Produced by David Widger
SIR JASPER CAREW.
His Life and Experience
By Charles James Lever
Illustrated By E. Van Muyden and Phiz.
Boston: Little, Brown, And Company. 1904.
Copyright, 1894, By Little, Brown, And Company.
DEDICATED TO H. D. W.
By ONE WHO THINKS HIGHLY OF HIS HEART, AND HOPES MUCH FROM HIS HEAD.
NOTICE
It has been constantly observed by writers of travels that to gain
credence for any of the strange incidents of their journeys, they have
been compelled to omit many of the most eventful passages of their
lives. “The gentlemen,” and still more the ladies, “who live at home at
ease” take, indeed, but little account of those adventures which are the
daily lot of more precarious existences, and are too prone to set
down as marvellous, or worse, events which have comparatively little
remarkable for those whose fortunes have thrown them on the highways of
the world.
I make this remark in part to deprecate some of the criticism which I
have seen pronounced upon these Memoirs. It has been said: How could any
man have met so many adventures? and my answer is simply: By change of
place. Nothing more is required. The pawn on the chess-board has a life
of a very uneventful character, simply because his progress is slow,
methodical, and unchanging. Not so the knight, who, with all the
errantry of his race, dashes here and there, encountering every rank and
condition of men,--continually in difficulties himself, or the cause of
them to others. What the knight is to the chess-board, the adventurer
is to real life. The same wayward fortune and zig-zag course belongs
to each, and each is sure to have his share in nearly every great event
that occurs about him. But I also refer to this subject on another
account. Tale-writers are blamed for the introduction of incidents which
have little bearing on the main story, or whose catastrophes are veiled
in obscurity. But I would humbly ask, Are not these exactly the very
traits of real life? Is not every man's course checkered with incidents,
and crossed by people who never affect his actual career? Do not things
occur every week singular enough to demand a record, and yet, to all
seeming, not in any way bearing upon our fortunes? While I need but
appeal to universal experience to corroborate me when I say that life
is little else than a long series of uncompleted adventures, I do not
employ the strongest of all argument on this occasion, and declare
that in writing my Memoirs I had no choice but to set down the whole
or nothing, because I am aware that some sceptical folk would like to
imagine _me_ a shade, and _my story_ a fiction!
I am quite conscious of some inaccuracies; for aught I know, there may
be many in these pages; but I wrote most of them in very old age, away
from books, and still further away from the friends who might have
afforded me their counsel and guidance. I wrote with difficulty and
from memory,--that is, from a memory in which a fact often faded while
I transcribed it, and where it demanded all my efforts to call up
the incidents, without, at the same time, summoning a dozen others,
irrelevant and unwarranted.
These same pages, with all their faults, have been a solace to many a
dreary hour, when, alone and companionless, I have sat in the stillness
of a home that no footsteps resound in, and by a hearth where none
confronts me. They would be still richer in comfort if I thought they
could cheer some heart lonely as my own, and make pain or sorrow forget
something of its sting. I scarcely dare to hope for this, but I _wish_
it heartily! And if there be aught of presumption in the thought, pray
set it down amongst the other errors and short-comings of
Jasper Carew.
Palazzo Guidotte, Senegaqlia, Jan. 1855.
CHAPTER I. SOME “NOTICES OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER”
It has sometimes occurred to me that the great suits of armor we see in
museums, the huge helmets that come down like extinguishers on the penny
candles of modern humanity, the enormous cuirasses and gigantic iron
gloves, were neither more nor less than downright and deliberate cheats
practised by the “Gents” of those days for the especial humbugging of
us, their remote posterity. It might, indeed, seem a strange and absurd
thing that any people should take so much pains, and incur so much
expense, just for the sake of mystifying generations then unborn. Still,
I was led to this conclusion by observing and reflecting on a
somewhat similar phenomenon in our own day; and indeed it was the only
explanation I was ever able to come to, respecting those great mansions
that we Irish gentlemen are so fond of rearing on our estates, “totally
regardless of expense,” and just as indifferent to all the circumstances
of our fortune, and all the requirements of our station,--the only real
difference being, that our forefathers were satisfied with quizzing
their descendants, whereas we, with a livelier appreciation of fun,
prefer enjoying the joke in our own day.
