“You want to hear all about Glencore?” said Harcourt, as, seated in the
easiest of attitudes in an easy-chair, he puffed his cigar luxuriously;
“and when I have told you all I know, the chances are you'll be little
the wiser.” Upton smiled a bland assent to this exordium, but in such a
way as to make Harcourt feel less at ease than before.
“I mean,” said the Colonel, “that I have little to offer you beyond the
guesses and surmises of club talk. It will be for your own intelligence
to penetrate through the obscurity afterwards. You understand me?”
“I believe I understand you,” said Upton, slowly, and with the same
quiet smile. Now, this cold, semi-sarcastic manner of Upton was the
one sole thing in the world which the honest Colonel could not stand
up against; he always felt as though it were the prelude to something
cutting or offensive,--some sly impertinence that he could not detect
till too late to resent,--some insinuation that might give the point
to a whole conversation, and yet be undiscovered by him till the day
following. Little as Harcourt was given to wronging his neighbor, he
in this instance was palpably unjust; Upton's manner being nothing more
than the impress made upon a very subtle man by qualities very unlike
any of his own, and which in their newness amused him. The very look of
satire was as often an expression of sorrow and regret that he could
not be as susceptible--as easy of deception--as those about him. Let us
pardon our worthy Colonel if he did not comprehend this; shrewder heads
than his own had made the same mistake. Half to resent this covert
slyness, half to arouse himself to any conflict before him, he said,
in a tone of determination, “It is only fair to tell you that you are
yourself to blame for anything that may have befallen poor Glencore.”
“I to blame! Why, my dear Harcourt, you are surely dreaming.”
“As wide awake as ever I was. If it had not been for a blunder of
yours,--an unpardonable blunder, seeing what has come of it,--sending
a pack of trash to me about salt and sulphur, while you forwarded a
private letter about Glencore to the Foreign Office, all this might not
have happened.”
“I remember that it was a most disagreeable mistake. I have paid heavily
for it, too. That lotion for the cervical vertebrae has come back all
torn, and we cannot make out whether it be a phosphate or a prot'-oxide
of bismuth. You don't happen to remember?”
“I?--of course I know nothing about it. I'd as soon have taken a
porcupine for a pillow as I 'd have adventured on the confounded
mixture. But, as I was saying, that blessed letter, written by some
Princess or other, as I understand, fell into the King's hands, and the
consequence was that he sent off immediately to Glencore an order to go
down to him at Brighton. Naturally enough, I thought he 'd not go; he
had the good and sufficient pretext of his bad health to excuse him.
Nobody had seen him abroad in the world for years back, and it was easy
enough to say that he could not bear the journey. Nothing of the kind;
he received the command as willingly as he might have done an invitation
to dinner fifteen years ago, and talked of nothing else for the whole
evening after but of his old days and nights in Carlton House; how
gracious the Prince used to be to him formerly; how constantly he was a
guest at his table; what a brilliant society it was; how full of wit and
the rest of it; till, by Jove, what between drinking more wine than he
was accustomed to take, and the excitement of his own talking, he became
quite wild and unmanageable. He was not drunk, nor anything like it, it
was rather the state of a man whose mind had got some sudden shock;
for in the midst of perfectly rational conversation, he would fall
into paroxysms of violent passion, inveighing against every one, and
declaring that he never had possessed one true-hearted, honest friend in
his life.
“It was not without great difficulty that I got him back to my lodgings,
for we had gone to dine at Richmond. Then we put him to bed, and I sent
for Hunter, who came on the instant. Though by this time Glencore was
much more calm and composed, Hunter called the case brain fever; had his
hair cut quite close, and ice applied to the head. Without any knowledge
of his history or even of his name, Hunter pronounced him to be a man
whose intellect had received some terrible shock, and that the present
was simply an acute attack of a long-existent malady.”
“Did he use any irritants?” asked Upton, anxiously.
“No; he advised nothing but the cold during the night.”
“Ah! what a mistake,” sighed Upton, heavily. “It was precisely the case
for the cervical lotion I was speaking of. Of course he was much worse
next morning?”
“That he was; not as regarded his reason, however, for he could talk
collectedly enough, but he was irritable and passionate to a degree
scarcely credible: would not endure the slightest opposition, and so
suspectful of everything and everybody that if he overheard a whisper it
threw him into a convulsion of anger. Hunter's opinion was evidently
a gloomy one, and he said to me as we went downstairs, 'He may come
through it with life, but scarcely with a sound intellect.' This was a
heavy blow to _me_, for I could not entirely acquit myself of the fault
of having counselled this visit to Brighton, which I now perceived had
made such a deep impression upon him. I roused myself, however, to meet
the emergency, and walked down to St. James's to obtain some means of
letting the King know that Glencore was too ill to keep his appointment.
