MacNaghten's object in seeking an interview with Fagan was to ascertain,
in the first place, who that claimant to the estate was whose views he
advocated; and, secondly, what prospect there might be of effecting
some species of compromise which should secure to my mother a reasonable
competence. Although, in his isolation, he had grasped eagerly even
at such co-operation as that of Curtis, the more he thought over the
matter, the less reason did he see to rejoice in the alliance. Even
before misfortune had affected his intellect, his temper was violent,
and his nature impracticable. Always yielding to impulse far more than
to mature judgment, he rushed madly on, scrambling from difficulty
to difficulty, and barely extricated from one mishap till involved in
another.
Such aid as he could proffer, therefore, promised little, and Dan felt
more than half disposed to relinquish it. This, however, should be done
with all respect to the feelings of Curtis, and, reflecting in what way
the object could best be compassed, MacNaghten slowly sauntered onwards
to the appointed place. It was not without some difficulty that he
at last discovered the miserable lane, at the entrance to which a
jaunting-car was now waiting,--a mark of aristocratic intercourse
which seemed, by the degree of notice it attracted, to show that such
equipages rarely visited this secluded region. MacNaghten's appearance,
however, soon divided public curiosity with the vehicle, and he
was followed by a ragged gathering of every age and sex, who very
unceremoniously canvassed the object of his coming, and with a most
laudable candor criticised his look and appearance. Although poor and
wretched in the extreme, none of them asked alms, nor seemed in
the slightest degree desirous of attracting attention to their own
destitution.
“Is it a lodgin' yer honer wants?” whispered an old fellow on crutches,
sidling close up to MacNaghten, and speaking in a confidential tone.
“I 've a back room looks out on the Poddle, for two shillings a week,
furnished.”
“I've the elegant place Mary Murdoch lived in for ten months, yer honer,
in spite of all the polis', and might be livin' there yet, if she did
n't take into her head to go to Fishamble Street playhouse one night and
get arrested,” cried a one-eyed old hag, with a drummer's coat on.
“He does n't want a room,--the gentleman is n't the likes of them that
comes here,” growled out a cripple, who, with the sagacity that often
belongs to the maimed, seemed better to divine Dan's motives.
“You 're right, my lad; I was trying to find out where a friend of mine
lived,--Mr. Curtis.”
“Faix, ould Joe has company this mornin',” said the first speaker. “It
was to see him that the fat man came on the jaunting-car.”
“Are yiz goin' to try him agen?” said a red-eyed, fierce-looking woman,
whose face was a mass of bruises.
“Sure the gentleman isn't a bailiff nor a polisman,” broke in the
cripple, rebukingly.
“There's not a man in the Poddle won't stand up for Joe Curtis, if he
needs it,” cried a powerfully built man, whose energy of manner showed
that he was the leader of a party.
“Yer honer's looking for Kitty Nelligan; but she's gone,” whispered a
young creature, with a baby at her breast; and her eyes overran with
tears as she spoke. “She died o' Friday last,” added she, in a still
fainter voice.
“Did n't ye hear him say it was Mister Joe he wanted? and there's the
house he lives in,” said another.
“Yis, but he can't go up to him now,” said the man who affected to
assume rule amongst them; “the one that came on the car said he was n't
to be disturbed on any account.”
“Begorra,” chimed in the cripple, “if it's a levee, yer honer must wait
yer turn!”
“I 'm quite willing,” said Dan, good-humoredly; “a man has no right to
be impatient in the midst of such pleasant company;” and as he spoke, he
seated himself on a low stone bench beside the house door, with, all the
ease of one bent on being companionable.
Had MacNaghten assumed airs of haughty superiority or insolent contempt
for that motley assembly, he never could have attained to the position
to which the last words, carelessly uttered as they were, at once raised
him. They not only pronounced him a gentleman, but a man of the world
besides,--the two qualities in the very highest repute in that class by
which he was surrounded. Instead, therefore, of the familiar tone they
had previously used towards him, they now stood silently awaiting him to
speak.
“Do the people hereabouts follow any particular trade?” asked Dan.
“'T is straw chairs principally, your honer,” replied the cripple, “is
the manufacture of the place; but most of us are on the streets.”
“On the streets,--how do you mean?”
