In one of the most sequestered nooks of Sorrento, almost escarped out
of the rocky cliff, and half hid in the foliage of orange and oleander
trees, stood the little villa of the Princess Sabloukoff. The blue sea
washed the white marble terrace before the windows, and the arbutus,
whose odor scented the drawing-room, dipped its red berries in the
glassy water. The wildest and richest vegetation abounded on every side.
Plants and shrubs of tropical climes mingled with the hardier races of
Northern lands; and the cedar and the plantain blended their leaves with
the sycamore and the ilex; while, as if to complete the admixture, birds
and beasts of remote countries were gathered together; and the bustard,
the ape, and the antelope mixed with the peacock, the chamois, and
the golden pheasant. The whole represented one of those capricious
exhibitions by which wealth so often associates itself with the
beautiful, and, despite all errors in taste, succeeds in making a spot
eminently lovely. So was it. There was often light where a painter would
have wished shadow. There were gorgeous flowers where a poet would
have desired nothing beyond the blue heather-bell. There were startling
effects of view, managed where chance glimpses through the trees had
been infinitely more picturesque. There was, in fact, the obtrusive
sense of riches in a thousand ways and places where mere unadorned
nature had been far preferable; and yet, with all these faults, sea and
sky, rock and foliage, the scented air, the silence, only broken by
the tuneful birds, the rich profusion of color upon a sward strewn with
flowers, made of the spot a perfect paradise.
In a richly decorated room, whose three windows opened on a marble
terrace, sat the Princess. It was December; but the sky was cloudless,
the sea a perfect mirror, and the light air that stirred the leaves
soft and balmy as the breath of May. Her dress was in keeping with the
splendor around her: a rich robe of yellow silk fastened up the front
with large carbuncle buttons; sleeves of deep Valenciennes lace fell far
over her jewelled fingers; and a scarf of golden embroidery, negligently
thrown over an arm of her chair, gave what a painter would call the warm
color to a very striking picture. Farther from the window, and carefully
protected from the air by a screen, sat a gentleman whose fur-lined
pelisse and velvet skull-cap showed that he placed more faith in the
almanac than in the atmosphere. From his cork-soled boots to his shawl
muffled about the throat, all proclaimed that distrust of the weather
that characterizes the invalid. No treachery of a hot sun, no seductions
of that inveterate cheat, a fine day in winter, could inveigle Sir
Horace Upton into any forgetfulness of his precautions. He would have
regarded such as a palpable weakness on his part,--a piece of folly
perfectly unbecoming in a man of his diplomatic standing and ability.
He was writing, and smoking, and talking by turns, the table before him
being littered with papers, and even the carpet at his feet strewn with
the loose sheets of his composition. There was not in his air any of
the concentration, or even seriousness, of a man engaged in an important
labor; and yet the work before him employed all his faculties, and
he gave to it the deepest attention of abilities of which very few
possessed the equal. To great powers of reasoning and a very strong
judgment he united a most acute knowledge of men; not exactly of mankind
in the mass, but of that especial order with whom he had habitually to
deal. Stolid, commonplace stupidity might puzzle or embarrass him;
while for any amount of craft, for any degree of subtlety, he was an
over-match. The plain matter-of-fact intelligence occasionally gained a
slight advantage over him at first; the trained and polished mind of
the most astute negotiator was a book he could read at sight. It was his
especial tact to catch up all this knowledge at once,--very often in
a first interview,--and thus, while others were interchanging the
customary platitudes of every-day courtesy, he was gleaning and
recording within himself the traits and characteristics of all around
him.
“A clever fellow, very clever fellow, Cineselli,” said he, as he
continued to write. “His proposition is--certain commercial advantages,
and that we, on our side, leave him alone to deal his own way with his
own rabble. I see nothing against it, so long as they continue to be
rabble; but grubs grow into butterflies, and very vulgar populace have
now and then emerged into what are called liberal politicians.”
“Only where you have the blessing of a free press,” said the Princess,
in a tone of insolent mockery.
“Quite true, Princess; a free press is a tonic that with an increased
dose becomes a stimulant, and occasionally over-excites.”
“It makes your people drunk now and then!” said she, angrily.
“They always sleep it off over-night,” said he, softly. “They very
rarely pay even the penalty of the morning headache for the excess,
which is exactly why it will not answer in warmer latitudes.”
“Ours is a cold one, and I 'm sure it would not suit us.”
