uncomfortable, ‘and give me your +opinion of it. To my judgment it seems excellent.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And your judgment is unimpeachable in more respects than that,’ said the +<i>père</i>, with a significant look, which fortunately was not seen by +mademoiselle. +</p> +<p> +Confound him, said I to myself; I must try another tack. ‘We were +remarking, Père José, as we came along that very picturesque river, the +Château de Bouvigne; a fine thing in its time, it must have been.’ +</p> +<p> +‘You know the story, I suppose?’ said the père. +</p> +<p> +‘Mademoiselle was relating it to me on the way, and indeed I am most +anxious to hear the dénouement.’ +</p> +<p> +‘It was a sad one,’ said he slowly. ‘I’ll show you the spot where Henri +fell—the stone that marks the place.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, Père José,’ said Laura, ‘I must stop you—indeed I must—or +the whole interest of my narrative will be ruined. You forget that +monsieur has not heard the tale out.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah! <i>ma foi</i>, I beg pardon—a thousand pardons. Mademoiselle, +then, knows Bouvigne?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ve been here once before, but only part of a morning. I ‘ve seen +nothing but the outer court of the château and the <i>fosse du traître</i>.’ +</p> +<p> +‘So, so; you know it all, I perceive,’ said he, smiling pleasantly. ‘Are +you too much fatigued for a walk that far?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Shall we have time?’ said Laura; ‘that’s the question.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Abundance of time. Jacob can’t be here for an hour yet, at soonest. And +if you allow me, I’ll give all the necessary directions before we leave, +so that you ‘ll not be delayed ten minutes on your return.’ +</p> +<p> +While Laura went in search of her hat, I again proffered my thanks to the +kind <i>père</i> for all his good nature, expressing the strong desire I +felt for some opportunity of requital. +</p> +<p> +‘Be happy,’ said the good man, squeezing my hand affectionately; ‘that’s +the way you can best repay me.’ +</p> +<p> +‘It would not be difficult to follow the precept in your society, Père +José,’ said I, overcome by the cordiality of the old man’s manner. +</p> +<p> +‘I have made a great many so, indeed,’ said he. ‘The five-and-thirty years +I have lived in Bouvigne have not been without their fruit.’ +</p> +<p> +Laura joined us here, and we took the way together towards the château, +the priest discoursing all the way on the memorable features of the place, +its remains of ancient grandeur, and the picturesque beauty of its site. +</p> +<p> +As we ascended the steep path which, cut in the solid rock, leads to the +château, groups of pretty children came flocking about us, presenting +bouquets for our acceptance, and even scattering flowers in our path. This +simple act of village courtesy struck us both much, and we could not help +feeling touched by the graceful delicacy of the little ones, who tripped +away ere we could reward them; neither could I avoid remarking to Laura, +on the perfect good understanding that seemed to subsist between Père José +and the children of his flock—the paternal fondness on one side, and +the filial reverence on the other. As we conversed thus, we came in front +of a great arched doorway, in a curtain wall connecting two massive +fragments of rock. In front lay a deep fosse, traversed by a narrow wall, +scarce wide enough for one person to venture on. Below, the tangled weeds +and ivy concealed the dark abyss, which was full eighty feet in depth. +</p> +<p> +‘Look up, now,’ said Laura; ‘you must bear the features of this spot in +mind to understand the story. Don’t forget where that beam projects—do +you mark it well?’ +</p> +<p> +‘He’ll get a better notion of it from the tower,’ said the <i>père</i>, +‘Shall I assist you across?’ +</p> +<p> +Without any aid, however, Laura trod the narrow pathway, and hasted along +up the steep and time-worn steps of the old tower. As we emerged upon the +battlements, we stood for a moment, overcome by the splendour of the +prospect. Miles upon miles of rich landscape lay beneath us, glittering in +the red, brown, and golden tints of autumn—that gorgeous livery +which the year puts on, ere it dons the sad-coloured mantle of winter. The +great forest, too, was touched here and there with that light brown, the +first advance of the season; while the river reflected every tint in its +calm tide, as though it also would sympathise with the changes around it. +</p> +<p> +While the Père José continued to point out each place of mark or note in +the vast plain, interweaving in his descriptions some chance bit of +antiquarian or historic lore, we were forcibly struck by the thorough +intimacy he possessed with all the features of the locality, and could not +help complimenting him upon it. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, ‘<i>ma foi</i>,’ said he, ‘I know every rock and crevice, every old +tree and rivulet for miles round. In the long life I have passed here, +each day has brought me among these scenes with some traveller or other; +and albeit they who visit us here have little thought for the picturesque, +few are unmoved by this peaceful and lovely valley. You’d little suspect, +mademoiselle, how many have passed through my hands here, in these +five-and-thirty years. I keep a record of their names, in which I must beg +you will kindly inscribe yours.’ +</p> +<p> +Laura blushed at the proposition which should thus commemorate her +misadventure; while I mumbled out something about our being mere passing +strangers, unknown in the land. +</p> +<p> +‘No matter for that,’ replied the inexorable father, ‘I’ll have your names—ay, +autographs too!’ +</p> +<p> +‘The sun seems very low,’ said Laura, as she pointed to the west, where +already a blaze of red golden light was spreading over the horizon: ‘I +think we must hasten our departure.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Follow me, then,’ said the <i>père</i>, ‘and I ‘ll conduct you by an +easier path than we came up by.’ +</p> +<p> +With that he unlocked a small postern in the curtain wall, and led us +across a neatly-shaven lawn to a little barbican, where, again unlocking +the door, we descended a flight of stone steps into a small garden +terraced in the native rock. The labour of forming it must have been +immense, as every shovelful of earth was carried from the plain beneath; +and here were fruit-trees and flowers, shrubs and plants, and in the midst +a tiny <i>jet d’eau</i>, which, as we entered, seemed magically to salute +us with its refreshing plash. A little bench, commanding a view of the +river from a different aspect, invited us to sit down for a moment. +Indeed, each turn of the way seduced us by some beauty, and we could have +lingered on for hours. +</p> +<p> +As for me, forgetful of the past, careless of the future, I was totally +wrapped up in the enjoyment of the moment, and Laura herself seemed so +enchanted by the spot that she sat silently gazing on the tranquil scene, +apparently lost in delighted reverie. A low, faint sigh escaped her as she +looked; and I thought I could see a tremulous motion of her eyelid, as +though a tear were struggling within it My heart beat powerfully against +my side. I turned to see where was the <i>père</i>. He had gone. I looked +again, and saw him standing on a point of rock far beneath us, and waving +his handkerchief as a signal to some one in the valley. Never was there +such a situation as mine; never was mortal man so placed. I stole my hand +carelessly along the bench till it touched hers; but she moved not away—no, +her mind seemed quite preoccupied. I had never seen her profile before, +and truly it was very beautiful. All the vivacity of her temperament +calmed down by the feeling of the moment, her features had that character +of placid loveliness which seemed only wanting to make her perfectly +handsome. I wished to speak, and could not. I felt that if I could have +dared to say ‘Laura,’ I could have gone on bravely afterwards—but it +would not come. ‘Amen stuck in my throat.’ Twice I got half-way, and +covered my retreat by a short cough. Only think what a change in my +destiny another syllable might have caused! It was exactly as my second +effort proved fruitless that a delicious sound of music swelled up from +the glen beneath, and floated through the air—a chorus of young +voices singing what seemed to be a hymn. Never was anything more charming. +The notes, softened as they rose on high, seemed almost like a seraph’s +song—now lifting the soul to high and holy thoughts, now thrilling +within the heart with a very ecstasy of delight. At length they paused, +the last cadence melted slowly away, and all was still. +</p> +<p> +We did not dare to move; when Laura touched my hand gently, and whispered, +‘Hark! there it is again! And at the same instant the voices broke forth, +but into a more joyous measure. It was one of those sweet +peasant-carollings which breathe of the light heart and the simple life of +the cottage. The words came nearer and nearer as we listened, and at +length I could trace the refrain which closed each verse— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Puisque l’herbe et la fleur parlent mieux que les mots, +Puisque un aveu d’amour s’exhale de la rose, +Que le “ne m’oublie pas” de souvenir s’arrose, +Que le laurier dit Gloire! et cyprès sanglots.’ +</pre> +<p> +At last the wicket of the garden slowly opened, and a little procession of +young girls, all dressed in white, with white roses in their hair, and +each carrying bouquets in their hands, entered, and with steady step came +forward. We watched them attentively, believing that they were celebrating +some little devotional pilgrimage, when to our surprise they approached +where we sat, and with a low curtsy each dropped her bouquet at Laura’s +feet, whispering in a low silver voice as they passed, ‘May thy feet +always tread upon flowers!’ Ere we could speak our surprise and admiration +of this touching scene—for it was such, in all its simplicity—they +were gone, and the last notes of their chant were dying away in the +distance. +</p> +<p> +‘How beautiful! how very beautiful!’ said Laura; ‘I shall never forget +this.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Nor I,’ said I, making a desperate effort at I know not what avowal, +which the appearance of the <i>père</i> at once put to flight. He had just +seen the boy returning along the river-side with the mule and cart, and +came to apprise us that we had better descend. +</p> +<p> +‘It will be very late indeed before we reach Dinant,’ said Laura; ‘we +shall scarcely get there before midnight.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, you’ll be there much earlier. It is now past six; in less than ten +minutes you can be <i>en route</i>. I shall not cause you much delay.’ +</p> +<p> +Ah, thought I, the good Father is still dreaming about his album; we must +indulge his humour, which, after all, is but a poor requital for all his +politeness. +</p> +<p> +As we entered the parlour of the ‘Toison d’Or,’ we found the host in all +the bravery of his Sunday suit, with a light-brown wig, and stockings blue +as the heaven itself, standing waiting our arrival. The hostess, too, +stood at the other side of the door, in the full splendour of a great +quilted jupe, and a cap whose ears descended half-way to her waist. On the +table, in the middle of the room, were two wax-candles, of that portentous +size which we see in chapels. Between them there lay a great open volume, +which at a glance I guessed to be the priest’s album. Not comprehending +what the worthy host and hostess meant by their presence, I gave a look of +interrogation to the <i>père</i>, who quickly whispered— +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, it is nothing; they are only the witnesses.’ +</p> +<p> +I could not help laughing outright at the idea of this formality, nor +could Laura refrain either when I explained to her what they came for. +However, time passed; the jingle of the bells on the mules’ harness warned +us that our equipage waited, and I dipped the pen in the ink and handed it +to Laura. +</p> +<p> +‘I wish he would excuse me from performing this ceremony,’ said she, +holding back; ‘I really am quite enough ashamed already.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What says mademoiselle?’ inquired the <i>père</i>, as she spoke in +English. +</p> +<p> +I translated her remark, when he broke in, ‘Oh, you must comply; it’s only +a formality, but still every one does it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Come, come,’ said I, in English, ‘indulge the old man; he is evidently +bent on this whim, and let us not leave him disappointed.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Be it so, then,’ said she; ‘on your head, Mr. O’Leary, be the whole of +this day’s indiscretion’; and so saying, she took the pen and wrote her +name, ‘Laura Alicia Muddleton.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Now, then, for my turn,’ said I, advancing; but the <i>père</i> took the +pen from her fingers and proceeded carefully to dry the writing with a +scrap of blotting-paper. +</p> +<p> +‘On this side, monsieur,’ said he, turning over the page; ‘we do the whole +affair in orderly fashion, you see. Put your name there, with the date and +the day of the week.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Will that do?’ said I, as I pushed over the book towards him, where +certainly the least imposing specimen of calligraphy the volume contained +now stood confessed. +</p> +<p> +‘What a droll name!’ said the priest, as he peered at it through his +spectacles. ‘How do you pronounce it?’ +</p> +<p> +While I endeavoured to indoctrinate the father into the mystery of my +Irish appellation, the mayor and the mayoress had both appended their +signatures on either page. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, I suppose now we may depart at last,’ said Laura; ‘it’s getting +very late.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said I, aloud; ‘we must take the road now; there is nothing more, I +fancy, Père José?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, but there is though,’ said he, laughing. +</p> +<p> +At the same moment the galloping of horses and the rumble of wheels were +heard without, and a carriage drew up in the street. Down went the steps +with a crash; several people rushed along the little gallery, till the +very house shook with their tread. The door of the salon was now banged +wide, and in rushed Colonel Muddleton, followed by the count, the abbé, +and an elderly lady. +</p> +<p> +‘Where is he?’—‘Where is she?’—‘Where is he?’—‘Where is +she?’—‘Where are they?’ screamed they, in confusion, one after the +other. +</p> +<p> +‘Laura! Laura!’ cried the old colonel, clasping his daughter in his arms; +‘I didn’t expect this from you!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Monsieur O’Leary, vous êtes un——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Before the count could finish, the abbé interposed between us, and said +‘No, no! Everything may be arranged. Tell me, in one word, is it over?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Is what over?’ said I, in a state two degrees worse than insanity—‘is +what over?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Are you married?’ whispered he. +</p> +<p> +‘No, bless your heart! never thought of it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh, the wretch!’ screamed the old lady, and went off into strong kickings +on the sofa. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10222.jpg" width="100%" alt="222-322 " /> +</div> +<p> +‘It’s a bad affair,’ said the abbé, in a low voice; ‘take my advice—propose +to marry her at once.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, <i>parbleu!</i>’ said the little count, twisting his moustaches in a +fierce manner; ‘there is but one road to take here.’ +</p> +<p> +Now, though unquestionably but half an hour before, when seated beside the +lovely Laura in the garden of the château, such a thought would have +filled me with delight, the same proposition, accompanied by a threat, +stirred up all my indignation and resistance. +</p> +<p> +Not on compulsion, said Sir John; and truly there was reason in the +speech. +</p> +<p> +But, indeed, before I could reply, the attention of all was drawn towards +Laura herself, who from laughing violently at first had now become +hysterical, and continued to laugh and cry at intervals; and as the old +lady continued her manipulations with a candlestick on an oak table near, +while the colonel shouted for various unattainable remedies at the top of +his voice, the scene was anything but decorous—the abbé, who alone +seemed to preserve his sanity, having as much as he could do to prevent +the little count from strangling me with his own hands; such, at least, +his violent gestures seemed to indicate. As for the priest and the mayor +and the she-mayor, they had all fled long before. There appeared now but +one course for me, which was to fly also. There was no knowing what +intemperate act the count might commit under his present excitement; it +was clear they were all labouring under a delusion, which nothing at the +present moment could elucidate. A nod from the abbé and a motion towards +the open door decided my wavering resolution. I rushed out, over the +gallery and down the road, not knowing whither, nor caring. +</p> +<p> +I might as well try to chronicle the sensations of my raving intellect in +my first fever in boyhood as convey any notion of what passed through my +brain for the next two hours. I sat on a rock beside the river, vainly +endeavouring to collect my scattered thoughts, which only presented to me +a vast chaos of a wood and a crusader, a priest and a lady, veal cutlets +and music, a big book, an old lady in fits, and a man in sky-blue +stockings. The rolling near me of a carriage with four horses aroused me +for a second, but I could not well say why, and all was again still, and I +sat there alone. +</p> +<p> +‘He must be somewhere near this,’ said a voice, as I heard the tread of +footsteps approaching; ‘this is his hat. Ah, here he is.’ At the same +moment the abbé stood beside me. ‘Come along, now; don’t stay here in the +cold,’ said he, taking me by the arm. ‘They’ve all gone home two hours +ago. I have remained to ride back the nag in the morning.’ +</p> +<p> +I followed without a word. +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Ma foi!</i>’ said he, ‘it is the first occasion in my life where I +could not see my way through a difficulty. What, in Heaven’s name, were +you about? What was your plan?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Give me half an hour in peace,’ said I; ‘and if I’m not deranged before +it’s over, I’ll tell you.’ +</p> +<p> +The abbé complied, and I fulfilled my promise—though in good sooth +the shouts of laughter with which he received my story caused many an +interruption. When I had finished, he began, and leisurely proceeded to +inform me that Bouvigne’s great celebrity was as a place for runaway +couples to get married; that the inn of the ‘Golden Fleece’ was known over +the whole kingdom, and the Père Jose’s reputation wide as the Archbishop +of Ghent’s; and as to the phrase ‘sous la cheminée’, it is only applied to +a clandestine marriage, which is called a ‘mariage sous la cheminée.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Now I,’ continued he, ‘can readily believe every word you ‘ve told me; +yet there’s not another person in Rochepied would credit a syllable of it. +Never hope for an explanation. In fact, before you would be listened to, +there are at least two duels to fight—the count first, and then +D’Espagne. I know Laura well; she ‘d let the affair have all its éclat +before she will say a word about it; and, in fact, your executors may be +able to clear your character—you ‘ll never do so in your lifetime. +Don’t go back there,’ said the abbé, ‘at least for the present.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I’ll never set my eyes on one of them,’ cried I, in desperation. ‘I’m +nigh deranged as it is; the memory of this confounded affair——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Will make you laugh yet,’ said the abbé. ‘And now good-night, or rather +good-bye: I start early to-morrow morning, and we may not meet again.’ +</p> +<p> +He promised to forward my effects to Dinant, and we parted. +</p> +<p> +‘Monsieur will have a single bed?’ said the housemaid, in answer to my +summons. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said I, with a muttering I fear very like an oath. +</p> +<p> +Morning broke in through the half-closed curtains, with the song of birds +and the ripple of the gentle river. A balmy gentle air stirred the leaves, +and the sweet valley lay in all its peaceful beauty before me. +</p> +<p> +‘Well, well,’ said I, rubbing my eyes, ‘it was a queer adventure; and +there’s no saying what might have happened had they been only ten minutes +later. I’d give a napoleon to know what Laura thinks of it now. But I must +not delay here—the very villagers will laugh at me.’ +</p> +<p> +I ate my breakfast rapidly and called for my bill. The sum was a mere +trifle, and I was just adding something to it when a knock came to the +door. +</p> +<p> +‘Come in,’ said I, and the <i>père</i> entered. +</p> +<p> +‘How sadly unfortunate,’ began he, when I interrupted him at once, +assuring him of his mistake—telling him that we were no runaway +couple at all, had not the most remote idea of being married, and in fact +owed our whole disagreeable adventure to his ridiculous misconception. +</p> +<p> +‘It’s very well to say that <i>now</i>,’ growled out the <i>père</i>, in a +very different accent from his former one. ‘You may pretend what you like, +but’—and he spoke in a determined tone—‘you’ll pay <i>my</i> +bill.’ +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Your</i> bill!’ said I, waxing wroth. ‘What have I had from you. How +am I <i>your</i> debtor? I should like to hear.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And you shall,’ said he, drawing forth a long document from a pocket in +his cassock. ‘Here it is.’ +</p> +<p> +He handed me the paper, of which the following is a transcript:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +NOCES DE MI LORD O’LEARY ET MADEMOISELLE MI LADY DE MUDDLETON. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +FRANCS. + +Two conversations—preliminary, admonitory, and consolatory 10 0 + +Advice to the young couple, with moral maxims interspersed 3 0 + +Soirée, and society at wine 5 0 + +Guide to the château, with details, artistic and antiquarian 12 0 + +Eight children with flowers, at half a franc each 4 0 + +Fees at the château 2 0 + +Chorus of virgins, at one franc per virgin 10 0 + +Roses for virgins 2 10 + +M. le Maire et Madame ‘en grande tenue’ 1 0 + +Book of Registry, setting forth the date of the marriage——- +</pre> +<p> +‘The devil take it!’ said I; ‘it was no marriage at all.’ ‘Yes, but it +was, though,’ said he. ‘It’s your own fault if you can’t take care of your +wife.’ +</p> +<p> +The noise of his reply brought the host and hostess to the scene of +action; and though I resisted manfully for a time, there was no use in +prolonging a hopeless contest, and, with a melancholy sigh, I disbursed my +wedding expenses, and with a hearty malediction on Bouvigne—its +château, its inn, its <i>père</i>, its <i>maire</i>, and its virgins—I +took the road towards Namur, and never lifted my head till I had left the +place miles behind me. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. A MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE +</h2> +<p> +It was growing late on a fine evening in autumn, as I, a solitary +pedestrian, drew near the little town of Spa. From the time of my leaving +Chaude Fontaine, I lingered along the road, enjoying to the utmost the +beautiful valley of the Vesdre, and sometimes half hesitating whether I +would not loiter away some days in one of the little villages I passed, +and see if the trout, whose circling eddies marked the stream, might not +rise as favourably to my fly as to the vagrant insect that now flitted +across the water. In good sooth I wished for rest, and I wished for +solitude; too much of my life latterly had been passed in salons and +soirées; the peaceful habit of my soul, the fruit of my own lonely hours, +had suffered grievous inroads by my partnership with the world, and I +deemed it essential to be once more apart from the jarring influences and +distracting casualties which every step in life is beset by, were it only +to recover again my habitual tranquillity—to refit the craft ere she +took the sea once more. +</p> +<p> +I wanted but little to decide my mind; the sight of an inn, some +picturesque spot, a pretty face—anything, in short, would have +sufficed. But somehow I suppose I must have been more fastidious than I +knew of, for I continued to walk onward; and at last, leaving the little +hamlet of Pepinsterre behind me, I set out with brisker pace towards Spa. +The air was calm and balmy; no leaf stirred; the river beside the road did +not even murmur, but crept silently along its gravelly bed, fearful to +break the stillness. Gradually the shadows fell stronger and broader, and +at length mingled into one broad expanse of gloom; in a few minutes more +it was night. +</p> +<p> +There is something very striking, I had almost said saddening, in the +sudden transition from day to darkness in those countries where no +twilight exists. The gradual change by which road and mountain, rock and +cliff, mellow into the hues of sunset, and grow grey in the gloaming, +deepening the shadows, and by degrees losing all outline in the dimness +around, prepares us for the gloom of night. We feel it like the tranquil +current of years marking some happy life, where childhood and youth and +manhood and age succeed in measured time. Not so the sudden and immediate +change, which seems rather like the stroke of some fell misfortune, +converting the cheerful hours into dark, brooding melancholy. Tears may—they +do—fall lightly on some; they creep with noiseless step, and youth +and age glide softly into each other without any shock to awaken the +thought that says, Adieu to this! Farewell to that for ever! +</p> +<p> +Thus was I musing, when suddenly I found myself at the spot where the road +branched off in two directions. No house was near, nor a living thing from +whom I could ask the way. I endeavoured by the imperfect light of the +stars, for there was no moon, to ascertain which road seemed most +frequented and travelled, judging that Spa was the most likely resort of +all journeying in these parts; but unhappily I could detect no difference +to guide me. There were wheel-tracks in both, and ruts and stones +tolerably equitably adjusted; each had a pathway, too—the right-hand +road enjoying a slight superiority over the other in this respect, as its +path was more even. +</p> +<p> +I was completely puzzled. Had I been mounted, I had left the matter to my +horse; but unhappily my decision had not a particle of reason to guide it. +I looked from the road to the trees, and from the trees to the stars, but +they looked down as tranquilly as though either way would do—all +save one, a sly little brilliant spangle in the south, that seemed to wink +at my difficulty. ‘No matter,’ said I, ‘one thing is certain—neither +a supper nor a bed will come to look for me here; and so now for the best +pathway, as I begin to feel foot-sore.’ +</p> +<p> +My momentary embarrassment about the road completely routed all my +musings, and I now turned my thoughts to the comforts of the inn, and to +the pleasant little supper I promised myself on reaching it. I debated as +to what was in season and what was not. I spelled October twice to +ascertain if oysters were in, and there came a doubt across me whether the +Flemish name for the month might have an r in it, and then I laughed at my +own bull; afterwards I disputed with myself as to the relative merits of +Chablis and Hochheimer, and resolved to be guided by the <i>garçon</i>. I +combated long a weakness I felt growing over me for a pint of mulled +claret, as the air was now becoming fresh; but I gave in at last, and +began to hammer my brain for the French words for cloves and nutmeg. +</p> +<p> +In these innocent ruminations did an hour pass by, and yet no sign of +human habitation, no sound of life, could I perceive at either side of me. +The night, ‘tis true, was brighter as it became later, and there were +stars in thousands in the sky; but I would gladly have exchanged Venus for +the chambermaid of the humblest <i>auberge</i>, and given the Great Bear +himself for a single slice of bacon. At length, after about two hours’ +walking, I remarked that the road was becoming much more steep; indeed, it +had presented a continual ascent for some miles, but now the acclivity was +very considerable, particularly at the close of a long day’s march. I +remembered well that Spa lay in a valley, but for the life of me I could +not think whether a mountain was to be crossed to arrive there. ‘That +comes of travelling by post,’ said I to myself; had I walked the road, I +had never forgotten so remarkable a feature.’ While I said this, I could +not help confessing that I had as lief my present excursion had been also +in a conveyance. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Forwärts! fort, und immer fort!’ +</pre> +<p> +hummed I, remembering Körner’s song; and taking it for my motto, on I went +at a good pace. It needed all my powers as a pedestrian, however, to face +the mountain, for such I could see it was that I was now ascending; the +pathway, too, less trodden than below, was encumbered with loose stones, +and the trees which lined the way on either side gradually became thinner +and rarer, and at last ceased altogether, exposing me to the cold blast +which swept from time to time across the barren heath with a chill that +said October was own brother to November. Three hours and a half did I +toil along, when at last the conviction came over me that I must have +taken the wrong road. This could not possibly be the way to Spa; indeed, I +had great doubts that it led anywhere. I mounted a little rock, and took a +survey of the bleak mountain-side; but nothing could I see that indicated +that the hand of man had ever laboured in that wild region. Fern and +heath, clumps of gorse and misshapen rocks, diversified the barren surface +on every side, and I now seemed to have gained the summit, a vast +tableland spreading away for miles. I sat down to consider what was best +to be done. The thought of retracing so many leagues of way was very +depressing; and yet what were my chances if I went forward? +</p> +<p> +Ah, thought I, why did not some benevolent individual think of erecting +lighthouses inland? What a glorious invention would it have been! Just +think of the great mountain districts which lie in the very midst of +civilisation, pathless, trackless, and unknown, where a benighted +traveller may perish within the very sound of succour, if he but knew +where to seek it. How cheering to the wayworn traveller as he plods along +his weary road, to lift from time to time his eyes to the guide-star in +the distance! Had the monks been in the habit of going out in the dark, +there’s little doubt they’d have persuaded some good Catholics to endow +some institutions like this. How well they knew how to have their chapels +and convents erected! I’m not sure but I’d vow a little lighthouse myself +to the Virgin, if I could only catch a glimpse of a gleam of light this +moment. +</p> +<p> +Just then I thought I saw something twinkle, far away across the heath. I +climbed up on the rock, and looked steadily in the direction. There was no +doubt of it-there was a light; no Jack-o’-Lantern either, but a good +respectable light, of domestic habits, shining steadily and brightly. It +seemed far off; but there is nothing so deceptive as the view over a flat +surface. In any case, I resolved to make for it; and so, seizing my staff, +I once more set forward. Unhappily, however, I soon perceived that the +road led off in a direction exactly the reverse of the object I sought, +and I was now obliged to make my choice of quitting the path or abandoning +the light; my resolve was quickly made, and I started off across the +plain, with my eyes steadily fixed upon my beacon. +</p> +<p> +The mountain was marshy and wet—that wearisome surface of spongy +hillock, and low, creeping brushwood, the most fatal thing to a tired +walker—and I made but slow progress; besides, frequently, from +inequalities of the soil, I would lose sight of the light for half an hour +together, and then, on its reappearing suddenly, discover how far I had +wandered out of the direct line. These little aberrations did not +certainly improve my temper, and I plodded along, weary of limb and out of +spirits. +</p> +<p> +At length I came to the verge of a declivity. Beneath me lay a valley, +winding and rugged, with a little torrent brawling through rocks and +stones—a wild and gloomy scene by the imperfect light of the stars. +On the opposite mountain stood the coveted light, which now I could +discover proceeded from a building of some size, at least so far as I +could pronounce from the murky shadow against the background of sky. +</p> +<p> +I summoned up one great effort, and pushed down the slope—now +sliding on hands and feet, now trusting to a run of some yards where the +ground was more feasible. After a fatiguing course of two hours, I reached +the crest of the opposite hill, and stood within a few hundred yards of +the house—the object of my wearisome journey. It was indeed in +keeping with the deserted wildness of the place. A ruined tower, one of +those square keeps which formerly were intended as frontier defences, +standing on a rocky base, beside the edge of a steep cliff, had been made +a dwelling of by some solitary herdsman—for so the sheep collected +within a little inclosure bespoke him. The rude efforts to make the place +habitable were conspicuous in the door formed of wooden planks nailed +coarsely together, and the window, whose panes were made of a thin +substance like parchment, through which, however, the blaze of a fire +shone brightly without. +</p> +<p> +Creeping carefully forward to take a reconnaissance of the interior before +I asked for admission, I approached a small aperture, where a single pane +of glass permitted a view. A great heap of blazing furze, that filled the +old chimney of the tower, lit up the whole space, and enabled me to see a +man who sat on a log of wood beside the hearth, with his head bent upon +his knees. His dress was a coarse blouse of striped woollen descending to +his knees, where a pair of gaiters of sheepskin were fastened by thongs of +untanned leather; his head was bare, and covered only by a long mass of +black hair, that fell in tangled locks down his back, and even over his +face as he bent forward. A shepherd’s staff and a broad hat of felt lay on +the ground beside him; there was neither chair nor table, nor, save some +fern in one corner, anything that might serve as a bed; a large +earthenware jug and a metal pot stood near the fire, and a knife, such as +butchers kill with, lay beside them. Over the chimney, however, was +suspended, by two thongs of leather, a sword, long and straight, like the +weapon of the heavy cavalry of France; and, higher again, I could see a +great piece of printed paper was fastened to the wall. As I continued to +scan, one by one, these signs of utter poverty, the man stretched out his +limbs and rubbed his eyes for a minute or two, and then with a start +sprang to his feet, displaying, as he did so, the proportions of a most +powerful and athletic frame. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10231.jpg" width="100%" alt="231-333 " /> +</div> +<p> +He was, as well as I could guess, about forty-five years of age; but +hardship and suffering had worn deep lines about his face, which was +sallow and emaciated. A black moustache, that hung down over his lip and +descended to his chin, concealed the lower part of his face; the upper was +bold and manly, the forehead high and well developed; but his eyes—and +I could mark them well as the light fell on him—were of an unnatural +brilliancy; their sparkle had the fearful gleam of a mind diseased, and in +their quick, restless glances through the room I saw that he was labouring +under some insane delusion. He paced the room with a steady step, +backwards and forwards, for a few minutes, and once, as he lifted his eyes +above the chimney, he stopped abruptly and carried his hand to his +forehead in a military salute, while he muttered something to himself. The +moment after he threw open the door, and stepping outside, gave a long +shrill whistle; he paused for a few seconds, and repeated it, when I could +hear the distant barking of a dog replying to his call. Just then he +turned abruptly, and with a spring seized me by the arm. +</p> +<p> +‘Who are you? What do you want here?’ said he, in a voice tremulous with +passion. +</p> +<p> +A few words—it was no time for long explanations—told him how +I had lost my way in the mountain, and was in search of shelter for the +night. +</p> +<p> +‘It was a lucky thing for you that one of my lambs was astray,’ said he, +with a fierce smile. ‘If Tête-noir had been at home, he’d have made short +work of you. Come in.’ +</p> +<p> +With that he pushed me before him into the tower, and pointed to the block +of wood where he had been sitting previously, while he threw a fresh +supply of furze upon the hearth, and stirred up the blaze with his foot. +</p> +<p> +‘The wind is moving round to the southard,’ said he; ‘we ‘ll have a heavy +fall of rain soon.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The stars look very bright, however.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Never trust them. Before day breaks, you’ll see the mountain will be +covered with mist.’ +</p> +<p> +As he spoke, he crossed his arms on his breast, and recommenced his walk +up and down the chamber. The few words he spoke surprised me much by the +tones of his voice, so unlike the accents I should have expected from one +of his miserable and squalid appearance; they were mild, and bore the +traces of one who had seen very different fortunes from his present ones. +</p> +<p> +I wished to speak, and induce him to converse with me; but the efforts I +made seeming only to excite his displeasure, I abandoned the endeavour +with a good grace; and having disposed my knapsack as a pillow, stretched +myself full length before the hearth, and fell sound asleep. +</p> +<p> +When I awoke, the shepherd was not to be seen. The fire, which blazed +brightly, showed, however, that he had not long been absent; a huge log of +beech had recently been thrown upon it. The day was breaking, and I went +to the door to look out. Nothing, however, could I see; vast clouds of +mist were sweeping along before the wind, that sighed mournfully over the +bleak mountains and concealed everything a few yards off, while a thin +rain came slanting down, the prelude to the storm the shepherd had +prophesied. +</p> +<p> +Never was there anything more dreary within or without; the miserable +poverty of the ruined tower was scarcely a shelter from the coming +hurricane. I returned to my place beside the fire, sad and low at heart. +While I was conjecturing within myself what distance I might be from Spa, +and how I could contrive to reach it, I chanced to fix my eyes on the +sabre above the chimney, which I took down to examine. It was a plain +straight weapon, of the kind carried by the soldiery; its only sign of +inscription was the letter ‘N’ on the blade. As I replaced it, I caught +sight of the printed paper, which, begrimed with smoke and partly +obliterated by time, was nearly illegible. After much pains, however, I +succeeded in deciphering the following; it was headed in large letters— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Ordre du Jour, de l’Armée Française. Le 9 Thermidor.’ +</pre> +<p> +The lines which immediately followed were covered by another piece of +paper pasted over them, where I could just here and there detect a stray +word, which seemed to indicate that the whole bore reference to some +victory of the republican army. The last four lines, much clearer than the +rest, ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +‘Le citoyen Aubuisson, chef de bataillon de Grenadiers, de cette +demi-brigade, est entré le premier dans la redoute. Il a eu son habit +criblé de balles.’ +</p> +<p> +I read and re-read the lines a dozen times over; indeed, to this hour are +they fast fixed in my memory. Some strange mystery seemed to connect them +with the poor shepherd; otherwise, why were they here? I thought over his +figure, strong and well-knit, as I saw him stand upright in the room, and +of his military salute; and the conviction came fully over me that the +miserable creature, covered with rags and struggling with want, was no +other than the citizen Aubuisson. Yet, by what fearful vicissitude had he +fallen to this? The wild expression of his features at times did indeed +look like insanity; still, what he said to me was both calm and coherent. +The mystery excited all my curiosity, and I longed for his return, in the +hope of detecting some clue to it. +</p> +<p> +The door opened suddenly. A large dog, more mastiff than sheep-dog, dashed +in; seeing me, he retreated a step, and fixing his eyes steadily upon me, +gave a fearful howl. I could not stir from fear. I saw that he was +preparing for a spring, when the voice of the shepherd called out, +‘Couche-toi, Tête-noir, couche!’ The savage beast at once slunk quietly to +a corner, and lay down—still never taking his eyes from me, and +seeming to feel as if his services would soon be in request in my behalf; +while his master shook the rain from his hat and blouse, and came forward +to dry himself at the fire. Fixing his eyes steadfastly on the red embers +as he stirred them with his foot, he muttered some few and broken words, +among which, although I listened attentively, I could but hear, ‘Pas un +mot; silence, silence, à la mort!’ +</p> +<p> +‘You were not wrong in your prophecy, shepherd; the storm is setting in +already,’ said I, wishing to attract his attention. +</p> +<p> +‘Hush!’ said he, in a low whisper, while he motioned me with his hand to +be still—‘hush! not a word!’ +</p> +<p> +The eager glare of madness was in his eye as he spoke, and a tremulous +movement of his pale cheek betokened some great inward convulsion. He +threw his eyes slowly around the miserable room, looking below and above +with the scrutinising glance of one resolved to let nothing escape his +observation; and then kneeling down on one knee beside the blaze he took a +piece of dry wood, and stole it quietly among the embers. +</p> +<p> +‘There, there!’ cried he, springing to his legs, while he seized me rudely +by the shoulder, and hurried me to the distant end of the room. ‘Come +quickly! stand back, stand back there! see, see!’ said he, as the +crackling sparks flew up and the tongued flame rose in the chimney, ‘there +it goes!’ Then putting his lips to my ear he muttered, ‘Not a word! +silence! silence to the death!’ +</p> +<p> +As he said this, he drew himself up to his full height, and crossing his +arms upon his breast stood firm and erect before me, and certainly, +covered with rags the meanest poverty would have rejected, shrunk by +famine and chilled by hunger and storm, there was still remaining in him +the traits of a once noble face and figure. The fire of madness, +unquenched by every misery, lit up his dark eye, and even on his +compressed lip there was a curl of pride. Poor fellow! some pleasant +memory seemed to flit across him; he smiled, and as he moved his hair from +his forehead he bowed his head slightly, and murmured, ‘Oui, sire!’ How +soft, how musical that voice was then! Just at this instant the deep +bleating of the sheep was heard without, and Tête-noir, springing up, +rushed to the door, and scratched fiercely with his fore-paws. The +shepherd hastened to open it, and to my surprise I beheld a boy about +twelve years of age, poorly clad and dripping with wet, who was carrying a +small canvas bag on his back. +</p> +<p> +‘Has the lamb been found, Lazare?’ said the child, as he unslung his +little sack. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes; ‘tis safe in the fold.’ +</p> +<p> +‘And the spotted ewe? You don’t think the wolves could have taken her away +so early as this——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Hush, hush!’ said the shepherd, with a warning gesture to the child, who +seemed at once to see that the lunatic’s vision was on him; for he drew +his little blouse close around his throat, and muttered a ‘Bonjour, +Lazare,’ and departed. +</p> +<p> +‘Couldn’t that boy guide me down to Spa, or some village near it?’ said I, +anxious to seize an opportunity of escape. +</p> +<p> +He looked at me without seeming to understand my question. I repeated it +more slowly, when, as if suddenly aware of my meaning, he replied quickly— +</p> +<p> +‘No, no; little Pierre has a long road to go home; he lives far away in +the mountains. I ‘ll show you the way myself. +</p> +<p> +With that, he opened the sack, and took forth a loaf of coarse wheaten +bread, such as the poorest cottagers make, and a tin flask of milk. +Tearing the loaf asunder, he handed me one-half, which more from policy +than hunger, though I had endured a long fast, I accepted. Then passing +the milk towards me he made a sign for me to drink, and when I had done, +seized the flask himself, and nodding gaily with his head, cried, ‘A vous, +camarade.’ Simple as the gesture and few the words, they both convinced me +that he had been a soldier once; and each moment only strengthened me in +the impression that I had before me in the shepherd Lazare an officer of +the Grande Armée—one of those heroes of a hundred fights, whose +glory was the tributary stream in the great ocean of the Empire’s +grandeur. +</p> +<p> +Our meal was soon concluded, and in silence; and Lazare, having +replenished his fire, went to the door and looked out. +</p> +<p> +‘It will be wilder ere night,’ said he, as he peered into the dense mist, +which, pressed down by rain, lay like a pall upon the earth; ‘if you are a +good walker, I ‘ll take you by a short way to Spa.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I’ll do my best,’ said I, ‘to follow you.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The mountain is easy enough; but there may be a stream or two swollen by +the rains. They are sometimes dangerous.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What distance are we then from Spa?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Four leagues and a half by the nearest route—seven and a half by +the road. Come, Tête-noir, bonne bête,’ said he, patting the savage beast, +who with a rude gesture of his tail evinced his joy at the recognition. +‘Thou must be on guard to-day; take care of these for me—that thou +wilt, old fellow; farewell, good beast, good-bye!’ +</p> +<p> +The animal, as if he understood every word, stood with his red eyes fixed +upon him till he had done, and then answered by a long low howl. Lazare +smiled with pleasure, as he waved his hand towards him, and led the way +from the tower. +</p> +<p> +I had but time to leave two louis-d’ors on the block of wood, when he +called out to me to follow him. The pace he walked at, as well as the +rugged course of the way he took, prevented my keeping at his side; and I +could only track him as he moved along through the misty rain, like some +genius of the storm, his long locks flowing wildly behind him, and his +tattered garments fluttering in the wind. +</p> +<p> +It was a toilsome and dreary march, unrelieved by aught to lessen the +fatigue. Lazare never spoke one word the entire time; occasionally he +would point with his staff to the course we were to take, or mark the +flight of some great bird of prey soaring along near the ground, as if +fearless of man in regions so wild and desolate; save at these moments, he +seemed buried in his own gloomy thoughts. Four hours of hard walking +brought us at last to the summit of a great mountain, from which, as the +mist was considerably cleared away, I could perceive a number of lesser +mountains surrounding it, like the waves of the sea. My guide pointed to +the ground, as if recommending a rest, and I willingly threw myself on the +heath, damp and wet as it was. +</p> +<p> +The rest was a short one; he soon motioned me to resume the way, and we +plodded onward for an hour longer, when we came to a great tableland of +several miles in extent, but which still I could perceive was on a very +high level. At last we reached a little grove of stunted pines, where a +rude cross of stone stood—a mark to commemorate the spot where a +murder had been committed, and to entreat prayers for the discovery of the +murderers. Here Lazare stopped, and pointing to a little narrow path in +the heather, he said— +</p> +<p> +‘Spa is scarce two leagues distant; it lies in the valley yonder; follow +this path, and you ‘ll not fail to reach it.’ +</p> +<p> +While I proffered my thanks to him for his guidance, I could not help +expressing my wish to make some slight return for it. A dark, disdainful +look soon stopped me in my speech, and I turned it off in a desire to +leave some souvenir of my night’s lodging behind me in the old tower. But +even this he would not hear of; and when I stretched out my hand to bid +him good-bye, he took it with a cold and distant courtesy, as though he +were condescending to a favour he had no fancy for. +</p> +<p> +‘Adieu, monsieur,’ said I, still tempted, by a last effort of allusion to +his once condition, to draw something from him—‘adieu!’ +</p> +<p> +He approached me nearer, and with a voice of tremulous eagerness, he +muttered— +</p> +<p> +‘Not a word yonder, not a syllable! Pledge me your faith in that!’ +</p> +<p> +Thinking now that it was merely the recurrence of his paroxysm, I answered +carelessly, ‘Never fear, I’ll say nothing.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, but swear it,’ said he, with a fixed look of his dark eye; ‘swear it +to me now, that so long as you are below there’—he pointed to the +valley—‘you will never speak of me.’ +</p> +<p> +I made him the promise he required, though with great unwillingness, as my +curiosity to learn something about him was becoming intense. +</p> +<p> +‘Not a word!’ said he, with a finger on his lip, ‘that’s the <i>consigne</i>. +</p> +<p> +‘Not a word!’ repeated I, and we parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. THE BORE—A SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE. +</h2> +<p> +Two hours after, I was enjoying the pleasant fire of the Hôtel de Flandre, +where I arrived in time for table d’hôte, not a little to the surprise of +the host and six waiters, who were totally lost in conjectures to account +for my route, and sorely puzzled to ascertain the name of my last hotel in +the mountains. +</p> +<p> +A watering-place at the close of a season is always a sad-looking thing. +The barricades of the coming winter already begin to show; the little +statues in public gardens are assuming their greatcoats of straw against +the rigours of frost; the <i>jets d’ eau</i> cease to play, or perform +with the unwilling air of actors to empty benches; the tables d’hôte +present their long dinner-rooms unoccupied, save by a little table at one +end, where some half-dozen shivering inmates still remain, the débris of +the mighty army who flourished their knives there but six weeks before—these +half-dozen usually consisting of a stray invalid or two, completing his +course of the waters, having a fortnight of sulphuretted hydrogen before +him yet, and not daring to budge till he has finished his ‘heeltap’ of +abomination. Then there’s the old half-pay major, that has lived in Spa, +for aught I know, since the siege of Namur, and who passes his nine months +of winter in shooting quails and playing dominoes; and there’s an elderly +lady, with spectacles, always working at a little embroidery frame, who +speaks no French, and seems not to be aware of anything going on around +her—no one being able to guess why she is there, she probably not +knowing why herself. Lastly, there is a very distracted-looking young +gentleman, with a shooting-jacket and young moustaches, who having been +‘cleaned out’ at <i>rouge et noir</i>, is waiting in the hope of a +remittance from some commiserating relative in England. +</p> +<p> +The theatre is closed; its little stars, dispersed among the small +capitals, have shrunk back to their former proportions of third and +fourth-rate parts—for though butterflies in July, they are mere +grubs in December. The clink of the croupier’s mace is no longer heard, +revelling amid the five-franc pieces; all is still and silent in that room +which so late the conflict of human passion, hope, envy, fear, and +despair, had made a very hell on earth. +</p> +<p> +The donkeys, too, who but the other day were decked in scarlet trappings, +are now despoiled of their gay panoply, and condemned to the mean drudgery +of the cart. Poor beasts! their drooping ears and fallen heads seem to +show some sense of their changed fortunes; no longer bearing the burden of +some fair-cheeked girl or laughing boy along the mountain-side, they are +brought down to the daily labour of the cottage, and a cutlet is no more +like a mutton-chop than a donkey is like an ass. +</p> +<p> +So does everything suffer a ‘sea-change.’ The modiste, whose pretty cap +with its gay ribbons was itself an advertisement of her wares, has taken +to a close bonnet and a woollen shawl—a metamorphosis as complete as +is the misshapen mass of cloaks and mud-boots of the agile danseuse, who +flitted between earth and air a few moments before. Even the doctor—and +what a study is the doctor of a watering-place!—even he has laid by +his smiles and his soft speeches, folded up in the same drawer with his +black coat for the winter. He has not thrown physic to the dogs, because +he is fond of sporting, and would not injure the poor beasts, but he has +given it an <i>au revoir</i>; and as grouse come in with autumn, and +black-cock in November, so does he feel chalybeates are in season on the +first of May. Exchanging his cane for a Manton, and his mild whisper for a +dog-whistle, he takes to the pursuit of the lower animals, leaving men for +the warmer months. +</p> +<p> +All this disconcerts one. You hate to be present at those <i>déménagements</i>, +where the curtains are coming down, and the carpet is being taken up; +where they are nailing canvas across pictures, and storing books into +pantries. These smaller revolutions are all very detestable, and you +gladly escape into some quiet and retired spot, and wait till the fussing +be over. So felt I. Had I come a month later, this place would have suited +me perfectly, but this process of human moulting is horrible to witness; +and so, say I once more, <i>En route</i>. +</p> +<p> +Like a Dutchman who took a run of three miles to jump over a hill, and +then sat down tired at the foot of it, I flurried myself so completely in +canvassing all the possible places I might, could, would, should, or ought +to pass the winter in, that I actually took a fortnight to recover my +energies before I could set out. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile I had made a close friendship with a dyspeptic countryman of +mine, who went about the Continent with a small portmanteau and a very +large medicine-chest, chasing health from Naples to Paris, and from +Aix-la-Chapelle to Wildbad, firmly persuaded that every country had only +one month in the year at most wherein it were safe to live there—Spa +being the appropriate place to pass the October. He cared nothing for the +ordinary topics that engross the attention of mankind; kings might be +dethroned and dynasties demolished; states might revolt and subjects be +rebellious—all he wanted to know was, not what changes were made in +the code but in the pharmacopoeia. The liberty of the Press was a matter +of indifference to him; he cared little for what men might say, but a +great deal for what it was safe to swallow, and looked upon the inventor +of blue-pill as the greatest benefactor of mankind. He had the analysis of +every well and spring in Germany at his fingers’ end, and could tell you +the temperature and atomic proportions like his alphabet. But his great +system was a kind of reciprocity treaty between health and sickness, by +which a man could commit any species of gluttony he pleased when he knew +the peculiar antagonist principle. And thus he ate—I was going to +say like a shark, but let me not in my ignorance calumniate the fish; for +I know not if anything that ever swam could eat a soup with a custard +pudding, followed by beef and beetroot, stewed mackerel and treacle, +pickled oysters and preserved cherries, roast hare and cucumber, venison, +salad, prunes, hashed mutton, omelettes, pastry, and finally, to wind up +with effect, a sturgeon baked with brandy-peaches in his abdomen—a +thing to make a cook weep and a German blessed. Such was my poor friend, +Mr. Bartholomew Cater, the most thin, spare, emaciated, and +miserable-looking man that ever sipped at Schwalbach or shivered at +Kissingen. +</p> +<p> +To permit these extravagances in diet, however, he had concocted a code of +reprisals, consisting of the various mineral waters of Germany and the +poisonous metals of modern pharmacy; and having established the fact that +‘bitter wasser’ and ‘Carlsbad,’ the ‘Powon’ and ‘Pilnitz,’ combined with +blue-pill, were the natural enemies of all things eatable, he swallowed +these freely, and then left the matter to the rebellious ingredients—pretty +much as the English used to govern Ireland in times gone by: set both +parties by the ears, and wait the result in peace, well aware that a +slight derangement of the balance, from time to time, would keep the +contest in motion. Such was the state policy of Mr. Cater, and I can only +say that <i>his</i> constitution survived it, though that of Ireland seems +to suffer grievously from the experiment. +</p> +<p> +This lively gentleman was then my companion; indeed, with that cohesive +property of your true bore, he was ever beside me, relating some little +interesting anecdote of a jaundice or a dropsy, a tertian or a typhus, by +which agreeable souvenirs he preserved the memory of Athens or Naples, +Rome or Dresden, fresh and unclouded in his mind. Not satisfied, however, +with narration, like all enthusiasts he would be proselytising; and +whether from the force of his arguments or the weakness of my nature, he +found a ready victim in me, insomuch that under his admirable instruction +I was already beginning to feel a dislike and disgust to all things +edible, with an appetite only grown more ravenous, while my reverence for +all springs of unsavoury taste and smell—once, I must confess, at a +deplorably low ebb—was gradually becoming more developed. It was +only by the accidental discovery that my waistcoat could be made to fit by +putting it twice round me, and that my coat was a dependency of which I +was scarcely the nucleus, that I really became frightened. ‘What!’ thought +I, ‘can this be that Arthur O’Leary whom men jested on his rotundity? Is +this me, around whom children ran, as they would about a pillar or a +monument, and thought it exercise to circumambulate? Arthur, this will be +the death of thee; thou wert a happy man and a fat before thou knewest +Kochbrunnens and thermometers; run while it is yet time, and be thankful +at least that thou art in racing condition.’ +</p> +<p> +With noiseless step and cautious gesture, I crept downstairs one morning +at daybreak. My enemy was still asleep. I heard him muttering as I passed +his door; doubtless he was dreaming of some new combination of horrors, +some infernal alliance of cucumbers and quinine. I passed on in silence; +my very teeth chattered with fear. Happy was I to have them to chatter! +another fortnight of his intimacy, and they would have trembled from +blue-pill as well as panic! With a heavy sigh I paid my bill, and crossed +the street towards the diligence office. One place only remained vacant—it +was in the <i>banquette</i>. No matter, thought I, anywhere will do at +present. +</p> +<p> +‘Where is monsieur going?