“There's Billy Glory, there yonder, he sings ballads; that man with the
bit of crape round his hat hawks the papers; more of us cry things lost
or stolen; and a few more lives by rows and rucktions at elections, and
the like.”
“Faix! and,” sighed the strong man, “the trade isn't worth the following
now. I remember when Barry O'Hara would n't walk the streets without
a body-guard,--five in front, and five behind him,--and well paid they
were; and I remember Hamilton Brown payin' fifty of us to keep College
Green against the Government, on a great Parliament night. Ay, and we
did it too!”
“They wor good times for more than you,” broke in the woman in the
uniform coat; “I made seven-and-sixpence on Essex Bridge in one night by
the 'Shan van voght.'”
“The grandest ballad that ever was written,” chimed in an old man with
one eye; “does yer honer know it?”
“I'm ashamed to say not perfectly,” said Dan, with an air of humility.
“Molly Daly's the one can sing it well, then,” cried he; a sentiment
re-echoed with enthusiasm by all.
“I'm low and down-hearted of a mornin',” said Molly, bashfully; “but
maybe after a naggin and a pint I'll be better.”
“Let me have the honor to treat the company,” said Dan, handing a
crown-piece to one near him.
“If your honor wants to hear Molly right, make her sing Tom Molloy's
ballad for the Volunteers,” whispered the cripple; and he struck up in a
hoarse voice,--
“'Was she not a fool,
When she took off our wool,
To leave us so much of the
Leather--the leather!
“'It ne'er entered her pate
That a sheepskin will 'bate,'
Will drive a whole nation
Together--together.'”
“I'd rather she 'd sing Mosy Cassan's new song on Barry Rutledge,”
growled out a bystander.
“A song on Rutledge?” cried Dan.
“Yes, sir. It was describin' how Watty Carew enticed him downstairs,
to kill him. Faix, but there's murder now goin' on upstairs; do ye hear
ould Joe, how he's cursin' and swearin'?”
The uproar was assuredly enough to attract attention; for Curtis was
heard screaming something at the top of his voice, and as if in high
altercation with his visitor. Mac-Naghten accordingly sprang from
his seat, and hurried up the stairs at once, followed by the
powerful-looking fellow I have already mentioned. As he came near
Curtis's chamber, however, the sounds died away and nothing could
be heard but the low voices of persons conversing in ordinary tones
together.
“Step in here, sir,” said the fellow to Dan, unlocking a door at the
back of the house; “step in here, and I'll tell you when Mister Joe is
ready to see you.”
MacNaghten accepted the offer, and now found himself in a mean-looking
chamber, scantily furnished, and looking out upon some of those
miserable lanes and alleys with which the place abounded. The man
retired, locking the door after him, and leaving Dan to his own
meditations in solitude.
He was not destined to follow these thoughts long undisturbed, for again
he could hear Curtis's voice, which, at first from a distant room, was
now to be heard quite close, as he came into the very chamber adjoining
that where Dan was.
“Come this way, come this way, I say,” cried the old man, in a voice
tremulous with passion. “If you want to seize, you shall see the
chattels at once,--no need to trouble yourself about an inventory! There
is my bed; I got fresh straw into the sacking on Saturday. The blanket
is a borrowed one; that horseman's cloak is my own. There 's not much
in that portmanteau,” cried he, kicking it with his foot against the
wall. “Two ragged shirts and a lambskin waistcoat, and the title-deeds
of estates that not even your chicanery could get back for me. Take them
all, take that old blunderbuss, and tell the Grinder that if I 'd have
put it to my head twenty years ago, it would have been mercy, compared
to the slow torture of his persecution!”
“My dear Mr. Curtis, my dear sir,” interposed a bland, soft voice that
Dan at once recognized as belonging to Mr. Crowther, the attorney, “you
must allow me once more to protest against this misunderstanding. There
is nothing farther from my thoughts at this moment than any measure of
rigor or severity towards you.”
“What do you mean, then, by that long catalogue of my debts? Why have
you hunted me out to show me bills I can never pay, and bonds I can
never release?”
“Pray be calm, sir; bear with me patiently, and you will see that my
business here this morning is the very reverse of what you suspect it
to be. It is perfectly true that Mr. Fagan possesses large, very large,
claims upon you.”