Fortunately, I met Knighton, who was just setting off to Brighton, and
who promised to take charge of the commission. I then strolled over
to Brookes's to see the morning papers, and lounged till about four
o'clock, when I turned homeward.
“Gloomy and sad I was as I reached my door, and rang the bell with a
cautious hand. They did not hear the summons, and I was forced to
ring again, when the door was opened by my servant, who stood pale and
trembling before me. 'He's gone, sir,--he's gone,' cried he, almost
sobbing.
“'Good Heaven!' cried I. 'Dead?'
“'No, sir, gone away,--driven off, no one knows where. I had just gone
out to the chemist's, and was obliged to call round at Doctor Hunter's
about a word in the prescription they could n't read, and when I came
back he was away.'
“I then ascertained that the carriage which had been ordered the day
before at a particular hour, and which we had forgotten to countermand,
had arrived during my servant's absence. Glencore, hearing it stop at
the door, inquired whose it was, and as suddenly springing out of bed,
proceeded to dress himself, which he did, in the suit he had ordered to
wait on the King. So apparently reasonable was he in all he said, and
such an air of purpose did he assume, that the nurse-tender averred she
could not dare to interpose, believing that his attack might possibly be
some sort of passing access that he was accustomed to, and knew best how
to deal with.
“I did not lose a moment, but, ordering post-horses, pursued him with
all speed. On reaching Croydon, I heard he had passed about two hours
before; but though I did my best, it was in vain. I arrived at Brighton
late at night, only to learn that a gentleman had got out at the
Pavilion, and had not left it since.
“I do not believe that all I have ever suffered in my life equalled what
I went through in the two weary hours that I passed walking up and down
outside that low paling that skirts the Palace garden. The poor fellow,
in all his misery, came before me in so many shapes; sometimes wandering
in intellect--sometimes awake and conscious of his sufferings--now
trying to comport himself as became the presence he was in--now reckless
of all the world and everything. What could have happened to detain
him so long? What had been the course of events since he passed that
threshold? were questions that again and again crossed me.
“I tried to make my way in,--I know not exactly what I meant to do
afterwards; but the sentries refused me admittance. I thought of scaling
the enclosure, and reaching the Palace through the garden; but the
police kept strict watch on every side. At last, it was nigh twelve
o'clock, that I heard a sentry challenge some one, and shortly after a
figure passed out and walked towards the pier. I followed, determined to
make inquiry, no matter of whom. He walked so rapidly, however, that I
was forced to run to overtake him. This attracted his notice; he turned
hastily, and by the straggling moonlight I recognized Glencore.
“He stood for a moment still, and beckoning me towards him, he took my
arm in silence, and we walked onward in the direction of the sea-shore.
It was now a wild and gusty night. The clouds drifted fast, shutting out
the moon at intervals, and the sea broke harshly along the strand.
“I cannot tell you the rush of strange and painful emotions which came
upon me as I thus walked along, while not a word passed between us.
As for myself, I felt that the slightest word from me might, perhaps,
change the whole current of his thoughts, and thus destroy my only
chance of any clew to what was passing within him. 'Are you cold?' said
he, at length, feeling possibly a slight tremor in my arm. 'Not cold,
exactly,' said I, 'but the night is fresh, and I half suspect too fresh
for _you_.' 'Feel that,' said he, placing his hand in mine; and it was
burning. 'The breeze that comes off the sea is grateful to me, for I am
like one on fire.' Then I am certain, my dear Glencore,' said I, 'that
this is a great imprudence. Let us turn back, towards the inn.'
“He made no reply, but with a rough motion of his arm moved forward
as before. 'Three hours and more,' said he, with a full and stern
utterance, 'they kept me waiting. There were Ministers with the King;
there was some foreign envoy, too, to be presented; and if I had not
gone in alone and unannounced, I might still be in the ante-chamber.
How he stared at me, Harcourt, and my close-cropped hair. It was
_that_ seemed first to strike him, as he said, “Have you had an illness
lately?” He looked poorly, too, bloated and pale, and like one who
fretted, and I told him so. “We are both changed, sir,” said I,--“sadly
changed since we met last. We might almost begin to hope that another
change is not far off,--the last and the best one.” I don't remember
what he answered. It was, I think, something about who came along with
me from town, and who was with me at Brighton,--I forget exactly; but I
know that he sent for Knighton, and made him feel my pulse. “You'll find
it rapid enough, I 've no doubt, Sir William,” said I. “I rose from a
sick bed to come here; his Majesty had deigned to wish to see me.” Then
the King stopped me, and made a sign to Knighton to withdraw.