—for there will be a place vacant in the <i>coupé</i> +at—’ +</p> +<p> +‘I have not thought of that yet,’ said I; ‘but when we reach Verviers we +‘ll see.’ +</p> +<p> +‘<i>Allons</i>, then,’ said the <i>conducteur</i>, while he whispered to +the clerk of the office a few words I could not catch. +</p> +<p> +‘You are mistaken, friend,’ said I; ‘it’s not creditors, they are only +chalybeates I ‘m running from’; and so we started. +</p> +<p> +Before I follow out any further my own ramblings, I should like to acquit +a debt I owe my reader—if I dare flatter myself that he cares for +its discharge—by returning to the story of the poor shepherd of the +mountains, and which I cannot more seasonably do than at this place; +although the details I am about to relate were furnished to me a great +many years after this, and during a visit I paid to Lyons in 1828. +</p> +<p> +In the Café de la Coupe d’Or, so conspicuous in the Place des Terreaux, +where I usually resorted to pass my evenings, and indulge in the cheap +luxuries of my coffee and cheroot, I happened to make a bowing +acquaintance with a venerable elderly gentleman, who each night resorted +there to read the papers, and amuse himself by looking over the +chess-players, with which the room was crowded. Some accidental +interchange of newspapers led to a recognition, and that again advanced to +a few words each time we met—till one evening, chance placed us at +the same table, and we chatted away several hours, and parted in the hope, +mutually expressed, of renewing our acquaintance at an early period. +</p> +<p> +I had no difficulty in interrogating the <i>dame du café</i> about my new +acquaintance. He was a striking and remarkable-looking personage, tall and +military-looking, with an air of <i>grand seigneur</i>, which in a +Frenchman is never deceptive; certainly I never saw it successfully +assumed by any who had no right to it. He wore his hair <i>en queue</i>, +and in his dress evinced, in several trifling matters, an adherence to the +habitudes of the old régime—so, at least, I interpreted his lace +ruffles and silk stockings, with his broad buckles of brilliants in his +shoes. The ribbon of St. Louis, which he wore unostentatiously on his +waistcoat, was his only decoration. +</p> +<p> +‘This is the Vicomte de Berlemont, <i>ancien colonel-en-chef</i>,’ said +she, with an accent of pride at the mention of so distinguished a +frequenter of the café; ‘he has not missed an evening here for years +past.’ +</p> +<p> +A few more words of inquiry elicited from her the information that the +vicomte had served in all the wars of the Empire up to the time of the +abdication; that on the restoration of the Bourbons he had received his +rank in the service from them, and, faithful to their fortunes, had +followed Louis XVIII. in exile to Ghent. +</p> +<p> +‘He has seen a deal of the world, then, madame, it would appear?’ +</p> +<p> +‘That he has, and loves to speak about it too; time was when they reckoned +the vicomte among the pleasantest persons in Lyons; but they say he has +grown old now, and contracted a habit of repeating his stories. I can’t +tell how that may be, but I think him always amiable.’ A delightful word +that same ‘amiable’ is! and so thinking, I wished madame good-night, and +departed. +</p> +<p> +The next evening I lay in wait for the old colonel, and was flattered to +see that he was taking equal pains to discover me. We retired to a little +table, ordered our coffee, and chatted away till midnight. Such was the +commencement, such the course, of one of the pleasantest intimacies I ever +formed. +</p> +<p> +The vicomte was unquestionably the most agreeable specimen of his nation I +had ever met—easy and unaffected in his manner, having seen much, +and observed shrewdly; not much skilled in book-learning, but deeply read +in mankind. His views of politics were of that unexaggerated character +which are so often found correct; while of his foresight I can give no +higher token than that he then predicted to me the events of the year +1830, only erring as to the time, which he deemed might not be so far +distant. The Empire, however, and Napoleon were his favourite topics. +Bourbonist as he was, the splendour of France in 1810 and 1811, the +greatness of the mighty man whose genius then ruled its destinies, had +captivated his imagination, and he would talk for hours over the events of +Parisian life at that period, and the more brilliant incidents of the +campaigns. +</p> +<p> +It was in one of our conversations, prolonged beyond the usual time, in +discussing the characters of those immediately about the person of the +Emperor, that I felt somewhat struck by the remark he made, that, while +‘Napoleon did meet unquestionably many instances of deep ingratitude from +those whom he had covered with honours and heaped with favours, nothing +ever equalled the attachment the officers of the army generally bore to +his person, and the devotion they felt for his glory and his honour. It +was not a sentiment,’ he said, ‘it was a religious belief among the young +men of my day that the Emperor could do no wrong. What you assume in your +country by courtesy, we believed <i>de facto</i>. So many times had +events, seeming most disastrous, turned out pregnant with advantage and +success, that a dilemma was rather a subject of amusing speculation +amongst us than a matter of doubt and despondency. There came a terrible +reverse to all this, however,’ continued he, as his voice fell to a lower +and sadder key; ‘a fearful lesson was in store for us. Poor Aubuisson——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Aubuisson!’ said I, starting; ‘was that the name you mentioned?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said he, in amazement; ‘have you heard the story, then?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No,’ said I, ‘I know of no story; it was the name alone struck me. Was it +not one of that name who was mentioned in one of Bonaparte’s despatches +from Egypt?’ +</p> +<p> +‘To be sure it was, and the same man too; he was the first in the trenches +at Alexandria; he carried off a Mameluke chief his prisoner at the battle +of the Pyramids.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What manner of man was he?’ +</p> +<p> +‘A powerful fellow, one of the largest of his regiment, and they were a +Grenadier battalion; he had black hair and black moustache, which he wore +long and drooping, in Egyptian fashion.’ +</p> +<p> +‘The same, the very same!’ cried I, carried away by my excitement. +</p> +<p> +‘What do you mean?’ said the colonel; ‘you’ve never seen him, surely; he +died at Charenton the same year Waterloo was fought.’ +</p> +<p> +‘No such thing,’ said I, feeling convinced that Lazare was the person. ‘I +saw him alive much later’; and with that I related the story I have told +my reader, detailing minutely every little particular which might serve to +confirm my impression of the identity. +</p> +<p> +‘No, no,’ said the vicomte, shaking his head, ‘you must be mistaken; +Aubuisson was a patient at Charenton for ten years, when he died. The +circumstances you mention are certainly both curious and strange, but I +cannot think they have any connection with the fortunes of poor Lazare; at +all events, if you like to hear the story, come home with me, and I ‘ll +tell it; the café is about to close now, and we must leave.’ +</p> +<p> +I gladly accepted the offer, for whatever doubts he had concerning +Lazare’s identity with Aubuisson, my convictions were complete, and I +longed to hear the solution of a mystery over which I had pondered many a +day of march and many a sleepless night. +</p> +<p> +I could scarcely contain my impatience during supper. The thought of +Lazare absorbed everything in my mind, and I fancied the old colonel’s +appetite knew no bounds when the meal had lasted about a quarter of an +hour. At last having finished, and devised his modest glass of weak wine +and water, he began the story, of which I present the leading features to +my readers, omitting, of course, those little occasional digressions and +reflections by which the narrator himself accompanied his tale. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. THE RETREAT FROM LEIPSIC +</h2> +<p> +‘The third day of the disastrous battle of Leipsic was drawing to a close, +as the armies of the coalition made one terrible and fierce attack, in +concert, against the Imperial forces. Never was anything before heard like +the deafening thunder, as three hundred guns of heavy artillery opened +their fire at once from end to end of the line, and three hundred thousand +men advanced, wildly cheering, to the attack. +</p> +<p> +‘Wearied, worn out, and exhausted, the French army held their ground, like +men prepared to die before their Emperor, but never desert him, when the +fearful intelligence was brought to Napoleon that in three days the army +had fired ninety-five thousand cannon-balls; that the reserve ammunition +was entirely consumed, and but sixteen thousand cannon-balls remained, +barely sufficient to maintain the fire two hours longer! What was to be +done? No resources lay nearer than Magdeburg or Erfurt. To the latter +place the Emperor at once decided on retiring, and at seven o’clock the +order was given for the artillery waggons and baggage to pass the defile +of Lindenau, and retreat over the Elster, the same order being transmitted +to the cavalry and the other corps of the army. The defile was a long and +difficult one, extending for two leagues, and traversing several bridges. +To accomplish the retreat in safety, Napoleon was counselled to hold the +allies in check by a strong force of artillery, and then set fire to the +faubourg; but the conduct of the Saxon troops, however deserving of his +anger, could not warrant a punishment so fearful on the monarch of that +country, who, through every change of fortune, had stood steady in his +friendship. He rejected the course at once, and determined on retreating +as best he might. +</p> +<p> +‘The movement was then begun at once, and every avenue that led to the +faubourg of Lindenau was crowded by troops of all arms, eagerly pressing +onward—a fearful scene of confusion and dismay, for it was a beaten +army that fled, and one which until now never had thoroughly felt the +horrors of defeat. From seven until nine the columns came on at a quick +step, the cavalry at a trot; defiling along the narrow gorge of lindenau, +they passed a mill at the roadside, where at a window stood one with arms +crossed and head bent upon his bosom. He gazed steadfastly at the long +train beneath, but never noticed the salutes of the general officers as +they passed along. It was the Emperor himself, pale and care-worn, his low +chapeau pressed down far on his brows, and his uniform splashed and +travel-stained. For over an hour he stood thus silent and motionless; then +throwing himself upon a bed he slept. Yes; amid all the terrible events of +that disastrous retreat, when the foundations of the mighty empire he had +created were crumbling beneath him, when the great army he had so often +led to victory was defiling beaten before him, he laid his wearied head +upon a pillow and slept! +</p> +<p> +‘A terrible cannonade, the fire of seventy large guns brought to bear upon +the ramparts, shook the very earth, and at length awoke Napoleon, who +through all the din and clamour had slept soundly and tranquilly. +</p> +<p> +‘“What is it, Duroc?” said he, raising himself upon one arm, and looking +up. +</p> +<p> +‘“It is Swartzenberg’s attack, sire, on the rampart of Halle.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Ha! so near?” said he, springing up and approaching the window, from +which the bright flashes of the artillery were each moment discernible in +the dark sky. At the same moment an aide-de-camp galloped up, and +dismounted at the door; in another minute he was in the room. +</p> +<p> +‘The Saxon troops, left by the Emperor as a guard of honour and protection +to the unhappy monarch, had opened a fire on the retreating columns, and a +fearful confusion was the result. The Emperor spoke not a word. +Macdonald’s corps and Poniatowskf s division were still in Leipsic; but +already they had commenced their retiring movement on Lindenau. +Lauriston’s brigade was also rapidly approaching the bridge over the +Elster, to which now the men were hurrying madly, intent alone on flight. +The bridge—the only one by which the troops could pass —had +been mined, and committed to the charge of Colonel Montfort of the +Engineers, with directions to blow it up when the enemy appeared, and thus +gain time for the baggage to retreat. +</p> +<p> +‘As the aide-de-camp stood awaiting Napoleon’s orders in reply to a few +lines written in pencil by the Duke of Tarento, another staff-officer +arrived, breathless, to say that the allies had carried the rampart, and +were already in Leipsic. Napoleon became deadly pale; then, with a motion +of his hand, he signed to the officer to withdraw. +</p> +<p> +‘“Duroc,” said he, when they were alone, “where is Nansouty?” +</p> +<p> +‘“With the eighth corps, sire. They have passed an hour since.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Who commands the picket without?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Aubuisson, sire.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Send him to me, and leave us alone.” +</p> +<p> +‘In a few moments Colonel Aubuisson entered. His arm was in a sling from a +sabre-wound he had received the morning before, but which did not prevent +his remaining on duty. The stout soldier seemed as unconcerned and +fearless in that dreadful moment as though it were a day of gala +manoeuvres, and not one of disaster and defeat. +</p> +<p> +‘“Aubuisson,” said the Emperor, “you were with us at Alexandria?” +</p> +<p> +‘“I was, sire,” said he, as a deeper tinge coloured his bronzed features. +</p> +<p> +‘“The first in the rampart—I remember it well,” said Napoleon; “the +<i>ordre du jour</i> commemorates the deed. It was at Moscow you gained +the cross, I believe?” continued he, after a slight pause. +</p> +<p> +‘“I never obtained it, sire,” replied Aubuisson, with a struggle to +repress some disappointment in his tone. +</p> +<p> +‘“How, never obtained it!—you, Aubuisson, an ancient <i>brave</i> of +the Pyramids! Come, come, there has been a mistake somewhere; we must look +to this. Meanwhile, <i>General</i> Aubuisson, take mine.” +</p> +<p> +‘With that he detached his cordon from the breast of his uniform, and +fastened it on the coat of the astonished officer, who could only mutter +the words, “Sire, sire!” in reply. +</p> +<p> +‘“Now, then, for a service you must render me, and speedily, too,” said +Napoleon, as he laid his hand on the general’s shoulder. +</p> +<p> +‘The Emperor whispered for some seconds in his ear, then looked at him +fixedly in the face. “What!” cried he, “do you hesitate?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Hesitate, sire!” said Aubuisson, starting back. “Never! If your Majesty +had ordered me to the mouth of a mortar—but I wish to know——” +</p> +<p> +‘Napoleon did not permit him to conclude, but drawing him closer, +whispered again a few words in his ear. “And, mark me,” said he, aloud, as +he finished, “mark me, Aubuisson! silence—pas un mot? silence à la +mort!” +</p> +<p> +‘“A la mort, sire!” repeated the general, while at the same moment Duroc +hurried into the room, and cried out— +</p> +<p> +‘“They are advancing towards the Elster; Macdonald’s rear-guard is engaged——” +</p> +<p> +‘A motion of Napoleon’s hand towards the door and a look at Aubuisson was +the only notice he took of the intelligence, and the officer was gone. +</p> +<p> +‘While Duroc continued to detail the disastrous events the last arrived +news had announced, the Emperor approached the window, which was still +open, and looked out. All was in darkness towards that part of the city +near the defile. The attack was on the distant rampart, near which the sky +was red and lurid. Still, it was towards that dark and gloomy part that +Napoleon’s eyes were turned, and not in the direction where the fight was +still raging. Peering into the dense blackness, he stood without speaking, +when suddenly a bright gleam of light shot up from the gloom, and then +came three tremendous reports, so rapidly, one after the other, as almost +to seem like one. The same instant a blaze of fire flashed upwards towards +the sky, and glittering fragments of burning timber were hurled into the +air. Napoleon covered his eyes with his hand, and leaned against the side +of the window. +</p> +<p> +‘“It is the bridge over the Elster!” cried Duroc, in a voice half wild +with passion. “They’ve blown up the bridge before Macdonald’s division +have crossed.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Impossible!” said the Emperor. “Go see quickly, Duroc, what has +happened.” +</p> +<p> +‘But before the general could leave the room, a wounded officer rushed in, +his clothes covered with the marks of recent fire. +</p> +<p> +‘“The Sappers, sire! the Sappers——-” +</p> +<p> +‘“What of them?” said the Emperor. +</p> +<p> +‘“They’ve blown up the bridge, and the fourth corps are still in Leipsic.” +</p> +<p> +‘The next moment Napoleon was on his horse, surrounded by his staff, and +galloping furiously towards the river. +</p> +<p> +‘Never was a scene more awful than that which now presented itself there. +Hundreds of men had thrown themselves headlong into the rapid river, where +masses of burning timber were falling on every side; horse and foot all +mixed up in fearful confusion struggled madly in the stream, mingling +their cries with the shouts of those who came on from behind, and who +discovered for the first time that the retreat was cut off. The Duke of +Tarento crossed, holding by his horse’s mane. Lauriston had nearly reached +the bank, when he sank to rise no more; and Poniatowski, the chivalrous +Pole, the last hope of his nation, was seen for an instant struggling with +the waves, and then disappeared for ever. +</p> +<p> +‘Twenty thousand men, sixty great guns, and above two hundred waggons were +thus left in the power of the enemy. Few who sought refuge in flight ever +reached the opposite bank, and for miles down, the shores of the Elster +were marked by the bodies of French soldiers, who thus met their death on +that fearful night. +</p> +<p> +‘Among the disasters of this terrible retreat was the fate of Reynier, of +whom no tidings could be had; nor was it known whether he died in battle, +or fell a prisoner into the hands of the enemy. He was the personal friend +of the Emperor, who in his loss deplored not only the brave and valorous +soldier, but the steady adherent to his fortunes through good and evil. No +more striking evidence of the amount of this misfortune can be had than +the bulletin of Napoleon himself. That document, usually devoted to the +expression of vainglorious and exaggerated descriptions of the triumphs of +the army—full of those high-flown narratives by which the glowing +imagination of the Emperor conveyed the deeds of his soldiers to the +wondering ears of France—was now a record of mournful depression and +sad reverse of fortune. +</p> +<p> +‘“The French army,” said he, “continues its march on Erfurt—a beaten +army. After so many brilliant successes, it is now in retreat.” +</p> +<p> +‘Every one is already acquainted with the disastrous career of that army, +the greatest that ever marched from France. Each step of their return, +obstinately contested against overwhelming superiority of force, however +it might evidence the chivalrous spirit of a nation who would not confess +defeat, brought them only nearer to their own frontiers, pursued by those +whose countries they had violated, whose kings they had dethroned, whose +liberties they had trampled on. The fearful Nemesis of war had come. The +hour was arrived when all the wrongs they had wreaked on others were to be +tenfold inflicted on themselves; when the plains of that “belle France,” +of which they were so proud, were to be trampled beneath the feet of +insulting conquerors; when the Cossack and the Uhlan were to bivouac in +that capital which they so arrogantly styled “the centre of European +civilisation.” +</p> +<p> +‘I need not dwell on these things; I will but ask you to accompany me to +Erfurt, where the army arrived five days after. A court-martial was there +summoned for the trial of Colonel Montfort of the Engineers, and the party +under his command, who in violation of their orders had prematurely blown +up the bridge over the Elster, and were thus the cause of that fearful +disaster by which so many gallant lives were sacrificed, and the honour of +a French army so grievously tarnished. Contrary to the ordinary custom, +the proceedings of that court-martial were never made known; * the +tribunal sat with closed doors, accessible only to the Emperor himself and +the officers of his personal staff. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +* The vicomte’s assertion is historically correct. +</pre> +<p> +‘On the fourth day of the investigation, a messenger was despatched to +Braunach, a distant outpost of the army, to bring up General Aubuisson, +who, it was rumoured, was somehow implicated in the transaction. The +general took his place beside the other prisoners, in the full uniform of +his grade. He wore on his breast the cross the Emperor himself had given +him, and he carried at his side the sabre of honour he had received on the +battlefield of Eylau. Still, they who knew him well remarked that his +countenance no longer wore its frank and easy expression, while in his eye +there was a restless, anxious look, as he glanced from side to side, and +seemed troubled and suspicious. +</p> +<p> +‘An order, brought by one of the aides-de-camp of the Emperor, commanded +that the proceedings should not be opened that morning before his +Majesty’s arrival, and already the court had remained an hour inactive, +when Napoleon entered suddenly, and saluting the members of the tribunal +with a courteous bow, took his place at the head of the table. As he +passed up the hall he threw one glance upon the bench where the prisoners +sat; it was short and fleeting, but there was one there who felt it in his +inmost soul, and who in that rapid look read his own fate for ever. +</p> +<p> +‘“General Aubuisson,” said the President of the court-martial, “you were +on duty with the peloton of your battalion on the evening of the 18th?” +</p> +<p> +‘A short nod of the head was the only reply. “It is alleged,” continued +the President, “that a little after nine o’clock you appeared on the +bridge over the Elster, and held a conversation with Colonel Montfort, the +officer commanding the post; the court now desires that you will +recapitulate the circumstances of that conversation, as well as inform it +generally on the reasons of your presenting yourself at a post so remote +from your duty.” +</p> +<p> +‘The general made no reply, but fixed his eyes steadfastly on the face of +the Emperor, whose cold glance met his own, impassive and unmoved. +</p> +<p> +‘“Have you heard the question of the court?” said the President, in a +louder tone, “or shall I repeat it?” +</p> +<p> +‘The prisoner turned upon him a look of vacancy. Like one suddenly +awakened from a frightful dream, he appeared struggling to remember +something which no effort of his mind could accomplish. He passed his hand +across his brow, on which now the big drops of sweat were standing, and +then there broke from him a sigh, so low and plaintive it was scarcely +audible. +</p> +<p> +‘“Collect yourself, general,” said the President, in a milder tone; “we +wish to hear from your own lips your account of this transaction.” +</p> +<p> +‘Aubuisson cast his eyes downwards, and with his hands firmly clasped, +seemed to reflect. As he stood thus, his look fell upon the cross of the +Legion which he wore on his bosom; with a sudden start he pressed his hand +upon it, and drawing himself up to his full height, exclaimed, in a wild +and broken voice— +</p> +<p> +‘“Silence—silence à la mort!” +</p> +<p> +‘The members of the court-martial looked from one to the other in +amazement, while after a pause of a few minutes the President repeated his +question, dwelling patiently on each word, as if desirous to suit the +troubled intellect of the prisoner. +</p> +<p> +‘“You are asked,” said he, “to remember why you appeared at the bridge of +the Elster.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Hush!” replied the prisoner, placing his finger upon his lips, as if to +instil caution; “not a word!” +</p> +<p> +‘“What can this mean?” said the President, “his mind appears completely +astray.” +</p> +<p> +‘The members of the tribunal leaned their heads over the table, and +conversed for some moments in a low tone, after which the President +resumed the interrogatory as before. +</p> +<p> +‘“Que voulez-vous?” said the Emperor, rising, while a crimson spot on his +cheek evinced his displeasure; “Que voulez-vous, messieurs! do you not see +the man is mad?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Silence!” reiterated Aubuisson, in the same solemn voice; “silence à la +mort!” +</p> +<p> +‘There could no longer be any doubt upon the question. From whatever cause +proceeding, his intellect was shaken, and his reason gone. Some +predominant impression, some all-powerful idea, had usurped the seat of +both judgment and memory, and he was a maniac. +</p> +<p> +‘In ten days after, General Aubuisson—the distinguished soldier of +the Republic, the <i>brave</i> of Egypt, and the hero of many a battle in +Germany, Poland, and Russia—was a patient of Charenton. A sad and +melancholy figure, wasted and withered like a tree reft by lightning, the +wreck of his former self, he walked slowly to and fro; and though at times +his reason would seem to return free and unclouded, suddenly a dark +curtain would appear to drop over the light of his intellect, and he would +mutter the words, “Silence! silence à la mort!” and speak not again for +several hours after.’ +</p> +<p> +The Vicomte de Berlemont, from whom I heard this sad story, was himself a +member of the court-martial on the occasion. For the rest, I visited Paris +about a fortnight after I heard it, and determining to solve my doubts on +a subject of such interest I paid an early visit to Charenton. On +examining the registry of the institution, I found the name of ‘Gustave +Guillaume Aubuisson, native of Dijon, aged thirty-two. Admitted at +Charenton the 31st of October, 1813. Incurable.’ And on another page was +the single line, ‘Aubuisson escaped from Charenton, June 16, 1815. +Supposed to have been seen at Waterloo on the 18th.’ +</p> +<p> +One more fact remains to be mentioned in this sad story. The old tower +still stands, bleak and desolate, on the mountains of the Vesdre; but it +is now uninhabited save by the sheep that seek shelter within its gloomy +walls, and herd in that spacious chimney. There is another change, too, +but so slight as scarcely to be noticed: a little mound of earth, +grass-grown and covered with thistles, marks the spot where ‘Lazare the +shepherd’ takes his last rest. It is a lone and dreary spot, and the +sighing night-winds as they move over the barren heath seem to utter his +last <i>consigne</i>, and his requiem—‘Silence! silence à la mort!’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. THE TOP OF A DILIGENCE +</h2> +<p> +‘Summa diligentia,’ as we used to translate it at school, ‘on the top of +the diligence,’ I wagged along towards the Rhine. A weary and a lonely way +it is; indeed, I half believe a frontier is ever thus—a kind of +natural barrier to ambition on either side, where both parties stop short +and say, ‘Well, there’s no temptation there, anyhow!’ +</p> +<p> +Reader, hast ever travelled in the <i>banquette</i> of a diligence? I will +not ask you, fair lady; for how could you ever mount to that Olympus of +trunks, carpet-bags, and hat-boxes; but my whiskered friend with the +cheroot yonder, what says he? Never look angry, man—there was no +offence in my question; better men than either of us have done it. +</p> +<p> +First, if the weather be fine, the view is a glorious thing; you are not +limited, like your friends in the <i>coupé</i>, to the sight of the +conductor’s gaiters, or the leather disc of the postillion’s +‘continuations.’ No; your eye ranges away at either side over those +undulating plains which the Continent presents, unbroken by fence or +hedgerow—one stretch of vast cornfields, great waving woods, +interminable tracts of yellowish pasture-land, with here and there a +village spire, or the pointed roof of some château rising above the trees. +A yellow-earthy byroad traverses the plain, on which a heavy waggon plods +along, the eight huge horses, stepping as free as though no weight +restrained them; their bells are tinkling in the clear air, and the merry +chant of the waggoner chimes in pleasantly with them. It is somewhat hard +to fancy how the land is ever tilled; you meet few villages; scarcely a +house is in sight—yet there are the fragrant fields; the yellow gold +of harvest tints the earth, and the industry of man is seen on every side. +It is peaceful, it is grand, too, from its very extent; but it is not +homelike. No; our own happy land alone possesses that attribute. <i>It</i> +is the country of the hearth and home. The traveller in France or Germany +catches no glances as he goes of the rural life of the proprietors of the +soil. A pale white château, seemingly uninhabited, stands in some formal +lawn, where the hot sun darts down his rays unbroken, and the very +fountain seems to hiss with heat. No signs of life are seen about; all is +still and calm, as though the moon were shedding her yellow lustre over +the scene. Oh how I long for the merry schoolboy’s laugh, the clatter of +the pony’s canter, the watch-dog’s bark, the squire breathing the morning +air amid his woods, that tell of England! How I fancy a peep into that +large drawing-room, whose windows open to the greensward, letting in a +view of distant mountains and far-receding foreground, through an +atmosphere heavy with the rose and the honeysuckle! Lovely as is the +scene, with foliage tinted in every hue, from the light sprayey hazel to +the dull pine or the dark copper beech—how I prefer to look within +where <i>they</i> are met who call this ‘home!’ And what a paradise is +such a home!—— +</p> +<p> +But I must think no more of these things. I am a lone and solitary man; my +happiness is cast in a different mould, nor shall I mar it by longings +which never can be realised. +</p> +<p> +While I sat thus musing, my companion of the <i>banquette</i>, of whom I +had hitherto seen nothing but a blue-cloth cloak and a travelling-cap, +came ‘slap down’ on me with a snort that choked him, and aroused me. +</p> +<p> +‘I ask your pardon, sir,’ said he in a voice that betrayed Middlesex most +culpably. ‘Je suis—that is, j’ai——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Never mind, sir; English will answer every purpose,’ cried I. ‘You have +had a sound sleep of it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, Heaven be praised! I get over a journey as well as most men. Where +are we now—do you happen to know?’ +</p> +<p> +‘That old castle yonder, I suspect, is the Alten Burg,’ said I, taking out +my guidebook and directory. ‘The Alten Burg was built in the year 1384, by +Carl Ludwig Graf von Löwenstein, and is not without its historic +associations——-’ +</p> +<p> +‘Damn its historic associations!’ said my companion, with an energy that +made me start. ‘I wish the devil and his imps had carried away all such +trumpery, or kept them to torture people in their own hot climate, and +left us free here. I ask pardon, sir! I beseech you to forgive my warmth; +you would if you knew the cause, I’m certain.’ +</p> +<p> +I began to suspect as much myself, and that my neighbour being insane, was +in no wise responsible for his opinions; when he resumed— +</p> +<p> +‘Most men are made miserable by present calamities; some feel +apprehensions for the future; but no one ever suffered so much from either +as I do from the past. No, sir,’ continued he, raising his voice, ‘I have +been made unhappy from those sweet souvenirs of departed greatness which +guidebook people and tourists gloat over. The very thought of antiquity +makes me shudder; the name of Charlemagne gives me the lumbago; and I’d +run a mile from a conversation about Charles the Bold or Philip van +Artevelde. I see what’s passing in your mind; but you ‘re all wrong. I’m +not deranged, not a bit of it; though, faith, I might be, without any +shame or disgrace.’ +</p> +<p> +The caprices of men, of Englishmen in particular, had long ceased to +surprise me; each day disclosed some new eccentricity or other. In the +very last hotel I had left there was a Member of Parliament planning a new +route to the Rhine, avoiding Cologne, because in the coffee-room of the +‘Grossen Rheinberg’ there was a double door that everybody banged when he +went in or out, and so discomposed the honourable and learned gentleman +that he was laid up for three weeks with a fit of gout, brought on by pure +passion at the inconvenience. +</p> +<p> +I had not long to wait for the explanation in this case. My companion +appeared to think he owed it to himself to ‘show cause’ why he was not to +be accounted a lunatic; and after giving me briefly to understand that his +means enabled him to retire from active pursuits and enjoy his ease, he +went on to recount that he had come abroad to pass the remainder of his +days in peace and tranquillity. But I shall let him tell his own story in +his own words. +</p> +<p> +‘On the eighth day after my arrival at Brussels, I told my wife to pack +up; for as Mr. Thysens the lawyer, who promised to write before that time, +had not done so, we had nothing to wait for. We had seen Waterloo, visited +the Musée, skated about in listed slippers through the Palais d’Orange, +dined at Dubos’s, ate ice at Velloni’s, bought half the old lace in the +Rue de la Madelaine, and almost caught an ague in the Allée Verte. This +was certainly pleasure enough for one week; so I ordered my bill, and +prepared “to evacuate Flanders.” Lord help us, what beings we are! Had I +gone down to the railroad by the Boulevards and not by the Montagne de la +Cour, what miseries might I not have been spared! Mr. Thysens’s clerk met +me, just as I emerged from the Place Royale, with a letter in his hand. I +took it, opened, and read:— +</p> +<p> +‘“Sir,—I have just completed the purchase of the beautiful Château +of Vanderstradentendonk, with all its gardens, orchards, pheasantries, +piscinae, prairies, and forest rights, which are now your property. Accept +my most respectful congratulations upon your acquisition of this +magnificent seat of ancient grandeur, rendered doubly precious by its +having been once the favourite residence and château of the great Van +Dyck.” +</p> +<p> +‘Here followed a long encomium upon Rubens and his school, which I did not +half relish, knowing it was charged to me in my account; the whole winding +up with a pressing recommendation to hasten down at once to take +possession, and enjoy the partridge shooting, then in great abundance. +</p> +<p> +‘My wife was in ecstasy to be the Frow Vanderstradentendonk, with a +fish-pond before the door, and twelve gods and goddesses in lead around +it. To have a brace of asthmatic peacocks on a terrace, and a dropsical +swan on an island, were strong fascinations—not to speak of the +straight avenues leading nowhere, and the winds of heaven blowing +everywhere; a house with a hundred and thirty windows and half as many +doors, none of which would shut close; a garden, with no fruit but +crab-apples; and a nursery, so called, because the playground of all the +brats for a league round us. No matter, I had resolved to live abroad for +a year or two, and one place would do just as well as another; at least, I +should have quietness—that was something; there was no +neighbourhood, no town, no highroad, no excuse for travelling +acquaintances to drop in, or rambling tourists to bore one with letters of +introduction. Thank God! there was neither a battlefield, a cathedral, a +picture, nor a great living poet for ten miles on any side. +</p> +<p> +‘Here, thought I, I shall have that peace Piccadilly cannot give. +Cincinnatus-like, I’ll plant my cabbages, feed my turkeys, let my beard +grow, and nurse my rental. Solitude never bored me; I could bear anything +but intrusive impertinence. So far did I carry this feeling, that on +reading Robinson Crusoe I laid down the volume in disgust on the +introduction of his man Friday! +</p> +<p> +‘It mattered little, therefore, that the <i>couleur de rose</i> picture +the lawyer had drawn of the château had little existence out of his own +florid imagination; the quaint old building, with its worn tapestries and +faded furniture, suited the habit of my soul, and I hugged myself often in +the pleasant reflection that my London acquaintances would be puzzling +their brains for my whereabouts, without the slightest clue to my +detection. Now, had I settled in Florence, Frankfort, or Geneva, what a +life I must have led! There is always some dear Mrs. Somebody going to +live in your neighbourhood, who begs you ‘ll look out for a house for her—something +very eligible; eighteen rooms well furnished; a southern aspect; in the +best quarter; a garden indispensable; and all for some forty pounds a year—or +some other dear friend who desires you ‘ll find a governess, with more +accomplishments than Malibran and more learning than Porson, with the +temper of five angels, and a “vow in heaven” to have no higher salary than +a college bed-maker. Then there are the Thompsons passing through, whom +you have taken care never to know before; but who fall upon you now as +strangers in a foreign land, and take the “benefit” of the “Alien Act” in +dinners at your house during their stay. I stop not to enumerate the +crying wants of the more lately arrived resident, all of which are +refreshed for your benefit; the recommendations to butlers who don’t +cheat, to moral music-masters, grave dancing-masters, and doctors who +never take fees—every infraction by each of these individuals in his +peculiar calling being set down as a just cause of complaint against +yourself, requiring an animated correspondence in writing, and concluding +with an abject apology and a promise to cut the delinquent that day, +though you owe him a half-year’s bill. These are all pleasant; not to +speak of the curse of disjointed society, ill-assorted, ill-conceived, +unreasonable pretension, vulgar impertinence, and fawning toadyism on +every side, and not one man to be found to join you in laughing at the +whole thing, which would amply repay one for any endurance. No, thought I, +I ‘ve had enough of this! I ‘ll try my barque in quieter waters, and +though it’s only a punt, yet I’ll hold the sculls myself, and that’s +something. +</p> +<p> +‘So much for the self-gratulation I indulged in, as the old <i>chaise de +poste</i> rattled over the heavy pavement, and drew up short at the +portico of my future dwelling. My wife was charmed with the procession of +villagers who awaited us on the steps, and (although an uglier population +never trod their mother earth in wooden slippers) fancied she could detect +several faces of great beauty and much interest in the crowd. For my part, +I saw nothing but an indiscriminate haze of cotton nightcaps, striped +jackets, blouses, black petticoats and sabots; so, pushing my way through +them, I left the bassoon and the burgomaster to the united delights of +their music and eloquence, and shutting the hall door threw myself on a +seat, and thanked Heaven that my period of peace and tranquillity was at +length to begin. +</p> +<p> +‘Peace and tranquillity! What airy visions! Had I selected the post of cad +to an omnibus, a steward to a Greenwich steamer, were I a guide to the +Monument or a waiter at Long’s my life had been one of dignified repose in +comparison with my present existence. +</p> +<p> +‘I had not been a week in the château when a travelling Englishman +sprained his ankle within a short distance of the house. As a matter of +course he was brought there, and taken every care of for the few days of +his stay. He was fed, housed, leeched, and stuped, and when at length he +proceeded upon his journey was profuse in his acknowledgments for the +services rendered him; and yet what was the base return of the ungrateful +man? I have scarcely temper to record it. During the very moment when we +were most lavish in our attention to him, he was sapping the very peace of +his benefactors. He learned from the Flemish servants of the house that it +had formerly been the favourite residence of Van Dyck; that the very +furniture was unchanged since his time; the bed, the table, the chair he +had sat on were all preserved. The wretch—am I not warranted in +calling him so?—made notes of all this; before I had been three +weeks in my abode, out came a <i>Walk in Flanders</i>, in two volumes, +with a whole chapter about me, headed “Château de Van Dyck.” There we +were, myself and my wife, in every window of the Row: Longman, Hurst, +Rees, Orme, Brown, Green, and Blue, had bought us at a price, and paid for +us; there we were—we, who courted solitude and retirement—to +be read of by every puppy in the West End, and every apprentice in +Cheapside. Our hospitality was lauded, as if I kept open house for all +comers, with “hot chops and brown gravy” at a moment’s notice. The +antiquary was bribed to visit me by the fascinations of a spot “sacred to +the reveries of genius”; the sportsman, by the account of my “preserves”; +the idler, to say he had been there; and the guide-bookmaker and +historical biographer, to vamp up details for a new edition of <i>Belgium +as it was</i>, or <i>Van Dyck and his Contemporaries</i>. +</p> +<p> +‘From the hour of the publication of that horrid book I never enjoyed a +moment’s peace or ease. The whole tide of my travelling countrymen—and +what a flood it is!—came pouring into Ghent. Post-horses could not +be found sufficient for half the demand; the hotels were crowded; +respectable peasants gave up their daily employ to become guides to the +château; and little busts of Van Dyck were hawked about the neighbourhood +by children of four years old. The great cathedral of Ghent, Van Scamp’s +pictures, all the historic remains of that ancient city were at a +discount; and they who formerly exhibited them as a livelihood were now +thrown out of bread. Like the dancing-master who has not gone up to Paris +for the last pirouette, or the physician who has not taken up the +stethoscope, they were reputed old-fashioned and <i>passé</i>; and if they +could not describe the Château de Van Dyck, were voted among the bygones. +</p> +<p> +‘The impulse once given, there was no stopping; the current was +irresistible. The double lock on the gate of the avenue, the bulldog at +the hall door, the closed shutters, the cut-away bell-rope, announced a +firm resolution in the fortress not to surrender; but we were taken by +assault, escaladed, and starved out in turns. +</p> +<p> +‘Scarcely was the tea-urn on the breakfast-table when they began to pour +in—old and young, the halt, the one-eyed, the fat, the thin, the +melancholy, the merry, the dissipated, the dyspeptic, the sentimental, the +jocose, the blunt, the ceremonious, the courtly, the rude, the critical, +and the free and easy. One came forty miles out of his way, and pronounced +the whole thing an imposition, and myself a humbug; another insisted upon +my getting up at dinner, that he might sit down in my chair, characterised +by the confounded guides as “le fauteuil de Van Dyck”; a third went so far +as to propose lying down in our great four-post bed, just to say he had +been there, though my wife was then in it. I speak not of the miserable +practice of cutting slices off all the furniture as relics. John Murray +took an inventory of the whole contents of the house for a new edition of +his guidebook; and Holman, the blind traveller, <i>felt</i> me all over +with his hand as I sat at tea with my wife; and last of all, a respectable +cheesemonger from the Strand, after inspecting the entire building from +the attics to the cellar, pressed sixpence into my hand at parting, and +said, “Happy to see you, Mr. Van Dyck, if you come into the city!” +</p> +<p> +‘Then the advice and counsel I met with, oral and written, would fill a +volume, and did; for I was compelled to keep an album in the hall for the +visitors’ names. One suggested that my desecration of the temple of genius +would be less disgusting if I dined in my kitchen, and left the ancient +dining-room as the great artist had left it. Another hinted that my +presence in my own house destroyed all the illusion of its historic +associations. A third, a young lady—to judge by the writing—proposed +my wearing a point-beard and lace ruffles, with trunk hose and a feather +in my hat, probably to favour the “illusion” so urgently mentioned by the +other writer, and, perhaps, to indulge visitors like my friend the +cheesemonger. Many pitied me—well might they!—as one +insensible to the associations of the spot; while my very servants, +regarding me only as a show part of the establishment, neglected their +duties on every side, and betook themselves to ciceroneship, each +allocating his peculiar territory to himself, like the people who show the +lions and the armour in the Tower. +</p> +<p> +‘No weather was either too hot or too cold, too sultry or too boisterous; +no hour too late or too early; no day was sacred. If the family were at +prayers or at dinner or at breakfast or in bed, it mattered not; they had +come many miles to see the chateau, and see it they would. “Alas!” thought +I, “if, as some learned persons suppose, individuals be recognisable in +the next world, what a melancholy time of it will be yours, poor Van Dyck! +If they make all this hubbub about the house you lived in, what will they +do about your fleshy tabernacle?” +</p> +<p> +‘As the season advanced, the crowds increased; and as autumn began, the +conflicting currents to and from the Rhine all met in my bedroom. There +took place all the rendezvous of Europe. Runaway daughters there first +repented in papa’s arms, and profligate sons promised amendment for the +future. Myself and my wife were passed by unnoticed and disregarded amid +this tumult of recognition and salutation. We were emaciated like +skeletons; our meals we ate when we could, like soldiers on a retreat; and +we slept in our clothes, not knowing at what moment the enemy might be +upon us. Locks, bolts, and bars were ineffectual; our resistance only +increased curiosity, and our garrison was ever open to bribery. +</p> +<p> +‘It was to no purpose that I broke the windows to let in the north wind +and acute rheumatism; to little good did I try an alarm of fire every day +about two, when the house was fullest; and I failed signally in terrifying +my torturers when I painted the gardener’s wife sky-blue, and had her +placed in the hall, with a large label over the bed, “collapsed cholera.” +Bless your heart! the tourist cares for none of these; and I often think +it would have saved English powder and shot to have exported half a dozen +of them to the East for the siege of Seringapatam. Had they been only told +of an old picture, a teapot, a hearth-brush, or a candlestick that once +belonged to Godfrey de Bouillon or Peter the Hermit, they would have +stormed it under all the fire of Egypt! Well, it’s all over at last; human +patience could endure no longer. We escaped by night, got away by stealth +to Ghent, took post-horses in a feigned name, and fled from the Château de +Van Dyck as from the plague. Determined no longer to trust to chances, I +have built a cottage myself, which has no historic associations further +back than six weeks ago; and fearful even of being known as the <i>ci-devant</i> +possessor of the château, I never confess to have been in Ghent in my +life; and if Van Dyck be mentioned, I ask if he is not the postmaster at +Tervueren. +</p> +<p> +‘Here, then, I conclude my miseries. I cannot tell what may be the +pleasure that awaits the <i>live</i> “lion,” but I envy no man the +delights that fall to his lot who inhabits the den of the <i>dead</i> +one.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. BONN AND STUDENT LIFE +</h2> +<p> +When I look at the heading of this chapter, and read there the name of a +little town upon the Rhine—which, doubtless, the majority of my +readers has visited—and reflect on how worn the track, how beaten +the path I have been guiding them on so long, I really begin to feel +somewhat faint-hearted. Have we not all seen Brussels and Antwerp, +Waterloo and Quatre Bras? Are we not acquainted with Belgium, as well as +we are with Middlesex; don’t we know the whole country, from its +cathedrals down to Sergeant Cotton?—and what do we want with Mr. +O’Leary here? And the Rhine—bless the dear man!—have we not +steamed it up and down in every dampschiffe of the rival companies? The +Drachenfels and St. Goar, the Caub and Bingen, are familiar to our eyes as +Chelsea and Tilbury Fort. True, all true, mesdames and messieurs—I +have been your fellow-traveller myself. I have watched you pattering +along, John Murray in hand, through every narrow street and ill-paved +square, conversing with your commissionaire in such French as it pleased +God, and receiving his replies in equivalent English. I have seen you at +table d’hôte, vainly in search of what you deemed eatable—hungry and +thirsty in the midst of plenty; I have beheld you yawning at the opera, +and grave at the Vaudeville; and I knew you were making your summer +excursion of pleasure, ‘doing your Belgium and Germany,’ like men who +would not be behind their neighbours. And still, with all this fatigue of +sea and land, this rough-riding and railroading, this penance of short bed +and shorter board, though you studied your handbook from the Scheldt to +Schaffhausen, you came back with little more knowledge of the Continent +than when you left home. It is true, your son Thomas—that lamblike +scion of your stock, with light eyes and hair—has been initiated +into the mysteries of <i>rouge et noir</i> and <i>roulette</i>; madame, +your wife, has obtained a more extravagant sense of what is becoming in +costume; your daughter has had her mind opened to the fascinations of a +French <i>escroc</i> or a ‘refugee Pole’; and you, yourself, somewhat the +worse for your change of habits, have found the salads of Germany +imparting a tinge of acidity to your disposition. These are, doubtless, +valuable imports to bring back—not the less so, that they are duty +free. Yet, after all, ‘joy’s recollection is no longer joy’; and I doubt +if the retrospect of your wanderings be a repayment for their fatigues. +</p> +<p> +‘Would he have us stay at home, Pa?’ lisps out, in pouting accents of +impatience, some fair damsel, whose ringlets alone would make a furore at +Paris. +</p> +<p> +Nothing of the kind, my dear. Travel by all means. There’s nothing will +improve your French accent like a winter abroad; and as to your carriage +and air, it is all-essential you should be pressed in the waltz by some +dark-moustached Hungarian or tight-laced Austrian. Your German will fall +all the more trippingly off your tongue that you have studied it in the +land of beer and beetroot; while, as a safeguard against those distressing +sensations of which shame and modesty are the parents, the air of the +Rhine is sovereign, and its watering-places an unerring remedy. All I +bargain for is, to be of the party. Let there be a corner in a +portmanteau, or an imperial, a carriage-pocket, or a courier’s sack for +me, and I’m content. If ‘John’ be your guide, let Arthur be your mentor. +He’ll tell you of the roads; I, of the travellers. +</p> +<p> +To him belong pictures and statues, churches, châteaux, and curiosities; +<i>my</i> province is the people—the living actors of the scene, the +characters who walk the stage in prominent parts, and without some +knowledge of whom your ramble would lose its interest. Occasionally, it is +true, they may not be the best of company. Que voulez-vous? ‘If ever you +travel, you mustn’t feel queer,’ as Mathews said or sung—I forget +which. I shall only do my endeavour to deal more with faults than vices, +more with foibles than failings. The eccentricities of my fellow-men are +more my game than their crimes; and therefore do not fear that in my +company I shall teach you bad habits, nor introduce you to low +acquaintances; and above all, no disparagement—and it is with that +thought I set out—no disparagement of me that I take you over a +much-travelled track. If it be so, there’s the more reason you should know +the company whom you are in the habit of visiting frequently; and +secondly, if you accompany me here, I promise you better hereafter; and +lastly, one of the pleasantest books that ever was written was the <i>Voyage +autour de ma Chambre</i>. Come, then, is it agreed—are we +fellow-travellers? You might do worse than take me. I’ll neither eat you +up, like your English footmen, nor sell you to the landlord, like your +German courier, nor give you over to brigands, like your Italian valet. +It’s a bargain, then; and here we are at Bonn. +</p> +<p> +It is one o’clock, and you can’t do better than sit down to the table +d’hôte: call it breakfast, if your prejudices run high, and take your +place. I have supposed you at ‘Die Sterne’ (The Star), in the little +square of the town; and, certes, you might be less comfortably housed. The +cuisine is excellent, both French and German, and the wines delicious. The +company at first blush might induce you to step back, under the impression +that you had mistaken the salon, and accidentally fallen upon a military +mess. They are nearly all officers of the cavalry regiments garrisoned at +Bonn, well-looking and well-dressed fellows, stout, bronzed, and +soldierlike, and wearing their moustaches like men who felt hair on the +upper lip to be a birthright. If a little too noisy and uproarious at +table, it proceeds not from any quarrelsome spirit: the fault, in a great +measure, lies with the language. German, except spoken by a Saxon madchen, +invariably suggests the idea of a row to an uninterested bystander; and if +Goethe himself were to recite his ballads before an English audience, I’d +venture long odds they’d accuse him of blasphemy. Welsh and Irish are soft +zephyrs compared to it. +</p> +<p> +A stray Herr Baron or two, large, portly, responsible-looking men, with +cordons at their button-holes, and pipe-sticks projecting from their +breast-pockets, and a sprinkling of students of the higher class—it +is too dear for the others—make up the party. Of course, there are +English; but my present business is not with them. +</p> +<p> +By the time you have arrived at the ‘Rae-braten, with capers’—which +on a fair average, taken in the months of spring and summer, may be after +about an hour and a half’s diligent performance—you’ll have more +time to survey the party, who by this time are clinking their glasses, and +drinking hospitably to one another in champagne; for there is always some +newly returned comrade to be feted, or a colonel’s birthday or a battle, a +poet or some sentimentalism about the Rhine or the Fatherland, to be +celebrated. Happy, joyous spirits, removed equally from the contemplation +of vast wealth or ignominious poverty! The equality so much talked of in +France is really felt in Germany; and however the exclusives of Berlin and +Vienna, or the still more exalted coteries of Baden or Darmstadt, rave of +the fourteen quarterings which give the <i>entrée</i> to their salons, the +nation has no sympathy with these follies. The unaffected, simple-minded, +primitive German has no thought of assuming an air of distance to one his +inferior in rank; and I have myself seen a sovereign prince take his place +at table d’hôte beside the landlord, and hobnob with him cordially during +dinner. +</p> +<p> +I do not mean to say that the German has no respect for rank; on the +contrary, none more than he looks up to aristocracy, and reveres its +privileges; but he does so from its association with the greatness of the +Fatherland. The great names of his nobles recall those of the heroes and +sages of whom the traditions of the country bear record; they are the +watchwords of German liberty or German glory; they are the monuments of +which he feels proudest. His reverence for their descendants is not tinged +with any vulgar desire to be thought their equal or their associate; far +from it, he has no such yearnings. His own position could never be +affected by anything in theirs. The skipper of the fishing-craft might +join convoy with the great fleet, but he knows that he only commands a +shallop after all. +</p> +<p> +This, be it remarked, is a very different feeling from what we +occasionally see nearer home. I have seen a good deal of student-life in +Germany, and never witnessed anything approaching that process so +significantly termed ‘tuft-hunting’ with us. Perhaps it may be alleged in +answer that rank and riches, so generally allied in this country, are not +so there; and that consequently much of what the world deems the prestige +of condition is wanting to create that respect. Doubtless this is, to a +certain extent, true; but I have seen the descendants of the most +distinguished houses in Germany mixing with the students of a very humble +walk on terms the most agreeable and familiar, assuming nothing +themselves, and certainly receiving no marks of peculiar favour or +deference from their companions. When one knows something of German +character, this does not surprise one. As a people, highly imaginative and +poetic in temperament, dreamy and contemplative, falling back rather on +the past than facing the future, they are infinitely more assailable by +souvenirs than promises; and in this wise the ancient fame of a +Hohenstauffen has a far firmer hold on the attachment of a Prussian than +the hopes he may conceive from his successor. It was by recalling to the +German youth the former glories of the Fatherland, that the beautiful +queen of that country revived the drooping spirit of the nation. It was +over the tomb of the Great Frederick that the monarch swore to his +alliance with Alexander against the invading legions of France. The songs +of Uhland and Goethe, the lyrics of Burger and Korner, have their source +and spirit in the heartfelt patriotism of the people. The great features +of the land, and the more striking traits of national character, are +inextricably woven in their writings, as if allied to each other; and the +Rhine and the male energy of German blood, their native mountains and +their native virtues, are made to reciprocate with one another; and thus +the eternal landmarks of Germany are consecrated as the altars of its +faithfulness and its truth. +</p> +<p> +The students are a means of perpetuating these notions. The young German +is essentially romantic. A poet and a patriot, his dreams are of the +greatness of his Fatherland, of its high mission among the nations of +Europe; and however he may exaggerate the claims of his country or +overrate his own efforts in her cause, his devotion is a noble one; and +when sobered down by experience and years, it gives to Germany that race +of faithful and high-souled people, the best guardians of her liberty and +the most attached defenders of her soil. +</p> +<p> +A great deal of <i>mauvaise plaisanterie</i> has been expended by French +and English authors on the subject of the German student. The theme was +perhaps an inviting one. Certainly nothing was easier than to ridicule +absurdities in their manner and extravagances in their costume—their +long pipes and their long beards, their long skirts and long boots and +long sabres, their love of beer and their law-code of honour. Russell, in +his little work on Germany—in many respects the only English book +worth reading on that country—has been most unjustly severe upon +them. As to French authors, one never expects truth from <i>them</i>, +except it slip out unconsciously in a work of fiction. Still, they have +displayed a more than common spirit of detraction when speaking of the +German student. The truth is, they cannot forget the part these same +truths performed in repelling the French invasion of their country. The +spirit evoked by Kôrner, and responded to from the Hartz to the Black +Forest, was the death-note to the dominant tyranny of France. The +patriotism which in the Basque provinces called into existence the wild +Guerillas, and in the Tyrol created the Jager-bund, in more cultivated +Germany elicited that race of poets and warriors whose war-songs aroused +the nation from its sleep of slavery, and called them to avenge the +injuries of their nation. +</p> +<p> +Laugh, then, if you will, at the strange figures whose uncouth costumes of +cap and jack-boot bespeak them a hybrid between a civilian and a soldier. +The exterior is, after all, no bad type of what lies within; its +contradictions are indeed scarcely as great. The spectacles and +moustaches, the note-book beneath the arm and the sabre at the side, the +ink-bottle at the button-hole and the spurs jingling at the heels, are all +the outward signs of that extraordinary mixture of patient industry and +hot-headed enthusiasm, of deep thought and impetuous rashness, of +matter-of-fact shrewdness and poetic fervour, and, lastly, of the most +forgiving temper allied to an unconquerable propensity for duelling. Laugh +if you will at him, but he is a fine fellow for all that; and despite all +the contrarieties of his nature he has the seed of those virtues which in +the peaceful life of his native country grow up into the ripe fruits of +manly truth and honesty. +</p> +<p> +I wish you then to think well of the Bursche, and forgive the +eccentricities into which a college life and a most absurd doctrine of its +ordinances will now and then lead him. That wild-looking youth, for all +that he has a sabre-wound across his cheek, and wears his neck bare like a +Malay, despite his savage moustache and his lowering look, has a soft +heart, though it beats behind that mass of nonsensical braiding. He could +recite you for hours long the ballads of Schiller and the lyrics of +Uhland; ah! and sing for you, too, with no mean skill, the music of Spohr +and Weber, accompanying himself the while on the piano, with a touch that +would make your heart thrill. And I am not sure that even in his wildest +moments of enthusiastic folly he is not nearly as much an object of hope +to his country as though he were making a book on the Derby, or studying +‘the odds’ among the ‘legs’ at Tattersall’s. +</p> +<p> +Above all things, I would beg of you not to be too hasty in judging him. +Put not much trust in half what English writers lay to his charge; believe +not one syllable of any Frenchman on the subject—no, not even that +estimable Alexandre Dumas, who represents the ‘Student’ as demanding alms +on the highroad—thus confounding him with the Lehr-Junker (the +travelling apprentice), who by the laws of Germany is obliged to spend two +years in wandering through different countries before he is permitted to +reside permanently in his own. The blunder would have been too gross for +anything but a Frenchman and a Parisian; but the Rue St. Denis covers a +multitude of mistakes, and the Boulevard de Montmartre is a dispensation +to all truth. Howitt, if you can read a heavy book, will tell you nearly +everything a <i>book</i> can tell; but setting a Quaker to describe +Burschen life, was pretty much like sending a Hindu to report at a county +meeting. +</p> +<p> +Now, all this time we have been wandering from Bonn and its gardens, +sloping down into the very Rhine, and its beautiful park, the former +pleasure-ground of that palace which now forms the building of the +University. There are few sweeter spots than this. You have escaped from +the long, low swamps of Holland, you have left behind you the land of +marsh and fog, and already the mountainous region of Germany breaks on the +view; the Sieben Gebirge are in sight, and the bold Drachenfels, with its +ruined tower on its summit, is an earnest of the glorious scenery to come. +The river itself looks brighter and fresher; its eddies seem to sparkle +with a lustre they know not when circling along the swampy shores of +Nimmegen. +</p> +<p> +Besides, there is really something in a name, and the sound of Deutschland +is pleasanter than that of the country of ‘dull fogs and dank ditches’; +and although I would not have you salute it, like Voltaire— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Adieu, canaille—canards, canaux!’ +</pre> +<p> +still, be thankful for being where you are, take your coffee, and let us +have a ramble through the Park. +</p> +<p> +Alas! the autumn is running into the winter; each breeze that sighs along +the ground is the dirge over the dead leaves that lie strewn around us. +The bare branches throw their gaunt arms to and fro as the cold grey +clouds flit past; the student, too, has donned his fur-lined mantle, and +strides along, with cap bent down, and hurried step. But a few weeks +since, and these alleys were crowded with gay and smiling groups, +lingering beneath the shadow of tall trees, and listening to the Jager +band that played in yonder pavilion. The grey-haired professor moved +slowly along, uncovering his venerable head as some student passed, and +respectfully saluting him; and there too walked his fair daughters, the +‘frauleins with the yellow hair.’ How calmly sweet their full blue eyes! +what gentleness is written in their quiet gait! Yet, see! as each bar of +the distant waltz is heard beating on the ear, how their footsteps keep +time and mark the measure! Alas! the summer hours have fled, and with them +those calm nights when by the flickering moon the pathways echoed to the +steps of lingering feet now homeward turning. +</p> +<p> +I never can visit a University town in Germany without a sigh after the +time when I was myself a Bursche, read myself to sleep each night with +Ludwig Tieck, and sported two broadswords crosswise above my chimney. +</p> +<p> +I was a student at Göttingen, the Georgia Augusta; and in the days I speak +of—I know not well what King Ernest has done since—it was +rather a proud thing to be ein Göttinger Bursche. There was considered +something of style to appertain to it above the other Universities; and we +looked down upon a Heidelberger or a Halle man as only something above a +‘Philister.’ The professors had given a great celebrity to the University +too. There was Stromeyer in chemistry, and Hausman in philology; Behr in +Greek, Shrader in botany; and, greater than all, old Blumenbach himself, +lecturing four days each week on everything he could think of—natural +philosophy, physics, geography, anatomy, physiology, optics, colours, +metallurgy, magnetism, and the whale-fishery in the South Seas—making +the most abstruse and grave subjects interesting by the charm of his +manner, and elevating trivial topics into consequence by their connection +with weightier matters. He was the only lecturer I ever heard of who +concluded his hour to the regret of his hearers, and left them longing for +the continuation. Anecdote and illustration fell from him with a profusion +almost inconceivable and perfectly miraculous, when it is borne in mind +that he rarely was known to repeat himself in a figure, and more rarely +still in a story; and when he had detected himself in this latter he would +suddenly stop short, with an ‘Ach Gott, I’m growing old,’ and immediately +turn into another channel, and by some new and unheard-of history +extricate himself from his difficulty. With all the learning of a Buffon +and a Cuvier, he was simple and unaffected as a child. His little +receptions in the summer months were in his garden. I have him before me +this minute, seated under the wide-spreading linden-tree, with his little +table before him, holding his coffee and a few books—his long hair, +white as snow, escaping beneath his round cap of dark-green velvet, +falling loosely on his shoulders, and his large grey eyes, now widely +opened with astonishment at some piece of intelligence a boy would have +heard without amazement, then twinkling with sly humour at the droll +thoughts passing through his mind; while around him sat his brother +professors and their families, chatting pleasantly over the little news of +their peaceful community —the good vraus knitting and listening, and +the frauleins demurely sitting by, wearing a look of mock attention to +some learned dissertation, and ever and anon stealing a sly glance at the +handsome youth who was honoured by an invitation to the soirée. +</p> +<p> +How charming, too, to hear them speak of the great men of the land as +their old friends and college companions! It was not the author of <i>Wallenstein</i> +and <i>Don Carlos</i>, but Frederick Schiller, the student of medicine, as +they knew him in his boyhood—bold, ardent, and ambitious; toiling +along a path he loved not, and feeling within him the working of that +great genius which one day was to make him the pride of his Fatherland; +and Wieland, strange and eccentric, old in his youth, with the innocence +of a child and the wisdom of a sage; and Hoffman, the victim of his gloomy +imagination, whose spectral shapes and dark warnings were not the forced +efforts of his brain, but the companions of his wanderings, the beings of +his sleep. How did they jest with him on his half-crazed notions, and +laugh at his eccentricities! It was strange to hear them tell of going +home with Hummel, then a mere boy, and how, as the evening closed in, he +sat down to the pianoforte, and played and sang, and played again for +hours long, now exciting their wonder by passages of brilliant and +glittering effect, now knocking at their hearts by tones of plaintive +beauty. There was a little melody he played the night they spoke of—some +short and touching ballad, the inspiration of the moment—made on the +approaching departure of some one amongst them, which many years after in +<i>Fidelio</i> called down thunders of applause; mayhap the tribute of his +first audience was a sweeter homage after all. +</p> +<p> +While thus they chatted on, the great world without and all its mighty +interests seemed forgotten by them. France might have taken another +choleric fit, and been in march upon the Rhine; England might have once +more covered the ocean with her fleets, and scattered to the waves the +wreck of another Trafalgar; Russia might be pouring down her hordes from +the Don and Dnieper—little chance had they of knowing aught of these +things! The orchards that surrounded the ramparts shut out the rest of +Europe, and they lived as remote from all the collisions of politics and +the strife of nations as though the University had been in another planet. +</p> +<p> +I must not forget the old Hofrath Froriep, Ordentliche-Professor von—Heaven +knows what! No one ever saw his collegium (lecture-room); no one ever +heard him lecture. He had been a special tutor to the Princes—as the +Dukes of Cumberland and Cambridge were then called—about forty years +ago, and he seemed to live upon the memory of those great days when a +Royal Highness took notes beside his chair, and when he addressed his +class as ‘Princes and Gentlemen!’ What pride he felt in his clasp of the +Guelph, and an autograph letter of the Herzog von Clarence, who once paid +him a visit at his house in Gottingen! It was a strange thing to hear the +royal family of England spoken thus of among foreigners, who neither knew +our land nor its language. One was suddenly recalled to the recollection +of that Saxon stock from which our common ancestry proceeded—the +bond of union between us, and the source from which so many of the best +traits of English character take their origin. The love of truth, the +manly independence, the habits of patient industry which we derived from +our German blood are not inferior to the enterprising spirit and the +chivalrous daring of Norman origin. +</p> +<p> +But to return to the Hofrath, or Privy Councillor Froriep, for so was he +most rigidly styled. I remember him so well as he used to come slowly down +the garden-walk, leaning on his sister’s arm. He was the junior by some +years, but no one could have made the discovery now; the thing rested on +tradition, however, and was not disputed. The Fräulein Martha von Froriep +was the daguerreotype of her brother. To see them sitting opposite each +other was actually ludicrous; not only were the features alike, but the +expressions tallied so completely that it was as if one face reflected the +other. Did the professor look grave, the Fräulein Martha’s face was +serious; did he laugh, straightway her features took a merry cast; if his +coffee was too hot, or did he burn his fingers with his pipe, the old +lady’s sympathies were with him still. The Siamese twins were on terms of +distant acquaintanceship, compared with the instinctive relation these two +bore each other. +</p> +<p> +How was it possible, you will ask, that such an eternal similarity should +have marked their dispositions? The answer is an easy one. The fräulein +was deaf, perfectly destitute of hearing. The last recorded act of her +auditory nerves was on the occasion of some public rejoicing, when +twenty-four large guns were discharged in a few seconds of time, and by +the reverberation broke every window in Göttingen; the old lady, who was +knitting at the time, merely stopped her work and called out ‘Come in!’ +thinking it was a tap at the room door. To her malady, then, was it owing +that she so perfectly resembled the professor, her brother. She watched +him with an anxious eye; his face was the dial that regulated every hour +of her existence; and as the telegraph repeats the signal that is made to +it, yet knows not the interpretation of the sign, so did she signalise the +passing emotions of his mind long perhaps after her own could take +interest in the cause. +</p> +<p> +Nothing had a stranger effect, however, than to listen to the professor’s +conversation, to which the assent of the deaf old lady chimed in at short +and regular intervals. For years long she had been in the habit of +corroborating everything he said, and continued the practice now from +habit; it was like a clock that struck the hour when all its machinery had +run down. And so, whether the Hofrath descanted on some learned question +of Greek particles, some much-disputed fact of ancient history, or, as was +more often the case, narrated with German broadness some little anecdote +of his student life, the old lady’s ‘Ja, ja, den sah ich selbst; da war +ich auch!’ (Yes, yes, I saw it myself; I was there, too!) bore testimony +to the truth of Tacitus or Herodotus, or, more remarkable still, to these +little traits of her brother’s youthful existence, which, to say the +least, were as well uncorroborated. +</p> +<p> +The Hofrath had passed his life as a bachelor—a circumstance which +could not fail to surprise, for his stories were generally of his love +adventures and perils; and all teemed with dissertations on the great +susceptibility of his heart, and his devoted admiration of female beauty—weaknesses +of which it was plain he felt vain, and loved to hear authenticated by his +old associates. In this respect Blumenbach indulged him perfectly—now +recalling to his memory some tender scene, or some afflicting separation, +which invariably drew him into a story. +</p> +<p> +If these little reminiscences possessed not all the point and interest of +more adventurous histories, to me at least they were more amusing by the +force of truth, and by the singular look, voice, and manner of him who +related them. Imagine, then, a meagre old man, about five feet two, whose +head was a wedge with the thin side foremost, the nose standing abruptly +out, like the cut-water of a man-o’-war gig; a large mouth, forming a bold +semicircle, with the convexity downwards, the angles of which were lost in +a mass of wrinkles on his withered cheeks; two fierce-looking, fiery, +little grey eyes set slantwise in his head without a vestige of eyelash +over them. His hair combed back with great precision, and tied behind into +a queue, had from long pulling gradually drawn the eyebrows upwards to +double their natural height, where they remained fixed, giving to this +uncouth face an expression of everlasting surprise—in fact, he +appeared as if he were perpetually beholding the ghost of somebody. His +voice was a strange, unnatural, clattering sound, as though the machinery +of speech had been left a long while without oiling, and could not work +flippantly; but to be sure, the language was German, and that may excuse +much. +</p> +<p> +Such was the Herr Hofrath Froriep—once, if you were to believe +himself, a lady-killer of the first water. Indeed, still, when he +stretched forth his thin and twisted shanks attired in satin shorts and +black silk stockings, a gleam of conscious pride would light up his +features, and he would seem to say to himself, ‘These legs might do some +mischief yet.’ Caroline Pichler, the novelist, had been one of his loves, +and, if you believed himself, a victim to his fascinations. However, +another version of the tale had obtained currency, and was frequently +alluded to by his companions at those moments when a more boastful spirit +than they deemed suitable animated his discourse; and at such times I +remarked that the Hofrath became unusually sensitive, and anxious to +change the subject. +</p> +<p> +It was one evening, when we sat somewhat later than our wont in the +garden, tempted by the delicious fragrance of the flowers and the mild +light of a new moon, that at last the Hofrath’s madchen made her +appearance, lantern in hand, to conduct him home. She carried on her arm a +mass of cloaks, shawls, and envelopes that would have clothed a +procession, with which she proceeded leisurely and artistically to dress +up the professor and his sister, until the impression came over the +bystanders that none but she who hid them in that mountain of wearables +would ever be able to discover them again. +</p> +<p> +‘Ach Gott,’ exclaimed the Hofrath, as she crowned him with a quilted +nightcap, whose jaws descended and fastened beneath the chin like an +antique helmet, leaving the miserable old face, like an uncouth pattern, +in the middle of the Berlin embroidery—‘Ach Gott, but for that!’ +</p> +<p> +‘But for that!’ reiterated old Hausman, in a solemn tone, as if he knew +the secret grief his friend alluded to, and gave him all his sympathy. +</p> +<p> +‘Sit down again, Froriep,’ said Blumenbach; ‘it is an hour too soon for +young folk like us to separate. We’ll have a glass of Rosenthaler, and you +shall tell us that story.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Be it so,’ said the Hofrath, as he made signs to the madchen that he +would cast his skin. ‘Ich bin dabei (I ‘m ready).’ +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Wi’ tippenny we fear nae evil; +Wi’ usquebaugh we ‘d face the devil,’ +</pre> +<p> +quoth Burns; and surely Tarn’s knowledge of human nature took a wide +circuit when he uttered those words. The whole philosophy of temptation is +comprised in the distich, and the adage of coming up ‘to a man’s price’ +has no happier illustration; and certainly, had the poet been a Bursche in +Germany, he could not have conveyed the ‘sliding scale’ of professors’ +agreeability under a more suitable formula. He who would be civil with a +pipe becomes communicative with coffee, and brotherly with beer; but he +opens every secret of his nature under the high-pressure power of a flask +of Rhenish. The very smack of the Hofrath’s lips as he drained his glass +to the bottom, and then exclaimed in a transport, ‘Er ist zum küssen, der +Wein!’ announced that the folding-doors of his heart stood wide open, and +that he might enter who would. +</p> +<p> +‘Rosenthaler was Goethe’s favourite,’ quoth Stromeyer; ‘and he had a good +taste in wine.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Your great folk,’ said Hausman, ‘ever like to show some decided +preference to one vintage above the rest; Napoleon adopted chambertin, +Joseph the Second drank nothing but tokay, and Peter the Great found +brandy the only fluid to his palate.’ +</p> +<p> +‘A plague on their fancies!’ interrupted old Blumenbach. ‘Let us have the +story!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, well, well,’ said the Hofrath, throwing up his eyes with an air of +sentimentalism, ‘so you shall. Love’s young dream was sweet, after all! We +were in the Hartz,’ continued he, at once springing into his story with a +true Demosthenic abruptness—‘we were in the Hartz Mountains, making +a little tour, for it was semester, and all the classes were closed in the +University. There was Tieck, and Feldtbourg the Dane, and Upsal, and old +Langendorf of Jena, and Grotchen von Zobelschein, and Mina Upsal, and +Caroline, and Martha there—she, poor thing, was getting deaf at the +time, and could not take the same pleasure as the rest of us. She was +always stupid, you know.’ +</p> +<p> +Here he looked over at her, when she immediately responded— +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, yes, what he says is true.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Each morning we used to set off up the mountains, botanising and +hammering among the limestone rocks, and seeking for cryptogamia and +felspar, lichens and jungermannia and primitive rock—mingling our +little diversions with pleasant talk about the poets, and reciting verses +to one another from Hans Sachs and the old writers, and chatting away +about Schiller: the “Lager” was just come out, and more than one among us +could scarcely believe it was Frederick did it. +</p> +<p> +‘Tieck and I soon found that we were rivals; for before a week each of us +was in love with Caroline. Now, Ludwig was a clever fellow, and had a +thousand little ways of ingratiating himself with a pretty woman—and +a poetess besides. He could come down every day to breakfast with some ode +or sonnet, or maybe a dream; and then he was ready after dinner with his +bit of poetry, which sometimes, when he found a piano, he ‘d set to music; +or maybe in the evening he’d invent one of those strange rigmarole stories +of his, about a blue-bottle fly dying for love of a white moth or some +superannuated old drone bee, retiring from public life, and spending his +days reviling the rest of the world. You know his nonsense well; but +somehow one could not help listening, and, what’s worse, feeling interest +in it. As for Caroline, she became crazed about gnats and spiders, and +fleas, and would hear for whole days long the stories of their loves and +sorrows. +</p> +<p> +‘For some time I bore up as well as I could. There was a limit—Heaven +be thanked!—to that branch of the creation; and as he had now got +down to millepedes, I trusted that before the week was over he ‘d have +reached mites, beyond which it was impossible he could be expected to +proceed. Alas! I little knew the resources of his genius; for one evening, +when I thought him running fast aground, he sat down in the midst of us, +and began a tale of the life and adventures of the Herr Baron von +Beetroot, in search of his lost love the Fräulein von Cucumber. This +confounded narrative had its scene in an old garden in Silesia, where +there were incidents of real beauty and interest interwoven, ay, and +verses that would make your heart thrill. Caroline could evidently resist +no longer. The Baron von Beetroot was ever uppermost in her mind; and if +she ate Gurken-salat, it brought the tears into her eyes. In this sad +strait I wandered out alone one evening, and without knowing it reached +the “Rase Mühle,” near Oltdorf. There I went in and ordered a supper; but +they had nothing but thick-milk and kalte-schade. * +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +* Thick-milk—a mess of sour cream thickened with sugar and +crumbs of bread <i>Kallte-schade</i>—the same species of +abomination, the only difference being beer, for cream, for +the fluid. +</pre> +<p> +No matter, thought I—a man in such grief as mine need little care +what he eats; and I ordered both, that I might afterwards decide which I’d +prefer. They came, and were placed before me. Himmel und Erde! what did I +do but eat the two!—beer and cream, cream and beer, pepper and +sugar, brown bread and nutmeg! Such was my abstraction, that I never +noticed what I was doing till I saw the two empty bowls before me. “I am a +dead Hofrath before day breaks,” said I, “and I’ll make my will”; but +before I could put the plan into execution I became very ill, and they +were obliged to carry me to bed. From that moment my senses began to +wander; exhaustion, sour beer, and despair were all working within me, and +I was mad. It was a brief paroxysm, but a fearful one. A hundred and fifty +thousand ridiculous fancies went at racing speed through my mind, and I +spent the night alternately laughing and crying. My pipe, that lay on the +chair beside the bed, figured in nearly every scene, and performed a part +in many a strange adventure. +</p> +<p> +‘By noon the others learned where I was, and came over to see me. After +sitting for half an hour beside me they were going away, when I called +Caroline and Martha back. Caroline blushed; but, taking Martha’s arm, she +seated herself upon a sofa, and asked in a timid voice what I wished for. +</p> +<p> +‘“To hear before I die,” replied I; “to listen to a wonderful vision I +have seen this night.” +</p> +<p> +“A vision,” said Caroline; “oh, what was it?” +</p> +<p> +‘“A beautiful and a touching one. Let me tell it to you. I will call it +‘The-never-to-be-lost-sight-of, though +not-the-less-on-that-account-to-be-concealed, Loves of the Mug and the +Meerschaum.’” +</p> +<p> +‘Caroline sprang to my side as I uttered these words, and as she wiped the +tears from her eyes she sobbed forth— +</p> +<p> +‘“Let me but hear it! let me but hear it!” +</p> +<p> +‘“Sit down,” said I, taking her hand and pressing it to my lips—“sit +down, and you shall.” With that I began my tale. I suppose,’ continued the +Hofrath, ‘you don’t wish to have the story?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Gott bewahre (Heaven forbid)!’ broke in the whole company in a breath. +‘Leave the Mug and the Meerschaum, and go on with Caroline!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Well, from that hour her heart was mine. Ludwig might call all the +reptiles that ever crawled, every vegetable that ever grew, to his aid—the +victory was with me. He saw it, and, irritated by defeat, returned to +Berlin without bidding us even farewell; and we never heard of him till we +saw his new novel of <i>Fortunio</i>. But to go on. The day after Tieck +left us was my birthday, and they all arranged to give me a little fête; +and truly nothing could be prettier. The garden of the inn was a sweet +spot, and there was a large linden like this, where the table was spread; +and there was a chair all decked with roses and myrtle for me—Caroline +herself had done it; and they had composed a little hymn in honour of me, +wherein were sundry compliments to my distinction in science and poesy, +the gifts of my mind and the graces of my person. Ach, ja! I was handsome +then. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10272.jpg" width="100%" alt="272-392 " /> +</div> +<p> +‘Well, well, I must close my tale—I cannot bear to think of it even +now. Caroline came forward, dressed in white, with a crown of roses and +laurel leaves intertwined, and approached me gracefully, as I sat waiting +to receive her—all the rest ranged on either side of me. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Auf seine Stirne, wo das Licht——-’ + +(Upon that brow where shines the light) +</pre> +<p> +said Caroline, raising the chaplet. +</p> +<p> +‘“Ach, Du Heiliger!” screamed Martha, who only that instant saw I was +bareheaded, “the dear man will catch his death of cold!” and with that she +snatched this confounded nightcap from her pocket, and rushing forward +clapped it on my head before I could know it was done. I struggled and +kicked like one possessed, but it was of no use; she had tied the strings +in a black knot, and they could neither be loosened nor broken. “Be still +there!” said she; “thou knowest well that at fifty-three——” +You can conceive,’ said the Hofrath in a parenthesis, ‘that her passion +obliterated her memory. At fifty-three one can’t play the fool like at +twenty.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ach, ja! it was over with me for ever. Caroline screamed at the cap, +first laughing, then crying, and then both; the rest nearly died of it, +and so did I. Caroline would never look at me after, and I came back home, +disappointed in my love—and all because of a woollen nightcap.’ +</p> +<p> +When the Hofrath concluded, he poured the remainder of the Rosenthaler +into his glass, and bowing to each in turn, wished us good-night, while +taking the Fraulein Martha’s arm they both disappeared in the shade, as +the little party broke up and each wended his way homeward. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. THE STUDENT +</h2> +<p> +If I were not sketching a real personage, and retailing an anecdote once +heard, I should pronounce the Hofrath von Froriep a fictitious character, +for which reason I bear you no ill-will if you incline to that opinion. I +have no witness to call in my defence. There were but two Englishmen in +Gottingen in my day; one of them is now no more. Poor fellow! he had just +entered the army; his regiment was at Corfu, and he was spending the six +months of his first leave in Germany. We chanced to be fellow-travellers, +and ended by becoming friends. When he left me, it was for Vienna, from +which after a short stay he departed for Venice, where he purchased a +yacht, and with eight Greek sailors sailed for a cruise through the Ionian +Islands. He was never seen alive again; his body, fearfully gashed and +wounded, was discovered on the beach at Zante. His murderers, for such +they were, escaped with the vessel, and never were captured. Should any +Sixty-first man throw his eye over these pages he will remember that I +speak of one beloved by every one who knew him. With all the heroic daring +of the stoutest heart, his nature was soft and gentle as a child’s. Poor G——! +some of the happiest moments of my life were spent with you; some of the +saddest, in thinking over your destiny. +</p> +<p> +You must take my word for the Hofrath, then, good reader. They who read +the modern novels of Germany—the wild exaggerations of Fouqué and +Hoffman, Musaeus and Tieck—will comprehend that the story of himself +has no extravagance whatever. To ascribe language and human passions to +the lower animals, and even to the inanimate creation, is a favourite +German notion, the indulgence of which has led to a great deal of that +mysticism which we find in their writings; and the secret sympathies of +cauliflowers and cabbages for young ladies in love is a constant theme +among this class of novelists. +</p> +<p> +A word now of the students, and I have done. Whatever the absurdities in +their code of honour, however ludicrous the etiquette of the ‘comment’ as +it is called, there is a world of manly honesty and true-heartedness among +them. There is nothing mean or low, nothing dishonourable or unworthy in +the spirit of the Burschen-schaft. Exaggerated ideas of their own +importance, an overweening sense of their value to the Fatherland, there +are in abundance, as well as a mass of crude, unsettled notions about +liberty and the regeneration of Germany. But, after all, these are +harmless fictions; they are not allied to any evil passions at the time, +they lead to no bad results for the future. The murder of Kotzebue, and +the attempt on the life of Napoleon by Staps, were much more attributable +to the mad enthusiasm of the period than to the principles of the +Student-league. The spirit of the nation revolted at the tyranny they had +so long submitted to, and these fearful crimes were the agonised +expression of endurance pushed to madness. Only they who witnessed the +frantic joy of the people when the tide of fortune turned against +Napoleon, and his baffled legions retreated through Germany on their +return from the Russian campaign, can understand how deeply stored were +the wrongs for which they were now to exact vengeance. The <i>Völker +Schlacht</i> (the ‘people’s slaughter’), as they love to call the terrible +fight of Leipsic, was the dreadful recompense of all their sufferings. +</p> +<p> +When the French Revolution first broke out, the German students, like many +wiser and more thinking heads than theirs in our own country, were struck +with the great movement of a mighty people in their march to liberty; but +when, disgusted with the atrocities that followed, they afterwards beheld +France the first to assail the liberties and trample on the freedom of +every other country, they regarded her as a traitor to the cause she once +professed. And while their apathy in the early wars of the republican +armies marked their sympathy with the wild notions of liberty of which +Frenchmen affected to be the apostles in Europe, yet when they saw the +lust of conquest and the passion for dominion usurp the place of those +high-sounding virtues—<i>Liberté, Egalité</i>—the reverse was +a tremendous one, and may well excuse, if excuse were needful, the proud +triumph of the German armies when they bivouacked in the streets of Paris. +</p> +<p> +The changed fortunes of the Continent have of course obliterated every +political feature in the student life of Germany; or if such still exist, +it takes the form merely of momentary enthusiasm in favour of some +banished professor, or a Burschen festival in honour of some martyr of the +Press. Still their ancient virtues survive, and the German student is yet +a type—one of the few remaining—-of the Europe of thirty years +ago. Long may he remain so, say I; long may so interesting a land have its +national good faith and brotherly affection rooted in the minds of its +youth; long may the country of Schiller, of Wieland, and of Goethe possess +the race of those who can appreciate their greatness, or strive to emulate +their fame! +</p> +<p> +I leave to others the task of chronicling their beer orgies, their wild +festivals, and their duels; and though not disposed to defend them on such +charges, I might, were it not invidious, adduce instances nearer home of +practices little more commendable. At those same festivals, at many of +which I have been present, I have heard music that would shame most of our +orchestras, and listened to singing such as I have never heard surpassed +except within the walls of a grand opera. And as to their duelling, the +practice is bad enough in all conscience; but still I would mention one +instance, of which I myself was a witness, and perhaps even in so little +fertile a field we may find one grain of goodly promise. +</p> +<p> +Among my acquaintances in Gôttingen were two students, both Prussians, and +both from the same small town of Magdebourg. They had been school-fellows, +and came together to the University, where they lived together on terms of +brotherly affection, which even there, where friendship takes all the +semblance of a sacred compact, was the subject of remark. Never were two +men less alike, however, than these. Eisendecker was a bold, hotheaded +fellow, fond of all the riotous excesses of Burschen life; his face, +seamed with many a scar, declared him a ‘hahn,’ as in student phrase a +confirmed duellist is termed. He was ever foremost in each scheme of wild +adventure, and continually being brought up before the senate on some +charge of insubordination. Von Mühry, his companion, was exactly the +opposite. His sobriquet—for nearly every student had one—was +‘der Zahme (the gentle),’ and never was any more appropriate. His +disposition was mildness itself. He was very handsome, almost girlish in +his look, with large blue eyes and fine, soft silky hair, which, +Germanlike, he wore upon his neck. His voice—the index of his nature—soft, +low, and musical, would have predisposed you at once in his favour. Still, +those disparities did not prevent the attachment of the two youths; on the +contrary, they seemed rather to strengthen the bond between them—each, +as it were, supplying to the other the qualities which Nature had denied +him. They were never separate in lecture-room, at home, or in the <i>allée</i> +(as the promenade was called) or in the garden, where each evening the +students resorted to sup, and listen to the music of the Jâger band. +Eisendecker and Mühry were names that no one ever heard separated, and +when one appeared the other was never more than a few yards off. +</p> +<p> +Such was their friendship, when an unhappy incident occurred to trouble +its even course, and sow dissension between these who never had known a +passing difference in their lives. The sub-rector of Göttingen was in the +habit of giving little receptions every week, to which many of the +students were invited, and to which Eisendecker and Mühry were frequently +asked, as they both belonged to the professor’s class. In the quiet world +of a little University town, these soirées were great occasions; and the +invited plumed themselves not a little on the distinction of a card which +gave the privilege of bowing in the Herr professor’s drawing-room, and +kissing the hand of his fair daughter the Frederica von Ettenheim, the +belle of Göttingen. Frederica was the prettiest German girl I ever saw; +for this reason, that having been partly educated at Paris, French <i>espièglerie</i> +relieved what had been otherwise the too regular monotony of her Saxon +features, and imparted a character of sauciness—or <i>fierté</i> is +a better word—to that quietude which is too tame to give the varied +expression so charming in female beauty. The <i>esprit</i>, that delicious +ingredient which has been so lamentably omitted in German character, she +had imbibed from her French education; and in lieu of that plodding +interchange of flat commonplaces which constitute the ordinary staple of +conversation between the young of opposite sexes beyond the Rhine, she had +imported the light, delicate tone of Parisian raillery—the easy and +familiar gaiety of French society, so inexpressibly charming in France, +and such a boon from heaven when one meets it by accident elsewhere. +</p> +<p> +Oh, confess it, ye who, in the dull round of this world’s so-called +pleasure, in the Eryboean darkness of the dinners and evening parties of +your fashionable friends, sit nights long, speaking and answering, half at +random, without one thought to amuse, without one idea to interest you—what +pleasure have you felt when some chance expression, some remark—a +mere word, perhaps—of your neighbour beside you, reveals that she +has attained that wondrous charm, that most fascinating of all possessions—the +art to converse; that neither fearful of being deemed pedantic on the one +hand, or uninformed on the other, she launches forth freely on the topic +of the moment, gracefully illustrating her meaning by womanly touches of +sensibility and delicacy, as though to say, these lighter weapons were her +own peculiar arms, while men might wield the more massive ones of sense +and judgment. Then with what lightness she flits along from theme to +theme, half affecting to infer that she dares not venture deep, yet +showing every instant traits of thoughtfulness and reflection! +</p> +<p> +How long since have you forgotten that she who thus holds you entranced is +the brunette, with features rather too bold than otherwise; that those +eyes which now sparkle with the fire of mind seemed but half an hour ago +to have a look of cold effrontery? Such is the charm of <i>esprit</i>; and +without it the prettiest woman wants her greatest charm. A diamond she may +be, and as bright and of purest water; but the setting, which gives such +lustre to the stone, is absent, and half the brilliancy of the gem is lost +to the beholder. +</p> +<p> +Now, of all tongues ever invented by man, German is the most difficult and +clumsy for all purposes of conversation. You may preach in it, you may +pray in it, you may hold a learned argument, or you may lay down some +involved and intricate statement—you may, if you have the gift, even +tell a story in it, provided the hearers be patient, and some have gone so +far as to venture on expressing a humorous idea in German; but these have +been bold men, and their venturous conduct is more to be admired than +imitated. At the same time, it is right to add that a German joke is a +very wooden contrivance at best, and that the praise it meets with is +rather in the proportion of the difficulty of the manufacture than of the +superiority of the article—just as we admire those Indian toys +carved with a rusty nail, or those fourth-string performances of Paganini +and his followers. +</p> +<p> +And now to come back to the students, whom mayhap you deem to have been +forgotten by me all this time, but for whose peculiar illustration my +digression was intended—it being neither more nor less than to show +that if Frederica von Ettenheim turned half the heads in Göttingen, +Messrs. Eisendecker and Mühry were of the number. What a feature it was of +the little town, her coming to reside in it! What a sweet atmosphere of +womanly gracefulness spread itself like a perfume through those old +salons, whose dusty curtains and moth-eaten chairs looked like the fossils +of some antediluvian furniture! With what magic were the old ceremonials +of a professor’s reception exchanged for the easier habits of a politer +world! The venerable dignitaries of the University felt the change, but +knew not where it lay, and could not account for the pleasure they now +experienced in the vice-rector’s soirees; while the students knew no +bounds to the enthusiastic admiration, and ‘Die Ettenheim’ reigned in +every heart in Göttingen. +</p> +<p> +Of all her admirers none seemed to hold a higher place in her favour than +Von Mühry. Several causes contributed to this, in addition to his own +personal advantages and the distinction of his talents, which were of a +high order. He was particularly noticed by the vice-rector, from the +circumstance of his father holding a responsible position in the Prussian +Government; while Adolphe himself gave ample promise of one day making a +figure in the world. He was never omitted in any invitation, nor forgotten +in any of the many little parties so frequent among the professors; and +even where the society was limited to the dignitaries of the college, some +excuse would ever be made by the vice-rector to have him present, either +on the pretence of wanting him for something, or that Frederica had asked +him without thinking. +</p> +<p> +Such was the state of this little world when I settled in it, and took up +my residence at the Meissner Thor, intending to pass my summer there. The +first evening I spent at the vice-rector’s, the matter was quite clear to +my eyes. Frederica and Adolphe were lovers. It was to no purpose that when +he had accompanied her on the piano he retreated to a distant part of the +room when she ceased to sing. It signified not that he scarcely ever spoke +to her, and when he did, but a few words, hurriedly and in confusion. +Their looks met once; I saw them exchange one glance—a fleeting one, +too—but I read in it their whole secret, mayhap even more than they +knew themselves. Well had it been, if I alone had witnessed this, but +there was another at my side who saw it also, and whispered in my ear, +‘Der Zahme is in love.’ I turned round—it was Eisendecker: his face, +sallow and sickly, while large circles of dark olive surrounded his eyes, +and gave him an air of deep suffering. ‘Did you see that?’ said he +suddenly, as he leaned his hand on my arm, where it shook like one in +ague. +</p> +<p> +‘Did you see that?’ +</p> +<p> +‘What—the flower?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, the flower. It was she dropped it, when she crossed the room. You +saw him take it up, didn’t you?’ +</p> +<p> +The tone he spoke in was harsh and hissing, as if he uttered the words +with his teeth clenched. It was clear to me now that he, too, was in love +with Frederica, and I trembled to think of the cruel shock their +friendship must sustain ere long. +</p> +<p> +A short time after, when I was about to retire, Eisendecker took my arm, +and said, ‘Are you for going home? May I go with you?’ I gave a willing +assent, our lodgings being near, and we spent much of every day in each +other’s chambers. It was the first time we had ever returned without +waiting for Mühry; and fearing what a separation, once begun, might lead +to, I stopped suddenly on the stairs, and said, as if suddenly remembering—‘By-the-bye, +we are going without Adolphe.’ +</p> +<p> +Eisendecker’s fingers clutched me convulsively, and while a bitter laugh +broke from him, he said, ‘You wouldn’t tear them asunder, would you?’ For +the rest of the way he never spoke again, and I, fearful of awakening the +expression of that grief which, when avowed, became confirmed, never +opened my lips, save to say, ‘Good-night.’ +</p> +<p> +I never intended to have involved myself in a regular story when I began +this chapter, nor must I do so now, though, sooth to say, it would not be +without its interest to trace the career of these two youths, who now +became gradually estranged from each other, and were no longer to be seen, +as of old, walking with arms on each other’s shoulder—the most +perfect realisation of true brotherly affection. Day by day the distance +widened between them; each knew the secret of the other’s heart, yet +neither dared to speak of it. From distrust there is but a short step to +dislike—alas! it is scarcely even a step. They parted. +</p> +<p> +Every one knows that the reaction which takes place when some +long-standing friendship has been ruptured is proportionate to the warmth +of the previous attachment. Still the cause of this, in a great measure, +is more attributable to the world about us than to ourselves; we make +partisans to console us for the loss of one who was our confidant, and in +the violence of <i>their</i> passions we are carried away as in a current. +The students were no exception to this theory; scarcely had they ceased to +regard each other as friends when they began to feel as enemies. Alas! is +it not ever so? Does not the good soil, which, when cultivated with care, +produce the fairest flowers and the richest fruits, rear up, when +neglected and abandoned, the most noxious weeds and the rankest thistles? +And yet it was love for another—that passion so humanising in its +influence, so calculated to assuage the stormy and vindictive traits of +even a savage nature—it was love that made them thus. To how many is +the ‘light that lies in woman’s eyes’ but a beacon to lure to ruin? When +we think that but one can succeed where so many strive, what sadness and +misery must not result to others? +</p> +<p> +Another change came over them, and a stranger still. Eisendecker, the +violent youth, of ungovernable temper and impetuous passion, who loved the +wildest freak of student-daring, and ever was the first to lead the way in +each mad scheme, had now become silent and thoughtful; a gentle sadness +tempered down the fierce traits of his hot nature, and he no longer +frequented his old haunts of the cellar and the fighting school, but +wandered alone into the country, and spent whole days in solitude. Von +Muhry, on the other hand, seemed to have assumed the castaway mantle of +his once friend: the gentle bearing and almost submissive tone of his +manner were exchanged for an air of conscious pride—a demeanour that +bespoke a triumphant spirit; and the quiet youth suddenly seemed changed +to a rash, high-spirited boy, reckless from very happiness. During this +time, Eisendecker had attached himself particularly to me; and although I +had always hitherto preferred Von Muhry, the feeling of the other’s +unhappiness, a sense of compassion for suffering, which it was easy to see +was great, drew me closer in my friendship towards him; and, at last, I +scarcely saw Adolphe at all, and when we did meet, a mutual feeling of +embarrassment separated and estranged us from each other. About this time +I set off on an excursion to the Hartz Mountains, to visit the Brocken, +and see the mines; my absence, delayed beyond what I first intended, was +above four weeks, and I returned to Gottingen just as the summer vacation +was about to begin. +</p> +<p> +About five leagues from Gottingen, on the road towards Nordheim, there is +a little village called Meissner, a favourite resort of the students, in +all their festivals; while, at something less than a mile distant, stands +a water-mill, on a little rivulet among the hills—a wild, +sequestered spot, overgrown with stunted oak and brushwood. A narrow +bridle-path leads to it from the village, and this was the most approved +place for settling all those affairs of honour whose character was too +serious to make it safe to decide nearer the University: for, strangely +enough, while by the laws of the University duelling was rigidly +denounced, yet whenever the quarrel was decided by the sword, the +authorities never or almost never interfered, but if a pistol was the +weapon, the thing at once took a more serious aspect. +</p> +<p> +For what reasons the mills have been always selected as the appropriate +scenes for such encounters, I never could discover; but the fact is +unquestionable, and I never knew a University town that did not possess +its ‘water-privileges’ in this manner. +</p> +<p> +Towards the mill I was journeying at the easy pace of my pony, early on a +summer’s morning, preferring the rural breakfast with the miller—for +they are always a kind of innkeepers—to the fare of the village. I +entered the little bridle-path that conducted to his door, and was +sauntering listlessly along, dreaming pleasantly, as one does, when the +song of the lark and the heavy odour of dew-pressed flowers steep the +heart in happiness all its own, when, behind me, I heard the regular tramp +of marching. I listened; had I been a stranger to the sound, I should have +thought them soldiers, but I knew too well the measured tread of the +student, and I heard the jingling of their heavy sabres—a peculiar +clank a student’s ear cannot be deceived in. I guessed at once the object +of their coming, and grew sick at heart to think that the storm of men’s +stubborn passions and the strife of their revengeful nature should +desecrate a peaceful spot like this. I was about to turn back, disgusted +at the thought, when I remembered I must return by the same path, and meet +them; but even this I shrank from. The footsteps came nearer and nearer, +and I had barely time to move off the path into the brushwood, and lead my +pony after, when they turned the angle of the way. They who walked first +were muffled in their cloaks, whose high collars concealed their faces; +but the caps of many a gaudy colour proclaimed them students. At a little +distance behind, and with a slower step, came another party, among whom I +noticed one who walked between two others, his head sunk on his bosom, and +evidently overcome with emotions of deep sorrow. A movement of my horse at +this instant attracted their attention towards the thicket; they stopped, +and a voice called out my name. I looked round, and there stood +Eisendecker before me. He was dressed in deep mourning, and looked pale +and worn, his black beard and moustache deepening the haggard expression +of features, to which the red borders of his eyelids, and his bloodless +lips, gave an air of the deepest suffering. ‘Ah, my friend,’ said he, with +a sad effort at a smile, ‘you are here quite <i>à propos</i>. I am going +to fight Adolphe this morning.’ A fearful presentiment that such was the +case came over me the instant I saw him; but when he said so, a thrill ran +through me, and I grew cold from head to foot. +</p> +<p> +‘I see you are sorry,’ said he, tenderly while he took my hand within both +of his; ‘but you would not blame me—indeed you would not—if +you knew all.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What, then, was the cause of this quarrel? How came you to an open +rupture?’ +</p> +<p> +He turned round, and as he did so his face was purple, the blood suffused +every feature, and his very eyeballs seemed as if about to burst. He tried +to speak; but I only heard a rushing noise like a hoarse-drawn breath. +</p> +<p> +‘Be calm, my dear Eisendecker,’ said I. ‘Cannot this be settled otherwise +than thus?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, no!’ said he, in the voice of indignant passion I used to hear from +him long before, ‘never!’ He waved his hand impatiently as he spoke, and +turned his head from me. At the same moment one of his companions made a +sign with his hand towards me. +</p> +<p> +‘What!’ whispered I in horror—‘a blow?’ +</p> +<p> +A brief nod was the reply. Alas! from that minute all hope left me. Too +well I knew the desperate alternative that awaited such an insult. +Reconciliation was no longer to be thought of. I asked no more, but +followed the group along the path towards the mill. +</p> +<p> +In a little garden, as it was called—we should rather term it a +close-shaven grass-plot—where some tables and benches were placed +under the shade of large chestnut-trees, Adolphe von Muhry stood, +surrounded by a number of his friends. He was dressed in his costume as a +member of the Prussian club of the Landsmanschaft—a kind of uniform +of blue and white, with a silver braiding on the cuffs and collar—and +looked handsomer than ever I saw him. The change his features had +undergone gave him an air of manliness and confidence that greatly +improved him, and his whole carriage indicated a degree of self-reliance +and energy which became him perfectly. A faint blush coloured his cheek as +he saw me enter, and he lifted his cap straight above his head and saluted +me courteously, but with an evident effort to appear at ease before me. I +returned his salute mournfully—perhaps reproachfully, too, for he +turned away and whispered something to a friend at his side. +</p> +<p> +Although I had seen many duels with the sword, it was the first time I was +present at an affair with pistols in Germany; and I was no less surprised +than shocked to perceive that one of the party produced a dice-box and +dice, and placed them on a table. +</p> +<p> +Eisendecker all this time sat far apart from the rest, and, with folded +arms and half-closed eyelids, seemed to wait in patience for the moment of +being called on. +</p> +<p> +‘What are they throwing for, yonder?’ whispered I to a Saxon student near +me. +</p> +<p> +‘For the shot, of course,’ said he; ‘not but that they might spare +themselves the labour. Eisendecker must fire first; and as for who comes +second after him——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Is he so sure as that?’ asked I in terror; for the fearful vision of +blood would not leave my mind. +</p> +<p> +‘That is he. The fellow that can knock a bullet off a champagne bottle at +five-and-twenty paces may chance to hit a man at fifteen.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Mühry has it,’ cried out one of those at the table; and I heard the words +repeated from mouth to mouth till they reached Eisendecker, as he moved +his cane listlessly to and fro in the mill-stream. +</p> +<p> +‘Remember Ludwig,’ said his friend, as he grasped his arm with a stronger +clasp; ‘remember what I told you.’ +</p> +<p> +The other nodded carelessly, and merely said, ‘Is all ready?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Stand here, Eisendecker,’ said Mühry’s second, as he dropped a pebble in +the grass. +</p> +<p> +Mühry was already placed, and stood erect, his eyes steadily directed to +his antagonist, who never once looked towards him, but kept his glance +fixed straight in front. +</p> +<p> +‘You fire first, sir,’ said Mühry’s friend, while I could mark that his +voice trembled slightly at the words. ‘You may reserve your fire till I +have counted twenty after the word is given.’ +</p> +<p> +As he spoke he placed the pistol in Eisendecker’s hand, and called out— +</p> +<p> +‘Gentlemen, fall back, fall back; I am about to give the word. Herr +Eisendecker, are your ready?’ +</p> +<p> +A nod was the reply. +</p> +<p> +‘Now!’ cried he, in a loud voice; and scarcely was the word uttered when +the discharge of the pistol was heard. So rapid, indeed, was the motion, +that we never saw him lift his arm; nor could any one say what direction +the ball had taken. +</p> +<p> +‘I knew it, I knew it,’ muttered Eisendecker’s friend, in tones of agony. +‘All is over with him now.’ +</p> +<p> +Before a minute elapsed, the word to fall back was again given, and I now +beheld Von Mühry standing with his pistol in hand, while a smile of cool +but determined malice sat on his features. +</p> +<p> +While the second repeated the same words over to him, I turned to look at +Eisendecker, but he evinced no apparent consciousness of what was going on +about him; his eyes, as before, were bent on vacancy; his pale face, +unmoved, showed no signs of passion. In an instant the fearful ‘Now’ rang +out, and Mühry slowly raised his arm, and, levelling his pistol steadily, +stood with his eye bent on his victim. While the deep voice of the second +slowly repeated one—two—three—four—never was +anything like the terrible suspense of that moment. It seemed as if the +very seconds of human life were measuring out one by one. As the word +‘ten’ dropped from his lips, I saw Mühry’s hand shake. In his revengeful +desire to kill his man, he had waited too long, and now he was growing +nervous; he let fall his arm to his side, and waited for a few seconds, +then raising it again, he took a steady aim, and at the word ‘nineteen’ +fired. +</p> +<p> +A slight movement of Eisendecker’s head at this instant brought his face +full front; and the bullet, which would have transfixed his head, now +merely passed along his cheek, tearing a rude flesh-wound as it went. +</p> +<p> +A half-cry broke from Mühry: I heard not the word; but the accent I shall +never cease to remember. It was now Eisendecker’s time; and as the blood +streamed down his cheek, and fell in great drops upon his neck and +shoulders, I saw his face assume the expression it used to wear in former +days. A terrible smile lit up his dark features, and a gleam of passionate +vengeance made his eye glow like that of a maniac. +</p> +<p> +‘I am ready—give the word,’ cried he, in frantic impatience. +</p> +<p> +But Mühry’s second, fearful of giving way to such a moment of passion, +hesitated; when Eisendecker again called out, ‘The word, sir, the word!’ +and the bystanders, indignant at the appearance of unfairness, repeated +the cry. +</p> +<p> +The crowd fell back, and the word was given. Eisendecker raised his +weapon, poised it for a second in his hand, and then, elevating it above +his head, brought it gradually down, till, from the position where I +stood, I could see that he aimed at the heart. +</p> +<p> +His hand was now motionless, as if it were marble; while his eye, riveted +on his antagonist, seemed to be fixed on one small spot, as though his +whole vengeance was to be glutted there. Never was suspense more dreadful, +and I stood breathless, in the expectation of the fatal flash, when, with +a jerk of his arm, he threw up the pistol and fired above his head; and +then, with a heart-rending cry of ‘Mein bruder, mein brader!’ he rushed +into Mühry’s arms, and fell into a torrent of tears. +</p> +<p> +The scene was indeed a trying one, and few could witness it unmoved. As +for me, I turned away completely overcome; while my heart found vent in +thankfulness that such a fearful beginning should end thus happily. +</p> +<p> +‘Yes,’ said Eisendecker, as we rode home together that evening, when, +after a long silence, he spoke; ‘yes, I had resolved to kill him; but when +my finger was even on the trigger, I saw a look upon his features that +reminded me of those earlier and happier days when we had but one home and +one heart, and I felt as if I was about to become the murderer of my +brother.’ +</p> +<p> +Need I add that they were friends for ever after? +</p> +<p> +But I must leave Göttingen and its memories too. They recall happy days, +it is true; but they who made them so—where are they? +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. SPAS AND GRAND DUKEDOMS +</h2> +<p> +It was a strange ordinance of the age that made watering-places equally +the resort of the sick and the fashionable, the dyspeptic and the +dissipated. One cannot readily see by what magic chalybeates can minister +to a mind diseased, nor how sub-carbonates and proto-chlorides may +compensate to the faded spirit of an <i>ennuyée</i> fine lady for the +bygone delights of a London or a Paris season; much less, through what +magnetic influence gambling and gossip can possibly alleviate affections +of the liver, or roulette be made a medical agent in the treatment of +chronic rheumatism. +</p> +<p> +It may be replied that much of the benefit—some would go farther, +and say all—to be expected from the watering-places is derivable +from change of scene and habit of living, new faces, new interests, new +objects of curiosity, aided by agreeable intercourse, and what the medical +folk call ‘pleasant and cheerful society.’ This, be it known, is no chance +collocation of words set down at random; it is a <i>bona fide</i> +technical—as much so as the hardest Greek compound that ever floored +an apothecary. ‘Pleasant and cheerful society!’ they speak of it as they +would of the latest improvement in chemistry or the last patent medicine—a +thing to be had for asking for, like opodeldoc or Morison’s pills. A line +of treatment is prescribed for you, winding up in this one principle; and +your physician, as he shakes your hand and says ‘good-bye,’ seems like an +angel of benevolence, who, instead of consigning you to the horrors of the +pharmacopoeia and a sick-bed, tells you to pack off to the Rhine, spend +your summer at Ems or Wiesbaden, and, above all things, keep early hours, +and ‘pleasant, cheerful society.’ +</p> +<p> +Oh, why has no martyr to the miseries of a ‘liver’ or the sorrows of +‘nerves’ ever asked his M.D. where—where is this delightful +intercourse to be found? or by what universal principle of application can +the same tone of society please the mirthful and the melancholy, the man +of depressed, desponding habit, and the man of sanguine, hopeful +temperament? How can the indolent and lethargic soul be made to derive +pleasure from the hustling energies of more excited natures, or the +fidgety victim of instability sympathise with the delights of quiet and +tranquillity? He who enjoys ‘rude health’—the phrase must have been +invented by a fashionable physician; none other could have deemed such a +possession an offensive quality—may very well amuse himself by the +oddities and eccentricities of his fellow-men, so ludicrously exhibited <i>en +scene</i> before him. But in what way will these things appear to the +individual with an ailing body and a distempered brain? It is impossible +that contrarieties of temperament would ever draw men into close intimacy +during illness. The very nature of a sick man’s temper is to undervalue +all sufferings save his own and those resembling his. The victim of +obesity has no sympathies with the martyr to atrophy; he may envy, he +cannot pity him. The man who cannot eat surely has little compassion for +the woes of him who has the ‘wolf,’ and must be muzzled at meal times. The +result, then, is obvious. The gloomy men get together in groups, and croak +in concert; each mind brings its share of affliction to the common fund, +and they form a joint-stock company of misery that rapidly assists their +progress to the grave; while the nervously excited ones herd together by +dozens, suggesting daily new extravagances and caprices for the adoption +of one another, till there is not an air-drawn dagger of the mind +unfamiliar to one among them; and in this race of exaggerated sensibility +they not uncommonly tumble over the narrow boundary that separates +eccentricity from something worse. +</p> +<p> +This massing together of such people in hundreds must be ruinous to many, +and few can resist the depressing influence which streets full of pale +faces suggest, or be proof against the melancholy derivable from a whole +promenade of cripples. There is something indescribably sad in these +rendezvous of ailing people from all parts of Europe—north, south, +east, and west; the snows of Norway and the suns of Italy; the mountains +of Scotland and the steppes of Russia; comparing their symptoms and +chronicling their sufferings; watching with the egotism of sickness the +pallor on their neighbour’s cheek, and calculating their own chances of +recovery by the progress of some other invalid. +</p> +<p> +But were this all, the aspect might suggest gloomy thoughts, but could not +excite indignant ones. Unhappily, however, there is a reverse to the +medal. ‘The pleasant and cheerful society,’ so confidently spoken of by +your doctor has another representation than in the faces of sick people. +These watering-places are the depots of continental vice, the licensed +bazaars of foreign iniquity, the sanctuary of the outlaw, the home of the +swindler, the last resource of the ruined debauchee, the one spot of earth +beneath the feet of the banished defaulter. They are the parliaments of +European blackguardism, to which Paris contributes her <i>escrocs</i>, +England her ‘legs’ from Newmarket and Doncaster, and Poland her refugee +counts—victims of Russian cruelty and barbarity. +</p> +<p> +To begin—and to understand the matter properly, you must begin by +forgetting all you have been so studiously storing up as fact from the +books of Head, Granville, and others, and merely regard them as the +pleasant romances of gentlemen who like to indulge their own easy humours +in a vein of agreeable gossip, or the more profitable occupation of +collecting grand-ducal stars and snuff-boxes. +</p> +<p> +These delightful pictures of Brunnens, secluded in the recesses of wild +mountain districts inaccessible save to some adventurous traveller; the +peaceful simplicity of the rural life; the primitive habits of a happy +peasantry; the humble but contented existence of a little community +estranged from all the shocks and strife of the world; the lovely scenery; +the charming intercourse with gifted and cultivated minds; the delightful +reunions, where Metternich, Chateaubriand, and Humboldt are nightly to be +met, mixing among the rest of the company, and chatting familiarly with +every stranger; the peaceful tranquillity of the spot—an oasis in +the great desert of the world’s troubles, where the exhausted mind and +tired spirit may lie down in peace and take its rest, lulled by the sound +of falling water or the strains of German song —these, I say, +cleverly put forward, with ‘eight illustrations taken on the spot,’ make +pretty books—pleasant to read, but not less dangerous to follow; +while exaggerated catalogues of cures and recoveries, the restoration from +sufferings of a life long, the miraculous list of sick men made sound ones +through the agency of sulphurates and sub-carbonates, are still more to be +guarded against as guides to the spas of Germany. +</p> +<p> +Now, I would not for a moment be supposed to throw discredit on the +efficiency of Aix or Ems, Wiesbaden or Töplitz, or any of them. In some +cases they have done, and will do, it may be hoped, considerable benefit +to many sufferers. I would merely desire to slide in, amidst the universal +paen of praise, a few words of caution respecting the <i>morale</i> of +these watering-places; and in doing so I shall be guided entirely by the +same principle I have followed in all the notes of my ‘Loiterings,’ rather +to touch follies and absurdities than to go deeper down into the strata of +crimes and vices; at the same time, wherever it may be necessary for my +purpose, I shall not scruple to cut into the quick if the malady need it. +</p> +<p> +And to begin—imagine in the first place a Grand-Duchy of such +moderate proportions that its sovereign dare not take in the ‘Times’ +newspaper; for if he opened it, he must intrude upon the territory of his +neighbours. His little kingdom, however, having all the attributes of a +real state, possesses a minister for the home and a minister for the +foreign department; it has a chancellor of the exchequer and a +secretary-at-war; and if there were half a mile of seaboard, would +inevitably have a board of admiralty and a <i>ministre de la marine</i>. +It is also provided with a little army, something in the fashion of +Bombastes Furioso’s, where each arm of the service has its one +representative, or that admirable Irish corps, which, when inquired after +by the General of the District, ‘Where is the Donegal Light Horse?’ was +met by the answer of, ‘Here I am, yer honour!’ And though certainly +nothing could possibly be more modestly devised than the whole retinue of +state, though the <i>fantassins</i> be fifty, and the cavalry five, still +they must be fed, clothed, and kept in tobacco—a question of some +embarrassment, when it is considered that the Grand-Duchy produces little +grain and less grass, has neither manufacture nor trade, nor the means of +providing for other wants than those of a simple and hard-working +peasantry. There is, however, a palace, with its accompaniments of grand +maréchal, equerries, cooks, and scullions—a vast variety of +officials of every grade and class, who must be provided for. How is this +done? Simply enough, when the secret is once known—four yards of +green baize, with two gentlemen armed with wooden rakes, and a box full of +five-franc pieces. Nothing more is wanting. For the mere luxury of the +thing, as a matter of pin-money to the grand-duchess, if there be one, you +may add a roulette-table; but <i>rouge et noir</i> will supply all the +trumpery expedients of taxation, direct and indirect. You neither want +collectors, custom-houses, nor colonies; you may snap your fingers at +trade and import duties, and laugh at the clumsy contrivances by which +other chancellors provide for the expenditure of other countries. +</p> +<p> +The machinery of revenue reduces itself to this: first catch a Jew. For +your petty villainies any man will suffice; but for your grand schemes of +wholesale plunder, there is nothing like an Israelite; besides, he has a +kind of pride in his vocation. For the privilege of the gambling-table he +will pay munificently, he will keep the whole grand-ducal realm in beer +and beetroot the year through, and give a very respectable privy purse to +the sovereign besides. To him you deliver up all the nations of the earth +outside your own little frontier, none of those within it being under any +pretext admitted inside the walls of the gambling-house; for, like the +sick apothecary, you know better than to take anything in the shop. You +give him a carte-blanche, sparing the little realm of Hesse-Homburg, to +cheat the English, pigeon the Russians, ruin French, Swedes, Swiss, and +Yankees to his heart’s content; you set no limits to his grand career of +roguery; you deliver, bound, into his hands all travellers within your +realm, to be fleeced as it may seem fit. What care you for the din of +factories or the clanking hammers of the foundries? The rattle of the +dice-box and the scraping of the croupier’s mace are pleasanter sounds, +and fully as suggestive of wealth. You need not descend into the bowels of +the earth for riches; the gold, ready stamped from the mint, comes bright +and shining to your hand. Fleets may founder and argosies may sink, but +your dollars come safely in the pockets of their owners, and are paid, +without any cost of collection, into the treasury of the State. Manchester +may glut the earth with her printed calicoes, Sheffield may produce more +carving-knives than there are carvers. <i>Your</i> resources can suffer no +such casualties as these; you trade upon the vices of mankind, and need +never dread a year of scarcity. The passion for play is more contagious +than the smallpox, and unhappily the malady returns after the first +access. Every gambler who leaves fifty napoleons in your territory is +bound in a kind of recognisance to return next year and lose double the +sum. Each loss is but an instalment of the grand total of his ruin, and +you have contracted for that. +</p> +<p> +But even the winner does not escape you. A hundred temptations are +provided to seduce him into extravagance and plunge him into expense—tastes +are suggested, and habits of luxury inculcated, that turn out sad +comforters when a reverse of fortune compels him to a more limited +expenditure; so that when you extinguish the unlucky man by a summary +process, you reserve a lingering death for the more fortunate one. In the +language of the dock, it is only ‘a long day’ he obtains, after all. +</p> +<p> +How pleasant, besides, to reflect that the storms of political strife, +which agitate other heads, never reach yours. The violence of party +spirit, the rancour of the press, are hushed before the decorous silence +of the gaming-table and the death-like stillness of <i>rouge et noir</i>. +There is no need of a censorship when there is a croupier. The literature +of your realm is reduced to a card, to be pricked by the pin of a +gamester; and men have no heads for the pleasures of reading, when stared +in the face by ruin. Other states may occupy themselves with projects of +philanthropy and benevolence, they may project schemes of public +usefulness and advantage, they may advance the arts of civilisation, and +promote plans of national greatness; your course is an easier path, and is +never unsuccessful. +</p> +<p> +But some one may say here, How are these people to live? I agree at once +with the sentiment—no one is more ready to assent to that excellent +adage—‘Il faut que tout le monde vive, even grand-dukes.’ But there +are a hundred ways of eking out subsistence in cheap countries, without +trenching on morality. The military service of Austria, Prussia, and +Russia is open to them, should their own small territories not suffice for +moderate wants and wishes. In any case I am not going to trouble my head +with providing for German princes, while I have a large stock of nephews +and nieces little better off. All I care for at present is to point out +the facts of a case, and not to speculate how they might be altered. +</p> +<p> +Now, to proceed. In proportion as vice is more prevalent, the decorum of +the world would appear to increase, and internal rottenness and external +decency bear a due relation to each other. People could not thus violate +the outward semblance of morality, by flocking in hundreds and tens of +hundreds to those gambling states, those <i>rouge et noir</i> +dependencies, those duchies of the dice-box. A man’s asking a passport for +Baden would be a tacit averment, ‘I am going to gamble.’ Ordering +post-horses for Ems would be like calling for ‘fresh cards’; and you would +as soon confess to having passed a few years in Van Diemen’s Land as +acknowledge a summer on the Rhine. +</p> +<p> +What, then, was to be done? It was certainly a difficulty, and might have +puzzled less ingenious heads than grand-ducal advisers. They, however, +soon hit upon the expedient. They are shrewd observers, and clever men of +the world. They perceived that while other eras have been marked by the +characteristic designation of brass, gold, or iron, <i>this</i>, with more +propriety, might be called the age of bile. Never was there a period when +men felt so much interested in their stomachs; at no epoch were mankind so +deeply concerned for their livers; this passion—for it is such—not +being limited to the old or feeble, to the broken and shattered +constitution, but extending to all age and sex, including the veteran of a +dozen campaigns and the belle of a London season, the hard-lined and +seasoned features of a polar traveller, and the pale, soft cheek of +beauty, the lean proportions of shrunken age, and the plump development of +youthful loveliness. In the words of the song— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘No age, no profession, no station is free.’ +</pre> +<p> +It is the universal mania of our century, and we may expect that one day, +our vigorous pursuit of knowledge on the subject will allow us to be +honourably classed with the equally intelligent seekers for the +philosopher’s stone. With this great feature of the time, then, nothing +was easier than to comply. The little realm of Hesse-Homburg might not +have attractions of scenery or society; its climate might, like most of +those north of the Alps, be nothing to boast of; its social advantages +being a zero, what could it possess as a reason—a good, plausible +reason, for drawing travellers to its frontier? Of course, a Spa!—something +very nauseous and very foul smelling, as nearly as possible like a warm +infusion of rotten eggs, thickened with red clay. Germany happily abounds +in these; Nature has been kind to her, at least underground, and you have +only to dig two feet in any limestone district to meet with the most +sovereign thing on earth for stomachic derangements. +</p> +<p> +The Spa discovered, a doctor was found to analyse it, and another to write +a book upon it. Nothing more were necessary. The work, translated into +three or four languages, set forth all the congenial advantages of pumps +and promenades, sub-carbonates, tables d’hôte, waltzing, and mineral +waters. The pursuit of health no longer presented a grim goddess +masquerading in rusty black and a bald forehead, but a lovely nymph, in a +Parisian toilette, conversing like a Frenchwoman, and dancing like an +Austrian. +</p> +<p> +Who would not be ill, I wonder? Who would not discover that Hampshire was +too high and Essex too low, Devon too close and Cumberland too bracing? +Who would not give up his village M.D., and all his array of bottles, with +their long white cravats, for a ramble to the Rhine, where luxurious +living, belles, and balls abounded, and where <i>soit dit en passant</i>, +the <i>rouge et noir</i> table afforded the easy resource of supplying all +such pleasures, so that you might grow robust and rich at once, and while +imbibing iron into your blood, lay up a stock of gold with your banker? +Hence the connection between Spas and gambling; hence the fashionable +flocking to those healthful spots by thousands who never felt illness; +hence the unblushing avowal of having been a month at Baden by those who +would flinch at acknowledging an hour in a ‘hell’; and hence, more +important than all, at least to one individual concerned, the source of +that real alchemy by which a grand-duke, like Macheath, can +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Turn all his lead to gold.’ +Well may he exclaim, with the gallant captain— + +‘Fill every glass!’ +</pre> +<p> +Were the liquor champagne or tokay, it could not be a hundredth part as +profitable; and the whole thing presents a picture of ‘hocussing’ on the +grandest scale ever adopted. +</p> +<p> +The fifteen glasses of abomination demand a walk of half an hour, or a +sojourn in the Cursaal. The Cursaal is a hell! there is no need to mince +it. The taste for play is easily imbibed—what bad taste is not?—and +thus, while you are drawing the pump, the grand-duke is diving into your +pocket. Here, then—I shall not add a word—is the true state of +the Spas of Germany. As I believe it is customary to distinguish all +writers on these ‘fountains of health’ by some mark of princely favour +proportionate to their services of praise, I beg to add, if the Gross +Herzog von Hesse-Homburg deems the present a suitable instance for notice, +that Arthur O’Leary will receive such evidence of grand-ducal approbation +with a most grateful spirit, and acknowledge the same in some future +volume of his ‘Loiterings,’ only requesting to mention that when Theodore +Hook—poor fellow!—was dining once with a London alderman +remarkable for the display and the tedium of his dinners, he felt himself +at the end of an hour and a half’s vigorous performance only in the middle +of the entertainment; upon which he laid down his knife, and in a whisper +uttered: ‘<i>Eating</i> more is out of the question; so I ‘ll take the +rest out in money.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. THE TRAVELLING PARTY +</h2> +<p> +I have already taken occasion to indoctrinate my reader on the subject of +what I deem the most perfect species of table d’hôte. May I now beg of +him, or her, if she will be kind enough, to accompany me to the <i>table-monstre</i> +of Wiesbaden, Ems, or Baden-Baden? We are at the Cursaal, or Shuberts, or +the ‘Hof von Nassau’ at Wiesbaden. Four hundred guests are assembled, +their names indicative of every land of Europe, and no small portion of +America; the mixture of language giving the impression of its being a +grand banquet to the ‘operatives at Babel,’ but who, not satisfied with +the chances of misunderstanding afforded by speaking their own tongues to +foreigners, have adventured on the more certain project of endeavouring to +being totally unintelligible, by speaking languages with which they are +unacquainted; while in their dress, manner, and appearance, the great +object seems to be an accurate imitation of some other country than their +own. Hence Frenchmen affect to seem English, English to look like +Prussians, Prussians to appear Poles, Poles to be Calmucks. Your ‘elegant’ +of the Boulevard de Ghent sports a ‘cut away’ like a Yorkshire squire, and +rides in cords; your Londoner wears his hair on his shoulders, and his +moustaches, like a Pomeranian count; Turks find their way into tight +trousers and ‘Wellingtons’; and even the Yankees cannot resist the general +tendency to transmutation, but take three inches off their hair behind. +</p> +<p> +Nothing is more amusing than these general congresses of European +vagrancy. Characters the most original meet you at every step, and display +most happily traits you never have the opportunity to inspect at home. For +so it is, the very fact of leaving home with most people seems like an +absolution from all the necessities of sustaining a part. They feel as +though they had taken off the stage finery in which they had fretted away +their hours before, and stand forth themselves <i>in propria</i>. Thus +your grave Chancery lawyer becomes a chatty pleasant man of the world, +witty and conversable; your abstruse mathematician, leaving conic sections +behind him, talks away with the harmless innocence of a child about men +and politics; and even your cold ‘exclusive’ bids a temporary farewell to +his ‘morgue,’ and answers his next neighbour at table without feeling +shocked at his obtrusion. +</p> +<p> +There must be some secret sympathy—of whose operations we know +nothing—between our trunks and our temperaments, our characters and +our carpet-bags; and that by the same law which opens one to the +inspection of an official at the frontier, the other must be laid bare +when we pass across it. How well would it have been for us, if the analogy +had been pushed a little further, that the fiscal regulations adopted in +the former were but extended to the latter, and that we had applied the +tariff to the morals, as well as to the manufactures, of the Continent. +</p> +<p> +It was in some such musing as this I sat in a window of the ‘Nassau,’ at +Wiesbaden, during the height of the season of——. Strangers +were constantly arriving, and hourly was the reply ‘no room’ given to the +disconsolate travellers, who peered from their carriages with the +road-sick look of a long journey. As for myself, I had been daily and +nightly transferred from one quarter of the hotel to another—now +sleeping in an apartment forty feet square, in a bed generally reserved +for royalty, now bivouacking under the very slates; one night exposed to +the incessant din of the street beside my windows, the next, in a remote +wing of the building, where there were no bells in the chambers, nor any +waiter was ever known to wander. In fact, I began to believe that they +made use of me to air the beds of the establishment, and was seriously +disposed to make a demand for some compensation in my bill; and if I might +judge from the pains in my bones I contracted in ‘Lit de Parade,’ I must +have saved her Majesty of Greece, who was my successor in it, a notable +attack of rheumatism. To this shuttlecock state of existence the easiness +of my nature made me submit tamely enough, and I never dreamed of +rebellion. +</p> +<p> +I was sitting conning over to myself the recollections of some faces I had +seen before, when the head waiter appeared before me, with a request that +I would be kind enough to give up my place at the table, which was No. 14, +to a gentleman lately arrived, and who desired to sit near his friends in +that vicinity. ‘To be sure,’ said I at once; ‘I have no acquaintance here, +and 114 will do me as well as 14—place me where you like.’ At the +same time, it rather puzzled me to learn what the individual could be like +who conceived such a violent desire to be in the neighbourhood of some +Hamburg Jews—for such were the party around me—when the waiter +began to make room for a group that entered the room, and walked up to the +end of that table. A glance told they were English. There was an elderly +man, tall and well-looking, with the air ‘gentleman’ very legibly written +on his quiet, composed features; the carriage of his head, and a something +in his walk, induced me to believe him military. A lady leaned on his arm, +some thirty years his junior—he was about sixty-six or seven—whose +dress and style were fashionable, and at the same time they had not that +perfect type of unpretending legitimacy that belongs essentially to but +one class. She was, in fact, <i>trop bien mise</i> for a table d’hote; for +although only a morning costume, there was a display about it which was +faulty in its taste; her features, without being handsome, were striking, +as much for the carriage of her head as anything in themselves. There was +an air of good looks, as though to say, ‘If you don’t think me handsome, +the fault is yours.’ Her eyes were of a bluish grey, large and full, with +lightly arched brows; but the mouth was the most characteristic feature—it +was firm and resolute-looking, closely compressed, and with a slight +protrusion of the lower lip, that said as plainly as words could say it, +‘I will, and that’s enough.’ In walking, she took some pains to display +her foot, which, with all the advantages of a Parisian shoe, was scarcely +as pretty as she conceived it, but on the whole was well formed, and +rather erring on the score of size than symmetry. +</p> +<p> +They were followed by three or four young men, of whom I could only remark +that they wore the uniform appearance of young Englishmen of good class, +very clean-looking faces, well-brushed hair, and well-fitting frock-coats. +One sported a moustache of a dirty-yellow colour, and whiskers to match, +and by his manner, and a certain half-shut-eye kind of glance, proclaimed +himself the knowing man of the party. +</p> +<p> +While they were taking their places, which they did at once on entering, I +heard a general burst of salutations break from them in very welcome +accent: ‘Oh, here he is, here he comes. Ah, I knew we should see him.’ At +the same instant, a tall, well-dressed fellow leaned over the table and +shook hands with them all in succession. +</p> +<p> +‘When did you arrive?’ said he, turning to the lady. +</p> +<p> +‘Only an hour ago; Sir Marmaduke would stay at Frankfort yesterday, to see +Duvernet dance, and so we were detained beyond our time.’ +</p> +<p> +The old gentleman half blushed at this charge, and while a look of +pleasure showed that he did not dislike the accusation, he said— +</p> +<p> +‘No, no; I stayed to please Calthorpe.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Indeed!’ said the lady, turning a look of very peculiar, but +unmistakable, anger at him of the yellow moustache. ‘Indeed, my lord!’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh yes, that is a weakness of mine,’ said he, in an easy tone of careless +banter, which degenerated to a mutter, heard only by the lady herself. +</p> +<p> +‘I ought to have a place somewhere here about,’ said the tall man. ‘Number +14 or 15, the waiter said. Hallo, <i>garçon</i>——-’ +</p> +<p> +At this he turned round, and I saw the well-remembered face of my +fellow-traveller, the Honourable Jack Smallbranes. He looked very hard at +me, as if he were puzzled to remember where or when we had met, and then, +with a cool nod, said, ‘How d’ye do?—over in England lately?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not since I had the pleasure of meeting you at Rotterdam. Did you go far +with the alderman’s daughters?’ +</p> +<p> +A very decided wink and a draw down of the brows cautioned me to silence +on that subject; but not before the lady had heard my question, and looked +up in his face with an expression that said—‘I’ll hear more of that +affair before long.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Monsieur has given you his place, sir,’ said the waiter, arranging a +chair at No. 14. ‘I have put <i>you</i> at 83.’ +</p> +<p> +‘All right,’ replied Jack, as if no recognition were called for on his +part, and that he was not sorry to be separated from one with an +unpleasant memory. +</p> +<p> +‘I am shocked, sir,’ said the lady, addressing me in her blandest accents, +‘at our depriving you of your place, but Mr. Carrisbrook will, I ‘m sure, +give you his.’ +</p> +<p> +While I protested against such a surrender, and Mr. Carrisbrook looked +very much annoyed at the proposal, the lady only insisted the more, and it +ended in Mr. Carrisbrook—one of the youths already mentioned—being +sent down to 83, while I took up my position in front of the party in his +place. +</p> +<p> +I knew to what circumstance I was indebted for this favourable notice; she +looked up to me as a kind of king’s evidence, whenever the Honourable Jack +should be called up for trial, and already I had seen a great deal into +the history and relative position of all parties. Such was the state of +matters when the soup appeared. +</p> +<p> +And now, to impart to my readers, as is my wont, such information as I +possessed afterwards, and not to keep them waiting for the order in which +I obtained it: the party before me consisted of Sir Marmaduke Lonsdall and +his lady—he, an old general officer of good family and connections, +who, with most unexceptionable manners and courtly address, had contrived +to spend a very easy, good-for-nothing existence, without ever seeing an +hour’s service, his clubs and his dinner-parties filling up life tolerably +well, with the occasional excitement arising from who was in and who was +out, to season the whole. Sometimes a Lord of the Treasury, with a seat +for a Government borough, and sometimes patriotically sitting among the +opposition when his friends were out, he was looked upon as a very +honourable, straightforward person, who could not be ‘overlooked’ when his +party were distributing favours. +</p> +<p> +My Lady Lonsdall was a <i>soi-disant</i> heiress, the daughter of some +person unknown in the city, the greater part of whose fortune was +unhappily embarked in Poyais Scrip—a fact only ascertained when too +late, and, consequently, though discoursing most eloquently in a +prospectus about mines of gold and silver, strata of pearl necklaces, and +diamond ear-rings, all ready to put on, turned out an unfortunate +investment, and only realised an article in the <i>Times</i>, headed +‘another bubble speculation.’ Still, however, she was reputed very rich, +and Sir Marmaduke received the congratulations of his club on the event +with the air of a conqueror. She married him simply because, having waited +long and impatiently for a title, she was fain to put up at last with a +baronet. Her ambition was to be in the fashionable world; to be among that +sect of London elect who rule at Almack’s and dictate at the West End; to +occupy her portion of the <i>Morning Post</i>, and to have her name +circulated among the illustrious few who entertain royalty, and receive +archdukes at luncheon. If the Poyais investment, in its result, denied the +means of these extravagances, it did not, unhappily, obliterate the taste +for them; and my lady’s ambition to be fashionable was never at a higher +spring-tide than when her fortunes were at the ebb. Now, certes, there are +two ways to London distinction—rank and wealth. A fair union of both +will do much, but, without either, the pursuit is utterly hopeless. There +is but one course, then, for these unfortunate aspirants of celebrity—it +is to change the venue and come abroad. They may not, it is true, have the +rank and riches which give position at home. Still, they are better off +than most foreigners: they have not the wealth of the aristocracy, yet +they can imitate their wickedness; their habits may be costly, but their +vices are cheap; and thus they can assert their high position and their +fashionable standing by displaying the abandonment which is unhappily the +distinctive feature of a certain set in the high world of London. +</p> +<p> +Followed, then, by a train of admirers, she paraded about the Continent, +her effrontery exalted into beauty, her cold insolence assumed to be high +breeding; her impertinence to women was merely exclusiveness, and her +condescending manner to men the simple acknowledgment of that homage to +which she was so unquestionably entitled. +</p> +<p> +Of her suite, they were animated by different motives. Some were young +enough to be in love with any woman who, a great deal older than +themselves, would deign to notice them. The noble lord, who accompanied +her always, was a ruined baron, whose own wife had deserted him for +another; he had left his character and his fortune at Doncaster and Epsom; +and having been horsewhipped as a defaulter, and outlawed for debt, was of +course in no condition to face his acquaintances in England. Still he was +a lord—there was no denying that; Debrett and Burke had chronicled +his baptism, and the eighth baron from Hugo de Colbrooke, who carried the +helmet of his sovereign at Agincourt, was unquestionably of the best blood +of the peerage. Like your true white feather, he wore a most <i>farouche</i> +exterior; his moustaches seemed to bristle with pugnacity, and the +expression of his eye was indescribably martial; he walked as if he was +stepping out the ground, and in his salute he assumed the cold politeness +with which a second takes off his hat to the opposite principal in a duel; +even his valet seemed to favour the illusion, as he ostentatiously +employed himself cleaning his master’s pistols, and arranging the locks, +as though there was no knowing at what moment of the day he might not be +unexpectedly called to shoot somebody. +</p> +<p> +This noble lord, I say, was a part of the household. Sir Marmaduke finding +his society rather agreeable, and the lady regarding him as the +cork-jacket on which she was to swim into the ocean of fashion at some +remote period or other of her existence. +</p> +<p> +As for the Honourable Jack Smallbranes, who was he not in love with— +or rather who was not in love with him? Poor fellow! he was born, in his +own estimation, to be the destroyer of all domestic peace; he was created +to be the ruin to all female happiness. Such a destiny might well have +filled any one with sadness and depression; most men would have grieved +over a lot which condemned them to be the origin of suffering. Not so, +Jack; he felt he couldn’t help it—that it was no affair of his if he +were the best-looking fellow in the world. The thing was so palpable; +women ought to take care of themselves; he sailed under no false flag. No, +there he was, the most irresistible, well-dressed, and handsomest fellow +to be met with; and if they didn’t escape—or, to use his own +expression, ‘cut their lucky’ in time—the fault was all their own. +If queens smiled and archduchesses looked kind upon him, let kings and +archdukes look to it. He took no unfair or underhand advantages; he made +no secret attacks, no dark advances—he carried every fortress by +assault, and in noonday. Some malicious people— the world abounds in +such—used to say that Jack’s gallantries were something like +Falstaff’s deeds of prowess, and that his victims were all ‘in buckram.’ +But who could believe it? Did not victory sit on his very brow; were not +his looks the signs of conquest; and, better than all, who that ever knew +him had not the assurance from his own lips? With what a happy mixture of +nonchalance and self-satisfaction would he make these confessions! How +admirably blended was the sense of triumph with the consciousness of its +ease! How he would shake his ambrosial curls, and throw himself into a +pose of elegance, as though to say, ‘’Twas thus I did it; ain’t I a sad +dog?’ +</p> +<p> +Well, if these conquests were illusions, they were certainly the +pleasantest ever a man indulged in. They consoled him at heart for the +loss of fortune, country, and position; they were his recompense for all +the lost glories of Crockford’s and the ‘Clarendon.’ Never was there such +a picture of perfect tranquillity and unclouded happiness. Oh, let +moralists talk as they will about the serenity of mind derivable alone +from a pure conscience, the peaceful nature that flows from a source of +true honour, and then look abroad upon the world and count the hundreds +whose hairs are never tinged with grey, whose cheeks show no wrinkles, +whose elastic steps suffer no touch of age, and whose ready smile and +cheerful laugh are the ever-present signs of their contentment—let +them look on these, and reflect that of such are nine-tenths of those who +figure in lists of outlawry, whose bills do but make the stamps they are +written on of no value, whose creditors are legion and whose credit is at +zero, and say which seem the happier. To see them one would opine that +there must be some secret good in cheating a coachmaker, or some hidden +virtue in tricking a jeweller; that hotel-keepers are a natural enemy to +mankind, and that a tailor has not a right even to a decimal fraction of +honesty. Never was Epicurean philosophy like theirs; they have a fine +liberal sense of the blackguardisms that a man may commit, and yet not +forfeit his position in society. They know the precise condition in life +when he may practise dishonesty; and they also see when he must be +circumspect. They have one rule for the city and another for the club; +and, better than all, they have stored their minds with sage maxims and +wise reflections, which, like the philosophers of old, they adduce on +every suitable occasion; and many a wounded spirit has been consoled by +that beautiful sentiment, so frequent in their mouths, of— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Go ahead! for what’s the odds so long as you ‘re happy?’ +</pre> +<p> +Such, my reader, was the clique in which, strangely enough, I now found +myself; and were it not that such characters abound in every part of the +Continent, that they swarm at spas and infest whole cities, I would +scruple to introduce you to such company. It is as well, however, that you +should be put on your guard against them, and that any amusement you may +derive from the study of eccentricity should not be tarnished with the +recollection of your being imposed upon. +</p> +<p> +There happened, on the day I speak of, to be a man of some rank at table, +with whom I had a slight, a very slight acquaintance; but in passing from +the room he caught my eye, came over and conversed with me for a few +minutes. From that moment Lady Lonsdall’s manners underwent a great change +in my regard. Not only did she venture to look at me without expressing +any air of supercilious disdain, but even vouchsafed the ghost of a smile; +and, as we rose from table, I overheard her ask the Honourable Jack for my +name. I could not hear the first part of his reply, but the last was +couched in that very classic slang, expressive of my unknown condition— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘I take it, he hain’t got no friends!’ +</pre> +<p> +Notwithstanding this Foundling-hospital sentence, Sir Marmaduke was +instructed to invite me to take coffee—an honour which, having +declined, we separated, as do people who are to speak when next they meet. +</p> +<p> +Meditating on the unjust impression foreigners must conceive of England +and the English by the unhappy specimens we ‘grind for exportation,’ I sat +alone at a little table in the park. It was a sad subject, and it led me +further than I wished or knew of. I thought I could trace much of the +animosity of foreign journals to English policy in their mistaken notions +of national character, and could well conceive how dubiously they must +receive our claim to being high-spirited and honourable, when their own +experiences would incline to a different conclusion; for, after all, the +Fleet Prison, however fashionable its inmates, would scarcely be a +flattering specimen of England, nor do I think Horsemonger Lane ought to +be taken as a fair sample of the country. It is vain to assure foreigners +that these people are not known nor received at home, neither held in +credit nor estimation; their conclusive reply is, ‘How is it, then, that +they are admitted to the tables of your ambassadors, and presented at our +courts? Is it possible you would dare to introduce to our sovereigns those +whom you could not present to your own?’ This answer is a fatal one. The +fact is so; the most rigid censor of morals leaves his conscience at the +Ship Hotel at Dover; he has no room for it on a voyage, or perhaps he +thinks it might be detained by a revenue-officer. Whatever the cause, he +will know at Baden—ay, and walk with—the man he would cut in +Bond Street, and drive with the party at Brussels he would pass to-morrow +if he met in Hyde Park. +</p> +<p> +This ‘sliding scale’ of morality has great disadvantages; none greater +than the injury it inflicts on national character, and the occasion it +offers for our disparagement at the hands of other people. It is in vain +that liberal and enlightened measures mark our government, or that +philanthropy and humanity distinguish our institutions, we only get credit +for hypocrisy so long as we throw a mantle over our titled swindlers and +dishonourable defaulters. If Napoleon found little difficulty in making +the sobriquet of ‘La Perfide Albion’ popular in France, we owe it much +more to the degraded characters of our refugee English than to any justice +in the charge against the nation. In a word, I have never met a foreigner +commonly fair in his estimate of English character, who had not travelled +in England; and I never met one unjust in all that regarded national good +faith, honesty, and uprightness, who had visited our shores. The immunity +from arrest would seem to suggest to our runaways an immunity from all the +ties of good conduct and character of our countrymen, who, under that +strange delusion of the ‘immorality of France,’ seem to think that a +change of behaviour should be adopted in conformity with foreign usage; +and as they put on less clothing, so they might dispense with a little +virtue also. +</p> +<p> +These be unpleasant reflections, Arthur, and I fear the coffee or the +maraschino must have been amiss; in any case, away with them, and now for +a stroll in the Cursaal! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. THE GAMBLING-ROOM +</h2> +<p> +Englishmen keep their solemnity and respectful deportment for a church; +foreigners reserve theirs for a gambling-table. Never was I more struck +than by the decorous stillness and well-bred quietness of the room in +which the highest play went forward. All the animation of French +character, all the bluntness of German, all the impetuosity of the Italian +or the violent rashness of the Russian, were calmed down and subdued +beneath the influence of the great passion; and it seemed as though the +Devil would not accept the homage of his votaries if not rendered with the +well-bred manners of true gentlemen. It was not enough that men should be +ruined—they should be ruined with easy propriety and thorough +good-breeding. Whatever their hearts might feel, their faces should +express no discomfiture; though their head should ache and their hand +should tremble, the lip must be taught to say ‘rouge’ or ‘noir’ without +any emotion. +</p> +<p> +I do not scruple to own that all this decorum was more dreadful than any +scene of wild violence or excitement The forced calmness, the pent-up +passion, might be kept from any outbreak of words; but no training could +completely subdue the emotions which speak by the bloodshot eye, the +quivering cheek, the livid lip. +</p> +<p> +No man’s heart is consecrated so entirely to one passion as a gambler’s. +Hope with him usurps the place of every other feeling. Hope, however rude +the shocks it meets from disappointment, however beaten and baffled, is +still there; the flame may waste down to a few embers, but a single spark +may live amid the ashes, yet it is enough to kindle up into a blaze before +the breath of fortune. At first he lives but for moments like these; all +his agonies, all his sufferings, all the torturings of a mind verging on +despair are repaid by such brief intervals of luck. Yet each reverse of +fate is telling on him heavily; the many disappointments to his wishes are +sapping by degrees his confidence in fortune. His hope is dashed with +fear; and now commences within him that struggle which is the most fearful +man’s nature can endure. The fickleness of chance, the waywardness of +fortune, fill his mind with doubts and hesitations. Sceptical on the +sources of his great passion, he becomes a doubter on every subject; he +has seen his confidence so often at fault that he trusts nothing, and at +last the ruling feature of his character is suspicion. When this rules +paramount, he is a perfect gambler; from that moment he has done with the +world and all its pleasures and pursuits; life offers to him no path of +ambition, no goal to stimulate his energies. With a mock stoicism he +affects to be superior to the race which other men are running, and laughs +at the collisions of party and the contests of politics. Society, art, +literature, love itself, have no attractions for him then; all excitements +are feeble compared with the alternations of the gaming-table; and the +chances of fortune in real life are too tame and too tedious for the +impatience of a gambler. +</p> +<p> +I have no intention of winding up these few remarks by any moral episode +of a gambler’s life, though my memory could supply me with more than one +such—when the baneful passion became the ruin, not of a thoughtless, +giddy youth, inexperienced and untried, but of one who had already won +golden opinions from the world, and stood high in the ranks which lead to +honour and distinction. These stories have, unhappily, a sameness which +mars the force of their lesson; they are listened to like the refrain of +an old song, and from their frequency are disregarded. No; I trust in the +fact that education and the tastes that flow from it are the best +safeguards against a contagion of a heartless, soulless passion, and would +rather warn my young countrymen at this place against the individuals than +the system. +</p> +<p> +‘Am I in your way, sir?’ said a short, somewhat overdressed man, with red +whiskers, as he made room for me to approach the play-table, with a +politeness quite remarkable—‘am I in your way, sir?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not in the least; I beg you ‘ll not stir.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Pray take my seat; I request you will.’ +</p> +<p> +‘By no means, sir; I never play. I was merely looking on.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Nor I either—or at least very rarely,’ said he, rising with the air +of a man who felt no pleasure in what was going forward. ‘You don’t happen +to know that young gentleman in the light-blue frock and white vest +yonder?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, I never saw him before.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘m sorry for it,’ said he in a whisper; ‘he has just lost seventy +thousand francs, and is going the readiest way to treble the sum by his +play. I ‘m certain he is English by his look and appearance, and it is a +cruel thing, a very cruel thing, not to give him a word of caution here.’ +</p> +<p> +The words, spoken with a tone of feeling, interested me much in the +speaker, and already I was angry with myself for having conceived a +dislike to his appearance and a prejudice against his style of dress. +</p> +<p> +‘I see,’ continued he, after a few seconds’ pause—‘I see you agree +with me. Let us try if we can’t find some one who may know him. If +Wycherley is here—you know Sir Harry, I suppose?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I have not that honour.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Capital fellow—the best in the world. He’s in the Blues, and always +about Windsor or St. James’s. He knows everybody; and if that young fellow +be anybody, he’s sure to know him. Ah, how d’ye do, my lord?’ continued +he, with an easy nod, as Lord Colebrook passed. +</p> +<p> +‘Eh, Crotty, how goes it?’ was the reply. +</p> +<p> +‘You don’t happen to know that gentleman yonder, my lord, do you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not I; who is he?’ +</p> +<p> +‘This gentleman and I were both anxious to learn who he is; he is losing a +deal of money.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Eh, dropping his tin, is he? And you ‘d rather save him, Crotty? All +right and sportsmanlike,’ said his lordship, with a knowing wink, and +walked on. +</p> +<p> +‘A very bad one, indeed, I fear,’ said Crotty, looking after him; ‘but I +didn’t think him so heartless as that. Let us take a turn, and look out +for Wycherley.’ +</p> +<p> +Now, although I neither knew Wycherley nor his friend Crotty, I felt it a +case where one might transgress a little on etiquette, and probably save a +young man—he didn’t look twenty—from ruin; and so, without +more ado, I accompanied my new acquaintance through the crowded salons, +elbowing and pushing along amid the hundreds that thronged there. Crotty +seemed to know almost every one of a certain class; and as he went, it was +a perpetual ‘Comment ça va,’ prince, count, or baron; or, ‘How d’ye do, my +lord?’ or, ‘Eh, Sir Thomas, you here?’ etc; when at length, at the side of +a doorway leading into the supper-room, we came upon the Honourable Jack, +with two ladies leaning upon his arms. One glance was enough; I saw they +were the alderman’s daughters. Sir Peter himself, at a little distance +off, was giving directions to the waiter for supper. +</p> +<p> +‘Eh, Crotty, what are you doing to-night?’ said Jack, with a triumphant +look at his fair companions; ‘any mischief going forward, eh?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Nothing half so dangerous as your doings,’ said Crotty, with a very arch +smile; ‘have you seen Wycherley? Is he here?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Can’t possibly say,’ yawned out Jack; then leaning over to me, he said in +a whisper, ‘Is the Princess Von Hohenstauvenof in the rooms?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I really don’t know; I ‘m quite a stranger.’ +</p> +<p> +‘By Jove, if she is,’ said he, without paying any attention to my reply, +‘I ‘m floored, that’s all. Lady Maude Beverley has caught me already. I +wish you ‘d keep the Deverington girls in talk, will you?’ +</p> +<p> +‘You forget, perhaps, I have no acquaintance here.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Oh yes, by Jove, so I did! Glorious fun you must have of it! What a pace +I ‘d go along if I wasn’t known, eh! wouldn’t I?’ +</p> +<p> +‘There’s Wycherley—there he is,’ said Crotty, taking me by the arm +as he spoke, and leading me forward. ‘Do me the favour to give me your +name; I should like you to know Wycherley’—and scarcely had I +pronounced it, when I found myself exchanging greetings with a large, +well-built, black-whiskered and moustached man of about forty. He was +dressed in deep mourning, and looked in his manner and air very much the +gentleman. +</p> +<p> +‘Have you got up the party yet, Crotty?’ said he, after our first +salutations were over, and with a half-glance towards me. +</p> +<p> +‘No, indeed,’ said Crotty slowly; ‘the fact is, I wasn’t thinking of it. +There’s a poor young fellow yonder losing very heavily, and I wanted to +see if you knew him; it would be only fair to——’ +</p> +<p> +‘So it would; where is he?’ interrupted the baronet, as he pushed through +the crowd towards the play-room. +</p> +<p> +‘I told you he was a trump,’ said Crotty, as we followed him—‘the +fellow to do a good-natured thing at any moment. +</p> +<p> +While we endeavoured to get through after him, we passed close beside a +small supper-table, where sat the alderman and his two pretty daughters, +the Honourable Jack between them. It was evident from his boisterous +gaiety that he had triumphed over all his fears of detection by any of the +numerous fair ones he spoke of—his great object at this instant +appearing to be the desire to attract every one’s attention towards him, +and to publish his triumph to all beholders. For this, Jack conversed in a +voice audible at some distance off, surveying his victims from time to +time with the look of the Great Mogul; while they, poor girls, only +imagined themselves regarded for their own attractions, which were very +considerable, and believed that the companionship of the distinguished +Jack was the envy of every woman about them. As for the father, he was +deep in the mysteries of a <i>vol-au-vent</i>, and perfectly indifferent +to such insignificant trifles as Jack’s blandishments and the ladies’ +blushes. +</p> +<p> +Poor girls! no persuasion in life could have induced them to such an +exhibition in their own country, and in company with one their equal in +class. But the fact of its being Germany, and the escort being an +Honourable, made all the difference in the world; and they who would have +hesitated with maiden coyness at the honourable proposals of one of their +own class, felt no scruple at compromising themselves before hundreds, to +indulge the miserable vanity of a contemptible coxcomb. I stood for a +second or two beside the table, and thought within myself, ‘Is not this as +much a case to call for the interference of friendly caution as that of +the gambler yonder?’ But then, how was it possible? +</p> +<p> +We passed on and reached the play-table, where we found Sir Harry +Wycherley in low and earnest conversation with the young gentleman. I +could only catch a stray expression here and there, but even they +surprised me—the arguments advanced to deter him from gambling being +founded on the inconsiderate plan of his game, rather than on the +immorality and vice of the practice itself. +</p> +<p> +‘Don’t you see,’ said Sir Harry, throwing his eye over the card all dotted +with pinholes—‘don’t you see it’s a run, a dead run; that you may +bet on red, if you like, a dozen times, and only win once or twice?’ The +youth blushed and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +‘I ‘ve seen forty thousand francs lost that way in less than an hour.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I’ve lost <i>seventy</i> thousand!’ muttered the young man, with a +shudder like one who felt cold all over. +</p> +<p> +‘Seventy!—not to-night, surely?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Yes, to-night,’ replied he. ‘I won fourteen hundred naps here when I came +first, and didn’t play for three weeks afterwards; but unfortunately I +strolled in here a few nights ago, and lost the whole back, as well as +some hundreds besides; but this evening I came bent on winning back—that +was all I desired—winning back my own.’ +</p> +<p> +As he said these words, I saw Sir Harry steal a glance at Crotty. The +thing was as quick as lightning, but never did a glance reveal more; he +caught my eye upon him, and looking round fully at me said, in a deep, +ominous voice— +</p> +<p> +‘That’s the confounded part of it; it’s so hard to stop when you ‘re +losing.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Hard!—impossible!’ cried the youth, whose eyes were now riveted on +the table, following every card that fell from the banker’s hands, and +flushing and growing pale with every alternation of the game. ‘See now, +for all you’ve said, look if the red has not won four times in +succession?’ +</p> +<p> +‘So it has,’ replied the baronet coolly; ‘but the previous run on black +would have left your purse rather shallow, or you must have a devilish +deep one, that’s all.’ +</p> +<p> +He took up a pencil as he spoke, and began to calculate on the back of the +card; then holding it over, he said, ‘There’s what you ‘d have lost if you +went on betting.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What!—two hundred and eighty thousand francs?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Exactly! Look here’; and he went over the figures carefully before him. +</p> +<p> +‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough of it to-night?’ said Crotty, with an +insinuating smile; ‘what say you if we all go and sup together in the +Saal?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Agreed,’ said Sir Harry, rising at once. ‘Crotty, will you look at the +carte and do the needful? You may trust him, gentlemen,’ continued he, +turning towards us with a smile; ‘old Crotty has a most unexceptionable +taste in all that regards <i>cuisine</i> and <i>cave</i>; save a slight +leaning towards expense, he has not a fault!’ +</p> +<p> +I mumbled out something of an apology, which was unfortunately supposed by +the baronet to have reference to his last remark. I endeavoured to explain +away the mistake, and ended like a regular awkward man by complying with a +request I had previously resolved to decline. The young man had already +given his consent, and so we arose and walked through the rooms, while +Crotty inspected the bill of fare and gave orders about the wine. +</p> +<p> +Wycherley seemed to know and be known by every one, and as he interchanged +greetings with the groups that passed, declined several pressing +invitations to sup. ‘The fact is,’ said he to one of his most anxious +inviters, ‘the fact is’—and the words were uttered in a whisper I +could just hear—‘there’s a poor young fellow here who has been +getting it rather sharp at the gold table, and I mustn’t lose sight of him +to-night, or he’ll inevitably go back there.’ +</p> +<p> +These few words dispelled any uneasiness I had already laboured under from +finding myself so unexpectedly linked with two strangers. It was quite +clear that Sir Harry was a fine-hearted fellow, and that his manly, frank +countenance was no counterfeit. As we went along, Wycherley amused us with +his anecdotes of the company, with whose private history he was conversant +in its most minute details; and truly, low as had been my estimate of the +society at first, it fell considerably lower as I listened to the private +memoirs with which he favoured us. +</p> +<p> +Some were the common narratives of debt and desertion, protested bills, +and so forth; others were the bit-by-bit details of extravagant habits +pushed beyond all limits, and ending in expatriation for ever. There were +faithless husbands, outraging all decency by proclaiming their bad +conduct; there were as faithless wives, parading about in all the +effrontery of wickedness. At one side sat the roué companion of George the +Fourth, in his princely days, now a mere bloated debauchee, with rouged +cheeks and dyed whiskers, living on the hackneyed anecdotes of his +youthful rascality, and earning his daily bread by an affected epicurism +and a Sybarite pretension, which flattered the vulgar vanity of those who +fed him; while the lion of the evening was a newly arrived earl, whose +hunters were that very day sold at Tattersall’s, and whose beautiful +countess, horror-stricken at the ruin so unexpectedly come upon them, was +lying dangerously ill at her father’s house in London. The young peer, +indeed, bore up with a fortitude that attracted the highest encomiums, and +from an audience the greater portion of which knew in their own persons +most of the ills he suffered. He exchanged an easy nod or a familiar shake +of the hand with several acquaintances, not seen before for many a day, +and seemed to think that the severest blow fortune had dealt him was the +miserable price his stud would fetch at such a time of the year. +</p> +<p> +‘The old story,’ said Wycherley, as he shook him by the hand, and told him +his address—‘the old story; he thought twenty thousand a year would +do anything, but it won’t though. If men will keep a house in town, and +another in Gloucestershire, with a pack of fox-hounds, and have four +horses in training at Doncaster—not to speak of a yacht at Cowes and +some other fooleries—they must come to the Jews; and when they come +to the Jews, the pace is faster than for the Derby itself. Two hundred per +cent, is sharp practice, and I can tell you not uncommon either; and then +when a man does begin to topple, his efforts to recover always ruin him. +It’s like a fall from your horse—make a struggle, and you ‘re sure +to break your leg or your collar-bone; take it kindly, and the chances are +that you get up all right again, after the first shock.’ +</p> +<p> +I did not like either the tone or the morality of my companion; but I well +knew both were the conventional coinage of his set, and I suffered him to +continue without interruption. +</p> +<p> +‘There’s Mosely Cranmer,’ said he, pointing to a slight, +effeminate-looking young man, with a most girlish softness about his +features. He was dressed in the very extreme of fashion, and displayed all +that array of jewelry in pins, diamond vest-buttons, and rings, so +frequently assumed by modern dandyism. His voice was a thin reedy treble, +scarcely deep enough for a child. +</p> +<p> +‘Who is he, and what is he doing here?’ asked I. +</p> +<p> +‘He is the heir to about eighty thousand per annum, to begin with,’ said +Wycherley, ‘which he has already dipped beyond redemption. So far for his +property. As to what he is doing here, you may have seen in the <i>Times</i> +last week that he shot an officer of the Guards in a duel—killed him +on the spot. The thing was certain—Cranmer’s the best pistol-shot in +England.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, Wycherley, how goes it, old fellow?’ said the youth, stretching out +two fingers of his well-gloved hand. ‘You see Edderdale is come over. +Egad! we shall have all England here soon—leave the island to the +Jews, I think!’ +</p> +<p> +Sir Harry laughed heartily at the conceit, and invited him to join our +party at supper; but he was already, I was rejoiced to find, engaged to +the Earl of Edderdale, who was entertaining a select few at his hotel, in +honour of his arrival. +</p> +<p> +A waiter now came to inform us that Mr. Crotty was waiting for us, to +order supper, and we immediately proceeded to join him in the Saal. +</p> +<p> +The baronet’s eulogium on his friend’s taste in <i>gourmandise</i> was +well and justly merited. The supper was admirable—the ‘potage +printanière’ seasoned to perfection, the ‘salmi des perdreaux, aux points +d’asperges,’ delicious, and the ‘ortolans à la provençale’ a dish for the +gods; while the wines were of that <i>cru</i> and flavour that only +favoured individuals ever attained to at the hands of a landlord. As <i>plat</i> +succeeded <i>plat</i>, each admirably selected in the order of succession +to heighten the enjoyment and gratify the palate of the guest, the +conversation took its natural turn to matters gastronomic, and where, I +must confess, I can dally with as sincere pleasure as in the discussion of +any other branch of the fine arts. Mr. Crotty’s forte seemed essentially +to lie in the tact of ordering and arranging a very admirable repast. +Wycherley, however, took a higher walk; he was historically <i>gastronome</i>, +and had a store of anecdotes about the dishes and their inventors, from +Clovis to Louis Quatorze. He knew the favourite meats of many illustrious +personages, and told his stories about them with an admirable blending of +seriousness and levity. +</p> +<p> +There are excellent people, Arthur, who will call you sensualist for all +this—good souls, who eat like Cossacks and drink like camels in the +desert; before whose masticatory powers joints become beautifully less in +shortest space of time, and who while devouring in greedy silence think +nothing too severe to say of him who, with more cultivated palate and +discriminating taste, eats sparingly but choicely, making the nourishment +of his body the nutriment of his mind, and while he supports nature, can +stimulate his imagination and invigorate his understanding. The worthy +votaries of boiled mutton and turnips, of ribs and roasts, believe +themselves temperate and moderate eaters, while consuming at a meal the +provender sufficient for a family; and when, after an hour’s steady +performance, they sit with hurried breathing and half-closed eyelids, +sullen, stupid, and stertorous, drowsy and dull, saturated with stout and +stuffed with Stilton, they growl out a thanksgiving that they are not like +other men—epicures and wine-bibbers. Out upon them, I say! Let me +have my light meal, be its limits a cress, and the beverage that ripples +from the rock beside me; but be it such, that, while eating, there is no +transfusion of the beast devoured into the man, nor, when eaten, the +semi-apoplectic stupor of a gorged boa! +</p> +<p> +Sir Harry did the honours of the table, and sustained the burden of the +conversation, to which Crotty contributed but little, the young man and +myself being merely noneffectives; nor did we separate until the <i>garçon</i> +came to warn us that the Saal was about to close for the night. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. A WATERING-PLACE DOCTOR +</h2> +<p> +Nothing is more distinct than the two classes of people who are to be met +with in the morning and in the afternoon, sauntering along the <i>allées</i> +of a German watering-place. The former are the invalid portion, poured +forth in numbers from hotel and lodging-house; attired in every absurdity +of dressing-room toilette, with woollen nightcaps and flannel jackets, +old-fashioned <i>douillettes</i> and morocco slippers, they glide along, +glass in hand, to some sulphur spring, or to repose for an hour or two in +the delights of a mud bath. For the most part, they are the old and the +feeble, pale of face and tottering in step. The pursuit of health with +them would seem a vain and fruitless effort; the machine appears to have +run its destined time, and all the skill of man is unavailing to repair +it. Still, hope survives when strength and youth have failed, and the very +grouping together in their gathering-places has its consolation; while the +endless diversity of malady gives an interest in the eye of a sick man. +</p> +<p> +This may seem strange, but it is nevertheless perfectly true. There is +something which predisposes an invalid to all narratives of illness; they +are the topics he dwells on with most pleasure, and discourses about with +most eagerness. The anxiety for the ‘gentleman next door’ is neither +philanthropy, nor is it common curiosity. No, it is perfectly distinct +from either; it is the deep interest in the course of symptoms, in the ups +and downs of chance; it is compounded of the feelings which animate the +physician and those which fill the invalid. And hence we see that the +severest sufferings of their neighbours make less impression on the minds +of such people than on those in full health. It is not from apathy nor +selfishness they are seemingly indifferent, but simply because they regard +the question in a different light: to take an illustration from the +gaming-table, they have too deep an interest in the game itself to feel +greatly for the players. The visit of the doctor is to them the brightest +moment of the day; not only the messenger of good tidings to the patient, +he has a thousand little bits of sick-room gossip, harmless, pointless +trifles, but all fraught with their own charm to the greedy ear of the +sick man. It is so pleasant to know how Mrs. W. bore her drive, or Sir +Arthur liked his jelly; what Mrs. T. said when they ordered her to be +bled, and whether dear Mr. H. would consent to the blister. And with what +consummate tact your watering-place doctor doles out the infinitesimal +doses of his morning’s intelligence! How different his visit from the +hurried flight of a West-End practitioner, who, while he holds his watch +in hand, counts the minutes of his stay while he feels your pulse, and +whose descent downstairs is watched by a cordon of the household, catching +his directions as he goes, and learning his opinion as he springs into his +chariot! Your Spa doctor has a very different mission; his are no heroic +remedies, which taken to-day are to cure tomorrow; his character is tried +by no subtle test of immediate success; his patients come for a term, or, +to use the proper phrase, for ‘a course of the waters’—then they are +condemned to chalybeates for a quarter of the year, so many glasses per +diem. With their health, properly speaking, he has no concern; his +function is merely an inspection that the individual drinks his fluid +regularly, and takes his mud like a man. The patient is invoiced to him, +with a bill of lading from Bell or Brodie; he has full information of the +merchandise transmitted, and the mode in which the consignee desires it +may be treated—out of this ritual he must not move. The great +physician of the West End says, ‘Bathe and drink’; and his <i>chargé +d’affaires</i> at Wiesbaden takes care to see his orders obeyed. As well +might a <i>forçat</i> at Brest or Toulon hope to escape the punishment +described in the catalogue of prisoners, as for a patient to run counter +to the remedies thus arranged, and communicated by post. Occasionally +changes will take place in a sick man’s condition <i>en route</i> which +alter the applicability of his treatment; but, then, what would you have? +Brodie and Chambers are not prophets; divination and augury are not taught +in the London and Middlesex hospitals! +</p> +<p> +I remember, myself, a marquis of gigantic proportions, who had kept his +prescription by him from the time of his being a stripling till he weighed +twenty stone. The fault here lay not with the doctor. The bath he was to +take contained some powerful ingredient—a preparation of iron, I +believe; well, he got into it, and immediately began swelling and swelling +out, till, big as he was before, he was now twice the size, and at last, +like an overheated boiler, threatened to explode with a crash. What was to +be done? To lift him was out of the question—he fitted the bath like +a periwinkle in its shell; and in this dilemma no other course was open +than to decant him, water and all—which was performed, to the very +considerable mirth of the bystanders. +</p> +<p> +The Spa doctor, then, it will be seen, moves in a very narrow orbit. He +must manage to sustain his reputation without the aid of the +pharmacopoeia, and continue to be imposing without any assistance from the +dead languages. +</p> +<p> +Hard conditions! but he yields to them, like a man of nerve. +</p> +<p> +He begins, then, by extolling the virtues of the waters, which by analysis +of ‘his own making,’ and set forth in a little volume published by +himself, contain very different properties from those ascribed to them by +others. He explains most clearly to his non-chemical listener how ‘pure +silica found in combination with oxide of iron, at a temperature of +thirty-nine and a half, Fahrenheit,’ must necessarily produce the most +beneficial effects on the knee-joint; and he describes, with all the +ardour of science, the infinite satisfaction the nerves must experience +when invigorated by ‘free carbonic gas’ sporting about in the system. Day +by day he indoctrinates the patient into some stray medical notion, giving +him an interest in his own anatomy, and putting him on terms of familiar +acquaintance with the formation of his heart or his stomach. This flatters +the sick man, and, better still, it occupies his attention. He himself +thus becomes a <i>particeps</i> in the first degree to his own recovery; +and the simplicity of treatment, which had at first no attractions for his +mind, is now complicated with so many little curious facts about the blood +and the nerves, mucous membranes and muscles, as fully to compensate for +any lack of mystery, and is in truth just as unintelligible as the most +involved inconsistency of any written prescription. Besides this, he has +another object which demands his attention. Plain, common-sense people, +who know nothing of physic or its mysteries, might fall into the fatal +error of supposing that the wells so universally employed by the people of +the country for all purposes of washing, bathing, and cooking, however +impregnated by mineral properties, were still by no means so capable, in +proportions of great power and efficacy, of effecting either very decided +results, curative or noxious. The doctor must set his heel on this heresy +at once; he must be able to show how a sip too much or a half-glass too +many can produce the gravest consequences; and no summer must pass over +without at least one death being attributed to the inconsiderate rashness +of some insensate drinker. Woe unto him then who drinks without a doctor! +You might as well, in an access of intense thirst, rush into the first +apothecary’s shop, and take a strong pull at one of the vicious little +vials that fill the shelves, ignorant whether it might not be aqua fortis +or Prussic acid. +</p> +<p> +Armed, then, with all the terrors of his favourite Spa, rich in a +following which is as much partisan as patient, the Spa doctor has an +admirable life of it. The severe and trying cases of illness that come +under the notice of other physicians fall not to his share; the very +journey to the waters is a trial of strength which guards against this. +His disciples are the dyspeptic “diners-out” in the great worlds of +London, Paris, or Vienna; the nervous and irritable natures, cloyed with +excess of enjoyment and palled with pleasure; the imaginary sick man, or +the self-created patient who has dosed himself into artificial malady—all +of necessity belonging to the higher or at least the wealthier classes of +mankind, with whom management goes further than medicine, and tact is a +hundred times better than all the skill of Hippocrates. He had need, then, +to be a clever man of the world; he may dispense with science, he cannot +with <i>savoir faire</i>. Not only must he be conversant with the broader +traits of national character, but he must be intimately acquainted with +the more delicate and subtle workings of the heart in classes and +gradations of mankind, a keen observer and a quick actor. In fact, to get +on well, he must possess in a high degree many of those elements, any one +of which would insure success in a dozen other walks in life. +</p> +<p> +And the Spa doctor must have all these virtues, as Swift says, ‘for twenty +pounds per annum’—not literally, indeed, but for a very inadequate +recompense. These watering-place seasons are brief intervals, in which he +must make hay while the sun shines. With the approach of winter the tide +turns, and the human wave retires faster than it came. Silent streets and +deserted promenades, closed shutters and hermetically sealed cafés, meet +him at every step; and then comes the long, dreary time of hibernation. +Happy would it be for him if he could but imitate the seal, and spend it +in torpor; for if he be not a sportsman, and in a country favourable to +the pursuit, his life is a sad one. Books are generally difficult to come +at; there is little society, there is no companionship; and so he has to +creep along the tedious time silent and sad, counting over the months of +his durance, and longing for spring. Some there are who follow the stream, +and retire each winter to the cities where their strongest connection +lies; but this practice I should deem rather dictated by pleasure than +profit. Your Spa doctor without a Spa is like Liszt or Herz without a +pianoforte. Give him but his instrument, and he will ‘discourse you sweet +music’; but deprive him of it, and he is utterly helpless. The springs of +Helicon did not suggest inspiration more certainly than do those of Nassau +to their votaries; but the fount must run that the poet may rhyme. So your +physician must have the odour of sulphurets in his nose; he must see the +priestess ministering, glass in hand, to the shivering shades around her; +he must have the long vista of the promenade, with its flitting forms in +flannel cased, ere he feel himself ‘every inch a doctor.’ Away from these, +and the piston of a steam-engine without a boiler is not more helpless. +The fountain is, to use Lord Londonderry’s phrase, the ‘fundamental +feature on which his argument hinges,’ and he could no more exist without +water than a fish. +</p> +<p> +Having said so much of the genus, let me be excused if I do not dilate on +the species; nor, indeed, had I dwelt so long on the subject, but in this +age of stomach, when every one has dyspepsia, it is as well to mention +those who rule over our diets and destinies; and where so many are +worshippers at the Temple, a word about the Priest of the Mysteries may +not be unseasonable. +</p> +<p> +And now, to change the theme, who is it that at this early hour of the +morning seems taking his promenade, with no trace of the invalid in his +look or dress? He comes along at a smart walk; his step has the assured +tramp of one who felt health, and knew the value of the blessing. What! is +it possible—can it be, indeed? ‘Yes, it is Sir Harry Wycherley +himself, with two lovely children, a boy and a girl—the eldest +scarcely seven years old; the boy a year or so younger. Never did I behold +anything more lovely. The girl’s eyes were dark, shaded with long deep +fringe, that added to their depth, and tempered into softness the glowing +sparkle of youth. Her features were of a pensive but not melancholy +character, and in her walk and carriage ‘gentle blood’ spoke out in +accents not to be mistaken. The boy, more strongly formed, resembled his +father more, and in his broad forehead and bold, dashing expression looked +like one who would become one day a man of nerve and mettle. His dress, +too, gave a character to his appearance that well suited him—a broad +hat, turned up at the side, and ornamented with a dark-blue feather, that +hung drooping over his shoulder; a blue tunic, made so as to show his +chest in its full breadth, and his arms naked the whole way; a scarlet +scarf, knotted carelessly at his side, hanging down with its deep fringe +beside his bare leg, tanned and bronzed with sun and weather; and even his +shoes, with their broad silver buckles, showing that care presided over +every part of his costume. +</p> +<p> +There was something intensely touching in the sight of this man of the +world—for such I well knew he was—thus enjoying the innocence +and fresh buoyancy of his children, turning from the complex web of men’s +schemes and plottings, their tortuous paths and deep designings, to relax +in the careless gaiety of infant minds. Now pursuing them along the walk, +now starting from behind some tree where he lay in ambush, he gives them +chase, and as he gains on them they turn sharp round, and spring into his +arms, and clasp him round the neck. +</p> +<p> +Arthur, thou hast had a life of more than man’s share of pleasure; thou +hast tasted much happiness, and known but few sorrows; but would not a +moment like this outnumber them all? Where is love so full, so generous, +so confiding? What affection comes so pure and unalloyed, not chilled by +jealous doubts or fears, but warm and gushing—the incense of a happy +heart, the outpourings of a guileless nature. Nothing can be more +beautiful than the picture of maternal fondness, the gracefulness of woman +thrown like a garment around her children. Her look of love etherealised +by the holiest sentiment of tenderness; her loveliness exalted above the +earth by the contemplation of those, her own dear ones, who are but a +‘little lower than the angels’—is a sight to make the eyes gush +tears of happiness, and the heart swell with thankfulness to Heaven. +Second alone to this is the unbending of man’s stern nature before the +charms of childhood, when, casting away the pride of manhood and the cold +spirit of worldly ambition, he becomes like one among his children, the +participator in their joys and sorrows, the companion of their games, the +confidant of their little secrets. How insensibly does each moment thus +passed draw him further from the world and its cares; how soon does he +forget disappointments, or learn to think of them less poignantly; and how +by Nature’s own magnetism does the sinless spirit of the child mix with +the subtle workings of the man, and lift him above the petty jarrings and +discords of life! And thus, while he teaches <i>them</i> precepts of truth +and virtue, <i>they</i> pour into his heart lessons of humility and +forbearance. If he point out the future to them, with equal force they +show the past to him, and a blessing rests on both. The <i>populus me +sibilat</i> of the miser is a miserable philosophy compared to his who can +retire from the rancorous assaults of enemies and the dark treachery of +false friends, to the bosom of a happy home, and feel his hearth a +sanctuary where come no forms of malice to assail him! +</p> +<p> +Such were my musings as I saw the father pass on with his children; and +never before did my loneliness seem so devoid of happiness. +</p> +<p> +Would that I could stop here; would that I might leave my reader to ponder +over these things, and fashion them to his mind’s liking; but I may not. I +have but one object in these notes of my loiterings. It is to present to +those younger in the world, and fresher to its wiles than myself, some of +the dangers as well as some of the enjoyments of foreign travel; and +having surveyed the cost with much care and caution, I would fix a +wreck-buoy here and there along the channel as a warning and a guide. And +now to begin. +</p> +<p> +Let me take the character before me—one of whom I hesitate not to +say that only the name is derived from invention. Some may have already +identified him; many more may surmise the individual meant. It is enough +that I say he still lives, and the correctness of the portrait may easily +be tested by any traveller Rhinewards; but I prefer giving him a chapter +to himself. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. SIR HARRY WYCHERLEY +</h2> +<p> +Sir Harry Wycherley was of an old Hampshire family, who, entering the army +when a mere boy, contrived, before he came of age, so completely to +encumber a very large estate that his majority only enabled him to finish +the ruin he had so actively begun, and to leave him penniless at +seven-and-twenty. Before the wreck of his property became matter of +notoriety, he married an earl’s daughter with a vast fortune, a portion of +which was settled on any children that might be born to their union. She, +poor girl, scarcely nineteen when she married (for it was a love match), +died of a broken heart at three-and-twenty—leaving Sir Harry, with +two infant children, all but irretrievably ruined, nearly everything he +possessed mortgaged beyond its value, and not even a house to shelter him. +By the advice of his lawyer, he left England secretly and came over to +Paris, whence he travelled through Germany down to Italy, where he resided +some time. The interest of the fortune settled on the children sufficed to +maintain him in good style, and enabled him to associate with men of his +own rank, provided he incurred no habits of extravagance. A few years of +such prudence would, he was told, enable him to return with a moderate +income; and he submitted. +</p> +<p> +This career of quiet, unobtrusive character was gradually becoming more +and more insupportable to him. At first the change from a life beset by +duns and bailiffs, by daily interviews with Jews and consultations with +scheming lawyers, was happiness itself; the freedom he enjoyed from +pressing difficulties and contingencies which arose with every hour was a +pleasure he never knew before, and he felt like a schoolboy escaped from +the drudgery of the desk. But by degrees, as he mixed more with those who +were his former associates and companions—many of them exiles on the +same plea as himself—the old taste for past pleasures revived. Their +conversation brought back London with all its brilliant gaiety before him. +Its clubs and coteries, the luxurious display of the dinners at the +‘Clarendon’ or the reckless extravagance of the nights at Crockford’s, the +triumphs of the Derby, and the glories of Ascot, passed all in review +before him, heightened by the recollection of the high spirits of his +youth. He began once more to hanker after the world he believed he had +quitted without regret; and a morbid anxiety to learn what was doing and +going forward in the circles he used to move in took possession of his +mind. All the gossip of Tattersall’s, all the chitchat of the Carlton, all +the scandal of Graham’s, became at once indispensable to his existence, +Who was going it ‘fastest’ among the rising spirits of the day, and which +was the favourite of ‘Scott’s lot,’ were points of vital interest to him; +while he felt the deepest anxiety about the fortunes of those who were +tottering on the brink of ruin, and spent many a sleepless night in +conjectures as to how they were to get through this difficulty or that, +and whether they could ever ‘come round’ again. +</p> +<p> +Not one of the actors in that busy scene, into whose wild chaos fate mixes +up all that is highest and everything the most depraved of human nature, +ever took the same interest in it as he did. He lived henceforth in an +ideal world, ignorant and careless of what was passing around him; his +faculties strained to regard events at a distance, he became abstracted +and silent. A year passed over thus, twelve weary months, in which his +mind dwelt on home and country with all the ardour of a banished man. At +last the glad tidings reached him that a compromise had been effected with +his principal creditors; his most pressing debts had been discharged, and +time obtained to meet others of less moment; and no obstacle any longer +existed to his returning to England. +</p> +<p> +What a glorious thing it was to come back again once more to the old +haunts and scenes of pleasure; to revisit the places of which his days and +nights were filled with the very memory; to be once again the +distinguished among that crowd who ruled supreme at the table and on the +turf, and whose fiat was decisive from the Italian Opera to Doncaster! +Alas and alas! the resumption of old tastes and habits will not bring back +the youth and buoyancy which gave them all their bright colouring. There +is no standing still in life; there is no resting-place whence we can +survey the panorama, and not move along with it. Our course continues, and +as changes follow one another in succession without, so within our own +natures are we conforming to the rule, and becoming different from what we +had been. The dream of home, the ever-present thought to the exile’s mind, +suffers the rude shock when comes the hour of testing its reality; happy +for him if he die in the delusion! Early remembrances are hallowed by a +light that age and experience dissipate for ever, and as the highland tarn +we used to think grand in its wild desolation in the hours of our boyhood +becomes to our manhoods eye but a mere pond among the mountains, so do we +look with changed feelings on all about us, and feel disappointment where +we expected pleasure. +</p> +<p> +In all great cities these changes succeed with fearful rapidity. Expensive +tastes and extravagant habits are hourly ruining hundreds who pass off the +scene where they shone, and are heard of no more. The ‘lion’ of the season—whose +plate was a matter of royal curiosity, whose equipage gave the tone to the +time, whose dinner invitations were regarded as the climax of fashionable +distinction—awakes some morning to discover that an expenditure of +four times a man’s income, continued for several years, may originate +embarrassment in his affairs. He finds out that tailors can be uncivil, +and coachmakers rude and—horror of horrors!—he sees within the +precincts of his dressing-room the plebeian visage of a sherrifs officer, +or the calculating countenance of a West-End auctioneer. +</p> +<p> +He who was booked for Ascot now hurries away to Antwerp. An ambiguous +paragraph in an evening paper informs London that one among the ranks of +extravagance has fallen; a notice of ‘public competition’ by the hand of +George Robins comes next; a criticism, and generally a sharp one, on the +taste of his furniture and the value of his pictures follows; the broad +pages of the <i>Morning Post</i> become the winding-sheet of his memory, +and the knock of the auctioneer’s hammer is his requiem! The ink is not +dried on his passport ere he is forgotten. Fashionable circles have other +occupations than regrets and condolences; so that the exile may be a proud +man if he retain a single correspondent in that great world which +yesterday found nothing better than to chronicle his doings. +</p> +<p> +When Sir Harry Wycherley then came back to London he was only remembered +—nothing more. The great majority of his contemporaries had, like +himself, passed off the boards during the interval; such of them as +remained were either like vessels too crippled in action to seek safety in +flight, or, adopting the philosophy of the devil when sick, had resolved +on prudence when there was no more liking for dissipation. He was almost a +stranger in his club; the very waiters at Mivart’s asked his name; while +the last new peer’s son, just emerging into life, had never even heard of +him before. So is it decreed—dynasties shall fall and others succeed +them; Charles le Dix gives place to Louis-Philippe, and Nugee occupies the +throne of Stultz. +</p> +<p> +Few things men bear worse than this oblivion in the very places where once +their sway was absolute. It is very hard to believe that the world has +grown wiser and better, more cultivated in taste and more correct in its +judgments than when we knew it of old; and a man is very likely to tax +with ingratitude those who, superseding him in the world’s favour, seem to +be forgetful of claims which in reality they never knew of. +</p> +<p> +Sir Harry Wycherley was not long in England ere he felt these truths in +all their bitterness, and saw that an absence of a few years teaches one’s +friends to do without them so completely that they are absolutely +unwilling to open a new want of acquaintance, as though it were an +expensive luxury they had learned to dispense with. Besides, Wycherley was +decidedly <i>rococo</i> in all his tastes and predilections. Men did not +dine now where they used in <i>his</i> day—Doncaster was going out, +Goodwood was coming in; people spoke of Grisi, not Pasta, Mario more than +Rubini. Instead of the old absolute monarchy of fashion, where one +dictated to all the rest, a new school sprung up, a species of democracy, +who thought Long Wellesley and D’Orsay were unclean idols, and would not +worship anything but themselves. +</p> +<p> +Now of all the marks of progress which distinguish men in the higher +circles, there is none in these latter days at all comparable with the +signs of—to give it a mild name—increased ‘sharpness,’ +distinguishable amongst them. The traveller by the heavy Falmouth mail +whisked along forty miles per hour in the Grand Junction, would see far +less to astonish and amaze him than your shrewd man about town of some +forty years back, could he be let down any evening among the youth at +Tattersall’s, or introduced among the rising generation just graduating at +Graham’s. +</p> +<p> +The spirit of the age is unquestionably to be ‘up and doing.’ A good book +on the Oaks has a far higher preeminence, not to say profit, than one +published in ‘the Row’; the ‘honours’ of the crown are scarcely on a par +with those scored at whist; and to predict the first horse at Ascot would +be a far higher step in the intellectual scale than to prophesy the +appearance of a comet or an eclipse; the leader in the House can only +divide public applause with the winner of the Léger, and even the +versatile gyrations of Lord Brougham himself must yield to the more +fascinating pirouettes of Fanny Ellsler. Young men leave Eton and +Sandhurst now with more tact and worldly wit than their fathers had at +forty, or than their grandfathers ever possessed. +</p> +<p> +Short as Sir Harry Wycherley’s absence had been, the march of mind had +done much in all these respects. The babes and sucklings of fashion were +more than his equals in craft and subtlety; none like <i>them</i> to +ascertain what was wrong with the favourite, or why ‘the mare’ would not +start; few could compete with them in those difficult walks of finance +which consist in obtaining credit from coach-makers, and cash from Jews. +In fact, to that generation who spent profusely to live luxuriously had +succeeded a race who reversed the position, and lived extravagantly in +order to have the means of spending. Wiser than their fathers, they +substituted paper for cash payments, and saw no necessity to cry ‘stop’ +while there was a stamp in England. +</p> +<p> +It was a sad thing for one who believed his education finished to become a +schoolboy once more, but there was nothing else for it. Sir Harry had to +begin at the bottom of the class; he was an apt scholar it is true, but +before he had completed his studies he was ruined. High play and high +interest, Jews and jockeys, dinners and danseuses, with large retinues of +servants, will help a man considerably to get rid of his spare cash; and +however he may—which in most cases he must—acquire some wisdom +<i>en route</i>, his road is not less certain to lead to ruin. In two +years from the time of his return, another paragraph and another auction +proclaimed that ‘Wycherley was cleaned out,’ and that he had made his +‘positively last appearance’ in England. +</p> +<p> +The Continent was now to be his home for life. He had lost his ‘means,’ +but he had learned ‘ways’ of living, and from pigeon he became rook. +</p> +<p> +There is a class, possibly the most dangerous that exists, of men, who +without having gone so far as to forfeit pretension to the society and +acquaintance of gentleman, have yet involved their name and reputation in +circumstances which are more than suspicious. Living expensively, without +any obvious source of income; enjoying every luxury, and indulging every +taste that costs dearly, without any difficulty in the payment, their +intimacy with known gamblers and blacklegs exposes them at once to the +inevitable charge of confederacy. Rarely or never playing themselves, +however, they reply to such calumnies by referring to their habits; their +daily life would indeed seem little liable to reproval. If married, they +are the most exemplary of husbands. If they have children, they are models +for fathers. Where can you see such little ones, so well-mannered, so +well-dressed, with such beautifully curled hair, and such perfectly +good-breeding—or, to use the proper phrase, ‘so admirably taken care +of’? They are liberal to all public charities; they are occasionally +intimate with the chaplain of the Embassy too—of whom, a word +hereafter; and, in fact, it would be difficult to find fault with any +circumstance in their bearing before the world. Their connection by family +with persons of rank and condition is a kind of life-buoy of which no +shipwreck of fortune deprives them, and long after less well-known people +have sunk to the bottom, they are to be found floating on the surface of +society. In this way they form a kind of ‘Pont du Diable’ between persons +of character and persons of none—they are the narrow isthmus, +connecting the mainland with the low reef of rocks beyond it. +</p> +<p> +These men are the tame elephants of the swindling world, who provide the +game, though they never seem to care for the sport. Too cautious of +reputation to become active agents in these transactions, they introduce +the unsuspecting traveller into those haunts and among those where ruin is +rife; and as the sheriff consigns the criminal to the attentions of the +hangman, so these worthies halt at the ‘drop,’ and would scorn with +indignation the idea of exercising the last office of the law. +</p> +<p> +Far from this, they are eloquent in their denunciations of play. Such +sound morality as theirs cannot be purchased at any price; the dangers +that beset young men coming abroad—the risk of chance acquaintance, +the folly of associating with persons not known—form the staple of +their talk—which, lest it should seem too cynical in its attack on +pleasure, is relieved by that admirable statement so popular in certain +circles. ‘You know a man of the world must see everything for himself, so +that though I say don’t gamble, I never said don’t frequent the Cursaal; +though I bade you avoid play, I did not say shun blacklegs.’ It is pretty +much like desiring a man not to take the yellow fever, but to be sure to +pass an autumn on the coast of Africa! +</p> +<p> +Such, then, was the character of him who would once have rejected with +horror the acquaintance of one like himself. A sleeping partner in +swindling, he received his share of the profits, although his name did not +appear in the firm. His former acquaintances continued to know him, his +family connections were large and influential, and though some may have +divined his practices, he was one of those men that are never ‘cut.’ Some +pitied him; some affected to disbelieve all the stories against him; some +told tales of his generosity and kindness, but scarcely any one condemned +him—‘Ainsi va le monde?’ +</p> +<p> +Once more I ask forgiveness, if I have been too prolix in all this; rather +would I have you linger in pleasanter scenes, and with better company, but—there +must always be a ‘but’—he is only a sorry pilot who would content +himself with describing the scenery of the coast, expatiating on the +beauty of the valleys and the boldness of the headlands, while he let the +vessel take her course among reefs and rocks, and risk a shipwreck while +he amused the passengers. Adieu, then, to Spas and their visitors! The +sick are seldom the pleasantest company; the healthy at such places are +rarely the safest. +</p> +<p> +‘You are going, Mr. O’Leary?’ said a voice from a window opposite the +hotel, as my luggage was lifted into a <i>fiacre</i>, I looked up. It was +the youth who had lost so deeply at the Cursaal. +</p> +<p> +‘Only to Ooblentz, for a few days,’ said I; ‘I am weary of gaiety and fine +people. I wish for quiet just now.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I would that I had gone some weeks ago,’ exclaimed he, with a sigh. ‘May +I walk with you as far as the river?’ +</p> +<p> +I assented with pleasure, and in a moment after he was by my side. +</p> +<p> +‘I trust,’ said I, when we had walked together some time—‘I trust +you have not been to the Cursaal again?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Never since I met you; that night was the last I ever passed there!’ He +paused for some minutes, and then added, ‘You are not acquainted with +either of the gentlemen in whose company we supped—I think you told +me so on the way home?’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, they were both strangers to me; it was a chance rencontre, and in the +few weeks I passed at Wiesbaden I learned enough not to pursue the +acquaintance further. Indeed, to do them justice, they seemed as well +disposed as myself to drop the intimacy; I seldom play, never among +strangers.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ah,’ said he, in an accent of some bitterness, ‘that resolve would avail +you little with <i>them; they</i> can win without playing for it.’ +</p> +<p> +‘How so; what do you mean?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Have you a mind for a short story? It is my own adventure, and I can +vouch for the truth.’ I assented, and he went on:— +</p> +<p> +‘About a week ago, Mr. Crotty, with two others, one of whom was called +Captain Jacob, came to invite me to a little excursion to Kreuznach. They +were to go one day and return the following one. Sir Harry was to join the +party also, and they spoke of Lord Edderdale and some others. But +Wycherley only came down to the steamboat, when a messenger arrived with a +pressing letter, recalling him to Wiesbaden, and the rest never appeared. +Away we went, however, in good spirits; the day was fine, and the sail +down the Rhine, as you know, delightful. We arrived at Kreuznach to dinner, +spent the evening in wandering about the pretty scenery, and came back by +moonlight to a late supper. As usual with them, cards were produced after +supper, but I had never touched a card, nor made a bet, since my unlucky +night at the Cursaal; so I merely sat by the table and looked on at the +game—of course taking that interest in it a man fond of play cannot +divest himself of—but neither counselling any party, nor offering a +bet to either side. The game gradually became interesting, deeply so, as +well from the skill of the players as the high stakes they played for. +Large sums of money changed owners, and heavy scores were betted besides. +Meanwhile, champagne was called for, and, as the night wore on, a bowl of +smoking bishop, spiced and seasoned to perfection. My office was to fill +the glasses of the party, and drink toasts with each of them in +succession, as luck inclined to this side or that. +</p> +<p> +‘The excitement of play needs not wine to make it near to madness; but +with it no mania is more complete. Although but a looker-on, my attention +was bent on the game; and what with the odorous bowl of bishop, and the +long-sustained interest, the fatigue of a day more than usually laborious, +and a constitution never strong, I became so heavy that I threw myself +upon a sofa, and fell fast asleep. +</p> +<p> +‘How I reached my bed and became undressed, I never knew since; but by +noon the next day I was awakened from a deep slumber, and saw Jacob beside +me. +</p> +<p> +‘“Well, old fellow, you take it coolly,” said he, laughing; “you don’t +know it’s past twelve o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Indeed!” said I, starting up, and scarce remembering where I was. “The +fact is, my wits are none of the clearest this morning—that bowl of +bishop finished me.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Did it, by Jove?” replied he, with a half saucy laugh; “I’ll wager a +pony, notwithstanding, that you never played better in your life.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Played! why, I never touched a card,” said I, in horror and amazement. +</p> +<p> +‘“I wish you hadn’t, that’s all,” said he, while he took a pocket-book +from his pocket, and proceeded to open it on the bed. “If you hadn’t, I +should have been somewhat of a richer man this morning.” +</p> +<p> +‘“I can only tell you,” said I, as I rubbed my eyes, and endeavoured to +waken up more completely—“I can only tell you that I don’t remember +anything of what you allude to, nor can I believe that I would have broken +a firm resolve I made against play——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Gently, sir, gently,” said he, in a low, smooth voice; “be a little +careful, I beseech you; what you have just said amounts to something very +like a direct contradiction of my words. Please to remember, sir, that we +were strangers to each other yesterday morning. But to be brief, was your +last bet a double or quit, or only a ten-pound note, for on that depends +whether I owe you two hundred and sixty, or two hundred and seventy +pounds? Can you set me right on that point—they made such a noise at +the time, I can’t be clear about it.” +</p> +<p> +‘“I protest, sir,” said I, once more, “this is all a dream to me; as I +have told you already, I never played——” +</p> +<p> +‘“You never played, sir?” +</p> +<p> +‘“I mean, I never knew I played, or I have no remembrance of it now.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Well, young gentleman, fortune treats <i>you</i> better when asleep than +she does <i>me</i> with my eyes open, and as I have no time to lose, for I +leave for Bingen in half an hour, I have only to say, here is your money. +You may forget what you have won; I have also an obligation, but a +stronger one, to remember what I have lost; and as for the ten pounds, +shall we say head or tail for it, as we neither of us are quite clear +about it?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Say anything you like, for I firmly believe one or the other of us must +be out of our reason.” +</p> +<p> +‘“What do you say, sir—head or tail?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Head!” cried I, in a frenzy; “there ought to be <i>one</i> in the +party.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Won again, by Jove!” said he, opening his hand; “I think you’ll find +that rouleau correct; and now, sir, <i>au revoir</i>. I shall have my +revenge one of these days.” +</p> +<p> +‘He shook my hand and went out, leaving me sitting up in the bed, trying +to remember some one circumstance of the previous night, by which I could +recall my joining the play-table. But nothing of the kind; a thick haze +was over everything, through which I could merely recollect the spicy +bishop, and my continued efforts to keep their glasses filled. There I +sat, puzzled and confused, the bed covered with bank-notes, which after +all have some confounded magic in their faces that makes our acceptance of +them a matter of far less repugnance than it ought. While I counted over +my gains, stopping every instant to think on the strange caprices of +fortune, that wouldn’t afford me the gambler’s pleasure of winning, while +enriching me with gain, the door opened, and in came Crotty. +</p> +<p> +‘“Not up yet! why, we start in ten minutes; didn’t the waiter call you?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No. I am in a state of bewilderment this whole morning——-” +</p> +<p> +‘“Well, well, get clear of it for a few seconds, I advise you, and let us +settle scores——” +</p> +<p> +‘“What!” cried I, laughing, “have I won from you also?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, by Jove, it’s the other way. You pushed me rather sharply though, +and if I had taken all your bets I should have made a good thing of it. As +it is”—here he opened a memorandum-book and read out—“as it +is, I have only won seven hundred and twenty, and two hundred and +fifty-eight—nine hundred and seventy-eight, I believe; does not that +make it?” +</p> +<p> +‘I shivered like one in the ague, and couldn’t speak a word. +</p> +<p> +‘“Has Jacob booked up?” asked Crotty. +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” said I, pointing to the notes on the bed, that now looked like a +brood of rattlesnakes to my eyes. +</p> +<p> +‘“All right,” continued he, “Jacob is a most punctilious fellow—foolishly +so, indeed, among friends. Well, what are we to say about this—are +you strong in cash just now?” +</p> +<p> +‘“No,” stammered I, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +‘“Well, never mind—a short bill for the balance; I’ll take what’s +here in part payment, and don’t let the thing give you any inconvenience.” +</p> +<p> +‘This was done in a good off-hand way. I signed the bill which he drew up +in due form. He had a dozen stamps ready in his pocket-book. He rolled up +the banknotes carelessly, stuffed them into his coat-pocket, and with a +most affectionate hope of seeing me next day at Wiesbaden, left the room. +</p> +<p> +‘The bill is paid—I released it in less than a week. My trip to +Kreuznach just cost me seven hundred pounds, and I may be pardoned if I +never like “bishop” for the rest of my life after.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I should not wonder if you became a Presbyterian to-morrow,’ said I, +endeavouring to encourage his own effort at good-humour: ‘but here we are +at the Rhine. Good-bye; I needn’t warn you about——’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not a word, I beseech you; I’ll never close my eyes as long as I live +without a double lock on the door of my bedroom.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. THE RECOVERY HOUSE +</h2> +<p> +Frankfort is a German Liverpool, minus the shipping, and consequently has +few attractions for the mere traveller. The statue of ‘Ariadne,’ by the +Danish sculptor Danneker, is almost its only great work of art. There are +some, not first-rate, pictures in the Gallery and the Hôtel de Ville, and +the Town Library possesses a few Protestant relics—among others, a +pair of Luther’s slippers. +</p> +<p> +There is, however, little to delay a wanderer within the walls of the Frey +Stadt, if he have no peculiar sympathy with the Jews and money-changers. +The whole place smacks of trade and traders, and seems far prouder of +being the native city of Rothschild than the birthplace of Goethe. +</p> +<p> +The happy indolence of a foreign city, the easy enjoyment of life so +conspicuous in most continental towns, exists not here. All is activity, +haste, and bustle. The tables d’hôte are crowded to excess by eager +individuals eating away against time, and anxious to get back once more to +the Exchange or the counting-house. There is a Yankee abruptness in the +manners of the men, who reply to you as though information were a thing +not to be had for nothing; and as for the women, like the wives and +daughters of all commercial communities, they are showy dressers and poor +talkers, wear the finest clothes and inhabit the most magnificent houses, +but scarcely become the one and don’t know how to live in the other. +</p> +<p> +I certainly should not like to pitch my tent in Frankfort, even as +successor to the great Munch Bellinghausen himself—Heaven grant I +may have given him all his consonants!—the President of the Diet. +And yet to the people themselves few places take such rooted hold on the +feelings of the inhabitants as trading cities. Talk of the attachment of a +Swiss or a Tyrolese to his native mountains—the dweller in Fleet +Street or the Hoch Grasse will beat him hollow. The daily occupations of +city life, filling up every nook and crevice of the human mind, leave no +room for any thought or wish beyond them. Hence arises that insufferable +air of self-satisfaction, that contented self-sufficiency, so observable +in your genuine Cockney. Leadenhall Street is to his notion the touchstone +of mankind, and a character on ‘Change the greatest test of moral worth. +Hamburg or Frankfort, Glasgow or Manchester, New York or Bristol, it is +all the same; your men of sugar and sassafras, of hides, tallow, and +train-oil, are a class in which nationality makes little change. No men +enjoy life more, few fear death as much. This is truly strange! Any +ordinary mind would suppose that the common period of human life spent in +such occupations as Frankfort, for instance, affords would have little +desire for longevity—that, in short, a man, let him be ever such a +glutton of Cocker, would have had enough of decimal fractions and compound +interest after fifty years; and that he could lay down the pen without a +sigh, and even for the sake of a little relaxation be glad to go into the +next world. Nothing of the kind; your Frankforter hates dying above all +things. The hardy peasant who sees the sun rise from his native mountains, +and beholds him setting over a glorious landscape of wood and glen, of +field and valley, can leave the bright world with fewer regrets than your +denizen of some dark alley or some smoke-dried street in a great +metropolis. The love of life—it may be axiomised—is in the +direct ratio of its artificiality. The more men shut out Nature from their +hearts and homes, and surround themselves with the hundred little +appliances of a factitious existence, the more do they become attached to +the world. The very changes of flood and field suggest the thought of a +hereafter to him who dwells among them; the falling leaf, the withered +branch, the mouldering decay of vegetation, bear lessons there is no +mistaking; and the mind thus familiarised learns to look forward to the +great event as the inevitable course of that law by which he lives and +breathes—while to others, again, the speculations which grow out of +the contemplation of Nature’s great works invariably are blended with this +thought. Not so your man of cities, who inhabits some brick-surrounded +kingdom, where the incessant din of active life as effectually excludes +deep reflection as does the smoky atmosphere the bright sky above it. +Immersed in worldly cares, interested heart and soul in the pursuit of +wealth, the solemn idea of death is not broken to his mind by any analogy +whatever. It is the pomp of the funeral that realises the idea to him; it +is as a thing of undertakers and mourning-coaches, of mutes and palls, +scarfs, sextons, and grave-diggers, that he knows it—the horrid +image of human woe and human mockery, of grief walking in carnival. No +wonder if it impress him with a greater dread! +</p> +<p> +‘What has all this sad digression to do with Frankfort, Mr. O’Leary?’ +inquires some very impatient reader, who always will pull me short up when +I ‘m in for a four-mile-heat of moralising. Come, then, I’ll tell you. The +train of thought was suggested to me as I strolled along the Boulevard to +my hotel, meditating on one of the very strangest institutions it had ever +been my lot to visit in any country; and which, stranger still, so far as +I know, guidebook people have not mentioned in any way. +</p> +<p> +In a cemetery of Frankfort—a very tasteful imitation of Père la +Chaise—there stands a large building, handsomely built, and in very +correct Roman architecture, which is called the Recovery House—being +neither more nor less than an institution devoted to the dead, for the +purpose of giving them every favourable opportunity of returning to life +again should they feel so disposed. The apartments are furnished with all +the luxurious elegance of the best houses; the beds are decorated with +carving and inlaying, the carpets soft and noiseless to the tread; and, in +fact, few of those who live and breathe are surrounded by such appliances +of enjoyment. Beside each bed there stands a small table, in which certain +ivory keys are fixed, exactly resembling those of a pianoforte. On these +is the hand of the dead man laid as he lies in the bed; for instead of +being buried, he is conveyed here after his supposed death, and wrapped up +in warm blankets, while the temperature of the room itself is regulated by +the season of the year. The slightest movement of vitality in his fingers +would press down one of the keys, which communicate with a bell at the top +of the building, where resides a doctor, or rather two doctors, who take +it watch and watch about, ready at the summons to afford all the succour +of their art. Restoratives of every kind abound—all that human +ingenuity can devise—in the way of cordials and stimulants, as well +as a large and admirably equipped staff of servants and nurses, whose +cheerful aspect seems especially intended to reassure the patient should +he open his eyes once more to life. +</p> +<p> +The institution is a most costly one. The physicians, selected from among +the highest practitioners of Frankfort, are most liberally remunerated, +and the whole retinue of the establishment is maintained on a footing of +even extravagant expenditure. Of course, I need scarcely say that its +benefits, if such they be, are reserved for the wealthy only. Indeed, I +have been told that the cost of ‘this lying in state’ exceeds that of the +most expensive funeral fourfold. Sometimes there is great difficulty in +obtaining a vacant bed. Periods of epidemic disease crowd the institution +to such a degree that the greatest influence is exerted for a place. Now, +one naturally asks, What success has this system met with to warrant this +expenditure, and continue to enjoy public confidence? None whatever. In +seventeen years which one of the resident doctors passed there, not <i>one</i> +case occurred of restored animation; nor was there ever reason to believe +that in any instance the slightest signs of vitality ever returned. The +physicians themselves make little scruple at avowing the incredulity +concerning its necessity, and surprised me by the freedom with which they +canvassed the excellent but mistaken notions of its founders. +</p> +<p> +To what, then, must we look for the reason of maintaining so strange an +institution? Simply to that love of life so remarkably conspicuous in the +people of Frankfort. The failure in a hundred instances is no argument to +any man who thinks his own case may present the exception. It matters +little to him that his neighbour was past revival when he arrived there; +the question is, What is his own chance? Besides that, the fear of being +buried alive—a dread only chimerical in other countries—must +often present itself here, when an institution is maintained to prevent +the casualty; in fact, there looks a something of scant courtesy in +consigning a man to the tomb at once, in a land where a kind of +purgatorial sojourn is provided for him. But stranger than all is the +secret hope this system nourishes in the sick man’s heart, that however +friends may despond, and doctors may pronounce, he has a chance still; +there is a period allowed him of appealing against the decree of death—enough +if he but lift a finger against it. What a singular feature does the whole +system expose, and how fond of the world must they be who practise it! Who +can tell whether this House of Recovery does not creep in among the fading +hopes of the death-bed, and if, among the last farewells of parting life, +some thoughts of that last chance are not present to the sick man’s mind? +As I walked through its silent chambers, where the pale print of death was +marked in every face that lay there, I shuddered to think how the rich +man’s gold will lead him to struggle against the will of his Creator. La +Morgue, in all its fearful reality, came up before me, and the cold moist +flags on which were stretched the unknown corpses of the poor seemed far +less horrible than this gorgeous palace of the wealthy dead. +</p> +<p> +Unquestionably, cases of recovery from trance occur in every land, and the +feelings of returning animation, I have often been told, are those of most +intense suffering. The inch to inch combat with death is a fearful agony; +yet what is it to the horrible sensations of <i>seeming</i> death, in +which the consciousness survives all power of exertion, and the mind burns +bright within while the body is about to be given to the earth. Can there +be such a state as this? Some one will say, Is such a condition possible? +I believe it firmly. Many years ago a physician of some eminence gave me +an account of a fearful circumstance in his own life, which not only bears +upon the point in question, but illustrates in a remarkable degree the +powerful agency of volition as a principle of vitality. I shall give the +detail in his own words, without a syllable of comment, save that I can +speak, from my knowledge of the narrator, to the truth of his narrative. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE ‘DREAM OF DEATH’ +</h2> +<p> +‘It was already near four o’clock ere I bethought me of making any +preparation for my lecture. The day had been, throughout, one of those +heavy and sultry ones that autumn so often brings in our climate, and I +felt from this cause much oppressed and disinclined to exertion, +independently of the fact that I had been greatly over-fatigued during the +preceding week, some cases of a most trying and arduous nature having +fallen to my lot—one of which, from the importance of the life to a +young and dependent family, had engrossed much of my attention, and +aroused in me the warmest anxiety for success. In this frame of mind I was +entering my carriage to proceed to the lecture-room, when an unsealed note +was put into my hands; I opened it hastily, and read that poor H——-, +for whom I was so deeply interested, had just expired. I was greatly +shocked. It was scarcely an hour since I had seen him; and from the +apparent improvement since my former visit, I had ventured to speak most +encouragingly, and had even made some jesting allusions to the speedy +prospect of his once more resuming his place at hearth and board. Alas! +how short-lived were my hopes destined to be! how awfully was my prophecy +to be contradicted. +</p> +<p> +‘No one but him who has himself experienced it knows anything of the deep +and heartfelt interest a medical man takes in many of the cases which +professionally come before him. I speak here of an interest perfectly +apart from all personal regard for the patient, or his friends; indeed, +the feeling I allude to has nothing in common with this, and will often be +experienced as thoroughly for a perfect stranger as for one known and +respected for years. To the extreme of this feeling I was ever a victim. +The heavy responsibility, often suddenly and unexpectedly imposed; the +struggle for success, when success was all but hopeless; the intense +anxiety for the arrival of those critical periods which change the +character of a malady, and divest it of some of its dangers or invest it +with new ones; the despondence when that period has come only to confirm +all the worst symptoms, and shut out every prospect of recovery; and, last +of all, that most trying of all the trying duties of my profession, the +breaking to the perhaps unconscious relatives that my art has failed, that +my resources are exhausted, and, in a word, that there is no longer a hope—these +things have preyed on me for weeks, for months long, and many an effort +have I made in secret to combat this feeling, but without the least +success, till at last I absolutely dreaded the very thought of being +summoned to a dangerous and critical illness. It may then be believed how +very heavily the news I had just received came upon me; the blow, too, was +not even lessened by the poor consolation of my having anticipated the +result and broken the shock to the family. I was still standing with the +half-opened note in my hands, when I was aroused by the coachman asking, I +believe for the third time, whither he should drive. I bethought me for an +instant, and said, “To the lecture-room.” +</p> +<p> +‘When in health, lecturing had ever been to me more of an amusement than a +labour; and often, in the busy hours of professional visiting, have I +longed for the time when I should come before my class, and divesting my +mind of all individual details, launch forth into the more abstract and +speculative doctrines of my art. It so chanced, too, that the late hour at +which I lectured, as well as the subjects I adopted, usually drew to my +class many of the advanced members of the profession, who made this a +lounge after the fatigues of the morning. +</p> +<p> +‘Now, however, I approached this duty with fear and trembling; the events +of the morning had depressed my mind greatly, and I longed for rest and +retirement. The passing glance I threw at the lecture-room through the +half-opened door showed it to be crowded to the very roof, and as I walked +along the corridor I heard the name of some foreign physician of eminence, +who was among my auditory. I cannot describe the agitation of mind I felt +at this moment. My confusion, too, became greater as I remembered that the +few notes I had drawn up were left in the pocket of the carriage, which I +had just dismissed, intending to return on foot. It was already +considerably past the usual hour, and I was utterly unable to decide how +to proceed. I hastily drew out a portfolio that contained many scattered +notes and hints for lectures, and hurriedly throwing my eye across them, +discovered some singular memoranda on the subject of insanity. On these I +resolved at once to dilate a little, and eke out, if possible, the +materials for a lecture. +</p> +<p> +‘The events of the remainder of that day are wrapped in much obscurity to +my mind, yet I well remember the loud thunder of applause which greeted me +on entering the lecture-room, and how, as for some moments I appeared to +hesitate, they were renewed again and again, till at last, summoning +resolution, I collected myself sufficiently to open my discourse. I well +remember, too, the difficulty the first few sentences cost me—the +doubts, the fears, the pauses, which beset me at every step as I went on—my +anxiety to be clear and accurate in conveying my meaning making me +recapitulate and repeat, till I felt myself, as it were, working in a +circle. By degrees, however, I grew warmed as I proceeded; and the evident +signs of attention my auditory exhibited gave me renewed courage, while +they impressed me with the necessity to make a more than common exertion. +By degrees, too, I felt the mist clearing from my brain, and that even +without effort my ideas came faster, and my words fell from me with ease +and rapidity. Simile and illustration came in abundance, and distinctions +which had hitherto struck me as the most subtle and difficult of +description I now drew with readiness and accuracy. Points of an abstruse +and recondite nature, which under other circumstances I should not have +wished to touch upon, I now approached fearlessly and boldly, and felt, in +the very moment of speaking, that they became clearer and clearer to +myself. Theories and hypotheses which were of old and acknowledged +acceptance I glanced hurriedly at as I went on, and with a perspicuity and +clearness I never before felt exposed their fallacies and unmasked their +errors. I thought I was rather describing events, things actually passing +before my eyes at the instant, than relating the results of a life’s +experience and reflection. My memory, usually a defective one, now carried +me back to the days of my early childhood; and the whole passages of a +life lay displayed before me like a picture. If I quoted, the very words +of the author rushed to my mind as palpably as though the page lay open +before me. I have still some vague recollection of an endeavour I made to +trace the character of the insanity in every case to some early trait of +the individual in childhood, when, overcome by passion or overbalanced by +excitement, the faculties run wild into all those excesses which in after +years develop eccentricities of character, and in some weaker temperaments +aberrations of intellect. Anecdotes illustrating this novel position came +thronging to my mind; and events in the early years of some who +subsequently died insane, and seemed to support my theory, came rushing to +my memory. +</p> +<p> +‘As I proceeded, I became gradually more and more excited; the very ease +and rapidity with which my ideas suggested themselves increased the +fervour of my imaginings, till at last I felt my words come without effort +and spontaneously, while there seemed a commingling of my thoughts which +left me unable to trace connection between them, though I continued to +speak as fluently as before. I felt at this instant a species of +indistinct terror of some unknown danger which hung over me, yet which it +was impossible to avert or to avoid. I was like one who, borne on the +rapid current of a fast-flowing river, sees the foam of the cataract +before him, yet waits passively for the moment of his destruction, without +an effort to save. The power which maintained my mind in its balance had +gradually forsaken me, and shapes and fantasies of every odd and fantastic +character flitted around and about me. The ideas and descriptions my mind +had conjured up assumed a living, breathing vitality, and I felt like a +necromancer waving his wand over the living and the dead. I paused; there +was a dead silence in the lecture-room. A thought rushed like a +meteor-flash across my brain, and bursting forth into a loud laugh of +hysteric passion, I cried, “And I, and I too am a maniac!” My class rose +like one man; a cry of horror burst through the room. I know no more. +</p> +<p> +‘I was ill, very ill, and in bed. I looked around me—every object +was familiar to me. Through the half-closed window-shutter there streamed +one long line of red sunlight; I felt it was evening. There was no one in +the room, and as I endeavoured to recall my scattered thoughts +sufficiently to find out why I was thus, there came an oppressive weakness +over me. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, and was roused by some one +entering the room. It was my friend Dr. G———; he walked +stealthily towards my bed, and looked at me fixedly for several minutes. I +watched him closely, and saw that his countenance changed as he looked on +me; I felt his hand tremble slightly as he placed it on my wrist, and +heard him mutter to himself in a low tone, “My God! how altered!” I heard +now a voice at the door, saying in a soft whisper, “May I come in?” The +doctor made no reply, and my wife glided gently into the apartment. She +looked deathly pale, and appeared to have been weeping; she leaned over +me, and I felt the warm tears fall one by one upon my forehead. She took +my hand within both of hers, and putting her lips to my ear, said, “Do you +know <i>me</i>, William?” There was a long pause. I tried to speak, but I +could not. I endeavoured to make some sign of recognition, and stared her +fully in the face; but I heard her say, in a broken voice, “He does not +know <i>me</i> now”; and then I felt it was in vain. The doctor came over, +and taking my wife’s hand, endeavoured to lead her from the room. I heard +her say, “Not now, not now”; and I sank back into a heavy unconsciousness. +</p> +<p> +‘I awoke from what appeared to have been a long and deep sleep. I was, +however, unrefreshed and unrested. My eyes were dimmed and clouded, and I +in vain tried to ascertain if there was any one in the room with me. The +sensation of fever had subsided, and left behind the most depressing +debility. As by degrees I came to myself, I found that the doctor was +sitting beside my bed; he bent over me, and said, “Are you better, +William?” Never until now had my inability to reply given me any pain or +uneasiness; now, however, the abortive struggle to speak was torture. I +thought and felt that my senses were gradually yielding beneath me, and a +cold shuddering at my heart told me that the hand of death was upon me. +The exertion now made to repel the fatal lethargy must have been great, +for a cold, clammy perspiration broke profusely over my body; a rushing +sound, as if of water, filled my ears; a succession of short convulsive +spasms, as if given by an electric machine, shook my limbs. I grasped the +doctor’s hand firmly in mine, and starting to the sitting posture I looked +wildly about me. My breathing became shorter and shorter, my grasp +relaxed, my eyes swam, and I fell back heavily in the bed. The last +recollection of that moment was the muttered expression of my poor friend +G———, saying, “It is over at last.” +</p> +<p> +‘Many hours must have elapsed ere I returned to any consciousness. My +first sensation was feeling the cold wind across my face, which seemed to +come from an open window. My eyes were closed, and the lids felt as if +pressed down by a weight. My arms lay along my side, and though the +position in which I lay was constrained and unpleasant, I could make no +effort to alter it; I tried to speak, but I could not. +</p> +<p> +‘As I lay thus, the footsteps of many persons traversing the apartment +broke upon my ear, followed by a heavy dull sound, as if some weighty body +had been laid upon the floor; a harsh voice of one near me now said, as if +reading, “William H———, aged thirty-eight years; I +thought him much more.” The words rushed through my brain, and with the +rapidity of a lightning flash every circumstance of my illness came before +me; and I now knew that I had died, and that for my interment were +intended the awful preparations about me. Was this then death? Could it be +that though coldness wrapped the suffering clay, passion and sense should +still survive, and that while every external trace of life had fled, +consciousness should still cling to the cold corpse destined for the +earth? Oh, how horrible, how more than horrible, the terror of the +thought! Then I thought it might be what is termed a trance; but that poor +hope deserted me as I brought to mind the words of the doctor, who knew +too well all the unerring signs of death to be deceived by its +counterfeit, and my heart sank as they lifted me into the coffin, and I +felt that my limbs had stiffened, as I knew this never took place in a +trance. How shall I tell the heart-cutting anguish of that moment, as my +mind looked forward to a futurity too dreadful to think upon—when +memory should call up many a sunny hour of existence, the loss of friends, +the triumph of exertion, and then fall back upon the dread consciousness +of the ever-buried life the grave closed over; and then I thought that +perhaps sense but lingered round the lifeless clay, as the spirits of the +dead are said to hover around the places and homes they have loved in life +ere they leave them for ever, and that soon the lamp should expire upon +the shrine when the temple that sheltered it lay mouldering and in ruins. +Alas! how fearful to dream of even the happiness of the past, in that cold +grave where the worm only is a reveller! to think that though +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side by side, +Yet none have ere questioned, nor none have replied;” +</pre> +<p> +yet that all felt in their cold and mouldering hearts the loves and +affections of life, budding and blossoming as though the stem was not +rotting to corruption that bore them. I brought to mind the awful +punishment of the despot who chained the living to the dead man, and +thought it mercy when compared to this. +</p> +<p> +‘How long I lay thus I know not, but the dreary silence of the chamber was +again broken, and I found that some of my dearest friends were come to +take a farewell look at me ere the coffin was closed upon me for ever. +Again the horror of my state struck me with all its forcible reality, and +like a meteor there shot through my heart the bitterness of years of +misery condensed into the space of a minute. And then I remembered how +gradual is death, and how by degrees it creeps over every portion of the +frame, like the track of the destroyer, blighting as it goes, and said to +my heart, All may yet be still within me, and the mind as lifeless as the +body it dwelt in. Yet these feelings partook of life in all their strength +and vigour; there was the will to move, to speak, to see, to live, and yet +all was torpid and inactive, as though it had never lived. Was it that the +nerves, from some depressing cause, had ceased to transmit the influence +of the brain? Had these winged messengers of the mind refused their +office? And then I recalled the almost miraculous efficacy of the will, +exerted under circumstances of great exigency, and with a concentration of +power that some men only are capable of. I had heard of the Indian father +who suckled his child at his own bosom, when he had laid its mother in her +grave; yet was it not the will had wrought this miracle? I myself have +seen the paralytic limb awake to life and motion by the powerful +application of the mind stimulating the nervous channels of communication, +and awakening the dormant powers of vitality to their exercise. I knew of +one whose heart beat fast or slow as he did will it. Yes, thought I, in a +transport, the will to live is the power to live; and only when this +faculty has yielded with bodily strength need death be the conqueror over +us. +</p> +<p> +‘The thought of reanimation was ecstatic, but I dared not dwell upon it; +the moments passed rapidly on, and even now the last preparations were +about to be made, ere they committed my body to the grave. How was the +effort to be made? If the will did indeed possess the power I trusted in, +how was it to be applied? I had often wished to speak or move during my +illness, yet was unable to do either. I then remembered that in those +cases where the will had worked its wonders, the powers of the mind had +entirely centred themselves in the one heart-filling desire to accomplish +a certain object, as the athlete in the games strains every muscle to lift +some ponderous weight. Thus I knew that if the heart could be so subjected +to the principle of volition, as that, yielding to its impulse, it would +again transmit the blood along its accustomed channels, and that then the +lungs should be brought to act upon the blood by the same agency, the +other functions of the body would be more readily restored by the sympathy +with these great ones. Besides, I trusted that so long as the powers of +the mind existed in the vigour I felt them in, that much of what might be +called latent vitality existed in the body. Then I set myself to think +upon those nerves which preside over the action of the heart—their +origin, their course, their distribution, their relation, their +sympathies; I traced them as they arose in the brain, and tracked them +till they were lost in millions of tender threads upon the muscle of the +heart. I thought, too, upon the lungs as they lay flaccid and collapsed +within my chest, the life-blood stagnant in their vessels, and tried to +possess my mind with the relation of these two parts to the utter +exclusion of every other endeavoured then to transmit along the nerves the +impulse of that faculty my whole hopes rested on. Alas! it was in vain. I +tried to heave my chest and breathe, but could not; my heart sank within +me, and all my former terrors came thickening around me, more dreadful by +far as the stir and bustle in the room indicated they were about to close +the coffin. +</p> +<p> +‘At this moment my dear friend B——— entered the room. +</p> +<p> +He had come many miles to see me once more, and they made way for him to +approach me as I lay. He placed his warm hand upon my breast, and oh the +throb it sent through my heart! Again, but almost unconsciously to myself, +the impulse rushed along my nerves; a bursting sensation seized my chest, +a tingling ran through my frame, a crashing, jarring sensation, as if the +tense nervous cords were vibrating to some sudden and severe shock, took +hold on me; and then, after one violent convulsive throe which brought the +blood from my mouth and eyes, my heart swelled, at first slowly, then +faster, and the nerves reverberated, clank! clank! responsive to the +stroke. At the same time the chest expanded, the muscles strained like the +cordage of a ship in a heavy sea, and I breathed once more. +</p> +<p> +‘While thus the faint impulse to returning life was given, the dread +thought flashed on me that it might not be real, and that to my own +imagination alone were referable the phenomena I experienced. At the same +instant the gloomy doubt crossed my mind it was dispelled; for I heard a +cry of horror through the room, and the words, “He is alive! he still +lives!” from a number of voices around me. The noise and confusion +increased. +</p> +<p> +I heard them say, “Carry out B——— before he sees him +again; he has fainted!” Directions and exclamations of wonder and dread +followed one upon another; and I can but call to mind the lifting me from +the coffin, and the feeling of returning warmth I experienced as I was +placed before a fire, and supported by the arms of my friend. +</p> +<p> +‘I will only add that after some weeks of painful debility I was again +restored to health, having tasted the full bitterness of death.’ +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE STRANGE GUEST +</h2> +<p> +The Eil Wagen, into whose bowels I had committed myself on leaving +Frankfort, rolled along for twenty-four hours before I could come to any +determination as to whither I should go; for so is it that perfect liberty +is sometimes rather an inconvenience, and a little despotism is now and +then no bad thing; and at this moment I could have given a ten-gulden +piece to any one who should have named my road, and settled my +destination. +</p> +<p> +‘Where are we?’ said I, at length, as we straggled, nine horses and all, +into a great vaulted <i>porte cochère</i>. +</p> +<p> +‘At the “Koenig von Preussen,” mein Herr,’ said a yellow-haired waiter, +who flourished a napkin about him in truly professional style. +</p> +<p> +‘Ah, very true; but in what town, city, or village, and in whose kingdom?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Ach, du lieber Gott!’ exclaimed he, with his eyes opened to their fullest +extent. ‘Where would you be but in the city of Hesse-Cassel, in the +Grand-Duchy of Seiner Königlichen Hoheit——-’ +</p> +<p> +‘Enough, more than enough! Let me have supper.’ +</p> +<p> +The Speisesaal was crowded with travellers and townspeople as I entered; +but the room was of great size, and a goodly table, amply provided, +occupied the middle of it. Taking my place at this, I went ahead through +the sliced shoe-leather, yclept beef, the Kalbs-braten and the +Gurken-salat, and all the other indigestible abominations of that light +meal a German takes before he lies down at night. The company were, with +the exception of a few military men, of that nondescript class every +German town abounds with—a large-headed, long-haired, +plodding-looking generation, with huge side-pockets in their trousers, +from one of which a cherry-wood pipe-stick is sure to project; civil, +obliging, good sort of people they are, but by no means remarkable for +intelligence or agreeability. But then, what mind could emerge from +beneath twelve solid inches of beetroot and bouilli, and what brain could +bear immersion in Bavarian beer? +</p> +<p> +One never can understand fully how atrocious the tyranny of Napoleon must +have been in Germany, until he has visited that country and seen something +of its inhabitants; then only can one compute what must the hurricane have +been that convulsed the waters of such a landlocked bay. Never was there a +people so little disposed to compete with their rulers, never was +obedience more thoroughly an instinct. The whole philosophy of the +German’s mind teaches him to look within rather than without; his own +resources are more his object in life than the enjoyment of state +privileges, and to his peaceful temper endurance is a pleasanter remedy +than resistance. Almost a Turk in his love of tranquillity, he has no +sympathy with revolutions or public disturbances of any kind, and the +provocation must indeed be great when he arouses himself to resist it. +That when he is thus called on he can act with energy and vigour, the +campaigns of 1813 and 1814 abundantly testify. Twice the French armies had +to experience the heavy retribution on unjust invasion. Both Spain and +Germany repaid the injuries they had endured, but with a characteristic +difference of spirit. In the one case it was the desultory attacks of +savage guerillas, animated by the love of plunder as much as by +patriotism; in the other, the rising of a great people to defend their +homes and altars, presented the glorious spectacle of a nation going forth +to the fight. The wild notes of the Basque bugle rang not out with such +soul-stirring effects as the beautiful songs of Körner, heard beside the +watch-fire or at the peasant’s hearth. The conduct of their own princes +might have debased the national spirit of any other people; but the +German’s attachment to Fatherland is not a thing of courtly rule nor +conventional agreement. He loves the land and the literature of his +fathers; he is proud of the good faith and honesty which are the +acknowledged traits of Saxon character; he holds to the ‘sittliche Leben,’ +the orderly domestic habits of his country; and as he wages not a war of +aggression on others, he resists the spoliation of an enemy on the fields +of his native country. +</p> +<p> +When the French revolution fire broke out, the students were amongst its +most ardent admirers; the destruction of the Bastile was celebrated among +the secret festivals of the Burschenschaft; and although the fever was a +brief one, and never extended among the more thinking portion of the +nation, to that same enthusiasm for liberty was owing the great burst of +national energy which in 1813 convulsed the land from the Baltic to the +Tyrol, and made Leipsic the compensation for Jena. +</p> +<p> +With all his grandeur of intellect, Napoleon never understood the national +character—perhaps he may have despised it. One of his most fatal +errors, undoubtedly, was the little importance he attached to the traits +which distinguish one country from another, and the seeming indifference +with which he propounded notions of government diametrically opposed to +all the traditions and prejudices of those for whom they were intended. +The great desire for centralisation; the ambition to make France the heart +of Europe, through whose impulse the life-blood should circulate over the +entire Continent; to merge all distinctions of race and origin, and make +Frenchmen of one quarter of the globe—was a stupendous idea, and if +nations were enrolled in armies, might not be impossible. The effort to +effect it, however, cost him the greatest throne of Christendom. +</p> +<p> +The French rule in Spain, in Italy, and in Holland, so far from +conciliating the good-will and affection of the people, has sown the seeds +of that hatred to France in each of these countries that a century will +not eradicate; while no greater evidence of Napoleon’s ignorance of +national character need be adduced than in the expectations he indulged in +the event of his landing an army in England. His calculation on support +from any part of the British people—no matter how opposed to the +ministry of the day, or how extreme in their wishes for extended liberties—was +the most chimerical thought that ever entered the brain of man. Very +little knowledge of our country might have taught him that the differences +of party spirit never survive the mere threat of foreign invasion; that +however Englishmen may oppose one another, they reserve a very different +spirit of resistance for the stranger who should attack their common +country; and that party, however it may array men in opposite ranks, is +itself but the evidence of patriotism, seeking different paths for its +development. +</p> +<p> +It was at the close of a little reverie to this purpose that I found +myself sitting with one other guest at the long table of the Speisesaal; +the rest had dropped off one by one, leaving him in the calm enjoyment of +his meerschaum and his cup of black coffee. There was something striking +in the air and appearance of this man, and I could not help regarding him +closely; he was about fifty years of age, but with a carriage as erect and +a step as firm as any man of twenty. A large white moustache met his +whiskers of the same colour, and hung in heavy curl over his upper lip; +his forehead was high and narrow, and his eyes, deeply set, were of a +greenish hue, and shaded by large eyebrows that met when he frowned. His +dress was a black frock, braided in Prussian taste and decorated by a +single cordon, which hung not over the breast, but on an empty sleeve of +his coat, for I now perceived that he had lost his right arm near the +shoulder. That he was a soldier and had seen service, the most careless +observer could have detected; his very look and bearing bespoke the <i>militaire</i>. +He never spoke to any one during supper, and from that circumstance, as +well as his dissimilarity to the others, I judged him to be a traveller. +There are times when one is more than usually disposed to let Fancy take +the bit in her mouth and run off with them; and so I suffered myself to +weave a story, or rather a dozen stories, for my companion, and did not +perceive that while I was inventing a history for him he had most +ungratefully decamped, leaving me in a cloud of tobacco-smoke and +difficult conjectures. +</p> +<p> +When I descended to the Saal the next morning I found him there before me; +he was seated at breakfast before one of the windows, which commanded a +view over the platz and the distant mountains. And here let me ask, Have +you ever been in Hesse-Cassel? The chances are, not. It is the highroad—nowhere. +You neither pass it going to Berlin or Dresden. There is no wonder of +scenery or art to attract strangers to it; and yet if accident should +bring you thither, and plant you in the ‘König von Preussen,’ with no +pressing necessity urging you onward, there are many less pleasant things +you could do than spend a week there. The hotel stands on one side of a +great platz, or square, at either side of which the theatre and a museum +form the other two wings; the fourth being left free of building, is +occupied by a massive railing of most laboured tracery, which opens to a +wide gate in a broad flight of steps, descending about seventy feet into a +spacious park. The tall elms and beech-trees can be seen waving their tops +over the grille above, and seeming, from the platz, like young timber; +beyond, and many miles away, can be seen the bold chain of the Taunus +Mountains stretching to the clouds, forming altogether a view which for +extent and splendour I know no city that can present the equal. I could +scarce restrain my admiration; and as I stood actually riveted to the +spot, I was totally inattentive to the second summons of the waiter, +informing me that my breakfast awaited me in another part of the room. +</p> +<p> +‘What, yonder?’ said I, in some disappointment at being so far removed +from all chance of the prospect. +</p> +<p> +‘Perhaps you would join me here, sir,’ said the officer, rising, and with +a most affable air saluting me. +</p> +<p> +‘If not an intrusion——’ +</p> +<p> +‘By no means,’ said he. ‘I am a passionate admirer of that view myself. I +have known it many years, and I always feel happy when a stranger +participates in my enjoyment of it.’ +</p> +<p> +I confess I was no less gratified by the opportunity thus presented of +forming an acquaintance with the officer himself than with the scenery, +and I took my seat with much pleasure. As we chatted away about the town +and the surrounding country, he half expressed a curiosity at my taking a +route so little travelled by my countrymen, and seemed much amused by my +confession that the matter was purely accidental, and that frequently I +left the destination of my ramble to the halting-place of the diligence. +As English eccentricity can, in a foreigner’s estimation, carry any amount +of absurdity, he did not set me down for a madman—which, had I been +French or Italian, he most certainly would have done—and only smiled +slightly at my efforts to defend a procedure in his eyes so ludicrous. +</p> +<p> +‘You confess,’ said I, at last, somewhat nettled by the indifference with +which he heard my most sapient arguments—‘you confess on what mere +casualties every event of life turns, what straws decide the whole destiny +of a man, and what mere trivial circumstances influence the fate of whole +nations, and how in our wisest and most matured plans some unexpected +contingency is ever arising to disconcert and disarrange us; why, then, +not go a step farther—leave more to fate, and reserve all our +efforts to behave well and sensibly, wherever we may be placed, in +whatever situations thrown? As we shall then have fewer disappointments, +we shall also enjoy a more equable frame of mind, to combat with the +world’s chances.’ +</p> +<p> +‘True, if a man were to lead a life of idleness, such a wayward course +might possibly suffice him as well as any other; but, bethink you, it is +not thus men have wrought great deeds, and won high names for themselves. +It is not by fickleness and caprice, by indolent yielding to the accident +of the hour, that reputations have been acquired——’ +</p> +<p> +‘You speak,’ said I, interrupting him at this place—‘you speak as if +humble men like myself were to occupy their place in history, and not lie +down in the dust of the churchyard undistinguishable and forgotten.’ +</p> +<p> +‘When they cease to act otherwise than to deserve commemoration, rely upon +it their course is a false one. Our conscience may be—indeed often +is—a bribed judge; and it is only by representing to ourselves how +our modes of acting and thinking would tell upon the minds of others, +reading of but not knowing us, that we arrive at that certain rule of +right so difficult in many worldly trials. +</p> +<p> +‘And do you think a man becomes happier by this?’ +</p> +<p> +‘I did not say happier,’ said he, with a sorrowful emphasis on the last +word. ‘He may be better.’ +</p> +<p> +With that he rose from his seat, and looking at his watch he apologised +for leaving me so suddenly, and departed. +</p> +<p> +‘Who is the gentleman that has just gone out?’ asked I of the waiter. +</p> +<p> +‘The Baron von Elgenheim,’ replied he; ‘but they mostly call him the Black +Colonel. Not for his moustaches,’ added he, laughing with true German +familiarity, ‘they are white enough, but he always wears mourning.’ +</p> +<p> +‘Does he belong to Hesse, then?’ +</p> +<p> +‘Not he; he’s an Auslander of some sort—a Swabian, belike; but he +comes here every year, and stays three or four weeks at a time. And, droll +enough too, though he has been doing so for fifteen or sixteen years, he +has not a single acquaintance in all Cassel; indeed, I never saw him speak +to a stranger till this morning.’ +</p> +<p> +These particulars, few as they were, all stimulated my curiosity to see +more of the colonel; but he did not present himself at the table d’hôte on +that day or the following one, and I only met him by chance in the Park, +when a formal salute, given with cold politeness, seemed to say our +acquaintance was at an end. +</p> +<p> +Now, there are certain inns which by a strange magnetism are felt as homes +at once; there is a certain air of quietude and repose about them that +strikes you when you enter, and which gains on you every hour of your +stay. The landlord, too, has a bearing compounded of cordiality and +respect; and the waiter, divining your tastes and partialities, falls +quickly into your ways, and seems to regard you as an <i>habitué</i> while +you are yet a stranger; while the ringleted young lady at the bar, who +passed you the first day on the stairs with a well-practised indifference, +now accosts you with a smile and a curtsy, and already believes you an old +acquaintance. +</p> +<p> +To an indolent man like myself, these houses are impossible to leave. If +it be summer, you are sure to have a fresh bouquet in your bedroom every +morning when you awake; in winter, the <i>garçon</i> has discovered how +you like your slippers toasted on the fender, and your <i>robe de chambre</i> +airing on the chair; the cook learns your taste in cutlets, and knows to a +nicety how to season your <i>omelette aux fines herbes</i>; the very +washerwoman of the establishment has counted the plaits in your shirt, and +wouldn’t put one more or less for any bribery. By degrees, too, you become +a kind of confidant of the whole household. The host tells you of +ma’mselle’s fortune, and the match on the tapis for her, and all the +difficulties and advantages, contra and pro; the waiter has revealed to +you a secret of passion for the chambermaid, but for which he would be +Heaven knows how many thousand miles off, in some wonderful place, where +the wages would enable him to retire in less than a twelvemonth; and even +Boots, while depositing your Wellingtons before the fire, has unburdened +his sorrows and his hopes, and asks your advice, ‘if he shouldn’t become a +soldier?’ When this hour arrives, the house is your own. Let what will +happen, <i>your</i> fire burns brightly in your bedroom; let who will +come, <i>your</i> dinner is cared for to a miracle. The newspaper, coveted +by a dozen and eagerly asked for, is laid by for your reading; you are, +then, in the poets words— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Liber, honoratus, pulcher—Rex denique Regum’; +</pre> +<p> +and let me tell you, there are worse sovereignties. +</p> +<p> +Apply this to the ‘König von Preussen,’ and wonder not if I found myself +its inhabitant for three weeks afterwards. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. THE PARK +</h2> +<p> +In somewhat less than a fortnight’s time I had made a bowing acquaintance +with some half-dozen good subjects of Hesse, and formed a chatting +intimacy with some three or four frequenters of the table d’hôte, with +whom I occasionally strolled out of an afternoon into the Park, to drink +coffee, and listen to the military band that played there every evening. +The quiet uniformity of the life pleased and never wearied me; for happily—or +unhappily, as some would deem it—mine is one of those tame and +commonplace natures which need not costly amusements nor expensive tastes +to occupy it. I enjoyed the society of agreeable people with a gusto few +possess; I can also put up with the association with those of a different +stamp, feeling sensibly how much more I am on a level with them, and how +little pretension I have to find myself among the others. Fortunately, +too, I have no sympathy with the pleasures which wealth alone commands—it +was a taste denied me. I neither affect to undervalue their importance, +nor sneer at their object; I simply confess that the faculty which renders +them desirable was by some accident omitted from my nature, and I never +yet felt the smallness of my fortune a source of regret. +</p> +<p> +There is no such happiness, to my notion, as that which enables a man to +be above the dependence on others for his pleasures and amusements, to +have the sources of enjoyment in his own mind, and to feel that his own +thoughts and his own reflections are his best wealth. There is no +selfishness in this; far from it. The stores thus laid by make a man a +better member of society, more ready to assist, more able to advise his +fellow-men. By standing aloof from the game of life, you can better +estimate the chances of success and the skill of the players; and as you +have no stake in the issue, the odds are that your opinion is a correct +one. But, better than all, how many enjoyments which to the glitter of +wealth or the grandeur of a high position would seem insignificant and +valueless, are to the humble man sources of hourly delight! And is our +happiness anything but an aggregate of these grains of pleasure? There is +as much philosophy in the child’s toy as in the nobleman’s coronet; all +the better for him who can limit his desires to the attainable, and be +satisfied with what lies within his reach. I have practised the system for +a life long, and feel that if I now enjoy much of the buoyancy and the +spirit of more youthful days, it is because I have never taxed my strength +beyond its ability, nor striven for more than I could justly pretend to. +There is something of indolence in all this—I know there is; but I +was born under a lazy star, and I cannot say I regret my destiny. +</p> +<p> +From this little <i>exposé</i> of my tastes and habits it may be gathered +that Cassel suited me perfectly. The air of repose which rests on these +little secluded capitals has something—to me at least—inexpressibly +pleasurable. The quaint old-fashioned equipages, drawn along at a gentle +amble; the obsolete dress of the men in livery; the studious ceremony of +the passers to each other; the absence of all bustle; the primitive +objects of sale exposed in the various shops—all contrasting so +powerfully with the wealth-seeking tumult of richer communities—suggest +thoughts of tranquillity and contentment. They are the bourgeoisie of the +great political world. Debarred from the great game which empires and +kingdoms are playing, they retire within the limits of their own narrow +but safe enjoyments, with ample means for every appliance of comfort; they +seek not to astonish the world by any display, but content themselves with +the homely happiness within their reach. +</p> +<p> +Every day I lingered here I felt this conviction the stronger. The small +interests which occupied the public mind originated no violent passions, +no exaggerated party spirit. The journals—those indices of a +nation’s mind—contained less politics than criticism; an amicable +little contention about the site of a new fountain or the position of an +elector’s statue was the extent of any discussion; while at every +opportunity crept out some little congratulating expression on the +goodness of the harvest, the abundance of the vintage, or, what was +scarcely less valued, the admirable operatic company which had just +arrived. These may seem very petty incidents for men to pass their lives +amongst, thought I, but still they all seem very happy; there is much +comfort, there is no poverty. Like the court whist-table, where the points +are only for silver groschen, the amusement is just as great, and no one +is ruined by high play. +</p> +<p> +I am not sure but I should have made an excellent Hessian, thought I, as I +deposited two little silver pieces, about the size of a spangle, on the +table, in payment for a very appetising little supper, and an +ink-bottleful of Rhine wine. And now for the coffee. +</p> +<p> +I was seated beneath a great chestnut-tree, whose spreading branches +shaded me from the rays of the setting sun that came slanting to my very +feet. At a short distance off sat a little family party—grandfather, +grandchildren, and all—there was no mistaking them; they were eating +their supper in the Park, possibly in honour of some domestic fête. Yes, +there could be no doubt of it; it was the birthday of that pretty, +dark-eyed little girl, of some ten years of age, who wore a wreath of +roses in her hair, and sat at the top of the table, beside the Greis. A +peal of delighted laughter broke from them all as I looked. And now I +could see a little boy of scarce five years old, whose long yellow locks +hung midway down his back; he was standing beside his sister’s chair, and +I could hear his infant voice reciting a little verse he had learned in +honour of the day. The little man, whose gravity contrasted so ludicrously +with the merry looks about, went through his task as steadily as a court +preacher holding forth before royalty; an occasional breach of memory +would make him now and then turn his head to one side, where an elder +sister knelt, and then he would go on again as before. I wished much to +catch the words, but could only hear the refrain of each verse, which he +always repeated louder than the rest— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +‘Da sind die Tage lang genuch, Da sind die Nachte mild.’ +</pre> +<p> +Scarcely had he finished when his mother caught him to her arms and kissed +him a hundred times; while the others struggled to take him, the little +fellow clung to her neck with all his strength. +</p> +<p> +It was a picture of such happiness, that to look on it were alone a +blessing. I have that night’s looks and cheerful voices fresh in my +memory, and have thought of them many a long mile away from where I then +heard them. +</p> +<p> +A slight noise beside me made me turn round, and I saw the Black Colonel, +as the waiter called him, and whom I had not met for several days past. He +was seated on a bench near, but with his back towards me, and I could +perceive he was evidently unaware of my presence. I had, I must confess +it, felt somewhat piqued at his avoidance of me, for such the distant +recognition with which he saluted me seemed to imply. He had made the +first advances himself, and it was scarcely fair that he should have thus +abruptly stopped short, after inviting acquaintance. While I was +meditating a retreat, he turned suddenly about, and then, taking off his +hat, saluted me with a courtly politeness quite different from his +ordinary manner. +</p> +<p> +‘I see, sir,’ said he with a very sweet smile, as he looked towards the +little group—‘I see, sir, you are indeed an admirer of pretty +prospects.’ +</p> +<p> +Few and simple as the words were, they were enough to reconcile me to the +speaker; his expression, as he spoke them, had a depth of feeling in it +which showed that his heart was touched. +</p> +<p> +After some commonplace remark of mine on the simplicity of German domestic +habits and the happy immunity they enjoyed from that rage of fashion which +in other countries involved so many in rivalry with others wealthier than +themselves, the colonel assented to the observation, but expressed his +sorrow that the period of primitive tastes and pleasures was rapidly +passing away. The French Revolution first, and subsequently the wars of +the Empire, had done much to destroy the native simplicity of German +character; while in latter days the tide of travel had brought a host of +vulgar rich people, whose gold corrupted the once happy peasantry, +suggesting wants and tastes they never knew nor need to know. +</p> +<p> +‘As for the great cities of Germany,’ continued he, ‘they have scarcely a +trace left of their ancient nationality. Vienna and Berlin, Dresden, and +Munich, are but poor imitations of Paris; it is only in the old and less +visited towns, such as Nuremberg, or Augsburg, that the Alt Deutsch habits +still survive. Some few of the Grand-Ducal States—Weimar, for +instance—preserve the primitive simplicity of former days even in +courtly etiquette; and there, really, the government is paternal, in the +fullest sense of the term. You would think it strange, would you not, to +dine at court at four o’clock, and see the grand-ducal ministers and their +ladies—the élite of a little world of their own—proceeding, +many of them on foot, in court-dress, to dinner with their sovereign? +Strange, too, would you deem it—dinner over—to join a +promenade with the party in the Park, where all the bourgeoisie of the +town are strolling about with their families, taking their coffee and +their tea, and only interrupting their conversation or their pleasure to +salute the Grand-Duke or Grand-Duchess, and respectfully bid them a +“good-e’en”; and then, as it grew later, to return to the palace, for a +little whist or a game of chess, or, better still, to make one of that +delightful circle in the drawing-room where Goethe was sitting? Yes, such +is the life of Weimar. The luxury of your great capitals, the gorgeous +salons of London and Paris, the voluptuous pleasures which unbounded +wealth and all its train of passions beget, are utterly unknown there; but +there is a world of pure enjoyment and of intercourse with high and gifted +minds which more than repay you for their absence. A few years more, and +all this will be but “matter for an old man’s memory.” Increased +facilities of travel and greater knowledge of language erase nationality +most rapidly. The venerable habits transmitted from father to son for +centuries—the traditional customs of a people—cannot survive a +caricature nor a satire. The <i>esprit moqueur</i> of France and the +insolent wealth of England have left us scarce a vestige of our +Fatherland. Our literature is at this instant a thing of shreds and +patches—bad translations of bad books; the deep wisdom and the racy +humour of Jean Paul are unknown, while the vapid wit of a modern French +novel is extolled. They prefer the false glitter of Dumas and Balzac to +the sterling gold of Schiller and Herder; and even Leipsic and Waterloo +have not freed us from the slavish adulation of the conquered to the +conqueror.’ +</p> +<p> +‘What would you have?’ said I. +</p> +<p> +‘I would have Germany a nation once more—a nation whose limits +should reach from the Baltic to the Tyrol. Her language, her people, her +institutions entitle her to be such; and it is only when parcelled into +kingdoms and petty States, divided by the artful policy of foreign powers, +that our nationality pines and withers.’ +</p> +<p> +‘I can easily conceive,’ said I, ‘that the Confederation of the Rhine must +have destroyed in a great measure the patriotic feeling of Western +Germany. The peasantry were sold as mercenaries; the nobles, little +better, took arms in a cause many of them hated and detested——’ +</p> +<p> +‘I must stop you here,’ said he, with a smile; ‘not that you would or +could say that which should wound my feelings, but you might hurt your own +when you came to know that he to whom you are speaking served in that +army. Yes, sir, I was a soldier of Napoleon.’ +</p> +<p> +Although nothing could be more unaffectedly easy than his manner as he +spoke, I feared I might already have said too much; indeed, I knew not the +exact expressions I had used, and there was a pause of some minutes, +broken at length by the colonel saying— +</p> +<p> +‘Let us walk towards the town; for if I mistake not they close the gates +of the Park at midnight, and I believe we are the only persons remaining +here now.’ +</p> +<p> +Chattering of indifferent matters, we arrived at the hotel; and after +accepting an invitation to accompany the baron the next day to Wilhelms +Höhe, I wished him good-night and retired. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. THE BARON’S STORY +</h2> +<p> +Every one knows how rapidly acquaintance ripens into intimacy when mere +accident throws two persons together in situations where they have no +other occupation than each other’s society; days do the work of years, +confidences spring up where mere ceremonies would have been interchanged +before, and in fact a freedom of thought and speech as great as we enjoy +in our oldest friendships. Such in less than a fortnight was the relation +between the baron and myself. We breakfasted together every morning, and +usually sallied forth afterwards into the country, generally on horseback, +and only came back to dinner—a ramble in the Park concluding our +day. +</p> +<p> +I still look back to those days as amongst the pleasantest of my life; for +although the temper of my companion’s mind was melancholic, it seemed +rather the sadness induced by some event of his life than the depression +resulting from a desponding temperament—a great difference, by the +way; as great as between the shadow we see at noonday and the uniform +blackness of midnight. He had evidently seen much of the world, and in the +highest class; he spoke of Paris as he knew it in the gorgeous time of the +Empire—of the Tuileries, when the salons were crowded with kings and +sovereign princes; of Napoleon, too, as he saw him, wet and cold, beside +the bivouac fire, interchanging a rude jest with some grognard of the +Garde, or commanding, in tones of loud superiority, the marshals who stood +awaiting his orders. The Emperor, he said, never liked the Germans; and +although many evinced a warm attachment to his person and his cause, they +were not Frenchmen, and he could not forgive it. The Alsatians he trusted, +and was partial to; but his sympathies stopped short at the Rhine; and he +always felt that if fortune turned, the wrongs of Germany must have their +recompense. +</p> +<p> +While speaking freely on these matters, I remarked that he studiously +avoided all mention of his own services—a mere passing mention of ‘I +was there,’ or, ‘My regiment was engaged in it,’ being the extent of his +observations regarding himself. His age and rank, his wound itself, showed +that he must have seen service in its most active times; and my curiosity +was piqued to learn something of his own history, but which I did not feel +myself entitled to inquire. +</p> +<p> +We were returning one evening from a ramble in the country, when stopping +to ask a drink at a wayside inn, we found a party of soldiers in +possession of the only room, where they were regaling themselves with +wine; while a miserable-looking object, bound with his arms behind his +back, sat pale and woe-begone in one corner of the apartment, his eyes +fixed on the floor, and the tears slowly stealing along his cheeks. +</p> +<p> +‘What is it?’ asked I of the landlord, as I peeped in at the half-open +door. +</p> +<p> +‘A deserter, sir——‘’ +</p> +<p> +The word was scarcely spoken when the colonel let fall the cup he held in +his hand, and leaned, almost fainting, against the wall. +</p> +<p> +‘Let us move on,’ said he, in a voice scarcely articulate, while the +sickness of death seemed to work in his features. +</p> +<p> +‘You are ill,’ said I; ‘we had better wait——’ +</p> +<p> +‘No, not here—not here,’ repeated he anxiously; ‘in a moment I shall +be well again—lend me your arm.’ +</p> +<p> +We walked on, at first slowly, for with each step he tottered like one +after weeks of illness; at last he rallied, and we reached Cassel in about +an hour’s time, during which he spoke but once or twice. ‘I must bid you a +good-night here,’ said he, as we entered the inn; ‘I feel but poorly, and +shall hasten to bed.’ So saying, and without waiting for a word on my +part, he squeezed my hand affectionately, and left me. +</p> +<p> +It was not in my power to dismiss from my mind a number of gloomy +suspicions regarding the baron, as I slowly wended my way to my room. The +uppermost thought I had was, that some act of his past life—some +piece of military severity, for which he now grieved deeply—had been +brought back to his memory by the sight of the poor deserter. It was +evident that the settled melancholy of his character referred to some +circumstance or event of his life; nothing confirmed this more than any +chance allusions he would drop concerning his youthful days, which +appeared to be marked by high daring and buoyant spirits. +</p> +<p> +While I pondered over these thoughts, a noise in the inn-yard beneath my +window attracted my attention. I leaned out, and heard the baron’s servant +giving orders for post-horses to be ready by daybreak to take his master’s +carriage to Meissner, while a courier was already preparing to have horses +in waiting at the stages along the road. Again my brain was puzzled to +account for this sudden departure, and I could not repress a feeling of +pique at his not having communicated his intention of going, which, +considering our late intimacy, had been only common courtesy. This little +slight—for such I felt it—did not put me in better temper with +my friend, nor more disposed to be lenient in judging him; and I was +already getting deeper and deeper in my suspicions, when a gentle tap came +to my door, and the baron’s servant entered, with a request that I would +kindly step over to his master, who desired to see me particularly. I did +not delay a moment, but followed the man along the corridor, and entered +the room, which I found in total darkness. +</p> +<p> +‘The baron is in bed, sir,’ said the servant; ‘but he wishes to see you in +his room.’ +</p> +<p> +On a small camp-bed, which showed it to have been once a piece of military +equipment, the Baron was lying. He had not undressed, but merely thrown on +his <i>robe de chambre</i> and removed his cravat from his throat; his one +hand was pressed closely on his face, and as he stretched it out to grasp +mine, I was horror-struck at the altered expression of his countenance. +The eyes, bloodshot and wild, glanced about the room with a hurried and +searching look, while his parched lips muttered rapidly some indistinct +sounds. I saw that he was very ill, and asked him if it were not as well +he should have some advice. +</p> +<p> +‘No, my friend, no,’ said he, with more composure in his manner; ‘the +attack is going off now. It rarely lasts so long as this. You have never +heard perhaps of that dreadful malady which physicians call “angina,” the +most agonising of all diseases, and I believe the least understood. I have +been subject to it for some years, and as there is no remedy, and as any +access of it may prove fatal, life is held on but poor conditions——’ +</p> +<p> +He paused for a second or two, then resumed, but with a manner of +increased excitement. +</p> +<p> +‘They will shoot him! Yes, I have heard it all. It’s the second time he +has deserted; there is not a chance left him. I must leave this by +daybreak—I must get me far away before to-morrow evening; there +would not come a stir, the slightest sound, but I should fancy I heard the +fusilade.’ +</p> +<p> +I saw now clearly that the deserter’s fate had made the impression which +brought on the attack; and although my curiosity to learn the origin of so +powerful a sensibility was greater than ever, I would willingly have +sacrificed it to calming his mind, and inducing thoughts of less violent +excitement. But he continued, speaking with a thick and hurried utterance— +</p> +<p> +‘I was senior lieutenant of the Carabiniers de la Garde at eighteen. We +were quartered at Strasbourg; more than half of the regiment were my +countrymen, some from the very village where I was born. One there was, a +lad of sixteen, my schoolfellow and companion when a boy; he was the only +child of a widow whose husband had fallen in the wars of the Revolution. +When he was drawn in the conscription, no less than seven others presented +themselves to go in his stead; but old Girardon, who commanded the +brigade, simply returned for answer, “Such brave men are worthy to serve +France; let them all be enrolled,” and they were so. A week afterwards +Louis my schoolfellow deserted. He swam the Rhine at Kehl, and the same +evening reached his mother’s cottage. He was scarcely an hour at home when +a party of his own regiment captured him; he was brought back to +Strasbourg, tried by torchlight, and condemned to death. +</p> +<p> +‘The officer who commanded the party for his execution fainted when the +prisoner was led out; the men, horror-struck at the circumstance, grounded +their arms and refused to fire. Girardon was on the ground in an instant; +he galloped up to the youth who knelt there with his arms bound behind +him, and drawing a pistol from his holster, placed the muzzle on his +forehead, and shot him dead! The men were sent back to the barracks, and +by a general order of the same day were drafted into different regiments +throughout the army; the officer was degraded to the ranks—it was +myself.’ +</p> +<p> +It was with the greatest difficulty the colonel was enabled to conclude +this brief story; the sentences were uttered with short, almost convulsive +efforts, and when it was over he turned away his face, and seemed buried +in grief. +</p> +<p> +‘You think,’ said he, turning round and taking my hand in his—‘you +think that the sad scene has left me such as you see me now. Would to +Heaven my memory were charged with but that mournful event! Alas! it is +not so.’ He wiped a tear from his eye, and with a faltering voice +continued. ‘You shall hear my story. I never breathed it to one living, +nor do I think now that my time is to be long here.’ +</p> +<p> +Having fortified his nerves with a powerful opiate, the only remedy in his +dreadful malady, he began:— +</p> +<p> +‘I was reduced to the ranks in Strasbourg; four years after, day for day, +I was named Chef de Bataillon on the field of Elchingen. Of twelve hundred +men our battalion came out of action with one hundred and eighty; the +report of the corps that night was made by myself as senior officer, and I +was but a captain. +</p> +<p> +‘“Who led the division of stormers along the covered way?” said the +Emperor, as I handed our list of killed and wounded to Duroc, who stood +beside him. +</p> +<p> +‘“It was I, sire.” +</p> +<p> +‘“You are major of the Seventh regiment,” said he. “Now, there is another +of yours I must ask for; how is he called that surprised the Austrian +battery on the Dorran Kopf?