“How incurred, sir?--answer me that. Who can stand forty, fifty, ay,
sixty per cent? Has he not succeeded to every acre of my estate? Have I
anything, except that settle-bed, that is n't his?”
“You cannot expect me to go at length into these matters, sir,” said
Crowther, mildly; “they are now bygones, and it is of the future I wish
to speak.”
“If the past be bad, the future promises to be worse,” cried Curtis,
bitterly. “It is but sorry mercy to ask me to look forward!”
“I think I can convince you to the contrary, sir, if you vouchsafe me a
hearing. I hope to show you that there are in all probability many happy
years before you,--years of ease and affluence. Yes, sir, in spite of
that gesture of incredulity, I repeat it,--of ease and affluence.”
“So, then, they think to buy me at last,” broke in the old man. “The
scoundrels must have met with few honest men, or they had never dared
to make such a proposal. What do the rascals think to bribe me with, eh?
Tell me that.”
“You persist in misunderstanding me, sir. I do not come from the
Government; I would not presume to wait on you in such a cause!”
“What's the peerage to me? I have no descendants to profit by my infamy.
I cannot barter my honor for my children's greatness! I 'm prouder with
that old hat on my head than with the coronet; tell them that. Tell
them that Joe Curtis was the only man in all Ireland they never could
purchase; tell them that when I had an estate I swore to prosecute for a
poacher their ducal Viceroy if he shot a snipe over my lands; and that I
'm the same man now I was then!”
Crowther sighed heavily, like one who has a wearisome task before him,
but must go through with it.
“If I could but persuade you, sir, to believe that my business here has
no connection with politics whatever; that the Castle has nothing to do
with it--”
“Ay, I see,” cried Curtis, “it's Lord Charlemont sent you. It 's no
use; I 'll have nothing to say to any of them. He's too fond of Castle
dinners and Castle company for me! I never knew any good come of the
patriotism that found its way up Corkhill at six o'clock of an evening!”
“Once for all, Mr. Curtis, I say that what brought me here this morning
was to show you that Mr. Fagan would be willing to surrender all claim
against you for outstanding liabilities, and besides to settle on you a
very handsome annuity, in consideration of some concessions on your part
with respect to a property against which he has very large claims.”
“What's the annuity,--how much?” cried Curtis, hastily.
“What sum would you yourself feel sufficient, sir? He empowered me to
consult your own wishes and expectations on the subject.”
“If I was to say a thousand a-year, for instance?” said Curtis, slowly.
“I'm certain he would not object, sir.”
“Perhaps if I said two, he 'd comply?”
“Two thousand pounds a-year is a large income for a single man,” replied
Crowther, sententiously.
“So it is; but I could spend it. I spent eight thousand a-year once in
my life, and when my estate was short of three! and that 's what comes
of it;” and he gave the settle-bed a rude kick as he spoke. “Would he
give two? That's the question, Crowther: would he give two?”
“I do not feel myself competent to close with that offer, Mr. Curtis;
but if you really think that such a sum is necessary--”
“I do,--I know it; I could n't do with a shilling less; in fact, I'd
find myself restricted enough with that. Whenever I had to think about
money, it was hateful to me. Tell him two is the lowest, the very
lowest, I 'd accept of; and if he wishes to treat me handsomely, he may
exceed it. You 're not to judge of my habits, sir, from what you see
here,” added he, fiercely; “this is not what I have been accustomed
to. You don't know the number of people who look up to me for bread. My
father's table was laid for thirty every day, and it had been well for
us if as many more were not fed at our cost elsewhere.”
“I have often heard tell of Meagh-valley House and its hospitalities,”
said Crowther, blandly.
“'Come over and drink a pipe of port' was the invitation when I was a
boy. A servant was sent round to the neighborhood to say that a
hogshead of claret was to be broached on such a day, and to beg that the
gentlemen around would come over and help to drink it,--ay, to drink it
out! Your piperly hounds, with their two-bottle magnum, think themselves
magnificent nowadays; why, in my time they 'd have been laughed to
scorn!”
“They were glorious times indeed,” cried Crowther, with mad enthusiasm.