“'Was n't it a strange situation, Harcourt, to be seated there beside
the King, alone? None other present,--all to ourselves,--talking as you
and I might talk of what interested us most of all the world; and _he_
showing me that letter,--the letter that ought to have come to _me_. How
he could do it I know not. Neither you nor I, George, could have done
so; for, after all, she was, ay, and she _is_, his wife. He could not
avail himself of _my_ stratagem. I said so too, and he answered, “Ay,
but I can divorce her if one half of that be true;” and he pointed to
the letter. “The Lady Glencore,” said he, “must know everything, and
be willing to tell it too. She has paid the heaviest penalty ever woman
paid for another. Read that.” And I read it,--ay, I read it four times,
five times over; and then my brain began to burn, and a thousand fancies
flitted across me, and though he talked on, I heard not a word.
“'“But that lady is my wife, sir,” broke I in; “and what a part do you
assign her! She is to be a spy, a witness, perhaps, in some infamous
cause. How shall I, a peer of the realm, endure to see my name thus
degraded? Is it Court favor can recompense me for lost or tarnished
honor?” “But it will be her own vindication,” said he. Her own
vindication,--these were the words, George; _she_ should be clear of
all reproach. By Heaven, he said so, that I might declare it before the
world. And then it should be proved!--be proved! How base a man can be,
even though he wear a crown! Just fancy his proposition! But I spurned
it, and said, “You must seek for some one with a longer chance of life,
sir, to do this; my days are too brief for such dishonor;” and he was
angry with me, and said I had forgotten the presence in which I stood.
It was true, I had forgotten it.
“'He called me a wretched fool, too, as I tore up that letter. That was
wrong in me, Harcourt, was it not? I did not see him go, but I found
myself alone in the room, and I was picking up the fragments of the
letter as they entered. They were less than courteous to me, though
I told them who I was,--an ancient barony better than half the modern
marquisates. I gave them date and place for a creation that smacked of
other services than theirs. Knighton would come with me, but I shook him
off. Your Court physician can carry his complaisance even to poison. By
George! it is their chief office, and I know well what snares are now in
store for me.'
“And thence he went on to say that he would hasten back to his Irish
solitude, where none could trace him out. That there his life, at least,
would be secure, and no emissaries of the King dare follow him. It was
in vain I tried to induce him to return, even for one night, to the
hotel; and I saw that to persist in my endeavors would be to hazard the
little influence I still possessed over him. I could not, however, leave
the poor fellow to his fate without at least the assurance of a home
somewhere, and so I accompanied him to Ireland, and left him in
that strange old ruin where we once sojourned together. His mind
had gradually calmed down, but a deep melancholy had gained entire
possession of him, and he passed whole days without a word. I saw that
he often labored to recall some of the events of the interview with
the King; but his memory had not retained them, and he seemed like one
eternally engaged in some problem which his faculties could not solve.
“When I left him and arrived in town, I found the clubs full of the
incident, but evidently without any real knowledge of what had occurred;
since the version was that Glencore had asked an audience of the King,
and gone down to the Pavilion to read to his Majesty a most
atrocious narrative of the Queen's life in Italy, offering to
substantiate--through his Italian connection--every allegation it
contained,--a proposal that, of course, was only received by the King in
the light of an insult; and that this reception, so different from all
his expectations, had turned his head and driven him completely insane!
“I believe now I have told you everything as I heard it; indeed, I have
given you Glencore's own words, since, without them, I could not convey
to you what he intended to say. The whole affair is a puzzle to me, for
I am unable to tell when the poor fellow's brain was wandering, and when
he spoke under the guidance of right reason. You, of course, have the
clew to it all.”
“I! How so?” cried Upton.
“You have seen the letter which caused all the trouble; you know its
contents, and what it treats of.”
“Very true; I must have read it; but I have not the slightest
recollection of what it was about. There was something, I know, about
Glencore's boy,--he was called Greppi, though, and might not have been
recognized; and there was some gossip about the Princess of Wales--the
Queen, as they call her now--and her ladies; but I must frankly confess
it did not interest me, and I have forgotten it all.”
“Is the writer of the letter to be come at?”
“Nothing easier. I'll take you over to breakfast with her to-morrow
morning; you shall catechise her yourself.”
“Oh! she is then--”
“She is the Princess Sabloukoff, my dear George, and a very charming
person, as you will be the first to acknowledge. But as to this
interview at Brighton, I fancy--even from the disjointed narrative of
Glencore--one can make a guess of what it portended. The King saw that
my Lady Glencore--for so we must call her--knew some very important
facts about the Queen, and wished to obtain them; and saw, too, that
certain scandals, as the phrase goes, which attached to her ladyship,
lay at another door. He fancied, not unreasonably, perhaps, that
Glencore would be glad to hear this exculpation of his wife; and he
calculated that by the boon of this intelligence he could gain over
Glencore to assist him in his project for a divorce. Don't you perceive,
Harcourt, of what an inestimable value it would prove, to possess one
single gentleman, one man or one woman of station, amid all this
rabble that they are summoning throughout the world to bring shame upon
England?”