Perhaps I am a little too sensitive on this point; but my reader will
forgive any excess of irritability when I tell him that to this national
ardor for brick and mortar--this passion for cutstone and stucco--it is
I owe, not only some of the mischances of my life, but also a share of
what destiny has in store for those that are to come after me. We came
over to Ireland with Cromwell; my ancestor, I believe, and I don't
desire to hide the fact, was a favorite trumpeter of Old Noll. He was a
powerful, big-boned, slashing trooper, with a heavy hand on a sabre, and
a fine deep, bass voice in the conventicle; and if his Christian
name was a little inconvenient for those in a hurry,--he was called
Bind-your-kings-in-chains-and-your-nobles-in-links-of-iron Carew,--it
was of the less consequence, as he was always where he ought to
be, without calling. It was said that in the eyes of his chief his
moderation was highly esteemed, and that this virtue was never more
conspicuous than in his choice of a recompense for his services; since,
instead of selecting some fine, rich tract of Meath or Queen's County,
some fruitful spot on the Shannon or the Blackwater, with a most
laudable and exemplary humility he pitched upon a dreary and desolate
region in the County Wicklow,--picturesque enough in point of scenery,
but utterly barren and uncultivated. Here, at a short distance from the
opening of the Vale of Arklow, he built a small house, contiguous
to which, after a few years, was to be seen an outlandish kind of
scaffolding,--a composite architecture between a draw-well and a
gallows; and which, after various conjectures about its use,--some even
suggesting that it was a new apparatus “to raise the Devil,”--turned
out to be the machinery for working a valuable lead mine which, by “pure
accident,” my fortunate ancestor had just discovered there.
It was not only lead, but copper ore was found there, and at last
silver; so that in the course of three generations the trumpeter's
descendants became amongst the very richest of the land; and when my
father succeeded to the estate, he owned almost the entire country
between Newrath Bridge and Arklow. There were seventeen townlands in
our possession, and five mines in full work. In one of these, gold was
found, and several fine crystals of topaz and beryl,--a few specimens
of which are yet to be seen in the Irish Academy. It has been often
remarked that men of ability rarely or never transmit their gifts to the
generation succeeding them. Nature would seem to set her face against
monopolies, and at least, so far as intellect is concerned, to be a
genuine “Free-Trader.” There is another and very similar fact, however,
which has not attracted so much notice. It is this: that not only the
dispositions and tastes of successive generations change and alternate,
but that their luck follows the same law, and that after a good run of
fortune for maybe a century or two, there is certain to come a turn;
and thus it is that these ups and downs, which are only remarked in
the lives of individuals, are occurring in the wider ocean of general
humanity. The common incident that we so often hear of a man winning
an enormous sum and losing every farthing of it, down to the
very half-crown he began with, is just the type of many a family
history,--the only difference being that the event which in one case
occupied a night, in the other was spread over two, or maybe three,
hundred years.
When my father succeeded to the family property, Ireland was enjoying
her very palmiest days of prosperity. The spirit of her nationality,
without coming into actual collision with England, yet had begun
to assume an attitude of proud hostility,--a species of haughty
defiance,--the first effect of which was to develop and call forth all
the native ardor and daring of a bold and generous people. It was in the
celebrated year '82; and, doubtless, there are some yet living who
can recall to memory the glorious enthusiasm of the “Volunteers.” The
character of the political excitement was eminently suited to the nature
of the people. The themes were precisely those which lay fastest hold of
enthusiastic temperaments. Liberty and Independence were in every mouth.
From the glowing eloquence of the Parliament House,--the burning words
and heart-stirring sentences of Grattan and Ponsonby,--they issued forth
to mingle in all the exciting din of military display,--the tramp of
armed battalions, and the crash and glitter of mounted squadrons. To
these succeeded those festive meetings, resounding with all the zeal of
patriotic toasts,--brilliant displays of those convivial accomplishments
for which the Irish gentlemen of that day were so justly famed. There
was something peculiarly splendid and imposing in the spectacle of the
nation at that moment; but, like the grand groupings we witness upon the
stage, all the gorgeousness of the display was only to intimate that
the curtain was about to fall!
But to come back to personal matters. At the first election which
occurred after his accession to the property, my father was returned for
Wicklow, by a large majority, in opposition to the Government candidate;
and thus, at the age of twenty-two, entered upon life with all the
glowing ardor of a young patriot,--rich, well-looking, and sufficiently
gifted to be flattered into the self-confidence of actual ability.
Parliamentary conflicts have undergone a change just as great as those
of actual warfare. In the times I speak of, tactical skill and subtlety
would have availed but little, in comparison with their present success.