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Himself again, sire,” interrupted Duroc, who saw that I hesitated how to +answer him. +</p> +<p> +‘“Very well, very well indeed, Elgenheim; report him as Chef de Bataillon, +Duroc, and colonel of his regiment. There, sir, your countrymen call me +unjust and ungenerous. Show them your brevet to-night, and do <i>you</i>, +at least, be a witness in my favour.” +</p> +<p> +‘I bowed and uttered a few words of gratitude, and was about to withdraw, +when Duroc, who had been whispering something in the Emperor’s ear, said +aloud, “I’m certain he’s the man to do it. Elgenheim, his Majesty has a +most important despatch to forward to Innspruck to Marshal Ney. It will +require something more than mere bravery to effect this object—it +will demand no small share of address also. The passes above Saltzbourg +are in the possession of the Tyrolese sharpshooters; two vedettes have +been cut off within a week, and it will require at least the force of a +regiment to push through. Are you willing to take the command of such a +party?” +</p> +<p> +‘“If his Majesty will honour me with——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Enough, sir,” interrupted the Emperor; “we have no time to lose here. +Your orders shall be ready by daybreak; you shall have a squadron of +Chasseurs, as scouts, and be prepared to march to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +‘The following day I left the camp with my party of eight hundred men, and +moved to the southward. It may seem strange to think of a simple despatch +of a few lines requiring such a force—indeed, I thought so at the +time; but I lived to see two thousand men employed on a similar service in +Spain, and, worse still, not always successfully. In less than a week we +approached Landherg, and entered the land of mountains. The defiles, which +at first were sufficiently open to afford space for manouvres, gradually +contracted; while the mountains at either side became wilder and more +lofty, a low brushwood of holly and white-oak scarce hiding the dark +granite rocks that seemed actually piled loosely one above another, and +ready to crash down at the least impulse. In the valleys themselves the +mountain rivulets were collected into a strong current, which rattled +along amid masses of huge rock, and swept in broad flakes of foam +sometimes across the narrow road beside it. Here, frequently, not more +than four men could march abreast; and as the winding of the glens never +permitted a view of much more than a mile in advance, the position, in +case of attack, was far from satisfactory. +</p> +<p> +‘For three entire days we continued our march, adopting, as we went, every +precaution against surprise I could think of; a portion of the cavalry +were always employed as <i>éclaireurs</i> in advance, and the remainder +brought up the rear, following the main body at the distance of a mile or +two. The stupendous crags that frowned above, leaving us but a narrow +streak of blue sky visible; the mournful echoes of the deep valleys; the +hoarse roar of the waters or the wild notes of the black eagle—all +conspired to throw an impression of sadness over our party, which each +struggled against in vain. It was now the third morning since we entered +the Tyrol, and yet never had we seen one single inhabitant. The few +cottages along the roadside were empty, the herds had disappeared from the +hills, and a dreary waste, unrelieved by one living object, stretched far +away before us. My men felt the solitude far more deeply than if every +step had been contested with them. They were long inured to danger, and +would willingly have encountered an enemy of mortal mould; but the gloomy +images their minds conjured up were foes they had never anticipated nor +met before. For my own part, the desolation brought but one thought before +me; and as I looked upon the wild wastes of mountain, where the chalet of +the hunter or the cot of the shepherd reared its humble head, the fearful +injustice of invasive war came fully to my mind. Again and again did I ask +myself what greatness and power could gain by conflict with poverty like +this? How could the humble dweller in these lonely regions become an +object of kingly vengeance, or his bleak hills a thing for kingly +ambition? And, more than all, what could the Tyrol peasant ever have done +thus to bring down upon his home the devastating tide of war? To think +that but a few days back the cheerful song of the hunter resounded through +those glens, and the laugh of children was heard in those cottages where +now all was still as death. We passed a small cluster of houses at the +opening of a glen—it could scarce be called a village—and +here, so lately had they been deserted, the embers were yet warm on the +hearth, and in one hut the table was spread and the little meal laid out, +while they who were to have partaken of it were perhaps miles away. +</p> +<p> +‘Plunged in these sad reflections, I sat on a little eminence of rock +behind the party, while they reposed themselves during the heat of noon. +The point I occupied afforded a view for some miles of the road we had +travelled, and I turned to see if our cavalry detachment was coming up; +when, as I strained my eyes in the direction, I thought I could perceive +an object moving along the road, and stooping from time to time. I seized +my glass, and now could distinctly perceive the figure of a man coming +slowly onwards. That we had not passed him on the way was quite evident, +and he must therefore have been on the mountain, or in concealment beside +the road. Either thought was sufficient to excite my suspicion, and +without a second’s delay I sprang into the saddle, and putting my horse to +his speed galloped back as fast as I could. As I came nearer, I half +fancied I saw the figure move to one side and then back again, as though +irresolute how to act; and fearing lest he should escape me by taking to +the mountain, I called to him aloud to halt. He stood still as I spoke, +and I now came up beside him. He was an old man, seemingly over eighty +years of age; his hair and beard were white as snow, and he was bent +almost double with time; his dress was the common costume of a Tyrolese, +except that he wore in addition a kind of cloak with a loose hood, such as +the pilgrims wear in Austria; and indeed his staff and leathern bottle +bespoke him such. To all my questions as to the road and the villages he +replied in a kind of patois I could make nothing of, for although +tolerably well versed in all the dialects of Southern Germany, his was +quite unintelligible to me. Still, the question how he came there was one +of great moment; if <i>he</i> had been concealed while we passed so near, +why not others? His age and decrepitude forbade the thought of his having +descended the mountain, and so I felt puzzled in no common degree. As +these doubts passed through my mind, the poor old man stood trembling at +my side as though fearing what fate might be in store for him. Anxious to +recompense him for the trouble I had caused him, I drew out my purse; but +no sooner did he see it than he motioned it away with his hand, and shook +his head in token of refusal. +</p> +<p> +‘“Come, then,” said I, “I never met a pilgrim who would refuse a cup of +wine;” and with that I unslung my canteen and handed it to him. This he +seized eagerly and drained it to the bottom, holding up both hands when he +had finished, and muttering something I conjectured to be a prayer. He was +the only living object belonging to the country that I had seen; a sudden +whim seized me, and I gave him back the flask, making a sign that he +should keep it. He clutched the gift with the avidity of old age, and +sitting down upon a stone began to admire it with eager eyes. Despairing +of making him understand a word, and remembering it was time to move +forward, I waved my hand in adieu and galloped back. +</p> +<p> +‘The cavalry detachment came up soon after; and guess my astonishment to +learn that they had not seen the old man on the road, nor, although they +narrowly watched the mountain, perceived any living thing near. I confess +I could not dismiss a feeling of uncomfortable suspicion from my mind, and +all the reflections I bestowed upon his age and decrepitude were very far +from reassuring me. More than once I regretted not having brought him +forward with us; but again the fact of having such a prisoner would have +exposed me to ridicule at headquarters, if not to a heavy reprimand. +</p> +<p> +‘Full of these reflections, I gave the word to move forward. Our object +was, if possible, to reach the opening of the Mittenwald before night, +where I was informed that a small dismantled fort would afford a secure +position if attacked by any mountain party. On comparing the route of the +map, however, with the road, I discovered that the real distances were in +many cases considerably greater than they were set down, and perceived +that with all our efforts we could not hope to emerge from the ravine of +the Schwartz-thal before the following day. This fact gave me much +uneasiness; for I remembered having heard that as the glen approaches the +Mittenwald, the pass is narrowed to a mere path, obstructed at every step +by masses of fallen rock, while the mountains, more thickly covered with +underwood, afford shelter for any party lying in ambush. Nothing could be +more fatal than an attack in such a position, where a few determined men +in front could arrest the march of a whole regiment; while from the close +sides of the pass, a well-directed fire must sweep the ranks of those +below. This gorge, which, narrowing to a mere portal, has been called the +Mitten-Thor, was the scene of some fearful struggles between the French +troops and the Tyrolese, and was always believed to be the most dangerous +of all the passes of the Tyrol—every despatch to the headquarters of +the army referring to the disasters that befell there, and suggesting +plans for the occupation of the blockhouse near it, as a means of defence. +</p> +<p> +‘By the advice of my officers, one of whom was already acquainted with all +the circumstances of the ground, I determined on halting at a part of the +glen about two miles from the Mitten-Thor, where a slight widening of the +valley afforded more space for movement if attacked; and here we arrived +as evening was beginning to fall. It was a small oval spot between the +mountains, through which a little stream ran, dividing it almost into +equal portions, and crossed by a bridge of rude planks, to which a little +path conducted, and led up the mountains. Scarcely were our watch-fires +lighted when the moon rose, and although herself not visible to our eyes +as we lay in the deep valley, a rich flood of silver light fell on one +range of the mountains, marking out every cliff and crag with the +distinctness of day. The opposite mountain, wrapped in deepest shadow, was +one mass of undistinguishable blackness, and seemed to frown ominously and +gloomily upon us. The men were wearied with a long march, and soon lay +down to rest beside their fires; and save the low subdued hum of the +little encampment, the valley was in perfect silence. On the bridge, from +which the pass was visible for a good distance in both directions, I had +placed a lookout sentry; and a chain of patrols was established around the +bivouac. +</p> +<p> +‘These arrangements, which occupied me some time, being completed, I threw +myself down beside my fire, and prepared for sleep. But somehow, though I +had passed a day of fatigue and exertion, I could not slumber; every time +I closed my eyes the vision of the old pilgrim was before me, and a vague, +undefined feeling of apprehension hung over me. I tried to believe it was +a mere fancy, attributable to the place, of whose terrors I had heard so +much; but my mind dwelt on all the disasters of the Schwartz-thal, and +banished every desire for repose. +</p> +<p> +As I lay there, thinking, my eyes were attracted by a little rocky point, +about thirty feet above me on the mountain, on which the full splendour of +the moonlight shone at intervals as the dark clouds drifted from before +her; and a notion took me—why and how I never could explain to +myself—to ascend the crag, and take a view down the valley. A few +minutes after, and I was seated on the rock, from which I could survey the +pass and the encampment stretched out beneath me. It was just such a scene +as Salvator used to paint—the wild fantastic mountains, bristling +with rude pines and fragments of granite; a rushing torrent, splashing and +boiling beneath; a blazing watch-fire, and the armed group around it, +their weapons glancing in the red light; while, to add to the mere +picture, there came the monotonous hum of the soldier’s song as he walked +to and fro upon his post. +</p> +<p> +‘I sat a long while gazing at this scene, many a pleasant thought of that +bandit life we Germans feel such interest in, from Schiller’s play, +passing through my mind, when I heard the rustling of leaves, and a +crackling sound as of broken branches, issue from the mountain almost +directly above me. There was not a breath of wind nor a leaf stirring, +save there. I listened eagerly, and was almost certain I could hear the +sound of voices talking in a low undertone. Cautiously stealing along, I +began to descend the mountain, when, as I turned a projecting angle of the +path, I saw the sentry on the bridge with his musket at his shoulder, +taking a steady and deliberate aim at some object in the direction of the +noise. While I looked, he fired; a crashing sound of the branches followed +the report, and something like a cry, and as the echoes died away in the +distance a heavy mass tumbled over the cliff, and fell from ledge to ledge +till it rolled into the deep grass below. I had but time to perceive it +was the corpse of a man fully armed, when the quick roll of the drum beat +to arms. In an instant the men were formed; the cavalry standing beside +their horses, and the officers crowding around me for orders. It was the +discharge of the sentry’s musket had given the alarm; for, save himself, +no one had seen anything. +</p> +<p> +‘Just then a wild unearthly cry of “Ha! ha!” rang out from one mountain +and was answered from the other; while the sounds, increasing and +multiplied by the echoes, floated hither and thither, as though ten +thousand voices were shouting there. They ceased; all was still for a few +seconds, and then a hailstorm of bullets tore through our ranks, and the +valley rang again with the roar of musketry. Every cliff and crag, every +tuft of brushwood, seemed to be occupied; while the incessant roll of the +fire showed that our assailants were in great numbers. Resistance was +vain; our enemy was unseen; our men were falling at each discharge; what +was to be done? Nothing remained but to push forward to the Mittenwald, +where, the valley opening into a plain, we should be able to defend +ourselves against any irregular troops that might be brought against us. +The order was given, and the men advanced in a run, the cavalry leading +the way. Meanwhile the fire of the Tyrolese increased, and the fatal +marksmen seldom missed a shot; two of our officers already lay dead, and +three others dangerously wounded could scarce keep up with our party. +</p> +<p> +‘“The road is barricaded and intrenched,” cried the sergeant of the +dragoons, galloping back to the main body in dismay. +</p> +<p> +‘A cry broke from the soldiers as they heard the sad tidings, while some +springing from their ranks called out, “Forward, and to the storm!” +</p> +<p> +‘Rushing to the head of these brave fellows, I waved my cap, and cheered +them on; the others followed, and we soon came in sight of the barrier, +which was formed of large trees thrown crossways, and forming, by their +massive trunks and interwoven branches, an obstacle far beyond our power +to remove. To climb the stockade was our only chance, and on we rushed; +but scarcely were we within half-musket-shot, when a volley met us +directed point-blank. The leading files of the column went down like one +man, and though others rushed eagerly forward, despair and desperation +goading them, the murderous fire of the long rifles dealt death at every +discharge; and we stood among the cumbered corpses of our fellow comrades. +By this time we were attacked in rear as well as front; and now, all hope +gone, it only remained to sell life as dearly as we could. One infuriated +rush to break through the barricade had forced a kind of passage, through +which, followed by a dozen others, I leaped, shouting to my men to follow. +The cry of my triumph was, however, met by a wilder still, for the same +instant a party of Tyrolese, armed with the two-handed sword of their +country, came down upon us. The struggle was a brief and bloody one; man +for man fell at either side, but overcome by numbers I saw my companions +drop dead or wounded around me. As for myself, I clove the leader through +the skull with one stroke. It was the last my arm ever dealt; the next +instant it was severed from my body. I fell covered with blood, and my +assailant jumped upon my body, and drawing a short knife from his belt was +about to plunge it in my bosom, when a shout from a wounded Tyrolese at my +side arrested the stroke, and I saw an uplifted arm stretched out as if to +protect me. I have little memory after this. I heard—I think I hear +still—the wild shouts and the death-cries of my comrades as they +fell beneath the arm of their enemies. The slaughter was a dreadful one; +of eight hundred and forty men, I alone survived that terrible night. +</p> +<p> +‘Towards daybreak I found myself lying in a cart upon some straw, beside +another wounded man dressed in the uniform of the Tyrolese Jagers. His +head was fearfully gashed by a sabre-cut, and a musket-ball had shattered +his forearm. As I looked at him, a grim smile of savage glee lit up his +pale features, and he looked from my wound to his own with a horrid +significance. All my efforts to learn the fate of my comrades were +fruitless; he could neither comprehend me nor I him, and it was only by +conjecturing from the tones and gestures of those who occasionally came up +to the cart to speak to him, that I could learn the fearful reality. +</p> +<p> +‘That day and the following one we journeyed onwards, but I knew naught of +time. The fever of my wound, increased by some styptic they had used to +stop the bleeding, had brought on delirium, and I raved of the fight, and +strove to regain my legs and get free. To this paroxysm, which lasted many +days, a low lingering fever succeeded, in which all consciousness was so +slight that no memory has remained to tell of my sensations. +</p> +<p> +‘My first vivid sensation—it is before me at this minute—was +on entering the little mountain village of the Marien Kreutz. I was borne +on a litter by four men, for the path was inaccessible except to foot +passengers. It was evening, and the long procession of the wounded men +wound its way up the mountain defile and along the little street of the +village, which now was crowded by the country-people, who with sad and +tearful faces stood looking on their sons and brothers, or asking for +those whom they were never to behold again. The little chapel of the +village was converted into a hospital, and here beds were brought from +every cabin, and all the preparations for tending the sick began with a +readiness that surprised me. +</p> +<p> +‘As they bore me up the aisle of the chapel, a voice called out some words +in Tyrolese; the men halted and turned round, and then carried me back +into a small chapelry, where a single sick man was lying, whom in an +instant I recognised as my wounded companion of the road. With a nod of +rude but friendly recognition, he welcomed me, and I was placed near him +on a straw mattress stretched beneath the altar. +</p> +<p> +‘Why I had been spared in the fearful carnage, and for what destiny I was +reserved, were thoughts which rapidly gave way to others of deep +despondency at my fortune—a despair that made me indifferent to +life. The dreadful issue of the expedition would, I well knew, have ruined +more prosperous careers than mine in that service, where want of success +was the greatest of all crimes. Careless of my fate, I lived on in gloomy +apathy, not one gleam of hope or comfort to shine upon the darkness of my +misery. +</p> +<p> +‘This brooding melancholy took entire possession of me, and I took no note +of the scenes around me. My ear was long since accustomed to the sad +sounds of the sickbeds; the cries of suffering, and the low moanings of +misery had ceased to move me; even the wild and frantic ravings of the +wounded man near broke not in upon my musings, and I lived like one +immured within a solitary dungeon. +</p> +<p> +‘I lay thus one night—my sadness and gloom weightier than ever on my +broken spirits—listening to the echoed sounds of suffering that rose +into the vaulted roof, and wishing for death to call me away from such a +scene of misery, when I heard the low chanting of a priest coming along +the aisle; and the moment after the footsteps of several persons came +near, and then two acolytes, carrying lighted tapers, appeared, followed +by a venerable man robed in white, and bearing in his hands a silver +chalice. Two other priests followed him, chanting the last service, and +behind all there came a female figure dressed in deep mourning; she was +tall and graceful-looking, and her step had the firm tread of youth, but +her head was bowed down with sorrow, and she held her veil pressed closely +over her face. They gathered round the bed of the wounded man, and the +priest took hold of his hand and lifted it slowly from the bed; and +letting it go, it fell heavily down again, with a dull sound. The old man +bent over the bed, touched the pale features, and gazed into the eyes, and +then with clasped hands he sank down on his knees and prayed aloud; the +others knelt beside him—all save one; she threw herself with frantic +grief upon the dead body (for he was dead) and wept passionately. In vain +they strove to calm her sorrow, or even withdraw her from the spot. She +clung madly to it, and would not be induced to leave it. +</p> +<p> +‘I think I see her still before me—her long hair, black as night, +streaming back from her pale forehead, and hanging down her shoulders; her +eyes fixed on the dead man’s face, and her hands pressed hard upon her +heart, as if to lull its agony. In all the wild transport of her grief she +was beautiful; for although pale to sickness, and worn with watching, her +large and lustrous eyes, her nose straight and finely chiselled like the +features of an antique cameo, and her mouth, where mingled pride and +sorrow trembled, gave her an expression of loveliness I cannot convey. +Such was she, as she watched beside her brother’s death-bed day and night, +silent and motionless; for as the first burst of grief was over she seemed +to nerve her courage to the task; and even when the hour came, and they +bore the body away to its last resting-place, not a sigh or sob escaped +her. +</p> +<p> +‘The vacant spot—though it had been tenanted by suffering and misery—brought +gloom to my heart. I had been accustomed each day to look for him at +sunrise, and each evening to see him as the light of day declined; and I +sorrowed like one deserted and alone. Not all alone! for, as if by force +of habit, when evening came, <i>she</i> was at her place near the altar. +</p> +<p> +‘The fever, and my own anxious thoughts, preyed on my mind that night; and +as I lay awake I felt parched and hot, and wished to drink, and I +endeavoured with my only arm to reach the cup beside me. She saw the +effort, and sprang towards me at once; and as she held it to my lips, I +remembered then that often in the dreary nights of my sickness I had seen +her at my bedside, nursing me and tending me. I muttered a word of +gratitude in German, when she started suddenly, and stooping down, said in +a clear accent— +</p> +<p> +‘“Bist du ein Deutscher (Are you a German)?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” said I, mournfully, for I saw her meaning. +</p> +<p> +‘“Shame! shame!” cried she, holding up her hands in horror. “If the wolves +ravage the flocks it is but their nature; but that our own kindred, our +very flesh and blood, should do this——” +</p> +<p> +‘I turned my head away in very sorrow and self-abasement, and a convulsive +sob burst from my heart. +</p> +<p> +‘“Nay, nay, not so,” said she, “a poor peasant like me cannot judge what +motives may have influenced you and others like you; and after all,” and +she spoke the words in a trembling voice—“and after all, you +succoured <i>him</i> when you believed him sick and weary.” +</p> +<p> +‘“I! how so? It never was in my power——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes, yes,” cried she, passionately; “it was you. This <i>gourde</i> was +yours; he told me so; he spoke of you a hundred times.” And at the +instant, she held up the little flask I had given to the pilgrim in the +valley. +</p> +<p> +‘“And was the pilgrim then——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes,” said she, as a proud flash lit up her features, “he was my +brother; many a weary mile he wandered over mountain and moor to track +you; faint and hungry, he halted not, following your footsteps from the +first hour you entered our land. Think you but for him that you had been +spared that nights slaughter, or that for any cause but his a Tyrolese +girl had watched beside your sick-bed, and prayed for your recovery?” +</p> +<p> +‘The whole truth now flashed upon me; every circumstance doubtful before +became at once clear to my mind, and I eagerly asked the fate of my +comrades. +</p> +<p> +‘A gloomy shake of the head was the only reply. +</p> +<p> +‘“All?” said I, trembling at the word. +</p> +<p> +‘“All!” repeated she, in an accent whose pride seemed almost amounting to +ferocity. +</p> +<p> +‘“Would I had perished with them!” cried I, in the bitterness of my heart, +and I turned my face away and gave myself up to my grief. +</p> +<p> +‘As if sorry for the burst of feeling she had caused me, she sat down +beside my bed, took my hand in hers, and placed her cold lips upon it, +while she murmured some words of comfort. Like water to the seared, +parched lips of some traveller in the desert, the accents fell upon my +almost broken heart, suggesting a thought of hope where, all was darkness +and despair, I listened to each word with a tremulous fear lest she should +cease to speak, and dreading that my ecstasy were but a dream. From that +hour, I wished to live; a changed spirit came over me, and I felt as +though with higher and more ennobling thoughts I should once more tread +the earth. Yes, from the humble lips of a peasant girl I learned to feel +that the path I once deemed the only road to heroism and high ambition +could be but “the bandit’s trade,” who sells his blood for gain. That war +which animated by high-souled patriotism can call forth every sentiment of +a great and generous nature, becomes in an unjust cause the lowest slavery +and degradation. Lydchen seldom quitted my bedside, for my malady took +many turns, and it was long—many months—after that I was +enabled to leave my bed and move up and down the chapel. +</p> +<p> +‘Meanwhile the successes of our army had gradually reduced the whole +country beneath French rule, and except in the very fastnesses of the +mountains the Tyrolese had nowhere they could call their own. Each day +some peasant would arrive from the valleys with information that fresh +troops were pouring in from Germany, and the hopes of the patriotic party +fell lower and lower. At last one evening as I sat on the steps of the +little altar, listening to Lydchen reading for me some Tyrol legend, a +wild shout in the street of the village attracted our notice, which seemed +to gain strength as it came nearer. She started up suddenly, and throwing +down her book rushed from the chapel. In another moment she was back +beside me, her face pale as a corpse, and her limbs trembling with fear. +</p> +<p> +‘“What has happened? Speak, for God’s sake! what is it?” said I. +</p> +<p> +‘“The French have shot the prisoners in the Platz at Innspruck! +twenty-eight have fallen this morning,” cried she, “seven from this very +village; and now they cry aloud for your blood; hear them, there!” +</p> +<p> +‘And as she spoke a frightful yell hurst from the crowd without, and +already they stood at the entrance to the chapel, which even at such a +time they had not forgotten was a sanctuary. The very wounded men sat up +in their beds and joined their feeble cries to those without, and the +terrible shout of “blood for blood!” rang through the vaulted roof. +</p> +<p> +‘“I am ready,” said I, springing up from the low step of the altar. “They +must not desecrate this holy spot with such a crime. I am ready to go +where you will.” +</p> +<p> +‘“No, no,” cried Lydchen; “you are not like our enemies. You wish us +naught of evil; your heart is with the struggle of a brave people, who +fight but for their homes and Fatherland. Be of us, then; declare that you +are with us. Oh, do this, and these will be your brothers and I your +sister; ay, more than sister ever was.” +</p> +<p> +‘“It cannot be; no, never,” said I; “it is not when life is in the balance +that fealty can change.” +</p> +<p> +‘With difficulty I freed myself from the clasp of her arms, for in her +grief she had thrown herself at my feet, when suddenly we heard the deep +accents of the aged priest, as he stood upon the steps of the altar, and +commanded silence. His tones were those of severity and sternness, and I +could mark that not a murmur was raised as he continued. +</p> +<p> +‘“You are safe,” whispered Lydchen; “till to-morrow you are safe; before +that you must be far away.” +</p> +<p> +‘The respite of the priest was merely to give me time to prepare for +death, which it was decreed I should suffer the following morning in the +Platz of the village. +</p> +<p> +‘Scarcely had evening begun to fall when Lydchen approached my bed and +deposited a small bundle upon it, whispering gently, “Lose no time; put on +these clothes, and wait for my return.” +</p> +<p> +‘The little chapelry where I lay communicated by a small door with the +dwelling of the priest, and by her passing through this I saw that the +father was himself conniving at the plan of my escape. By the imperfect +glimmer of the fading day I could perceive that they were her brother’s +clothes she had brought me; the jacket was yet stained with his blood. I +was long in equipping myself, with my single arm, and I heard her voice +more than once calling to me to hasten, ere I was ready. +</p> +<p> +‘At length I arose, and passing through the door entered the priest’s +house, where Lydchen, dressed in hat and mantle, stood ready for the road. +As I endeavoured to remonstrate she pressed her hand on my mouth, and +walking on tiptoe led me forward; we emerged into a little garden, +crossing which she opened a wicket that led into the road. There a peasant +was in waiting, who carried a small bundle on his shoulder, and was armed +with the long staff used in mountain travelling. Again, making a sign for +me to be silent, she moved on before me, and soon turning off the road +entered a foot-track in the mountain. The fresh breeze of the night and +the sense of liberty nerved me to exertion, and I walked on till day was +breaking. Our path generally lay in a descending direction, and I felt +little fatigue, when at sunrise Lydchen told me that we might rest for +some hours, as our guide could now detect the approach of any party for +miles round, and provide for our concealment. No pursuit, however, was +undertaken in that direction, the peasants in all likelihood deeming that +I would turn my steps towards Lahn, where a strong French garrison was +stationed; whereas we were proceeding in the direction of Saltzbourg, the +very longest and therefore the least likely route through the Tyrol. +</p> +<p> +‘Day succeeded day, and on we went. Not one living thing did we meet on +our lonely path. Already our little stock of provisions was falling low, +when we came in sight of the hamlet of Altendorf, only a single day’s +march from the lake of Saltzbourg. The village, though high in the +mountain, lay exactly beneath us as we went, and from the height we stood +on we could see the little streets of the town and its market-place like a +map below us. Scarcely had the guide thrown his eyes downwards than he +stopped short, and pointing to the town, cried out “The French! the +French!” and true enough, a large party of infantry were bivouacked in the +streets, and several horses were picketed in the gardens about. While the +peasant crept cautiously forward to inspect the place nearer, I stood +beside Lydchen, who, with her hands pressed closely on her face, spoke not +a word. +</p> +<p> +‘“We part here!” said she, with a strong, full accent, as though +determined to let no weakness appear in her words. +</p> +<p> +‘“Part, Lydchen!” cried I, in an agony; for up to that moment I believed +that she never intended returning to the Tyrol. +</p> +<p> +‘“Yes. Thinkest thou that I hold so light my home and country as thou +dost? Didst thou believe that a Tyrol girl would live ‘midst those who +laid waste her Fatherland, and left herself an orphan, without one of her +kindred remaining?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Are there no ties save those of blood, Lydchen? Is your heart so steeled +against the stranger that the devotion, the worship, of a life long would +not move you from your purpose?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Thou hast refused me once,” said she proudly; “I offered to be all your +own when thou couldst have made me so with honour. If thou wert the Kaiser +Franz, I would not have thee now.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Oh, speak not thus, Lydchen, to him whose life you saved, and made him +feel that life is a blessing! Remember that if <i>your</i> heart be cold +to me, you have made <i>mine</i> your own for ever. I will not leave you. +No——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Is it that thou mayst bring me yonder and show me amongst thy comrades—the +Tyrol maiden that thou hast captured, thy spoil of war?” +</p> +<p> +‘“Oh, Lydchen, dearest, why will you speak thus——” +</p> +<p> +‘“Never!” cried she, as her eyes flashed proudly, and her cheek flushed +red, “never! I have the blood of Hofer in my veins; and bethinkest thou I +would stoop to be a jest, a mockery, before thy high-born dames, who would +not deem me fit to be their waiting-woman? Farewell, sir. I hoped to part +with thee less in anger than in sorrow.” +</p> +<p> +‘“Then I will remain,” said I. +</p> +<p> +‘“Too late, too late!” cried she, waving her hand mournfully; “the hour is +past. See, there come your troops; a moment more, and I shall be taken. +You wish not this, at least——” +</p> +<p> +‘As she spoke, a cavalry detachment was seen coming up the valley at a +canter. A few minutes more and she would be discovered. I knew too well +the ruffian natures of the soldiery to hazard such a risk. I caught her to +my arms with one last embrace, and the next moment dashed down the path +towards the dragoons. I turned my head once, but she was gone; the peasant +guide had left the breach of the chasm, and they both were lost to my +view. +</p> +<p> +‘My story is now soon told. I was tried by a court-martial, honourably +acquitted, and restored to my grade—<i>en retraite</i>, however, for +my wound had disabled me from active service. For three years I lived in +retirement near Mayence, the sad memory of one unhappy event embittering +every hour of my life. +</p> +<p> +‘In the early part of 1809 a strong division of the French army, commanded +by my old friend and companion Lefebvre, entered Mayence, on their way to +Austria; and as my health was now restored, I yielded to his persuasion to +join his staff as first aide-de-camp. Indeed, a carelessness and +indifference to my fortune had made me submit to anything, and I assented +to every arrangement of the general, as if I were totally unconcerned in +it all. I need not trace the events of that rapid and brilliant campaign. +I will only remark that Eckmühl and Ratisbon both brought back all the +soldier’s ardour to my heart; and once more the crash of battle, and the +din of marching columns, aroused my dormant enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +‘In the month of April, a <i>corps d’armée</i> of twenty thousand men +entered the Tyrol, and pushed forward to the Niederwald, where Lefebvre +had his headquarters. I cannot stay to speak of the terrible scenes of +that period, the most fearful in the spirit of resistance that ever our +arms encountered. Detachments were cut off every day; whole columns +disappeared, and never again were heard of; no bivouac was safe from a +nightly attack, and even the sentinels at the gates of Innspruck were +repeatedly found dead on their posts. But, worse than all, daily instances +occurred of assassination by peasants, who sometimes dressed as sutlers +entered the camp, and took the opportunity to stab or shoot our officers, +caring nothing, as it seemed, for the certain death that awaited them. +These became of such frequent occurrence that scarce a report did not +contain one or two such casualties, and consequently every precaution that +could be thought of was adopted; and every peasant taken with arms—in +a country, too, where none are unarmed—was shot without trial of any +kind whatever. That little mercy, or indeed justice, was meted out to the +people, I need only say that Girardon was commandant of the garrison, and +daily inspected the executions on parade. +</p> +<p> +‘It happened that one morning this savage old officer was stabbed by an +Austrian peasant, who had long been employed as a camp servant and trusted +in situations of considerable confidence. The man was immediately led out +for execution to the Platz, where was another prisoner,—a poor boy +found rambling within the lines, and unable to give any account of his +presence there. Girardon, however, was only slightly wounded, and +countermanded the the execution of his assassin, not from motives of +forgiveness, but in order to defer it till he was himself able to be +present and witness it. And upon me, as next in command, devolved the +melancholy duty of being present on the parade. The brief note I received +from Girardon, reminded me of a former instance of weakness on my part, +and contained a sneering hope that I ‘had learned some portion of a +soldier’s duty, since I was reduced to the ranks at Strasbourg.’ +</p> +<p> +“When I reached the Platz, I found the officers of the Staff in the middle +of the square, where a table was placed, on which the order for the +execution was lying, awaiting my signature. +</p> +<p> +“‘The prisoner begs a word with the officer in command,’ said the orderly +serjeant. +</p> +<p> +“‘I cannot accede to his request.’ said I, trembling from head to foot, +and knowing how totally such an interview would unman me. +</p> +<p> +“‘He implores it, sir, with the utmost earnestness, and says he has some +important secret to reveal before his death.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘The old story—anything for five minutes more of life and +sun-shine,’ said an officer beside me. +</p> +<p> +“‘I must refuse.’ said I, ‘and desire that these requests may not be +brought before me.’ +</p> +<p> +“‘It is the only way, Colonel.’ said another; ‘and indeed such intervals +have little mercy in them; both parties suffer the more from them.’ +</p> +<p> +“This speech seemed to warrant my selfish determination, and I seized the +pen, and wrote my name to the order; and then handing it to the officer, +covered my face with my hands, and sat with my head leaning on the table. +</p> +<p> +“A bustle in front, and a wild cry of agony, told me that the preparations +were begun, and quick as lightning, the roar of a platoon fire followed. A +shriek, shrill and piercing, mingled with the crash, and then came a cry +from the soldiers, ‘It is a woman!’ +</p> +<p> +“‘With madness in my brain, and a vague dread—I know not of what—I +dashed forward through the crowd, and there, on the pavement, weltering in +her blood, lay the body of Lydchen: she was stone dead, her bosom +shattered by a dozen bullets. +</p> +<p> +“I fell upon the corpse, the blood poured from my mouth in torrents; and +when I arose, it was with a broken heart, whose sufferings are bringing me +to the grave.” +</p> +<p> +This sad story I have related without any endeavour to convey to my +reader, either the tone of him who told it, or the dreadful conflict of +feeling, which at many times prevented his continuing. In some few places +the very words he made use of were those I have employed, since they have +remained fast rooted in my memory, and were associated with the facts +themselves. Except in these slight particulars, I have told the tale as it +lives in my recollection, coupled with one of the saddest nights I ever +remember. +</p> +<p> +It was near morning when he concluded, tired and exhausted, yet to all +appearance calmer and more tranquil from the free current of that sorrow +he could not longer control. +</p> +<p> +“Leave me now,” said he, “for a few hours; my servant shall call you +before I go.” +</p> +<p> +It was to no purpose that I offered to accompany him, alleging—as +with an easy conscience I could do—that no one was less bound by any +ties of place or time. He refused my offer of companionship, by saying, +that strict solitude alone restored him after one of his attacks, and that +the least excitement invariably brought on a relapse. “We shall soon meet +again, I hope,” was the extent of promise I could obtain from him; and I +saw that to press the matter further was both unfair and indelicate. +</p> +<p> +Though I lay down in bed I could not sleep; a strange feeling of dread, an +anxious fear of something undefined, was over me; and at every noise I +arose and looked out of the window, and down the streets, which were all +still and silent. The terrible events of the tale were like a nightmare on +my mind, and I could not dismiss them. At last I fell into a half slumber, +from which I was awakened by the Baron’s servant. His master was +dangerously ill; another attack had seized him, and he was lying +senseless. I hastened to the room, where I found the sick man stretched +half dressed upon the bed, his face purple, and his eyeballs strained to +bursting; his breathing was heavy, and broken by a low, tremulous quaver, +that made each respiration like a half-suppressed sigh. While I opened the +window to give him air, and bathed his forehead with cold water, I +dispatched a servant for a doctor. +</p> +<p> +The physician was soon beside me; but I quickly saw that the case was +almost hopeless. His former disease had developed a new and, if possible, +worse one—aneurism of the heart. +</p> +<p> +I will not speak of the hourly vacillations of hope and fear in which I +passed that day and the following one. He had never regained +consciousness; but the most threatening symptoms had considerably abated, +and, in the physician’s eyes, he was better. On the afternoon of the third +day, as I sat beside his bed, sleep overtook me in my watching, and I +awoke feeling a hand within my own: it was Elgenheim’s. +</p> +<p> +Overjoyed at this sign of returning health, I asked him how he felt. A +faint sigh, and a motion of his hand towards his side, was all his reply. +Not daring to speak more, I drew the curtain, and sat still and silent at +his side. The window, by the physician’s order, was left open, and a +gentle breeze stirred the curtains lightly, and gave a refreshing air +within the apartment. A noise of feet, and a hurried movement in the +street, induced me to look out, and I now saw the head of an infantry +battalion turning into the Platz. They marched in slow time, and with arms +reversed. With a throb of horror, I remembered the deserter! Yes, there +he was! He marched between two dismounted gendarmes, without coat or cap; +a broad placard fixed on his breast, inscribed with his name and his +crime. I turned instantly towards the bed, dreading lest already the tramp +of the marching men had reached the sick man’s ear, but he was sleeping +calmly, and breathing without effort of any kind. +</p> +<p> +The thought seized me, to speak to the officer in command of the party, +and I rushed down, and making my way through the crowd, approached the +staff, as they were standing in the middle of the Platz. But my excited +manner, my look of wild anxiety, and my little knowledge of the language, +combined to make my appeal of little moment. +</p> +<p> +“If it be true, sir,” said a gruff old veteran, with a grisly beard, “that +he was an Officer of the Empire, the fire of a platoon can scarcely hurt +his nerves.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but,” said I, “there is a circumstance of his life which makes this +ten-fold more dangerous—I cannot explain it—I am not at +liberty—” +</p> +<p> +“I do not desire to learn your secrets, sir,” replied the old man rudely; +“stand back, and suffer me to do my duty.” +</p> +<p> +I turned to the others, but they could give me neither advice nor +assistance, and already the square was lined with soldiers, and the men of +the “death party” were ordered to stand out. +</p> +<p> +“Give me at least time enough to move my friend to a distant chamber, if +you will not do more,” said I, driven to madness; but no attention was +paid to my words, and the muster roll continued to be read out. +</p> +<p> +I rushed back to the inn, and up the stairs; but what was my horror to +hear the sound of voices, and the tramp of feet, in the sick room I had +left in silence. As I entered, I saw the landlord and the servant, +assisted by the doctor, endeavouring to hold down the Baron on his bed, +who with almost superhuman strength, pushed them from him in his efforts +to rise. His features were wild to insanity, and the restless darting of +his glistening eye, showed that he was under the excitement of delirium. +</p> +<p> +“The effort may kill him,” whispered the doctor in my ear; “this struggle +may be his death.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave me free, sir!” shouted the sick man. “Who dares to lay hands on me—stand +aside there—the peloton will take ground to the right,” continued +he, raising his voice as if commanding on parade; “Ground arms!” +</p> +<p> +Just at this instant, the heavy clank of the firelocks was heard without, +as though in obedience to his word. “Hark!” said he, raising his hand—“Not +a word—silence in the ranks.” And in the deadly stillness we could +now hear the sentence of death, as it was read aloud by the Adjutant. A +hoarse roll of the drum followed, and then, the tramp of the party as they +led forward the prisoner, to every step of which the sick man kept time +with his hand. +</p> +<p> +We did not dare to move—we knew not at what instant our resistance +might be his death. +</p> +<p> +“Shoulder arms!” shouted out the officer from the Platz. +</p> +<p> +“Take the orders from <i>me</i>,” cried Elgenheim wildly. “This duty is +mine—no man shall say I shrunk from it.” +</p> +<p> +“Present arms—Fire——” +</p> +<p> +“Fire!” shouted Elgenheim, with a yell that rose above the roll of +musketry; and then with a groan of agony, he cried out, “There—there—it’s +over now!” and fell back, dead, into our arms. +</p> +<p> +***** ***** +</p> +<p> +Thus died the leader of the stormers at Elchingen,—the man who +carried the Hill of Asperne against an Austrian battery. He sleeps now in +the little churchyard of the “Marien Hülfe” at Cassel. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. THE WARTBURG AND EISENACH. +</h2> +<p> +I left Cassel with a heart far heavier than I had brought into it some +weeks before. The poor fellow, whose remains I followed to the grave, was +ever in my thoughts, and all our pleasant rambles and our familiar +intercourse, were now shadowed over by the gloom of his sad destiny. So +must it ever be. He who seeks the happiness of his life upon the world’s +highways, must learn to carry, as best he may, the weary load of trouble +that “flesh is heir to.” There must be storm for sunshine; and for the +bright days and warm airs of summer, he must feel the lowering skies and +cutting winds of winter. +</p> +<p> +I set out on foot, muttering as I went, the lines of poor Marguerite’s +song, which my own depression had brought to memory. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Mein Ruh ist hin. Mein Hers ist schwer; +Ich finde sie nimmer—und, nimmer mehr.” +</pre> +<p> +The words recalled the Faust—the Faust, the Brocken, and so I +thought I could not do better than set out thither. I was already within three +days’ march of the Hartz, and besides, I should like to see Göttingen once +more, and have a peep at my old friends there. +</p> +<p> +It was only as I reached Münden to breakfast, that I remembered it was +Sunday, and so when I had finished my meal, I joined my host and his +household to church. What a simplicity is there in the whole Protestantism +of Germany—how striking is the contrast between the unpretending +features of the Reformed, and the gorgeous splendour of the Roman Catholic +Church. The benches of oak, on which were seated the congregation, made no +distinctions of class and rank. The little village authorities were +mingled with the mere peasants—the Pastor’s family sat nearest to +the reading-desk—that, was the only place distinguished from the +others. The building, like most of its era, was plain and un-ornamented—some +passages from Scripture were written on the walls, in different places, +but these were its only decoration. As I sat, awaiting the commencement of +the service, I could not avoid being struck by the marked difference of +feature, observable in Protestant, from what we see in Roman Catholic +communities—not depending upon nationality, for Germany itself is an +illustration in point. The gorgeous ceremonial of the Romish Church—its +venerable architecture—its prestige of antiquity—its pealing +organ, and its incense—all contribute to a certain exaltation of +mind, a fervour of sentiment, that may readily be mistaken for true +religious feeling. These things, connected and bound up with the most +awful and impressive thoughts the mind of man is capable of, cannot fail +to impress upon the features of the worshippers, an expression of +profound, heartfelt adoration, which poetizes the most commonplace, and +elevates the tone of even the most vulgar faces. Retsch had not to go far +for those figures of intense devotional character his works abound in—every +chapel contained innumerable studies for his pencil. The features of the +Protestant worshippers were calm, even to sternness—the eyes, not +bent upon some great picture, or some holy relic, with wondering +admiration, were downcast in meditation deep, or raised to heaven with +thoughts already there. There was a holy and a solemn awe in every face, +as though in the presence of <i>Him</i>, and in <i>His</i> Temple, the +passions and warm feelings of man were an unclean offering; that to +understand His truths, and to apply His counsels, a pure heart and a clear +understanding were necessary—and these they brought. To look on +their cold and stedfast faces, you would say that Luther’s own spirit—his +very temperament, had descended to his followers. There was the same +energy of character—the indomitable courage—the perseverance, +no obstacle could thwart—the determination, no opposition could +shake. The massive head, square and strong—the broad, bold forehead—the +full eye—the wide nostril, and the thick lip—at once the +indication of energy, of passion, and of power, are seen throughout Saxony +as the types of national features. +</p> +<p> +The service of the Lutheran church is most simple, and like that of our +Presbyterians at home, consists in a hymn, a portion of Scripture read +out, and—what is considered the greatest point of all—a +sermon, half prayer, half dissertation, which concludes the whole. Even +when the Pastors are eloquent men, which they rarely are, I doubt much if +German be a language well suited for pulpit oratory. There is an eternal +involution of phrase, a complexity in the expression of even simple +matters, which would for ever prevent those bold imaginative flights by +which Bossuet and Massillon appealed to the hearts and minds of their +hearers. Were a German to attempt this, his mysticism—the “maladie +du pays”—would at once interfere, and render him unintelligible. The +pulpit eloquence of Germany, so far as I have experience of it, more +closely resembles the style of the preachers of the seventeenth century, +when familiar illustrations were employed to convey such truths as rose +above the humble level of ordinary intellects; having much of the +grotesque quaintness our own Latimer possessed, without, unhappily, the +warm glow of his rich imagination, or the brilliant splendour of his +descriptive talent. Still the forcible earnestness, and the strong energy +of conviction, are to be found in the German pulpit, and these also may be +the heirlooms of “the Doctor.” as the Saxons love to call the great +reformer. +</p> +<p> +Some thoughts like these suggested a visit to the Wartburg, the scene of +Luther’s captivity—for such, although devised with friendly intent, +his residence there was; and so abandoning the Brocken, for the “nonce,” I +started for Eisenach. +</p> +<p> +As you approach the town of Eisenach—for I’m not going to weary you +with the whole road,—you come upon a little glen in the forest, the +“Thuringer Wald,” where the road is completely overshadowed, and even at +noonday, is almost like night. A little well, bubbling in a basin of rock, +stands at the road-side, where an iron ladle, chained to the stone, and a +rude bench, proclaim that so much of thought has been bestowed on the +wayfarer. As you rest from the heat and fatigue of the day, upon that +humble seat, you may not know that Martin Luther himself sat on that very +bench, tired and wayworn, as he came back from Worms, where, braving the +power of king and kaiser, he had gone manfully to defend his opinions, and +assert the doctrines of the Reformation. +</p> +<p> +It was there he lay down to sleep—a sleep I would dare to say; not +the less tranquil, because the excommunication of Rome had been fulminated +over his head. He was alone. He had refused every offer of companionship, +which zeal for the cause and personal friendship had prompted, when +suddenly he was aroused by the tramp of armed men, and the heavy +clattering of horses, coming up the glen. He knew his life was sought for +by his enemies, and what a grateful deed his assassination would be to +record within the halls of many a kingly palace. In an instant, he was on +his legs, and grasping his trusty broad-sword, he awaited the attack. Not +too soon, however, for scarcely had the horsemen come within sight, than, +putting spurs to their steeds, they bore down upon him; then checking +their horses suddenly, the leader called aloud to him, to surrender +himself his prisoner. +</p> +<p> +Good Martin’s reply was a stroke of his broad-sword that brought the +summoner from his saddle to the ground. Parley was at an end now, and they +rushed on him at once. Still, it was clear that their wish was not to kill +him, which from their numbers and superior equipment, could not have been +difficult. But Luther’s love of liberty was as great as his love of life, +and he laid about him like one who would sell either as dearly as he +could. At length, pressed by his enemies on every side, his sword broke +near the hut, he threw the useless fragment from his hand, and called out, +“Ich kann nicht mehr!”—“I can do no more!” +</p> +<p> +He was now bound with cords, and his eyes bandaged, conveyed to the castle +of the Wartburg, about two miles distant, nor did he know for several days +after, that the whole was a device of his friend and protector, the +Elector of Saxony, who wished to give currency to the story, that Luther’s +capture was a real one, and the Wartburg his prison, and not, as it really +proved, his asylum. Here he spent nearly a year, occupied in the +translation of the Bible, and occasionally preaching in the small chapel +of the “Schloss.” His strange fancies of combats with the evil one, are +among the traditions of the place, and the torn plaster of the wall is +pointed out as the spot where he hurled his inkstand at the fiend, who +tormented him in the shape of a large blue-bottle fly. +</p> +<p> +One cannot see, unmoved, that rude chamber, with its simple furniture of +massive oak, where the great monk meditated those tremendous truths that +were to shake thrones and dynasties, and awake the world from the charmed +sleep of superstition, in which, for centuries, it lay buried. +</p> +<p> +The force of his strong nature, his enthusiasm, and a kind of savage +energy he possessed, frequently overbalanced his reason, and he gave way +to wild rantings and ravings, which often followed on the longest efforts +of his mental labour, and seemed like the outpourings of an overcharged +intellect. The zeal with which he prosecuted his great task, was something +almost miraculous—often for thirty, or even forty, hours, did he +remain at the desk without food or rest, and then such was his exhaustion, +bodily as well as mental, that he would fall senseless on the floor, and +it required all the exertions of those about him to rally him from these +attacks. His first sensations on recovering, were ever those of a deadly +struggle with the evil one, by whose agency alone he believed his great +work was interrupted; and then the scene which succeeded would display all +the fearful workings of his diseased imagination. From these paroxysms, +nothing seemed to awake him so readily, as the presence of his friend +Melancthon, whose mild nature and angelic temperament were the exact +opposites of his bold, impetuous character. The sound of his voice alone +would frequently calm him in his wildest moments, and when the torrent of +his thought ran onward with mad speed, and shapes and images flitted +before his disordered brain, and earthly combats were mingled in his mind +with more dreadful conflicts, and that he burst forth into the violent +excesses of his passion—then, the soft breathings of Melancthon’s +flute, would still the storm, and lay the troubled waters of his soul—that +rugged nature would yield even to tears, and like a child, he would weep +till slumber closed his eyes. +</p> +<p> +I lingered the entire day in the Wartburg—sometimes in the +Rittersaal, where suits of ancient and most curious armour are preserved; +sometimes in the chapel, where the rude desk is shown at which Luther +lectured to the household of the “Schloss.” Here, too, is a portrait of +him, which is alleged to be authentic. The features are such as we see in +all his pictures; the only difference I could perceive, was, that he is +represented with a moustache, which gives, what a Frenchman near me called +an “air brigand” to the stern massiveness of his features. This +circumstance, slight as it is, rather corroborates the authenticity of the +painting, for it is well known that during his residence at the Wartburg, +he wore his beard in this fashion, and to many retainers of the castle, +passed for a Ritter, or a knight confined for some crime against the +state. +</p> +<p> +With a farewell look at the old chamber, where stands his oaken chair and +table, I left the Schloss, and as night was falling descended towards +Eisenach—for a description of whose water-mills and windmills, whose +cloth factories and toy shops, I refer you to various and several guide +books—only begging to say, on my own account, that the “Reuten +Kranta” is a seemly inn, and the host a pleasant German of the old school; +that is, in other words, one whose present life is always about twenty +years in advance of his thoughts, and who, while he eats and drinks in the +now century, thinks and feels with that which is gone. The latest event of +which he had any cognizance, was the retreat from Leipsic, when the French +poured through the village for five days without ceasing. All the great +features of that memorable retreat, however, were absorbed in his mind, by +an incident which occurred to himself, and at which, by the gravity of his +manner in relating it, I could not help laughing heartily. +</p> +<p> +When the commissariat arrived at Eisenach, to make arrangement for the +troops on their march, they allowed the inhabitants the option—a +pleasant one—of converting the billets, imposed upon them, for a +certain sum of money, in virtue of which, they obtained an exemption from +all intrusion on the part of men and officers, save those of the rank of +colonel and upwards; and in evidence, a great placard was affixed to their +door, setting forth the same, as a “general order,” Now as it was agreed +that only one officer should be accommodated at a time, the privilege was +worth paying for, particularly by our host of the “Rue Garland,” whose +larder was always stored with delicacies, and whose cellar was famed for +thirty miles round. He accordingly counted down his reichs-thalers, +gulden, and groschen—with a heavy heart it is true, but to avert a +heavier evil, and with his grand patent of immunity, hung out upon his +sign post, he gave himself no farther trouble about the war or its +chances. On the third evening of the retreat, however, a regiment of the +Chasseurs de la Garde, conspicuous by their green coats and white facings, +the invariable costume of the Emperor himself, entered the town, and +bivouacked in the little square. The colonel, a handsome fellow of about +five-and-thirty, or forty, looked about him sharply for a moment or two, +irresolute where he should fix his resting-place; when a savoury odour of +sausages frying in the “Reuten Krantz,” quickly decided his choice. He +entered at once, and making his bow to mine host, with that admirable +mixture of deference and command a Frenchman can always assume, ordered +his dinner to be got ready, and a bed prepared for him. +</p> +<p> +It was well worth the host’s while to stand on good terms with the +officers of rank, who could repress, or wink, at the liberties of the men, +as occasion served, and so the “Rue Garland” did its utmost that day to +surpass itself. +</p> +<p> +“Je dois vous prévenir,” said the colonel, laughing as he strolled from +the door, after giving his directions, “Je dois vous prévenir, que je +mange bien, et beaucoup.” +</p> +<p> +“Monsieur shall be content,” said the host, with a tap on his own stomach, +as though to say,—“The nourishment that has sufficed for this, may +well content such a carcass as thine—” +</p> +<p> +“And as for wine—continued the colonel. +</p> +<p> +“Zum kissen!” cried the host, with a smack of his lips, that could be +heard over the whole Platz, and which made a poor captain’s mouth water, +who guessed the allusion. +</p> +<p> +I shall not detail for my reader, though I most certainly heard myself the +long bill of fare, by which the Rue Branch intended to astonish the weak +nerves of the Frenchman, little suspecting, at the time, how mutual the +surprise was destined to be. I remember there was “fleisch” and “braten” +without end, and baked pike, and sausages, and boar’s head, and eels, and +potted mackerel, and brawn, and partridges; not to speak of all the roots +that ever gave indigestion since the flood, besides sweetmeats and +puddings, for whose genera and species it would take Buffon and Cuvier to +invent a classification. As I heard the formidable enumeration, I could +not help expressing my surprise at the extent of preparations, so +manifestly disproportionate to the amount of the company; but the host +soon satisfied me on this head, by saying, “that they were obliged to have +an immense supply of cold viands always ready to sell to the other +officers throughout the town, whom,” he added in a sly whisper, “they soon +contrived to make pay for the heavy ransom imposed on themselves.” The +display, therefore, which did such credit to his hospitality, was made +with little prospect of injuring his pocket—a pleasant secret, if it +only were practicable. +</p> +<p> +The hour of dinner arrived at last, and the Colonel, punctual to the +moment, entered the salon, which looked out by a window on the Platz—a +strange contrast, to be sure, for his eyes; the great side-board loaded +with luscious fare, and covered by an atmosphere of savoury smoke; and the +meagre bivouack without, where groups of officers sat, eating their simple +rations, and passing their goblets of washy beer from hand to hand. +</p> +<p> +Rouchefoucauld says, “There is always something pleasant in the +misfortunes of our best friends;” and as I suppose he knew his countrymen, +I conclude that the Colonel arranged his napkin on his knee with a high +sense of enjoyment for the little panorama which met his eyes on the +Platz. +</p> +<p> +It must certainly have been a goodly sight, and somewhat of a surprise +besides, for an old campaigner to see the table groaning under its display +of good things; amid which, like Lombardy poplars in a Flemish landscape, +the tall and taper necks of various flasks shot up—some frosted with +an icy crest, some cobwebbed with the touch of time. +</p> +<p> +Ladling the potage from a great silver tureen of antique mould, the host +stood beside the Colonel’s chair, enjoying—as only a host can enjoy—the +mingled delight and admiration of his guest; and now the work began in +right earnest. What an admirable soup, and what a glass of “Niederthaler”—no +hock was ever like it; and those pâtés—they were “en bechamelle.” +“He was sorry they were not oysters, but the Chablis, he could vouch for.” +And well he might; such a glass of wine might console the Emperor for +Leipsic. +</p> +<p> +“How did you say the trout was fried, my friend?” +</p> +<p> +“In mushroom gravy, dashed with anchovy.” +</p> +<p> +“Another slice, if you’ll permit me,” pop! “That flask has burst its bonds +in time; I was wishing to taste your ‘OEil de Perdrix.’” +</p> +<p> +The outposts were driven in by this time, and the heavy guns of the +engagement were brought down; in other words, the braten, a goodly dish of +veal, garnished with every incongruity the mind of man could muster, +entered; which, while the host carved at the side-board, the Colonel +devoured in his imagination, comforting himself the while by a salmi of +partridges with truffles. +</p> +<p> +Some invaluable condiment had, however, been forgotten with the veal, and +the host bustled out of the room in search of it. The door had not well +closed, when the Colonel dashed out a goblet of Champagne, and drank it at +a draught; then, springing from the window into the Platz, where already +the shadow of evening was falling, was immediately replaced by the Major, +whose dress and general appearance were sufficiently like his own to +deceive any stranger. +</p> +<p> +Helping himself without loss of time to the salmi, he ate away, like one +whose appetite had suffered a sore trial from suspense. +</p> +<p> +The salmi gave place to the veal, and the veal to the baked pike; for so +it is, the stomach, in Germany, is a kind of human ark, wherein, though +there is little order in the procession, the animals enter whole and +entire. The host watched his guest’s performance, and was in ecstasies—good +things never did meet with more perfect appreciation; and as for the wine, +he drank it like a Swabian, whole goblets full at a draught. At length, +holding up an empty flask, he cried out “Champagne!” And away trotted the +fat man to his cellar, rather surprised, it is true, how rapidly three +flasks of his “Aï Mousseux” had disappeared. +</p> +<p> +This was now the critical moment, and with a half-sigh of regret, the +Major leaped into the street, and the first Captain relieved the guard. +</p> +<p> +Poor fellow, he was fearfully hungry, and helped himself to the first dish +before him, and drank from the bottle at his side, like one whose stomach +had long ceased to be pampered by delicacies. +</p> +<p> +“Du Heiliger!” cried the host to himself, as he stood behind his chair, +and surveyed the performance. “Du Heiliger! how he does eat, one wouldn’t +suppose he had been at it these fifty minutes; art ready for the capon +now?” continued he, as he removed the keel and floor timbers of a saddle +of mutton. +</p> +<p> +“The capon,” sighed the other; “Yes, the capon, now.” Alas! he knew that +delicious dish was reserved for his successor. And so it was; before the +host re-entered, the second Captain had filled his glass twice, and was +anxiously sitting in expectation of the capon. +</p> +<p> +Such a bird as it was!