“Glorious times to beggar a nation, to prostitute public honor and
private virtue,” broke in Curtis, passionately; “to make men heartless
debauchees first, that they might become shameless scoundrels after; to
teach them a youth of excess and an old age of venality. These were your
Glorious Times! But you, sir, may be forgiven for praising them; to you,
and others like you, they have been indeed 'Glorious Times'! Out of them
grew those lawsuits and litigations that have enriched you, while they
ruined us. Out of that blessed era of orgie and debauch came beggared
families and houseless gentry; men whose fathers lay upon down couches,
and whose selves sleep upon the like of that;” and the rude settle
rocked as his hand shook it. “Out upon your Glorious Times, say I; you
might as well call the drunken scene of a dinner-party a picture of
domestic comfort and happiness! It was a long night of debauchery, and
this that we now see is the sad morning afterwards! Do you know besides,
sir,” continued he, in a still fiercer tone, “that in those same
'Glorious Times,' you, and others of your stamp, would have been baited
like badgers if found within the precincts of a gentleman's house? Ay,
faith, and if my memory does not betray me, I can call to mind one or
two such instances.”
The violence of the old man's passion seemed to have exhausted him, and
he sat down on the bed, breathing heavily and panting.
“Where were we?” cried he at last. “What was it that we were arguing?
Yes--ay--to be sure--these bills--these confounded bills. I can't pay
them. I would n't if I could. That scoundrel Fagan has made enough of me
without that. What was it you said of an annuity? There was some talk of
an annuity, eh?”
Crowther bent down, and spoke some words in a low, murmuring voice.
“Well, and for that what am I to do?” cried Curtis, suddenly. “My share
of the compact is heavy enough, I'll be sworn. What is it?”
“I think I can show you that it is not much of a sacrifice, sir. I know
you hate long explanations, and I 'll make mine very brief. Mr. Fagan
has very heavy charges against an estate which is not unlikely to be
the subject of a disputed ownership. It may be a long suit, with all
the delays and difficulties of Chancery; and in looking over the various
persons who may prefer claims here and there, we find your name amongst
the rest, for it is a long list, sir. There may be forty or forty-five
in all! The principal one, however, is a wealthy baronet who has ample
means to prosecute his claim, and with fair hopes of succeeding. My
notion, however, was that if Mr. Fagan could arrange with the several
persons in the cause to waive their demands for a certain consideration,
that it would not be difficult then to arrange some compromise with the
baronet himself,--he surrendering the property to Fagan for a certain
amount, on taking with it all its liabilities. You understand?”
“And who's the owner?” asked Curtis, shortly.
“He is dead, sir.”
“Who was he when alive?”
“An old friend, or rather the son of an old friend of yours, Mr.
Curtis!”
“Ah, Brinsley Morgan! I guess him at once; but you are wrong, quite
wrong there, my good fellow. I have n't the shadow of a lien on
his estate. We talked it over together one day, and Hackett, the
Attorney-General, who was in the house, said that my claim was n't
worth five shillings. But I 'll tell you where I have a claim,--at least
Hackett said so, I have a very strong claim--No, no; I was forgetting
again,--my memory is quite gone. It is so hard when one grows old to
bear the last ten or fifteen years in mind. I can remember my boyhood
and my school-days like yesterday. It is late events that confuse me!
You 'll scarce believe me when I tell you I often find myself going to
dine with some old friend, and only discover when I reach his door that
he is dead and gone this many a day! There was something in my mind to
tell you, and it has escaped me already. Oh! I have it. There are some
curious old family papers in that musty-looking portmanteau. I should
like to find out some clever fellow that would look them over without
rushing me into a lawsuit, mind ye, for I have no heart for that now! My
brother Harry's boy is dead. India finished him, poor fellow! That's the
key of it,--see if it will open the lock.”
“If you like I 'll take them back with me, sir, and examine them myself
at home.”
“Do so, Crowther. Only understand me well, no bills of costs, my worthy
friend; no searches after this, or true copies of that; I 'll have
none of them. As Dick Parsons said, I 'd rather spend my estate at the
'Fives' than the 'Four' Courts.”
Crowther gave one of his complacent laughs; and having induced Curtis
to accept an invitation for the following day at dinner, he took the
portmanteau under his arm and withdrew.
He had scarcely descended the stairs when Dan found the door unlocked,
and proceeded to pay his visit to Curtis, his mind full of all that he
had just overheard, and wondering at the many strange things he had been
a listener to.