The House was then a species of tournament, where he who would break his
lance with the most valiant tilter was always sure of an antagonist. The
marshalling of party, the muster of adherents, was not, as it now is,
all-sufficient against the daring eloquence of a solitary opponent;
and if, as is very probable, men were less under the guidance of great
political theorems, they were assuredly not less earnest and devoted
than we now see them. The contests of the House were carried beyond its
walls, and political opponents became deadly enemies, ready to stake
life at any moment in defence of their opinions. It was the school of
the period; nor can it be better illustrated than by the dying farewell
of a great statesman, whose last legacy to his son was in the words: “Be
always ready with the pistol.” This great maxim, and the maintenance of
a princely style of living, were the two golden rules of the time. My
father was a faithful disciple of the sect.
In the course of a two years' tour on the Continent, he signalized
himself by various adventures, the fame of which has not yet faded
from the memory of some survivors. The splendor of his retinue was the
astonishment of foreign courts; and the journals of the time constantly
chronicled the princely magnificence of his entertainments, and the
costly extravagance of his household. Wagers were the fashionable
pastime of the period; and to the absurd extent to which this passion
was carried, are we in all probability now indebted for that character
of eccentricity by which our countrymen are known over all Europe.
The most perilous exploits, the most reckless adventures, ordeals of
personal courage, strength, endurance, and address, were invented as
the subject of these wagers; and there was nothing too desperately
hazardous, nor too absurdly ridiculous, as not to find a place in such
contests. My father had run the gauntlet through all, and in every
adventure was said to have acquitted himself with honor and distinction.
Of one only of these exploits do I intend to make mention here; the
reason for the selection will soon be palpable to my reader. At the time
I speak of, Paris possessed two circles totally distinct in the great
world of society. One was that of the Court; the other rallied around
the Duc d'Orléans. To this latter my father's youth, wealth, and
expensive tastes predisposed him, and he soon became one of the most
favored guests of the Palais Royal. Scanty as are the materials which
have reached us, there is yet abundant reason to believe that never, in
the most abandoned days of the Regency, was there any greater degree
of profligacy than then prevailed there. Every vice and debauchery of
a corrupt age was triumphant, and even openly defended on the base and
calumnious pretence that the company was at least as moral as that of
the “Petit Trianon.” My father, I have said, was received into this set
with peculiar honor. His handsome figure, his winning manners, an easy
disposition, and an ample fortune were ready recommendations in his
favor, and he speedily became the chosen associate of the Prince.
Amongst his papers are to be found the unerring proofs of what this
friendship cost him. Continued losses at play had to be met by loans
of money, at the most ruinous rates of interest; and my poor father's
memoranda are filled with patriarchal names that too surely attest the
nature of such transactions. It would seem, however, that fortune
at last took a turn,--at least, the more than commonly wasteful
extravagance of his life at one period would imply that he was a winner.
These gambling contests between the Duke and himself had latterly become
like personal conflicts, wherein each staked skill, fortune, and address
on the issue,--duels which involved passions just as deadly as any whose
arbitrament was ever decided by sword or pistol! As luck favored my
father, the Duke's efforts to raise money were not less strenuous, and
frequently as costly, as his own; while on more than one occasion the
jewelled decorations of his rank--his very sword--were the pledges of
the play-table. At last, so decidedly had been the run against him that
the Prince was forced to accept of loans from my father to enable him to
continue the contest. Even this alternative, however, availed nothing.
Loss followed upon loss, till at length, one night, when fortune had
seemed to have utterly forsaken him, the Prince suddenly rose from
the table, and saying, “Wait a moment, I'll make one 'coup' more,”
disappeared from the room. When he returned, his altered looks almost
startled my father. The color had entirely deserted his cheeks; his very
lips were bloodless; his eyes were streaked with red vessels; and when
he tried to speak, his first words were inaudible. Pressing my father
down again upon the seat from which he had arisen, he leaned over his
shoulder, and whispered in a voice low and broken,--
“I have told you, Chevalier, that I would make one 'coup' more. This
sealed note contains the stake I now propose to risk. You are at liberty
to set any sum you please against it. I can only say, it is all that
now remains to me of value in the world. One condition, however, I must
stipulate for; it is this: If you win”--here he paused, and a convulsive
shudder rendered him for some seconds unable to continue--“if you win,
that you leave France within three days, and that you do not open this
paper till within an hour after your departure.”
My father was not only disconcerted by the excessive agitation of his
manner, but he was little pleased with a compact, the best issue of
which would compel him to quit Paris and all its fascinations at a
very hour's notice. He tried to persuade the Prince that there was no
necessity for so heavy a venture; that he was perfectly ready to advance
any sum his Royal Highness could name; that fortune, so persecuting as
she seemed, should not be pushed further, at least for the present.