—a very sarcophagus of truffles—a mine +of delicious dainties of every clime and cuisine. +</p> +<p> +“Good—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Delicious!” said the second Captain, filling a bumper, and handing it to +the host, while he clinked his own against it in friendly guise. +</p> +<p> +“A pleasant fellow, truly,” said the host, “and a social—but, Lord, +how he eats! There go the wings and the back! Himmel und Erde! if he isn’t +at the pasty now!” +</p> +<p> +“Wine!” cried the Frenchman, striking the table with the empty bottle, +“Wine.” +</p> +<p> +The host crossed himself, and went out in search of more liquor, muttering +as he shuffled along, “What would have become of me, if I hadn’t paid the +indemnity!” +</p> +<p> +The third Captain was at his post before the host got back, and whatever +the performance of his predecessors, it was nothing to his. The pasty +disappeared like magic, the fricandeau seemed to have melted away like +snow before the sun; while he drank, indiscriminately, Hock, Hermitage, +and Bordeaux, as though he were a camel, victualling himself for a three +weeks’ tramp in the desert. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/10372.jpg" width="100%" alt="372 " /> +</div> +<p> +The poor host now walked round the board, and surveyed the “débris” of the +feast, with a sad heart. Of all the joints which he hoped to have seen +cold on the shelves of his larder, some ruined fragments alone remained. +Here was the gable end of a turkey—there, the side wall of a +sirloin; on one side, the broken roof of a pasty; on the other, the bare +joists of a rib of beef. It was the Palmyra of things eatable, and a sad +and melancholy sight to gaze on. +</p> +<p> +“What comes next, good host?” cried the third Captain, as he wiped his +lips with his napkin. +</p> +<p> +“Next!” cried the host, in horror, “Hagel und regen! thou canst not eat +more, surely!” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know that,” replied the other, “the air of these mountains +freshens the appetite—I might pick a little of something sweet.” +</p> +<p> +With a groan of misery, the poor host placed a plum pie before the +all-devouring stranger, and then, as if to see that no legerdemain was +practised, stationed himself directly in front, and watched every morsel, +as he put it into his mouth. No, the thing was all fair, he ate like any +one else, grinding his food and smacking his lips, like an ordinary +mortal. The host looked down on the floor, and beneath the cloth of the +table—what was that for? Did he suspect the stranger had a tail? +</p> +<p> +“A glass of mulled claret with cloves!” said the frenchman, “and then you +may bring the dessert.” +</p> +<p> +“The Heavens be praised!” cried the host as he swept the last fragments of +the table into a wide tray, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! I thought you had forgotten me altogether, Captain,” said a stout, +fat fellow, as he squeezed himself with difficulty through the window, and +took his seat at the table. This was the Quarter-master of the Regiment, +and celebrated for his appetite throughout the whole brigade. +</p> +<p> +“Ach Gott! how he is swelled out!” was the first exclamation of the host, +as he re-entered the room; “and no wonder either, when one thinks of what +he has eaten.” +</p> +<p> +“How now, what’s this?” shouted the Quarter-master, as he saw the dessert +arranging on the table, “Sacré tonnerre! what’s all this?” +</p> +<p> +“The dessert—if you can eat it,” said the host, with a deep sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Eat it!—no—how the devil should I?” +</p> +<p> +“I thought not,” responded the other, submissively, “I thought not, even a +shark will get gorged at last!” +</p> +<p> +“Eh, what’s that you say?” replied the Quarter-master, roughly, “you don’t +expect a man to dine on figs and walnuts, or dried prunes and olives, do +you?” +</p> +<p> +“Dine!” shouted the host, “and have you not dined?” +</p> +<p> +“No, mille bombes, that I haven’t—as you shall soon see!” +</p> +<p> +“Alle Gute Geisten loben den Hernn!” said the host, blessing himself, “An +thou be’st the Satanus, I charge thee keep away!” +</p> +<p> +A shout of laughter from without, prevented the Quartermaster’s reply to +this exorcism being heard; while the trumpet sounded suddenly for “boot +and saddle.” +</p> +<p> +With a bottle of wine stuffed in each pocket, the Quartermaster rose from +table, and hurried away to join his companions, who had received sudden +orders to push forward towards Cassel, and as the bewildered host stood at +his window, while the regiment filed past, each officer saluted him +politely, as they cried out in turn, “Adieu, Monsieur! my compliments to +the braten”—“the turkey was delicious”—“the salmi perfect”—“the +capon glorious”—“the venison a chef-d’ouvre!” down to the fat +Quarter-master, who, as he raised a flask to his lips, and shook his head +reproachfully, said, “Ah! you old screw, nothing better than nuts and +raisins to give a hungry man for his dinner!” And so they disappeared from +the Platz, leaving mine host in a maze of doubt and bewilderment, which it +took many a day and night’s meditation to solve to his own conviction. +</p> +<p> +Though I cannot promise myself that my reader will enjoy this story as +much as I did, I could almost vouch for his doing so, if he heard it from +the host of the “Reuten Krantz” himself, told with the staid gravity of +German manner, and all the impressive seriousness of one who saw in the +whole adventure, nothing ludicrous whatever, but only a most unfair trick, +that deserved the stocks, or the pillory. +</p> +<p> +He was indeed a character in his way, his whole life had only room for +three or four incidents, about, and around which, his thoughts revolved, +as on an axis, and whose impression was too vivid to admit of any +occurrence usurping their place. When a boy, he had been in the habit of +acting as guide to the “Wartburg” to his father’s guests—for they +were a generation of innkeepers, time out of mind, and even yet, he spoke +of those days with transport. +</p> +<p> +It was amusing, too, to hear him talk of Luther, as familiarly as though +he had known him personally, mentioning little anecdotes of his career, +and repeating his opinions as if they were things of yesterday; but indeed +his mind had little more perspective than a Chinese tea-tray—everything +stood beside its neighbour, without shadow, or relief of any kind, and to +hear him talk, you would say that Melancthon and Marshal Macdonald might +have been personal friends, and Martin Luther and Ney passed an evening in +the blue salon of the Reuten Krantz. As for Eisenach and all about it, he +knew as little as though it were a city of Egypt. He <i>hoped</i> there +was a public library now—he <i>knew</i> there was in his father’s +time, but the French used to make cartridges with the books in many towns +they passed through—perhaps they had done the same here. These +confounded French—they seemed some way to fill every avenue of his +brain—there was no inlet of his senses, without a French sentinel on +guard over it. +</p> +<p> +Now,—for my sins, I suppose,—it so chanced that I was laid up +here for several weeks, with a return of an old rheumatism I had +contracted in one of my wanderings. Books, they brought me, but alas! the +only volumes a German circulating library ever contains are translations +of the very worst French and English works. The weather was, for the most +part, rainy and broken, and even when my strength permitted me to venture +into the garden, I generally got soundly drenched before I reached the +house again. What insupportable ennui is that which inhabits the inn of a +little remote town, where come few travellers, and no news! What a fearful +blank in existence is such a place. Just think of sitting in the little +silent and sanded parlour, with its six hard chairs, and one straight old +sofa, upholstered with flock and fleas; counting over the four prints in +black wood frames, upon the walls. Scripture subjects, where Judith, with +a quilted petticoat and sabots, cuts the head off a Holofernes in +buckskins and top boots, and catches the blood in a soup tureen; an +Abraham with a horse pistol, is threatening a little Isaac in jacket and +trowsers, with a most villanous expression about the corners of his eyes; +and the old looking-glass, cracked in the middle, and representing your +face, in two hemispheres, with a nose and one eye to each—the whole +tinged with a verd antique colouring that makes you look like a man in +bronze. +</p> +<p> +Outside the door, but near enough for every purpose of annoyance, stands a +great hulking old clock, that ticks away incessantly—true type of +time that passes on its road whether you be sick or sorry, merry or +mournful. With what a burr the old fellow announces that he is going to +strike—it is like the asthmatic wheezing of some invalid, making an +exertion beyond his strength, and then, the heavy plod of sabots, back and +forward through the little hall, into the kitchen, and out again to the +stable yard; with the shrill yell of some drabbled wench, screaming for +“Johann” or “Jacob;” and all the little platitudes of the “ménage” that +reach you, seasoned from time to time by the coarse laughter of the boors, +or the squabbling sounds that issue streetwards, where some vender of +“schnaps” or “kirch-wasser” holds his tap. +</p> +<p> +What a dreary sensation comes over one, to think of the people who pass +their lives in such a place, with its poor little miserable interests +and occupations! and how one shudders at the bare idea of sinking down to +the level of such a stagnant pool—knowing the small notorieties, and +talking like them; and yet, with all this holy horror, how rapidly, and +insensibly, is such a change induced. Every day rubs off some former +prejudice, and induces some new habit, and, as the eye of the prisoner, in +his darksome dungeon, learns to distinguish each object clear, as if in +noon-day; so will the mind accommodate itself to the moral gloom of such a +cell as this, ay, and take a vivid interest in each slight event that goes +on there, as though he were to the “manner born.” +</p> +<p> +In a fortnight, or even less, I lay awake, conjecturing why the urchin who +brought the mail from Gotha, had not arrived;—before three weeks I +participated in the shock of the town, at the conduct of the Frow von +Bütterwick, who raised the price of Schenkin or Schweinfleisch, I forget +which—by some decimal of a farthing; and fully entered into the +distressed feelings of the inhabitants, who foretold a European war, from +the fact that a Prussian corporal with a pack on his shoulders, was seen +passing through the town, that morning, before day-break. +</p> +<p> +When I came to think over these things, I got into a grievous state of +alarm. “Another week, Arthur,” said I, “and thou art done for: Eisenach +may claim thee as its own; and the Grand Duke of———, +Heaven forgive me! but I forget the Potentate of the realm,—he may +summon thee to his counsels, as the Hoch Wohlgeborner und Gelehrter, Herr +von O’Leary; and thou may’st be found here some half century hence, with a +pipe in thy mouth, and thy hands in thy side pockets, discoursing fat +consonants, like any Saxon of them all. Run for it, man, run for it; away, +with half a leg, if need be; out of the kingdom with all haste; and if it +be not larger than its neighbours, a hop, step, and jump, ought to suffice +for it.” +</p> +<p> +Will any one tell me—I’ll wager they cannot—why it is, that if +you pass a week or a month, in any out-of-the-way place, and either from +sulk or sickness, lead a solitary kind of humdrum life; that when you are +about to take your leave, you find half the family in tears. Every man, +woman, and child, thinks it incumbent on them to sport a mourning face. +The host wipes his eye with the corner of the bill; the waiter blows his +nose in the napkin; the chambermaid holds up her apron; and boots, with a +side wipe of his blacking hand, leaves his countenance in a very fit state +for the application of the polishing brush. As for yourself, the position +is awkward beyond endurance. +</p> +<p> +That instant you feel sick of the whole household, from the cellar to the +garret. You had perilled your soul in damning them all in turn; and now it +comes out, that you are the “enfant chéri” of the establishment. What a +base, blackhearted fellow you must be all the time; in short, you feel it; +otherwise, why is your finger exploring so low in the recesses of your +purse. Confound it, you have been very harsh and hasty with the good +people, and they did their best after all. +</p> +<p> +Take up your abode at Mivart’s or the Clarendon; occupy for the six months +of winter, the suite of apartments at Crillons or Meurice; engage the +whole of the “Schwann” at Vienna; aye, or even the Grand Monarque, at Aix; +and I’ll wager my head, you go forth at the end of it, without causing a +sigh in the whole household. Don’t flatter yourself that Mivart will stand +blubbering over the bill, or Meurice be half choked with his sobs. The +Schwann doesn’t care a feather of his wing, and as for the Grand Monarque, +you might as well expect his prototype would rise from the grave to +embrace you. A civil grin, that half implies, “You’ve been well plucked +here,” is the extent of parting emotion, and a tear couldn’t be had for +the price of Tokay. +</p> +<p> +Well, I bid adieu to the Reuten Krantz, in a different sort of mood from +what I expected. I shook the old “Rue Branch” himself heartily by the +hand, and having distributed a circle of gratuities—for the sum +total of which I should have probably been maltreated by a London waiter—I +took my staff, and sallied forth towards Weimar, accompanied by a shower +of prayers and kind wishes, that, whether sincere or not, made me feel +happier the whole day after. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. “ERFURT” +</h2> +<p> +I narrowly escaped being sent to the guardhouse for the night, as I +approached Erfurt—for seeing that it was near nine o’clock when the +gates of the fortress are closed, I quickened my pace to a trot, not aware +of the “règlement” which forbids any one to pass rapidly over the +drawbridges of a fortification. Now, though the rule be an admirable one +when applied to those heavy diligences which, with three tons of +passengers, and six of luggage, come lumbering along the road, and might +well be supposed to shake the foundations of any breast-work or barbican; +yet, that any man of mortal mould, any mere creature of the biped class—even +with two shirts and a night-cap in his pack—could do this, is more +than I can conceive; and so it was, I ran, and if I did, a soldier ran +after me, three more followed him, and a corporal brought up the rear, and +in fact, so imposing was the whole scene, that any unprejudiced spectator, +not overversed in military tactics, might have imagined that I was about +to storm Erfurt, and had stolen a march upon the garrison. After all, the +whole thing was pretty much like what Murat did at Vienna, and perhaps it +was that which alarmed them. +</p> +<p> +I saw I had committed a fault, but what it was I couldn’t even guess, and +as they all spoke together, and such precious bad German, too, (did you +ever know a foreigner not complain of the abominable faults people commit +in speaking their own language?) that though I cried “peccavi,” I +remembered myself, and did not volunteer any confessions of iniquity, +before I heard the special indictment, and it seemed I had very little +chance of doing that, such was the confusion and uproar. +</p> +<p> +Now, there are two benevolent institutions in all law, and according to +these, a man may plead, either “in forma pauperis,” or “in forma stultus.” +I took the latter plea, and came off triumphant—my sentence was +recorded as a “Dummer Englander,” and I went my way, rejoicing. +</p> +<p> +Well, “I wish them luck of it!” as we say in Ireland, who have a fancy for +taking fortified towns. Here was I, inside of one, the gates closed, +locked, and barred behind me, a wall of thirty feet high, and a ditch of +fifty feet deep, to keep me in, and hang me if I could penetrate into the +interior. I suppose I was in what is called a parallel, and I walked +along, turning into a hundred little, crooked corners, and zig-zag +contrivances, where an embrasure, and a cannon in it, were sure to be +found. But as nothing are so like each other as stone walls, and as I +never, for the life of me, could know one seventy-four pounder from +another, I wandered about, very sadly puzzled to ascertain if I had not +been perambulating the same little space of ground for an hour and a half. +Egad! thought I, if there were no better engineers in the world than me, +they might leave the gates wide open, and let the guard go to bed. Hollo, +here’s some one coming along, that’s fortunate, at last—and just +then, a man wrapped in a loose cloak, German fashion, passed close beside +me. +</p> +<p> +“May I ask, mein Herr, which is the direction of the town, and where I can +find an inn?” said I, taking off my hat, most punctiliously, for although +it was almost pitch-dark, that courtesy cannot ever be omitted, and I have +heard of a German, who never talked to himself, without uncovering. +</p> +<p> +“Straight forward, and then to your left, by the angle of the citadel—you +can take a short cut through the covered way——” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid!” interrupted I; “where all is fair and open, my chance is +bad enough—there is no need of a concealed passage, to confuse me.” +</p> +<p> +“Come with me, then,” said he, laughing, “I perceive you are a foreigner—this +is somewhat longer, but I’ll see you safe to the ‘Kaiser,’ where you’ll +find yourself very comfortable.” +</p> +<p> +My guide was an officer of the garrison, and seemed considerably flattered +by the testimony I bore to the impregnability of the fortress; describing +as we went along, for my better instruction, the various remarkable +features of the place. Lord, how weary I was of casemates and embrasures, +of bomb-proofs and culverins, half-moons and platforms; and as I +continued, from politeness to express my surprise and wonderment, he took +the more pains to expound those hidden treasures; and I verily believe he +took me a mile out of my way, to point out the place, in the dark, where a +large gun lay, that took a charge of one hundred and seventy livres +weight. I was now fairly done up; and having sworn solemnly that the +French army dare not show their noses this side of the Rhine, so long as a +Corporal’s guard remained at Erfurt, I begged hard to have a peep at the +“Kaiser.” +</p> +<p> +“Won’t you see the Rothen Stein?” said he. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow,—if I survive,” said I, dropping my voice for the last +words. +</p> +<p> +“Nor the Wunder Brucke?——” +</p> +<p> +“With God’s blessing, to-morrow, I’ll visit them all; I came for the +purpose.” Heaven pardon the lie, I was almost fainting. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, then,” said he, “We must go back again now. We have come a good +distance out of our road.” +</p> +<p> +With a heavy groan, I turned back; and if I did not curse Vauban and +Carnot, it was because I am a good Christian, and of a most forgiving +temper. +</p> +<p> +“Here we are now, this is the Kaiser,” said he, as after half an hour’s +sharp walking, we stood within a huge archway, dimly lighted by a great +old-fashioned lantern. +</p> +<p> +“You stop here some days, I think you said?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, for a fortnight; or a week, at least.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you’ll permit me, I’ll have great pleasure in conducting you +through the fortress, to-morrow and next day. You can’t see it all under +two days, and even with that, you’ll have to omit the arsenals and the +shot batteries.” +</p> +<p> +I expressed my most grateful acknowledgments, with an inward vow, that if +I took refuge in the big mortar, I’d not be caught by my friend the next +morning. +</p> +<p> +“Good night, then,” said he, with a polite bow. “Bis Morgen.”— +</p> +<p> +“Bis Morgen,” repeated I, and entered the Kaiser. +</p> +<p> +The “Romischer Kaiser” was a great place once; but now, alas! its “Diana +is fallen!” Time was, when two Emperors slept beneath its roof, and the +Ambassadors of Kings assembled within its walls. It was here Napoleon +exercised that wonderful spell of enchantment he possessed above all other +men, and so captivated the mind of the Emperor Alexander, that not even +all the subsequent invasion of his empire, nor the disasters of Moscow, +could eradicate the impression. The Czar alone, of his enemies, would have +made terms with him in 1814; and when no other voice was raised in his +favour, Alexander’s was heard, commemorating their ancient friendship, and +recalling the time when they had been like brothers. Erfurt was the scene +of their first friendship. Many now living, have seen Napoleon, with his +arm linked within Alexander’s, as they walked along; and marked the +spell-bound attention of the Czar, as he listened to the burning words, +and rapid eloquence of Buonaparte, who, with a policy all his own, devoted +himself completely to the young Emperor, and resolved on winning him over. +They were never separate on horseback or on foot. They dined, and went to +the theatre together each evening; and the flattery of this preference, so +ostentatiously paraded by Napoleon, had its full effect on the ardent +imagination, and chivalrous heart of the youthful Czar. +</p> +<p> +Fêtes, reviews, gala parties, and concerts, followed each other in quick +succession. The corps of the “Français” was brought expressly from Paris; +the ballet of the Opera also came, and nothing was omitted which could +amuse the hours of Alexander, and testify the desire of his host—for +such Napoleon was—to entertain him with honour. Little, then, did +Napoleon dream, that the frank-hearted youth, who hung on every word he +spoke, would one day prove the most obstinate of all his enemies; nor was +it for many a day after, that he uttered, in the bitter venom of +disappointment, when the rugged energy of the Muscovite showed an +indomitable front to the strength of his armies, and was deaf to his +attempted négociations, “Scrape the Russian, and you’ll come down on the +Tartar.” +</p> +<p> +Alexander was indeed the worthy grandson of Catherine, and, however a +feeling of personal regard for Napoleon existed through the vicissitudes +of after-life, it is no less true that the dissimulation of the Russian +had imposed on the Corsican; and that while Napoleon believed him all his +own, the duplicity of the Muscovite had overreached him. It was in +reference to that interview and its pledged good faith, Napoleon, in one +of his cutting sarcasms, pronounced him, “Faux comme un Grec du Bas +Empire.” +</p> +<p> +Nothing troubled the happiness of the meeting at Erfurt. It was a joyous +and a splendid fête, where, amid all the blandishments of luxury and +pleasure, two great kings divided the world at their will. It was +Constantine and Charlemagne who partitioned the East and West between each +other. The sad and sorrow-struck King of Prussia came not there as at +Tilsit; nor the fair Queen of that unhappy kingdom, whose beauty and +misfortunes might well have claimed the compassion of the conqueror. +</p> +<p> +Never was Napoleon’s character exhibited in a point of view less amiable +than in his relations with the Queen of Prussia. If her position and her +personal attractions had no influence over him, the devoted attachment of +her whole nation towards her, should have had that effect. There was +something unmanly in the cruelty that replied to her supplication in +favour of her country, by trifling allusions to the last fashions of +Paris, and the costumes of the Boulevard; and when she accepted the +moss-rose from his hand, and tremblingly uttered the words—“Sire, +avec Magdebourg?”—a more suitable rejection of her suit might have +been found, than the abrupt “Non!” of Napoleon, as he turned his back and +left her. There was something prophetic in her speech, when relating the +anecdote herself to Hardenberg, she added— +</p> +<p> +“That man is too pitiless to misfortune, ever to support it himself, +should it be his lot!” +</p> +<p> +But what mean all these reflections, Arthur? These be matters of history, +which the world knows as well, or better than thyself. “Que diable +allez-vous faire dans cette galère?” Alas! this comes of supping in the +Speise Saal of the “Kaiser,” and chatting with the great round-faced +Prussian in uniform, at the head of the table; he was a lieutenant of the +guard at Tilsit, and also at Erfurt with despatches in 1808; he had a +hundred pleasant stories of the fêtes, and the droll mistakes the +body-guard of the Czar used to fall into, by ignorance of the habits and +customs of civilized life. They were Bashkirs, and always bivouacked in +the open street before the Emperor’s quarters, and spent the whole night +through chanting a wild and savage song, which some took up, as others +slept, and when day broke, the whole concluded with a dance, which, from +the description I had of it, must have been something of the most uncouth +and fearful that could be conceived. +</p> +<p> +Napoleon admired those fellows greatly, and more than one among them left +Erfurt with the cross of the Legion at his breast. +</p> +<p> +Tired and weary, as I was, I sat up long past midnight, listening to the +Prussian, who rolled out his reminiscences between huge volumes of smoke, +in the most amusing fashion. And when I did retire to rest, it was to fall +into a fearful dream about Bashkirs and bastions; half-moons, hot shot, +and bomb-proofs, that never left me till morning broke. +</p> +<p> +“The Rittmeister von Otterstadt presents his compliments,” said the +waiter, awakening me from a heavy sleep—“presents his compliments—-” +</p> +<p> +“Who?” cried I, with a shudder. +</p> +<p> +“The Rittmeister von Otterstadt, who promised to show you the fortress.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m ill,—seriously ill,” said I, “I should not be surprised if it +were a fever.” +</p> +<p> +“Probably so,” echoed the immovable German, and went on with his message. +“The Herr Rittmeister regrets much that he is ordered away on Court +Martial duty to Entenburg, and cannot have the honour of accompanying you, +before Saturday, when——” +</p> +<p> +“With Heaven’s assistance, I shall be out of the visible horizon of +Erfurt,” said I, finishing the sentence for him. +</p> +<p> +Never was there a mind so relieved as mine was by this intelligence; the +horrors of that two days’ perambulations through arched passages, up and +down flights of stone steps, and into caves and cells, of whose uses and +objects I had not the most remote conception, had given me a night of +fearful dreams, and now, I was free once more. +</p> +<p> +Long live the King of Prussia! say I, who keeps up smart discipline in his +army, and I fervently trust, that Court Martial may be thoroughly +digested, and maturely considered; and the odds are in my favour that I’m +off before it’s over. +</p> +<p> +What is it, I wonder, that makes the inhabitants of fortified towns always +so stupid? Is such the fact?—first of all, asks some one of my +readers. Not a doubt of it—if you ever visited them, and passed a +week or two within their walls, you would scarcely ask the question. Can +curtains and bastions—fosses and half-moons, exclude intelligence as +effectually as they do an enemy? are batteries as fatal to pleasure as +they are to platoons? I cannot say; but what I can and will say, is, that +the most melancholy days and nights I ever passed, have been in great +fortresses. Where the works are old and tumbling, some little light of the +world without, will creep in through the chinks and crevices, as at +Antwerp and Mentz; but let them be well looked to—the fosses full—no +weeds on the ramparts—the palisades painted smart green, and the +sentry boxes to match, and God help you! +</p> +<p> +There must be something in the humdrum routine of military duty, that has +its effect upon the inhabitants. They get up at morning, by a signal gun; +and they go to bed by another; they dine by beat of drum, and the garrison +gives the word of command for every hour in the twenty-four; There is no +stir, no movement; a patrol, or a fatigue party, are the only things you +meet, and when you prick up your ears at the roll of wheels, it turns out +to be only a tumbril with a corporal’s guard! +</p> +<p> +Theatres can scarcely exist in such places; a library would die in a week; +there are no soirées; no society. Billiards and beer, form the staple of +officers’ pleasures, in a foreign army, and certainly they have one +recommendation, they are cheap. +</p> +<p> +Now, as there was little to see in Erfurt, and still less to do, I made up +my mind to start early the next day, and push forward to Weimar, a good +resolution as far as it went, but then, how was the day to be passed? +People dine at “one” in Germany, or, if they wish to push matters to a +fashionable extreme, they say “two.” How is the interval, till dark, to be +filled up—taking it for granted you have provided some occupation +for that? Coffee, and smoking, will do something, but except to a German, +they can’t fill up six mortal hours. Reading is out of the question after +such a dinner,—riding would give you apoplexy—sleep, alone, is +the resource. Sleep “that wraps a man, as in a blanket,” as honest Sancho +says, and sooth to say, one is fit for little else, and so, having ordered +a pen and ink to my room, as if I were about to write various letters, I +closed the door, and my eyes, within five minutes after, and never awoke +till the bang of a “short eighteen” struck six. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. THE HERR. DIRECTOR KLUG. +</h2> +<p> +“Which is the way to the theatre?” said I to an urchin who stood at the +inn door, in that professional attitude of waiting, your street runners, +in all cities, can so well assume; for, holding a horse, and ringing a +bell, are accomplishments, however little some people may deem them. +</p> +<p> +“The theatre?” echoed he, measuring me leisurely from head to foot, and +not stirring from his place. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, “they told me there was one here, and that they played +to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Possibly,” with a shrug of the shoulders, was the reply, and he smoked +his short pipe, as carelessly as before. +</p> +<p> +“Come then, show me the way,” said I, pulling out some kreutzers, “put up +that pipe for ten minutes, and lead on.” +</p> +<p> +The jingle of the copper coin awakened his intelligence, and though he +could not fathom my antipathy to the fumes of bad tobacco, he deposited +the weapon in his capacious side pocket, and with a short nod, bade me +follow him. +</p> +<p> +No where does nationality exhibit itself so strikingly, as in the conduct +and bearing of the people who show you the way, in different cities. Your +German is sententious and solemn as an elephant, he goes plodding along +with his head down and his hands in his pockets, answering your questions +with a sulky monosyllable, and seeming annoyed when not left to his own +meditations. The Frenchman thinks, on the contrary, that he is bound to be +agreeable and entertaining, he is doing the honours of La Grande Nation, +and it stands him upon, that you are not to go away discontented with the +politeness of “the only civilized people of Europe.” Paddy has some of +this spirit too, but less on national than individual grounds; he likes +conversation, and leads the way to it; beside, no one, while affecting to +give information himself, can pump a stranger, like an Irishman. The +Yankee plan is cross-examination outright, and no disguise about it; if he +shows the way to one place, it is because you must tell him where you came +from last; while John Bull, with a brief “Don’t know, I’m sure,” is +equally indifferent to your road and your fortune, and has no room for any +thoughts about you. +</p> +<p> +My “avant courier” was worthy of his country; if every word had cost him a +molar tooth, he couldn’t have been more sparing of them, and when by +chance I either did not hear or rightly understand what he did say, +nothing could induce him to repeat it; and so, on we went from the more +frequented part of the town, till we arrived at a quarter of narrow +streets, and poor-looking houses, over the roofs of which I could from +time to time, catch glimpses of the fortifications; for we were at the +extreme limits of the place. +</p> +<p> +“Are you quite certain this is the way, my lad?” said I, for I began to +fear lest he might have mistaken the object of my inquiry. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes—there it was—there was the theatre,” and so he +pointed to a large building of dark stone, which closed the end of the +street, and on the walls of which, various placards and announcements were +posted, which, on coming nearer, I found were bills for their night’s +performance, setting forth how the servants of his Majesty would perform +“Den Junker in den Residentz,” and the afterpiece of “Krähwinkel.” There +was a very flourishing catalogue of actors and actresses, with names as +hard as the dishes in a bill of fare; and something about a “ballet,” and +a “musical intermezzo.” +</p> +<p> +Come—said I to myself—this is a piece of good fortune. And so, +dismissing my little foot page I turned to the door, which stood within a +deep porch. +</p> +<p> +What was my amazement, however, to find it closed—I looked on every +side, but there was no other entrance; besides, the printed list of places +and their prices, left no doubt that this was the regular place of +admission. There’s no knowing, after all,—thought I—these +Germans are strange folks; perhaps they don’t open the door without +knocking, and so, here goes. +</p> +<p> +“In Himmel’s namen was ist das?” screamed an angry voice, as a very +undignified-looking Vrau peeped from a window of a foot square, above the +door—“What do you want with that uproar there?” roared she, louder +than before. +</p> +<p> +“I want to get in—a place in the boxes, or a ‘stalle’ in the +‘balcon’—anywhere will do.” +</p> +<p> +“What for?” cried she again. +</p> +<p> +“What for!—for the play to be sure—for the ‘Junker in den +Resident.’” +</p> +<p> +“He is not here at all—go your ways—or I’ll call the Polizey,” +yelled she, while, banging the window, there was an end of the dialogue. +</p> +<p> +“Can I be of any service to you, mein Herr?” said a portly little fellow, +without a coat, who was smoking at his door—“What is it you want?” +</p> +<p> +“I came to see a play,” said I, in amazement at the whole proceedings, +“and here I find nothing but an old beldam that threatens me with the +police.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! as for the play I don’t know,” replied he, scratching his head, “but +come with me over here to the ‘Fox’ and we’re sure to see the Herr +Director.” +</p> +<p> +“But I’ve nothing to do with the Herr Director,” said I; “if there’s no +performance I must only go back again—that’ s all.” +</p> +<p> +“Aye! but there may though,” rejoined my friend; “come along and see the +Herr himself, I know him well, and he’ll tell you all about it.” +</p> +<p> +The proposition was at least novel, and as the world goes, that same is +not without its advantages, and so I acceded, and followed my new guide, +who, in the careless <i>négligée</i> of a waistcoat and breeches, waddled +along before me. +</p> +<p> +The “Fox” was an old-fashioned house, of framed wood, with queer +diamond-shaped panes to the windows, and a great armorial coat over the +door, where a fox, in black oak, stood out conspicuously. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had we entered the low arched door, when the fumes of schnaps and +tobacco nearly suffocated me; while the merry chorus of a drinking song, +proclaimed that a jolly party was assembled. +</p> +<p> +I already repented of my folly in yielding to the strange man’s proposal, +and had he been near, would at once have declined any further step in the +matter; but he had disappeared in the clouds,—the disc of his drab +shorts was all I could perceive through the nebulae. It was confoundedly +awkward, so it was. What right had I to hunt down the Herr Director, and +disturb him in his lair. It was enough that there was no play; any other +man would have quietly returned home again, when he saw such was the case. +</p> +<p> +While I revolved these thoughts with myself, my fat friend issued from the +mist, followed by a tall, thin man, dressed in deep black, with tights and +hessians of admirable fit; a pair of large, bushy whiskers bisected his +face, meeting at the corners of the nose; while a sharp, and pointed chin +tuft, seemed to prolong the lower part of his countenance to an immense +extent. +</p> +<p> +Before the short man had well uttered his announcement of the “Herr +Director,” I had launched forth into the most profuse apologies for my +unwarrantable intrusion, expressing in all the German I could muster, the +extent of my sorrow, and ringing the changes on my grief and my modesty, +my modesty and my grief; at last I gave in, fairly floored for want of the +confounded verb one must always clinch the end of a sentence with, in +German. +</p> +<p> +“It was to see the play then, Monsieur came?” said the Director, +inquiringly, for alas! my explanation had been none of the clearest. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said I, “for the play—but——” Before I could +finish the sentence, he flung himself into my arms, and cried out with +enthusiasm, “Du bist mein Vater’s Sohn!” +</p> +<p> +This piece of family information, was unquestionably new to me, but I +disengaged myself from my brother’s arms, curious to know the meaning of +such enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“And so you came to see the play?” cried he, in a transport, while he +threw himself into a stage attitude of great effect. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” said I, “to see the ‘Junker,’ and ‘Krähwinkel.’” +</p> +<p> +“Ach Grott! that was fine, that was noble!” +</p> +<p> +Now, how any man’s enterprising a five-franc piece or two gulden-müntze, +could, deserve such epithets, would have puzzled me at another moment; but +as the dramatist said, I wasn’t going to “mind squibs after sitting over a +barrel of gunpowder,” and I didn’t pay the least attention to it. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your hand!” cried he, in a rapture, “and let me call you friend.” +</p> +<p> +The Director’s mad as a March hare! thought I, and I wished myself well +out of the whole adventure. +</p> +<p> +“But as there’s no play,” said I, “another night will do as well; I shall +remain here for a week to come, perhaps longer——” +</p> +<p> +But while I went on expressing the great probability of my passing a +winter in Erfurt, he never paid the least attention to my observations, +but seemed sunk in meditation, occasionally dropping in a stray phrase, as +thus—“Die Wurtzel is sick, that is, she is at the music garden with +the officers; then, Blum is drunk by this; der Ettenbaum couldn’t sing a +note after his supper of schinkin. But then there’s Grundenwald, and +Catinka, to be sure, and Alte Kreps—we’ll do it, we’ll do it! Come +along, mien aller Liebster, and choose the best ‘loge du premier,’ take +two, three, if you like it—you shall see a play.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? you are surely not going to open the house for <i>me!</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Ain’t I though! you shall soon see—it’s the only audience I ever had +in Erfurt, and I’m not going to lose it. Know, most worthy friend,” +continued he with a most melodramatic tone and gesture, “that to-night is +the twelfth time I have given out an announcement of a play, and yet never +was able to attract—I will not say an audience—but not a row—not +a ‘loge’—not even a ‘stalle’ in the balcon. I opened, why do I say I +opened? I advertised, the first night, Schiller’s Maria Stuart, you know +the Maria—well, such a Madchen as we have for the part! such +tenderness—such music in her voice—such grace and majesty in +every movement; you shall see for yourself, Catinka is here. Then I gave +out ‘Nathan der Weise,’ then the ‘Goetz,’ then ‘Lust und Liebe,’—why +do I go on? in a word I went through all our dramatic authors from +Schiller, Göthe, Leasing, Werner, Grillparzer, down to Kötzebue, whose two +pieces I advertised for this evening—” +</p> +<p> +“But—pardon my interruption—did you always keep the doors +closed, as I found them?” +</p> +<p> +“Not at first,” responded he, solemnly; “the doors were open, and a system +of telegraphs established between the bureau for payment and the +orchestra, by which the footlights were to be illuminated on the arrival +of the first visiter; but the bassoon and the drum, the clarinette and the +oboe, stood like cannoneers, match in hand, from half-past six till eight, +and never came the word ‘fire!’ But here we are.” +</p> +<p> +With these words he produced from his pocket a massive key, with which he +unlocked the door, and led me forward by the arm into a dark passage, +followed by our coatless friend, whom he addressed as “Herr Stauf,” +desiring him to come in also. While the Herr Director was waiting for a +light, which the Vrau seemed in no hurry to bring, he continued his +recital. “When I perceived matters were thus, I vowed two vows, solemnly, +and before the whole corps, ballet, chorus, and all; first, that I would +give twelve representations—I mean announcements of representation—from +twelve separate dramatists, before I left Erfurt; and, secondly, that for +a single spectator, I would open the house, and have a play acted. One +part of my oath is already accomplished; your appearance calls on me for +the other. This over, I shall leave Erfurt for ever; and if,” continued +he, “the fates ever discover me again within the walls of a fortified town—unless +I be sent there in handcuffs, and with a peloton of dragoons—may I +never cork my eyebrows while I live!” +</p> +<p> +This resolve, so perfectly in accordance with the meditations I had lately +indulged in myself, gave me a higher opinion of the Herr Director’s +judgment, and I followed him with a more tranquil conscience than at +first. +</p> +<p> +“There are four steps there—take care,” cried he, “and feel along by +the wall here; for though this place should be, and indeed is, by right, +one blaze of lamps, I must now conduct you by this miserable candle.” +</p> +<p> +And so, through many a narrow passage, and narrower door, up-stairs and +down, over benches, and under partitions, we went, until at length we +arrived upon the stage itself. The curtain was up, and before it, in +yawning blackness, lay the audience part of the house—a gloomy and +dreary cavern; the dark cells of the boxes, and the long, untenanted, +benches of the “balcon,” had an effect of melancholy desolation impossible +to convey. Up above, the various skies and moon scenes hung, flapping to +and fro with the cold wind, that came, Heaven knows whence, but with a +piercing sharpness I never felt the equal of within doors; while the back +of the stage was lost in a dim distance, where fragments of huts, and +woods, mills, mountains, and rustic bridges, lay discordantly intermixed—the +chaos of a stage world. +</p> +<p> +The Herr Director waved his dip candle to and fro, above his head, like a +stage magician, invoking spirits and goblins damned; while he repeated, +from one of Werner’s pieces, some lines of an incantation. +</p> +<p> +“Gelobt sey Marie!” said the Herr Stauf, blessing himself devoutly; for he +had looked upon the whole as an act of devotion. +</p> +<p> +“And now, friend,” continued the Director, “wait here, at this fountain, +and I will return in a few minutes.” And so saying, he quitted the place, +leaving Stauf and me in perfect darkness—a circumstance which I soon +discovered was not a whit more gratifying to my friend than myself. +</p> +<p> +“This is a fearful place to be in the dark,” quoth Stauf, edging close up +to me; “you don’t know, but I do, that this was the Augustine Convent +formerly, and the monks were all murdered by the Elector Frederick, in—What +was that?—Didn’t you see something like a blue flame yonder?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what then; you know these people have a hundred contrivances +for stage purposes——” +</p> +<p> +“Ach Gott! that’s true; but I wish I was out again, in the Mohren Gasse; +I’m only a poor sausage maker, and one needn’t be brave for my trade.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, take courage; here comes the Herr Director;” and with that he +entered with two candles in large gilt candlesticks. +</p> +<p> +“Now, friend,” said he, “where will you sit? My advice is, the orchestra; +take a place near the middle, behind the leader’s bench, and you’ll be out +of the draught of wind. Stauf, do you hold the candles, and sit in the +‘pupitre.’ You’ll excuse my lighting the foot lights, won’t you?—well, +what do you say to a greatcoat; you feel it cold—I see you do.” +</p> +<p> +“If not too much trouble——” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all—don’t speak of it;” and with that he slipped behind the +flats, and returned in an instant with a huge fur mantle of mock sable. “I +wear that in ‘Otto von Bohmen,’” said he proudly; “and it always produces +an immense effect. It is in that same ‘peltzer’ I stab the king, in the +fourth act; do you remember where he says, (it is at the chess table,)—‘Check +to the Queen;’ then I reply, ‘Zum Koënig, selbst,’ and run him through.” +</p> +<p> +“Gott bewahr!” piously ejaculated Stauf, who seemed quite beyond all +chance of distinguishing fiction from reality. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll have to wait ten or twenty minutes, I fear,” said the Director. +“Der Catinka can’t be found, and Der Ungedroht has just washed his +doublet, and can’t appear till it’s dry; but we’ll give you the +Krfihwinkel in good style. You shall be content; and now I must go dress +too.” +</p> +<p> +“He is a strange carl,” said Stauf, as he sat upon a tall bench, like an +office stool; “but I wish from my soul it was over!” +</p> +<p> +I can’t say I did not participate in the wish, notwithstanding a certain +curiosity to have a peep at the rest of the company. I had seen, in my +day, some droll exhibitions in the dramatic way; but this, certainly, if +not the most amusing, was the very strangest of them all. +</p> +<p> +I remember at Corfu, where an Italian company came one winter, and gave a +series of operas; amongst others, “II Turco in Italia.” The strength of +the corps did not, however, permit of their being equal to those armies of +Turks and Italians, who occasionally figure “en scene;” and they were +driven to ask assistance from the Commandant of the Garrison, who very +readily lent them a company of, I believe, the eighty-eighth regiment. +</p> +<p> +The worthy Director had sad work to drill his troops; for unhappily he +couldn’t speak a word of English; and as they knew little or no Italian, +he was reduced to signs and pantomime. When the piece, however, was going +forward, and the two rival Armies should alternately attack and repulse +each other, the luckless Director, unable to make them fight and rally, to +the quick movement of the orchestra, was heard shouting out behind the +scenes, in wild excitement, “Avanti Turki!—Avanti Christiani!—Ah, +bravo Turki!—Maledetti Christiani!” which threw the whole audience +into a perfect paroxysm of laughter. +</p> +<p> +Come then, thought I, who knows but this may be as good as Corfu. But lo! +here he comes, and now the Director, dressed in the character of the “Herr +Berg-Bau und Weg-Inspector” came to the front of the stage, and beginning +thus, spoke, “Meine Herren und Damen—there are <i>no</i> ladies,” +said he, stopping short, “but whose fault is that?—Meine Herren, it +grieves me much, to be obliged on this occasion———Make a +row there, why don’t you?” said he, addressing me, “ran-tan-tan!—an +apology is always interrupted by the audience; if it were not, one could +never get through it.” +</p> +<p> +I followed his directions by hammering on the bench with my cane, and he +continued to explain that various ladies and gentlemen of the corps were +seriously indisposed, and that, though the piece should go on, it must be +with only three out of the seven characters; I renewed my marks of +disapprobation here, which seemed to afford him great delight, and he +withdrew bowing respectfully to every quarter of the house. +</p> +<p> +Kotzebue’s Krahwinkel, as many of my readers know, needs not the +additional absurdity of the circumstances, under which I saw it performed, +to make it ludicrous and laughable. The Herr Director played to the life; +and Catinka, a pretty, plump, fair-haired “fraulein,” not however, exactly +the idea of Maria Stuart, was admirable in her part. Even Stauf himself +was so carried away by his enthusiasm, that he laid down his candles to +applaud, and for the extent of the audience, I venture to say, there never +was a more enthusiastic one. Indeed to this fact the Director himself bore +testimony, as he more than once, interrupted the scene to thank us for our +marks of approval. On both sides, the complaisance was complete. Never did +actors and audience work better together, for while <i>we</i> admired, <i>they</i> +relished the praise with all the gusto of individual approbation, +frequently stopping to assure us that we were right in our applause, that +their best hits were exactly those we selected; and that a more judging +public never existed. Stauf was carried away in his ecstasies, and between +laughing and applauding, I was regularly worn out with my exertions. +</p> +<p> +Want of light—Stauf’s candles swilled frightfully from neglect—compelled +them to close the piece somewhat abruptly; and in the middle of the second +act, such was the obscurity, that the Herr Berg-Bau und Weg-Inspector’s +wife, fell over the prompter’s bulk, and nearly capsized Stauf into the +bowels of the big fiddle. This was the finale, and I had barely time to +invite the corps to a supper at the Fox, which they kindly accepted, when +Stauf announced that we must beat a retreat by “inch of candle.” This we +did in safety, and I reached the Fox in time to order the repast, before +the guests had washed off their paint, and changed their dresses. +</p> +<p> +If it has been my fortune to assist at more elegant “reunions,” I can +aver with safety I never presided over a more merry or joyous party, than +was our own at the Fox. Die Catinka sat on my left, Die Vrau von +“Mohren-Kopf,” the “Mère noble” of the corps, on my right, the Herr +Director took the foot of the table, supported by a “bassoon” and a “first +lover,” while various “trombones,” “marquis,” waiting maids, walking +gentlemen, and a “ghost,” occupied the space at either side, not +forgetting our excellent friend Stauf, who seemed the very happiest man of +the party. We were fourteen souls in all, though where two-thirds of them +came from, and how they got wind of a supper, some more astute diviner +than myself must ascertain. +</p> +<p> +Theatrical folks, in all countries, are as much people in themselves as +the Gypsies. They have a language of their own, a peculiarity of costume +and a habit of life. They eat, drink, and intermarry with each other; and, +in fact, I shouldn’t wonder, from their organization, if they have a king +in some sly corner of Europe, who, one day will be restored, with great +pomp and ceremony. One undeniable trait distinguishes them all—at +least wherever I have met them in the old world and in the new—and +that is, a most unbounded candour in their estimation of each other. +Frankness is unquestionably the badge, of all their tribe; and they are, +without exception, the most free of hypocrisy, in this respect, of all the +classes with whom it has ever been my fortune to forgather. Nothing is too +sharp, nothing too smart to be said; no thrust too home, no stab too +fatal; it’s a mêlée tournament, where all tilt, and hard knocks are fair. +This privilege of their social world, gives them a great air of freedom in +all their intercourse with strangers, and sometimes leads even to an +excess of ease, somewhat remarkable, in their manners. With them, intimacy +is like those tropical trees that spring up, twenty feet high in a single +night. They meet you at rehearsal, and before the curtain rises in the +evening, there is a sworn friendship between you. Stage manners, and +green-room talk, carry off the eccentricities which other men dare not +practise, and though you don’t fancy “Mr. Tuft” asking you for a loan of +five pounds, hang it! you can’t be angry with Jeremy Diddler! This double +identity, this Janus attribute, cuts in two ways, and you find it almost +impossible to place any weight on the opinions and sentiments of people, +who are always professing opinions and sentiments, learned by heart. This +may be—I’m sure it is,—very illiberal—but I can’t help +it. I wouldn’t let myself be moved by the arguments of Brutus on the Corn +Laws, or Cato on the Catholic question, any more than I should fall in +love with some sweet sentiment of a day-light Ophelia or Desdemona. I +reserve all my faith in stage people, for the hours between seven and +twelve at night; then, with footlights and scenery, pasteboard banquets, +and wooden waves, I’m their slave, they may do with me as they will, but +let day come, and “I’m a man again!” +</p> +<p> +Now as all this sounds very cross-grained, the sapient reader already +suspects there may be more in it than it appears to imply, and that Arthur +O’Leary has some grudge against the Thespians, which he wishes to pay off +in generalities. I’m not bound to answer the insinuation; neither will I +tell you more of our supper at the Fox, nor why the Herr Director Klug +invited me to take a place in his wagon next day, for Weimar, nor what +Catinka whispered, as I filled her glass with Champagne, nor how the +“serpent” frowned from the end of the table; nor, in short, one word of +the whole matter, save that I settled my bill that same night, at the +Kaiser, and the next morning, left for Weimar, with a very large, and an +excessively merry party. +</p> +<p> +NOTE. +</p> +<p> +Should the Reader feel—as in reason he may—some chagrin at the +abrupt conclusion of this volume, I have only to beg the same indulgence, +which I set out by asking, for a memoir so broken and fragmentary. If any +curiosity should be found to exist regarding Mr. O’Leary’s future +wanderings, or any desire to learn further of his opinions on men, women +and their children, the kind Public has only, like “Oliver,” to “ask for +more,” and the wish, unlike his, shall be complied with. +</p> +<p> +Ed. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Arthur O’Leary, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARTHUR O’LEARY *** + +***** This file should be named 32424-h.htm or 32424-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/4/2/32424/ + +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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