“Then you incline to believe Lady Glencore blameless?” asked Harcourt,
anxiously.
“I think well of every one, my charming Colonel. It is the only true
philosophy in life. Be as severe as you please on all who injure
yourself, but always be lenient to the faults that only damage your
friends. You have no idea how much practical wisdom the maxim contains,
nor what a fund of charity it provides.”
“I 'm ashamed to be so stupid, but I must come back to my old question.
Is all this story against Glencore's wife only a calumny?”
“And I must fall back upon my old remark, that all the rogues in the
world are in jail; the people you see walking about and at large
are unexceptionably honest,--every man of them. Ah, my dear
deputy-assistant, adjutant, or commissary, or whatever it be, can you
not perceive the more than folly of these perquisitions into character?
You don't require that the ice should be strong enough to sustain a
twenty-four pounder before you venture to put foot on it,--enough
that it is quite equal to your own weight; and so of the world at
large,--everybody, or nearly everybody, has virtue enough for all we
want with him. This English habit--for it is essentially English--of
eternally investigating everything, is like the policy of a man who
would fire a round-shot every morning at his house, to see if it were
well and securely built.”
“I don't, I can't agree with you,” cried Harcourt.
“Be it so, my dear fellow; only don't give me your reasons, and at least
I shall respect your motives.”
“What would you do, then, in Glencore's place? Let me ask you that.”
“You may as well inquire how I should behave if I were a quadruped.
Don't you perceive that I never could, by any possibility, place myself
in such a false position? The man who, in a case of difficulty, takes
counsel from his passions, is exactly like one, who being thirsty, fills
himself out a bumper of aquafortis and drinks it off.”
“I wish with all my heart you 'd give up aphorisms, and just tell me
how we could serve this poor fellow; for I feel that there is a gleam of
light breaking through his dark fortunes.”
“When a man is in the state Glencore is now in, the best policy is to
let him alone. They tell us that when Murat's blood was up, the Emperor
always left him to his own guidance, since he either did something
excessively brilliant, or made such a blunder as recalled him to
subjection again. Let us treat our friend in this fashion, and wait. Oh,
my worthy Colonel, if you but knew what a secret there is in that same
waiting policy. Many a game is won by letting the adversary move out of
his turn.”
“If all this subtlety be needed to guide a man in the plain road of
life, what is to become of poor simple fellows like myself?”
“Let them never go far from home, Harcourt, and they 'll always find
their way back,” said Upton; and his eyes twinkled with quiet drollery.
“Come, now,” said he, with perfect good-nature of look and voice, “If I
won't tell you what I should counsel Glencore in this emergency, I 'll
do the next best thing, I' ll tell you what advice you'd give him.”
“Let us hear it, then,” said the other.
“You'd send him abroad to search out his wife; ask her forgiveness
for all the wrong he has done her; call out any man that whispered the
shadow of a reproach against her; and go back to such domesticity as it
might please Heaven to accord him.”
“Certainly, if the woman has been unjustly dealt with--”
“There's the rock you always split on: you are everlastingly in search
of a character. Be satisfied when you have eaten a hearty breakfast,
and don't ask for a bill of health. Researches are always dangerous. My
great grandfather, who had a passion for genealogy, was cured of it by
discovering that the first of the family was a staymaker! Let the lesson
not be lost on us.”
“From all which I am to deduce that you 'd ask no questions,--take her
home again, and say nothing.”
“You forget, Harcourt, we are now discussing the line of action _you_
would recommend; I am only hinting at the best mode of carrying out
_your_ ideas.”
“Just for the pleasure of showing me that I did n't know how to walk in
the road I made myself,” said Harcourt, laughing.
“What a happy laugh that was, Harcourt! How plainly, too, it said,
'Thank Heaven I 'm not like that fellow, with all his craft!' And you
are right too, my dear friend; if the devil were to walk the world now,
he 'd be bored beyond endurance, seeing nothing but the old vices played
over again and again. And so it is with all of us who have a spice of
his nature; we'd give anything to see one new trick on the cards. Good
night, and pleasant dreams to you!” And with a sigh that had in its
cadence something almost painful, he gave his two fingers to the honest
grasp of the other, and withdrew.
“You're a better fellow than you think yourself, or wish any one else
to believe you,” muttered Harcourt, as he puffed his cigar; and he
ruminated over this reflection till it was bedtime.
And Harcourt was right.