“I'm not so certain of that,” said he, languidly. “I think it is
eminently calculated for a people who don't know how to read.”
She would have smiled at the remark, if the sarcasm had not offended
her.
“Your Lordship will therefore see,” muttered he, reading to himself as
he wrote, “that in yielding this point we are, while apparently making a
concession, in reality obtaining a very considerable advantage--”
“Rather an English habit, I suspect,” said she, smiling.
“Picked up in the course of our Baltic trade, Princess. In sending us
your skins, you smuggled in some of your sentiments; and Russian tallow
has enlightened the nation in more ways than one!”
“You need it all, my dear chevalier,” said she, with a saucy smile.
“Harzewitch told me that your diplomatic people were inferior to those
of the third-rate German States; that, in fact, they never had any
'information.'”
“I know what he calls 'information,' Princess; and his remark is just.
Our Government is shockingly mean, and never would keep up a good system
of spies.”
“Spies! If you mean by an odious word to inculpate the honor of a high
calling--”
“Pray forgive my interruption, but I am speaking in all good faith. When
I said 'spy,' it was in the bankrupt misery of a man who had nothing
else to offer. I wanted to imply that pure but small stream which
conveys intelligence from a fountain to a river it was not meant to
feed. Was n't that a carriage I heard in the 'cour'? Oh, pray don't open
the window; there's an odious _libeccio_ blowing to-day, and there's
nothing so injurious to the nervous system.”
“A cabinet messenger, your Excellency,” said a servant, entering.
“What a bore! I hoped I was safe from a despatch for at least a month to
come. I really believe they have no veneration for old institutions in
England. They don't even celebrate Christmas!”
“I'm charmed at the prospect of a bag,” cried the Princess.
“May I have the messenger shown in here, Princess?”
“Certainly; by all means.”
“Happy to see your Excellency; hope your Ladyship is in good health,”
said a smart-looking young fellow, who wore a much-frogged pelisse, and
sported a very well-trimmed moustache.
“Ah, Stevins, how d'ye do?” said Upton. “You've had a cold journey over
the Cenis.”
“Came by the Splugen, your Excellency. I went round by Vienna, and
Maurice Esterhazy took me as far as Milan.”
The Princess stared with some astonishment. That the messenger should
thus familiarly style one of that great family was indeed matter of
wonderment to her; nor was it lessened as Upton whispered her, “Ask him
to dine.”
“And London, how is it? Very empty, Stevins?” continued he.
“A desert,” was the answer.
“Where's Lord Adderley?”
“At Brighton. The King can't do without him,--greatly to Adderley's
disgust; for he is dying to have a week's shooting in the Highlands.”
“And Cantworth, where is he?”
“He's off for Vienna, and a short trip to Hungary. I met him at dinner
at the mess while waiting for the Dover packet. By the way, I saw a
friend of your Excellency's,--Harcourt.”
“Not gone to India?”
“No. They've made him a governor or commander-in-chief of something in
the Mediterranean; I forget exactly where or what.”
“You have brought me a mighty bag, Stevins,” said Upton, sighing. “I had
hoped for a little ease and rest now that the House is up.”
“They are all blue-books, I believe,” replied Stevins. “There's that
blacking your Excellency wrote about, and the cricket-bats; the lathe
must come out by the frigate, and the down mattress at the same time.”
“Just do me the favor to open the bag, my dear Stevins. I am utterly
without aid here,” said Upton, sighing drearily; and the other proceeded
to litter the table and the floor with a variety of strange and
incongruous parcels.
“Report of factory commissioners,” cried he, throwing down a weighty
quarto. “Yarmouth bloaters; Atkinson's cerulean paste for the eyebrows;
Worcester sauce; trade returns for Tahiti; a set of shoemaking
tools; eight bottles of Darby's pyloric corrector; buffalo
flesh-brushes,--devilish hard they seem; Hume's speech on the reduction
of foreign legations; novels from Bull's; top-boots for a tiger; and a
mass of letters,” said Stevins, throwing them broadcast over the sofa.
“No despatches?” cried Upton, eagerly.
“Not one, by Jove!” said Stevins.
“Open one of those Darby's. I 'll take a teaspoonful at once. Will you
try it, Stevins?”
“Thanks, your Excellency, I never take physic.”
“Well, you dine here, then,” said he, with a sly look at the Princess.