In fact, he did everything which ingenuity could prompt to decline the
wager. But the more eagerly he argued, the more resolute and determined
became the Duke; till at last, excited by his losses, and irritated
by an opposition to which he was but little accustomed, the Prince
cut short the discussion by the insolent taunt “that the Chevalier was
probably right, and deemed it safer to retain what he had won, than risk
it by another venture.”
“Enough, sir; I am quite ready,” replied my father, and reseated himself
at the table.
“There's my stake, then,” said the Prince, throwing a sealed envelope on
the cloth.
“Your Royal Highness must correct me if I am in error,” said my father,
“and make mine beneath what it ought to be.” At the same moment he
pushed all the gold before him--several thousand louis--into the middle
of the table.
The Prince never spoke nor moved; and my father, after in vain waiting
for some remark, said,--
“I perceive, sir, that I have miscalculated. These are all that I
have about me;” and he drew from his pocket a mass of bank-notes of
considerable amount. The Prince still maintained silence.
“If your Royal Highness will not vouchsafe to aid me, I must only trust
to my unguided reason, and, however conscious of the inferiority of
the venture, I can but stake all that I possess. Yes, sir, such is my
stake.”
The Prince bowed formally and coldly, and pushed the cards towards my
father. The fashionable game of the day was called Barocco, in which,
after certain combinations, the hand to whom fell the Queen of Spades
became the winner. So evenly had gone the fortune of the game that all
now depended on this card. My father was the dealer, and turned up each
card slowly, and with a hand in which not the slightest tremor could
be detected. The Prince, habitually the very ideal of a gambler's cold
impassiveness, was agitated beyond all his efforts to control, and
sat with his eyes riveted on the game; and when the fatal card fell at
length from my father's hand, his arms dropped powerless at either side
of him, and with a low groan he sank fainting on the floor.
He was quickly removed by his attendants, and my father never saw him
after! All his efforts to obtain an audience were in vain; and when his
entreaties became more urgent, he was given significantly to understand
that the Prince was personally indisposed to receive him. Another and
stronger hint was also supplied, in the-shape of a letter from the
Minister of Police, inclosing my father's passport, and requiring his
departure, by way of Calais, within a given time.
Whatever share curiosity as to the contents of the paper might have
had in my father's first thoughts, a sense of offended dignity for the
manner of his treatment speedily mastered; and as he journeyed along
towards the coast, his mind was solely occupied with one impression. To
be suddenly excluded from the society in which he had so long mixed, and
banished from the country where he had lived with such distinction, were
indeed deep personal affronts, and not without severe reflection on his
conduct and character.
His impatience to quit a land where he had been so grossly outraged grew
greater with every mile he travelled; and although the snow lay heavily
on the road, he passed on, regardless of everything but his insulted
honor. It was midnight when he reached Calais. The packet, which had
sailed in the afternoon, had just re-entered the port, driven back by
a hurricane that had almost wrecked her. The passengers, overcome with
terror, fatigue, and exhaustion, were crowding into the hotel at the
very moment of my father's arrival. The gale increased in violence at
every instant, and the noise of the sea breaking over the old piles of
the harbor was now heard like thunder. Indifferent to such warning, my
father sent for the captain, and asked him what sum would induce him to
put to sea. A positive refusal to accept of any sum was the first reply;
but by dint of persuasion, persistence, and the temptation of a large
reward, he at last induced him to comply.
To my father's extreme surprise, he learned that two ladies who had just
arrived at the hotel were no less resolutely bent on departure, and,
in defiance of the gale, which was now terrific, sent to beg that they
might be permitted to take their passage in the vessel. To the landlord,
who conveyed this request, my father strongly represented the danger of
such an undertaking; that nothing short of an extreme necessity would
have induced him to embark in such a hurricane; that the captain,
who had undertaken the voyage at his especial entreaty, might,
most naturally, object to the responsibility. In a word, he pleaded
everything against this request, but was met by the steady, unvarying
reply, “That their necessity was not less urgent than his own, and that
nothing less than the impossibility should prevent their departure.”
“Be it so, then,” said my father, whose mind was too much occupied with
his own cares to bestow much attention on strangers. Indeed, so little
of either interest or curiosity did his fellow travellers excite in him
that although he assisted them to ascend the ship's side, he made no
effort to see their faces; nor did he address to them a single word.
They who cross the narrow strait nowadays, with all the speed of a
modern mail-steamer, can scarcely credit how much of actual danger
the passage once involved. The communication with the Continent was
frequently suspended for several days together; and it was no unusual
occurrence to hear of three or even four mails being due from France.