When MacNaghten entered, he found Curtis sitting at a table, with
his head resting on his hand, and looking like one deeply engaged in
thought. Dan saluted him twice, without obtaining a reply, and at last
said,--
“They said that you had a visitor this morning, and so I have been
waiting for some time to see you.”
The other nodded assentingly, but did not speak.
“You are, perhaps, too much tired now,” said Dan, in a kind voice, “for
much talking. Come and have a turn in the open air; it will refresh
you.”
Curtis arose and took his hat, without uttering a word.
“You are a good walker, Curtis,” said MacNaghten, as they reached the
street. “What say you if we stroll down to Harold's Cross, and eat our
breakfast at the little inn they call 'The Friar'?”
“Agreed,” muttered the other, and walked along at his side, without
another word; while Dan, to amuse his companion, and arouse him from
the dreary stupor that oppressed him, exerted himself in various ways,
recounting the popular anecdotes of the day, and endeavoring, so far as
might be, to entertain him.
It was soon, however, evident that Curtis neither heard nor heeded the
efforts the other was making, for he continued to move along with
his head down, mumbling at intervals to himself certain broken and
incoherent words. At first, MacNaghten hoped that this moody dejection
would pass away, and his mind recover its wonted sharpness; but now
he saw that the impression under which he labored was no passing or
momentary burden, but a heavy load that weighed wearily on his spirits.
“I am afraid you are scarcely so well as usual to-day?” asked Dan, after
a long interval of silence between them.
“I have a pain hereabouts,--it is not a pain either, but I feel uneasy,”
said Curtis, pushing his hat back from his forehead, and touching his
temple with his finger.
“It will pass away with the fresh air and a hearty breakfast, I hope. If
not, I will see some one on our return. Who is your doctor?”
“My doctor! You ask a man who has lived eighty-four years who is his
doctor! That nature that gave him a good stout frame; the spirit that
told him what it could, and what it could not, bear,--these, and a
hearty contempt for physic and all that live by it, have guided me so
far, and you may call them my doctors if you wish.”
Rather pleased to have recalled the old man to his habitual energy,
Dan affected to contest his opinions, by way of inducing him to support
them; but he quickly saw his error, for Curtis, as though wearied by
even this momentary effort, seemed more downcast and depressed than
before.
MacNaghten, therefore, contented himself with some commonplace remarks
about the country around and the road they were walking, when Curtis
came to a sudden halt, and said,--
“You would n't take the offer, I 'll be sworn. You 'd say at once:
'Show me what rights I 'm surrendering; let me know the terms of the
agreement.' But what signifies all that at my age?--the last of the
stock besides! If I lay by what will pay the undertaker, it's all the
world has a right to demand at my hands.”
“Here's 'The Friar,'--this is our inn,” said MacNaghten. “Shall I be the
caterer, eh? What say you to some fried fish and a glass of Madeira, to
begin with?”
“I 'll have a breakfast, sir, that suits my condition,” said Curtis,
haughtily. “Send the landlord here for my orders.”
“Here's our man, then,” said MacNaghten, humoring the whim, as he pushed
the innkeeper towards him.
“What's your name, my good fellow?” asked Curtis, with a supercilious
look at the short but well-conditioned figure before him.
“Billy Mathews, sir,” said the other, with difficulty restraining a
smile at the dilapidated look of his interrogator.
“Well, Mathews, keep the Billy for your equals, my good friend. Mathews,
I say, let us have the best your house affords, served in your best room
and in your best manner. If I ate prison fare for nine weeks, sir, it
is no reason that I am not accustomed to something different. My name
is Joseph Curtis, of Meagh-valley House; I sat in Parliament for
eight-and-twenty years, for the borough of Kilternon; and I was tried
for a murder at the last commission. There, sir! it's not every day you
have a guest who can say as much.”
As the landlord was moving away to give his orders, Curtis called out
once more:--
“Stay, sir; hear me out. There are spies of the Castle wherever I go.
Who have you here just now? Who's in this house?”
“There's but one gentleman here at present, sir. I've known him these
twenty years, and I 'll vouch for it he's neither a Government spy nor
an informer.”
“And who will be satisfied with your guarantee, sir?” cried Curtis,
insolently. “It's not a fellow in your position that can assure the
scruples of a man in mine. Who is he? What's his name?”
“He's a respectable man, sir, well known in Dublin, and the son of one
that held a good position once.”