“Not to-day, your Excellency. I dine with Grammont at eight.”
“Then I'll not detain you. Come back here to-morrow about eleven or a
little later. Come to breakfast if you like.”
“At what hour?”
“I don't know,--at any hour,” sighed Upton, as he opened one of his
letters and began to read; and Stevins bowed and withdrew, totally
unnoticed and unrecognized as he slipped from the room.
One after another Upton threw down, after reading half a dozen lines,
muttering some indistinct syllables over the dreary stupidity of
letter-writers in general. Occasionally he came upon some pressing
appeal for money,--some urgent request for even a small remittance by
the next post; and these he only smiled at, while he refolded them with
a studious care and neatness. “Why will you not help me with this chaos,
dear Princess?” said he, at last.
“I am only waiting to be asked,” said she; “but I feared that there
might be secrets--”
“From you?” said he, with a voice of deep tenderness, while his eyes
sparkled with an expression far more like raillery than affection. The
Princess, however, had either not seen or not heeded it, for she was
already deep in the correspondence.
“This is strictly private. Am I to read it?” said she.
“Of course,” said he, bowing courteously. And she read:--
“Dear Upton,--Let us have a respite from tariffs and trade-talk for a
month or two, and tell me rather what the world is doing around you. We
have never got the right end of that story about the Princess Celestine
as yet. Who was he? Not Labinsky, I'll be sworn. The K---- insists it
was Roseville, and I hope you may be able to assure me that he is
mistaken. He is worse tempered than ever. That Glencore business has
exasperated him greatly. Could n't your Princess,--the world calls her
yours [“How good of the world, and how delicate of your friend!” said
she, smiling superciliously. “Let us see who the writer is. Oh! a great
man,--the Lord Adderley,” and went on with her reading:] couldn't your
Princess find out something of real consequence to us about the Q----”
“What queen does he mean?” cried she, stopping.
“The Queen of Sheba, perhaps,” said Upton, biting his lips with anger,
while he made an attempt to take the letter from her.
“Pardon! this is interesting,” said she, and went on:
“We shall want it soon; that is, if the manufacturing districts will
not kindly afford us a diversion by some open-air demonstrations and a
collision with the troops. We have offered them a most taking bait, by
announcing wrongfully the departure of six regiments for India; thus
leaving the large towns in the North apparently ungarrisoned. They are
such poltroons that the chances are they 'll not bite! You were right
about Emerson. We have made his brother a Bishop, and he voted with us
on the Arms Bill. Cole is a sterling patriot and an old Whig. He
says nothing shall seduce him from his party, save a Lordship of the
Admiralty. Corruption everywhere, my dear Upton, except on the Treasury
benches!
“Holecroft insists on being sent to Petersburg; and having ascertained
that the Emperor will not accept him, I have induced the K----to
nominate him to the post. 'Non culpa nostra,' etc. He can scarcely vote
against us after such an evidence of our good-will. Find out what will
give most umbrage to your Court, and I will tell you why in my next.
“Don't bother yourself about the Greeks. The time is not come yet, nor
will it till it suit our policy to loosen the ties with Russia. As
to France, there is not, nor will there be, in our time at least, any
Government there. We must deal with them as with a public meeting, which
may reverse to-morrow the resolutions they have adopted to-day. The
French will never be formidable till they are unanimous. They 'll never
be unanimous till we declare war with them! Remember, I don't want
anything serious with Cineselli. Irritate and worry as much as you can.
Send even for a ship or two from Malta; but go no farther. I want this
for our radicals at home. Our own friends are in the secret. Write me a
short despatch about our good relations with the Two Sicilies; and send
me some news in a private letter. Let me have some ortolans in the bag,
and believe me yours,
“Adderley.”
“There,” said she, turning over a number of letters with a mere glance
at their contents, “these are all trash,--shooting and fox-hunting news,
which one reads in the newspapers better, or at least more briefly,
narrated, with all that death and marriage intelligence which you
English are so fond of parading before the world. But what is this
literary gem here? Where did the paper come from? And that wonderful
seal, and still more wonderful address?--'To his Worshipful Excellency
the Truly Worthy and Right Honorable Sir Horace Upton, Plenipotentiary,
Negotiator, and Extraordinary Diplomatist, living at Naples.'”
“What can it mean?” said he, languidly.
“You shall hear,” said she, breaking the massive seal of green wax,
which, to the size of a crown piece, ornamented one side of the epistle.