So great was the storm on the occasion I refer to that it was full two
hours before the vessel could get clear of the port; and even then, with
a mainsail closely reefed, and a mere fragment of a foresail, the utmost
she could do was to keep the sea. An old and worthless craft, she was
ill-suited to such a service; and now, at each stroke of the waves, some
bulwark would be washed away, some spar broken, or part of the rigging
torn in shreds. The frail timbers creaked and groaned with the working,
and already, from the strain, leaks had burst open in many places, and
half the crew were at the pumps. My father, who kept the deck without
quitting it, saw that the danger was great, and, not improbably, now
condemned his own rashness when it was too late. Too proud, however,
to confess his shame, he walked hurriedly up and down the poop, only
stopping to hold on at those moments when some tremendous lurch almost
laid the craft under. In one of these it was that he chanced to look
down through the cabin grating, and there beheld an old lady, at prayer,
on her knees; her hands held a crucifix before her, and her upturned
eyes were full of deep devotion. The lamp which swung to and fro above
her head threw a passing light upon her features, and showed that she
must once have been strikingly handsome, while even yet the traces were
those that bespoke birth and condition. My father in vain sought for her
companion, and while he bent down over the grating to look, the captain
came up to his side.
“The poor Duchess is terribly frightened,” said he, with an attempt at a
smile which only half succeeded.
“How do you call her?” asked my father.
“La Duchesse de Sargance, a celebrated court beauty some forty years
ago. She has been always attached to the Duchess of Orleans; or, some
say, to the Duke. At least, she enjoys the repute of knowing all his
secret intrigues and adventures.”
“The Duke!” said my father, musing; and, suddenly calling to mind his
pledge, he drew nigh to the binnacle lamp, and, opening his letter,
bent down to read it. A small gold locket fell into his hand, unclasping
which, he beheld the portrait of a beautiful girl of eighteen or
nineteen. She was represented in the act of binding up her hair; and in
the features, the coloring, and the attitude, she seemed the very ideal
of a Grecian statue. In the corner of the paper was written the words,
“Ma Fille,” “Philippe d'Orléans.”
“Is this possible? can this be real?” cried my father, whose quick
intelligence at once seemed to divine all. The next instant he was at
the door of the cabin, knocking impatiently to get in.
“Do you know this, madam?” cried he, holding out the miniature towards
the Duchess. “Can you tell me aught of this?”
“Is the danger over? Are we safe?” was her exclamation, as she arose
from her knees.
“The wind is abating, madam,--the worst is over; and now to my
question.”
“She is yours, sir,” said the Duchess, with a deep obeisance. “His
Royal Highnesses orders were, not to leave her till she reached England.
Heaven grant that we are to see that hour! This is Mademoiselle de
Courtois,” continued she, as at the same instant the young lady entered
the cabin.
The graceful ease and unaffected demeanor with which she received my
father at once convinced him that she at least knew nothing of the
terrible compact in which she was involved. Habituated as he was to all
the fascinations of beauty, and all the blandishments of manner, there
was something to him irresistibly charming in the artless tone with
which she spoke of her voyage, and all the pleasure she anticipated from
a tour through England.
“You see, sir,” said the Duchess, when they were once more alone
together, “Mademoiselle Josephine is a stranger to the position in which
she stands. None could have undertaken the task of breaking it to her.
Let us trust that she is never to know it.”
“How so, madam? Do you mean that I am to relinquish my right?” cried my
father.
“Nothing could persuade me that you would insist upon it, sir.”
“You are wrong, then, madam,” said he, sternly. “To the letter I will
maintain it. Mademoiselle de Courtois is mine; and within twenty-four
hours the law shall confirm my title, for I will make her my wife.”
I have heard that however honorable my father's intentions thus
proclaimed themselves, the Duchess only could see a very lamentable
_mésalliance_ in such a union; nor did she altogether disguise from my
father that his Royal Highness was very likely to take the same view of
the matter. Mademoiselle's mother was of the best blood of France,
and illegitimacy signified little if Royalty but bore its share of the
shame. Fortunately the young lady's scruples were more easily disposed
of: perhaps my father understood better how to deal with them; at all
events, one thing is certain, Madame de Sargance left Dover for
Calais on the same day that my father and his young bride started for
London,--perhaps it might be exaggeration to say the happiest, but it is
no extravagance to call them--as handsome a pair as ever journeyed the
same road on the same errand. I have told some things in this episode
which, perhaps, second thoughts would expunge, and I have omitted others
that as probably the reader might naturally have looked for. But the
truth is, the narrative has not been without its difficulties. I have
had to speak of a tone of manners and habits now happily bygone, of
which I dare not mark my reprehension with all the freedom I could wish,
since one of the chief actors was my father,--its victim, my mother.