“His name,--his name!” cried Curtis, imperiously.
“It's no matter about his name!” replied the host, sulkily. “He has come
to eat his breakfast here, as he does once or twice a week, and that's
all that I have to say to him.”
“But I 'll have his name,--I 'll insist upon it,” shouted out Curtis,
in a voice of high excitement; “persecuted and hunted down as I am, I'll
defend myself. Your Castle bloodhounds shall see that Joe Curtis will
not run from them. This gentleman here is the son of MacNaghten of
Greenan. What signifies it to you if he be ruined! What affair is it of
yours, I ask, if he has n't a sixpence in the world?--I'll pay for what
he takes here. I'm responsible for everything. I have two thousand a
year secured on my life,”--he stopped, and seemed to reflect for a
moment, then added,--“that is, I may have it if I please.”
MacNaghten made a signal for the innkeeper to serve the breakfast, and
not notice any of the extravagances of his strange companion. Mathews
was about to obey, when Curtis, recurring to his former thought, cried
out,--
“Well, sir, this fellow's name?”
“Tell him who it is,” whispered Dan, secretly; and the host said,--
“The gentleman is one Mr. Raper, sir, head clerk to Mr. Fagan, of Mary's
Abbey.”
“Leave the room--close the door,” said Curtis, with an air of caution.
“I saw the signal you gave the innkeeper a moment ago, MacNaghten,” said
he, in the same low and guarded tone. “I read its meaning perfectly.
You would imply: The old fellow is not right--a crack in the upper
story--humor him a bit. Don't deny it, man; you acted for the best; you
thought, as many think, that my misfortunes had affected my intellect
and sapped my understanding; and so they had done this many a day,”
added he, fiercely, “but for one thing. I had one grand security against
madness, Dan; one great barrier, my boy: shall I tell it you? It
was this, then: that if my head wandered sometimes, my heart never
did--never! I hated the English and their party in this country with a
hate that never slept, never relaxed! I knew well that I was the only
man in Ireland that they could not put down. Some they bought--some
they ruined--some they intimidated--some they destroyed by calumny. They
tried all these with me, and at last were driven to a false accusation,
and had me up for a murder! and that failed them, too! Here I stand,
their opponent, just as I did fifty-two years ago, and the only man in
all Ireland that dares to brave and defy them. They 'd make me a peer
to-morrow, Dan; they 'd give me a colonial government; they 'd take me
into the Cabinet; there is not a demand of mine they 'd say 'No' to, if
I 'd join them; but my answer is, 'Never! never!' Go down to your grave,
Joe Curtis, ruined, ragged, half-famished, mayhap. Let men call you a
fool, and worse! but the time will come, and the people will say: There
was once a man in Ireland that never truckled to the Castle, nor fawned
on the Viceroy; and that when he stood in the dock, with his life on the
venture, told them that he despised their vengeance, though he knew that
they were covering it with all the solemnity of a law-court; and that
man his contemporaries--ay, even his friends--were pleased to call Mad!”
“Come, come, Curtis, you know well this is not my impression of you; you
only say so jestingly.”
“It's a sorry theme to crack jokes upon,” said the other, sadly. He
paused, and seemed to reflect deeply for some minutes, and then, in a
voice of peculiar meaning, and with a look of intense cunning in his
small gray eyes, said, “We heard the name he mentioned,--Raper, Fagan's
man of business. Let 's have him in, MacNaghten; the fellow is a half
simpleton in many things. Let's talk to him.”
“Would you ask Mr. Raper to join our breakfast?” asked Dan of the
innkeeper.
“He has just finished his own, sir; some bread and watercresses, with a
cup of milk, are all that he takes.”
“Poor fellow!” said Dan, “I see him yonder in the summer-house; he
appears to be in hard study, for he has not raised his head since we
entered the room. I 'll go and ask him how he is.”
MacNaghten had not only time to approach the little table where Raper
was seated unobserved, but even to look over the object of his study,
before his presence was recognized.
“German, Mr. Raper; reading German?” cried MacNaghten. “I know the
characters, at least.”
“Yes, sir, it is German; an odd volume of Richter that I picked up a few
days ago. A difficult author at first, somewhat involved and intricate
in construction: here, for instance is a passage--”
“My dear friend, it is all a Greek chorus to me, or anything else you
can fancy equally unintelligible.”