“It is dated Schwats, Tyrol, and begins: 'Venerated and Reverend
Excellency, when these unsymmetrically-designed, and not more
ingeniously-conceived syllables--' Let us see his name,” said she,
stop-ping suddenly, and turning to the last page, read, “'W. T.,
_vulgo_, Billy Traynor,--a name cognate to your Worshipful Eminence in
times past.'”
“To be sure, I remember him perfectly,--a strange creature that came out
here with that boy you heard me speak of. Pray read on.”
“I stopped at 'syllables.' Yes--when these curiously-conceived
syllables, then, come under the visionary apertures of your acute
understanding, they will disclose to your much-reflecting and
nice-discriminating mind as cruel and murderous a deed as ever a
miscreant imagination suggested to a diabolically-constructed and
nefariously-fashioned organization, showing that Nature in her
bland adaptiveness never imposes a mistaken fruit on a genuine
arborescence'--Do you understand him?” asked she.
“Partly, perhaps,” continued he. “Let us have the subject.”
“'Not to weary your exalted and never-enough-to-be-esteemed
intelligence, I will proceed, without further ambiguous or
circumgyratory evolutions, to the main body of my allegation. It
happened in this way: Charley--your venerated worship knows who I
mean--Charley, ever deep in marmorial pursuits, and far progressed in
sculptorial excellence, with a genius that Phidias, if he did not envy,
would esteem--'
“Really I cannot go on with these interminable parentheses,” said she;
“you must decipher them yourself.” Upton took the letter, and read
it, at first hastily, and then, recommencing, with more of care and
attention, occasionally stopping to reflect, and consider the details.
“This is likely to be a troublesome business,” said he. “This boy has
got himself into a serious scrape. Love and a duel are bad enough; but
an Austrian state-prison, and a sentence of twenty years in irons,
are even worse. So far as I can make out from my not over lucid
correspondent, he had conceived a violent affection for a young lady
at Massa, to whose favor a young Austrian of high rank at the same time
pretended.”
“Wahnsdorf, I'm certain,” broke in the Princess; “and the girl--that
Mademoiselle--”
“Harley,” interposed Sir Horace.
“Just so,--Harley. Pray go on,” said she, eagerly.
“A very serious altercation and a duel were the consequences of this
rivalry, and Wahnsdorf has been dangerously wounded; his life is still
in peril. The Harleys have been sent out of the country, and my unlucky
_protégé_, handed over to the Austrians, has been tried, condemned, and
sentenced to twenty years in Kuffstein, a Tyrol fortress where great
severity is practised,--from the neighborhood of which this letter is
written, entreating my speedy interference and protection.”
“What can you do? It is not even within your jurisdiction,” said she,
carelessly.
“True; nor was the capture by the Austrians within theirs, Princess. It
is a case where assuredly everybody was in the wrong, and, therefore,
admirably adapted for nice negotiation.”
“Who and what is the youth?”
“I have called him a _protégé_.”
“Has he no more tender claim to the affectionate solicitude of Sir
Horace Upton?” said she, with an easy air of sarcasm.
“None, on my honor,” said he, eagerly; “none, at least, of the kind you
infer. His is a very sad story, which I 'll tell you about at another
time. For the present, I may say that he is English, and as such must
be protected by the English authorities. The Government of Massa have
clearly committed a great fault in handing him over to the Austrians.
Stubber must be 'brought to book' for this in the first instance. By
this we shall obtain a perfect insight into the whole affair.”
“The Imperial family will never forgive an insult offered to one of
their own blood,” said the Princess, haughtily.
“We shall not ask them to forgive anything, my dear Princess. We shall
only prevent their natural feelings betraying them into an act of
injustice. The boy's offence, whatever it was, occurred outside the
frontier, as I apprehend.”
“How delighted you English are when you can convert an individual case
into an international question! You would at any moment sacrifice an
ancient alliance to the trumpery claim of an aggrieved tourist,” said
she, rising angrily, and swept out of the room ere Sir Horace could
arise to open the door for her.
Upton walked slowly to the chimney and rang the bell. “I shall want the
calèche and post-horses at eight o'clock, Antoine. Put up some things
for me, and get all my furs ready.” And with this he measured forty
drops from a small phial he carried in his waistcoat pocket, and sat
down to pare his nails with a very diminutive penknife.