“It is the story of an humble man, a village cobbler, who becomes by
an accident of fortune suddenly rich. Now, the author, instead of
describing the incidents of life and the vicissitudes that encounter
him, leaves us only to guess, or rather to supply them for ourselves, by
simply dwelling upon all the 'Gedänkskriege,' or mental conflicts, that
are the consequences of his altered position. The notion is ingenious,
and if not overlayed with a certain dreamy mysticism, would be very
interesting.”
“I,” said Dan, “would far rather hear of his acts than his reflections.
What he did would amuse me more to know than to learn why.”
“But how easy to imagine the one!” exclaimed Raper. “Wealth has its
habits all stereotyped: from Dives to our own days the catalogue has
been ever the same, 'purple and fine linen.' And if some have added to
the mere sensual pleasures the higher enjoyments derivable from objects
of art and the cultivation of letters, has it not been because their
own natures were more elevated, and required such refinements as daily
necessaries? The humble man, suddenly enriched, lives no longer in the
sphere of his former associates, but ascends into one of whose habits he
knows nothing; and Jean Paul condemns him for this, and reminds him that
when a river is swollen by autumn rains it does not desert its
ancient channel, but enlarges the sphere of its utility, by spreading
fertilization on each side of it, seeming to think: I may, by the
accidents of life, grow small and humble again; it is as well that I
should not quit the tiny course I have followed in my humble fortunes.”
“And do you agree with him?” asked Dan, more amazed by the enthusiasm of
his companion than by the theme that suggested it.
“I do so in everything; I speak, of course, as one who knows nothing of
those ambitions by which wealthy men are encompassed; I am not in
the position of one who has seen and felt these fascinations, and who
emerges from his poverty to re-assume a former station. Take the case of
Mr. Curtis, for instance.”
“What! old Curtis--Joe Curtis?” asked Dan, eagerly.
“Yes, Curtis, formerly of Meagh-valley. Well, if his claim be as good as
they suppose, he 'll not only inherit the great Wicklow estates, but the
Western property so long in Chancery.”
MacNaghten saw that Raper was pouring forth this knowledge without being
conscious that he was making an important revelation, and gave a dry,
commonplace assent.
“Who can say what may not be his income?” exclaimed Raper, thoughtfully;
“twenty thousand a-year, at the least.”
“And his prospects are good, you say,--his chances of success?”
“The marriage certificate of Noah Curtis and Eleanor Carew has been
discovered, sir, and if the will of Fownes Carew be authentic, the case,
I believe, is clear.”
“What Carews were these?”
“The ancestors of Walter Carew, sir, whose estates now descend to the
heirs of the female branch.”
“And Curtis will inherit these?”
The tone in which Dan uttered these words so startled Raper that he
suddenly recovered his self-possession, and remembered how unguardedly
he had related this mysterious piece of intelligence.
“When was this discovery made?--who chanced to trace this relationship
between Curtis and the Carew family?” cried MacNaghten, in intense
anxiety.
A signal from Raper suddenly suggested caution and reserve; but Dan, too
much excited to attend it, went on:
“Sir, never believe it! It is some infernal scheme concocted between
Fagan and the lawyers. They have put forward this wretched old man,
half-witted as he is--”
A hand grasped Dan's arm as he said this; he turned, and there stood
Curtis beside him!
“I 've heard you both!” said the old man, dryly. “To you, sir,” said
he to Raper, “I owe my thanks for a piece of welcome news; to you,
MacNaghten, I feel grateful for all your candor!”
“Come, come, Curtis; be angry with me, if you will; but for Heaven's
sake do not lend yourself to these base plots and schemes. If there be a
conspiracy to rob poor Walter's widow and her child, let not one of his
oldest, best friends have any share in it.”
“I 'll maintain my rights, sir, be assured of that!” said Curtis, with
a degree of resolution strangely different from his former manner. “Mr.
MacNaghten's impression of my competence to conduct my own affairs may
possibly be disparaging, but, happily, there is another tribunal which
shall decide on that question. Raper, I 'm going into town,--will you
accompany me? Mr. MacNaghten, I wish you a good morning.” And with these
words he took Raper's arm, and retired, leaving Dan still standing,
mute, overwhelmed, and thunderstruck.