DURING the winter of 1758 Vienna society found one of its most
interesting subjects of small talk in the affairs of Sir Gavin Hamilton
and his son, Lieutenant Gavin Hamilton, of the Jascinsky Regiment of
Hussars. Of course, all sorts of variations were given to the story,
the plain, unvarnished truth being the version seldomest heard and
least believed. Although England had withdrawn from her alliance with
the Empress Queen, and the King of Prussia had secured an English
alliance and an English subsidy of nearly seven hundred thousand
pounds, it was the policy of Kaunitz to treat the English in Vienna in
a conciliatory manner. There were only a few of them, chiefly gentlemen
of fortune like Sir Gavin Hamilton, who had a fancy for what was then,
next to Paris, the gayest city of continental Europe, and who took
advantage of the permission to remain until the actual outbreak of
hostilities in the spring. Nowhere was the spirit of resistance to
Frederick’s aggressions so determined as in Vienna, and it was the
belief both of the great Chancellor and his imperial mistress that it
would be well for Englishmen of rank and standing to note the undaunted
front with which the Court of Vienna met misfortunes, and prepared to
redeem them. Sir Gavin was distinctly unpopular; but that, which would
have been a reason with most men for leaving Vienna at the earliest
feasible moment, was reason enough to keep him there until the last
possible hour. He had an unshakable self-possession, and it gave him a
cynical amusement to show himself when the world expected him to take
himself off; to smile and be at his ease when other men would have been
miserably ill at ease; to calmly ignore the attitude of others when
it did not coincide with his own attitude. He appeared punctually at
the next weekly levee of the Empress Queen, after he had been dropped
out of the window by his son, and bore with perfect composure the sly
smiles and covert gibes to which his adventure gave rise. Only on one
point did he change. Twice had he met Gavin, and each time the slur
cast upon Lady Hamilton had been resented in a way against which he was
practically defenceless. All the sneers and jeers in the world were
helpless against a young man with such fine, powerful arms and legs as
Gavin’s, and who had no scruple whatever in using them. Sir Gavin saw,
therefore, the absolute impossibility of conveying any slight upon Lady
Hamilton in her son’s presence without being made not only odious, but
ridiculous; and, like Gavin, he knew perfectly well that no place and
no company would give him security, when the occasion rose, from the
just resentment of the son of the woman he had so injured.
Gavin, deep in learning the duties of his new position, yet lost not a
moment in trying to get his mother to Vienna. The journey would be long
and expensive, and it would require rigid economy for both of them to
live on his hussar’s pay; yet his affectionate heart yearned to have
her with him. Madame Ziska and her husband, and St. Arnaud, who knew
the world well, pointed out other reasons why it was desirable that
Lady Hamilton should come to Vienna.
“It is your great opportunity,” said St. Arnaud one evening when they
all sat together in Madame Ziska’s apartment. “There is no doubt that
the Empress Queen will receive your mother as Lady Hamilton, and it
will carry great weight in your contest for your rights.”
“Especially will it be so,” added Kalenga, who was a man of much sense,
“if she is received as Lady Hamilton while Sir Gavin Hamilton is here.
It will be plain that there could be no deception about it, and that
the Empress Queen knew the exact status of the case. Therefore, I
recommend you to make every effort and every sacrifice to get your
mother to you at the earliest moment. When the campaign opens in the
spring, you will be obliged to leave Vienna. You should have her here
before you are ordered away.”
“And I,” said St. Arnaud, “through my connections in France, can
arrange for her to start and have money advanced to her.”
“And I,” chimed in Madame Ziska, “can lend you a few ducats to help her
out.”
The ever-ready tears filled Gavin’s eyes.
“Why should I have such friends? I think it must be my mother’s
blessing that brings them. But, oh, me! I do not know where in Paris
my mother can now be found. The last letter that reached me was in the
summer. She may have changed her quarters since then.”
“Never mind,” cried St. Arnaud encouragingly. “It is not likely that
she did not take steps to have her whereabouts known, and the King’s
police can find her, anyhow.”
That very night St. Arnaud wrote a packet of letters, to be dispatched
by the next post to France. Only after they were gone did he tell
Gavin that he had directed his friends in Paris, not only to find
Lady Hamilton, but to supply her with everything needful for her
comfort in making the long journey. More than that, he went next day
to Prince Kaunitz, and laying before him the facts in the case, got a
specific promise from him that the Empress Queen would receive Lady
Hamilton on her arrival. And he and Gavin, in whatever company they
found themselves, took pains to announce the coming arrival of Lady
Hamilton. The presence of Sir Gavin made a very pretty complication,
and conjecture ran riot in Vienna society as to what he would say and
do when the catastrophe came. Sir Gavin discounted it all by saying
and doing nothing whatever. Bets were freely made as to the date when
Sir Gavin would be driven to flight. The Chancellor, Kaunitz, hearing
it talked of one evening in the Empress Queen’s antechamber, took a
pinch of snuff, and coolly poising it between his thumb and forefinger,
remarked:
“Sir Gavin Hamilton will remain in Vienna as long as he is not wanted.
The day we appear to wish him to stay he will take post for Berlin
or London or the devil. Yesterday I achieved the greatest diplomatic
stroke of my career. Sir Gavin came to see me at the Chancellery, and
inquired whether he could have permission to remain in Vienna, if he so
desired, beyond the time stipulated in his passport. I was on the alert
at once. I knew, whatever he supposed my wishes were, that would he
not do. Therefore, I answered him in such a manner that he did not and
cannot find out whether his presence here is pleasing or displeasing
to her Imperial Majesty’s government. That is what I call a diplomatic
triumph.”
And Kaunitz dramatically waved his jewelled hand and lace-trimmed
handkerchief in the air.
“But the wife he repudiates is coming,” suggested a pert maid of
honour. Kaunitz shook his head.
“No such trifle as that, my dear lady, will move Sir Gavin Hamilton.
Englishmen are obstinate, but Sir Gavin Hamilton has an obstinacy as
tall and as wide and as deep as the cathedral of St. Stephen.”
On a snowy day in February, about the time that Lady Hamilton was
expected, St. Arnaud sat alone in his apartment. He was hard at work
over some details of his regiment; for the remnants of it had been got
together, and with the new recruits it could make a tolerable showing
in numbers. Below he could hear the Kalenga children romping--Madame
Ziska was away at the palace giving the dancing lesson to the little
archdukes and archduchesses, and Kalenga, the most devoted of fathers,
allowed his children much more indulgence than their mother. They grew
so noisy presently that when St. Arnaud heard the grinding of wheels
before the door, he said to himself:
“Thank heaven, Madame Ziska is come, and they will now be quiet.”
But, looking out of the window, he saw it was not Madame Ziska who was
descending from the carriage, but a lady in black, whose slightness and
youthfulness of figure made it seem impossible that she should be the
mother of a son as old as Gavin Hamilton.
St. Arnaud returned to his work, until he heard steps ascending the
stairs, and Freda’s childish voice saying:
“The gentlemen are out, but I can show you to Lieutenant Gavin’s
room--that is what we call him.”
The door opened and Lady Hamilton entered.
The youthfulness of her figure was not fulfilled in her face. Sorrow
and want had done their work there; they had clouded, though not
destroyed her delicate beauty. Her dark eyes were Gavin’s eyes, but
her hair, once a deep brown, was plentifully streaked with gray. Her
complexion, extremely fair, had not the red glow of youth, and her
fine, straight features were thin and marked. But however much she had
the signs of having suffered, she was now palpitating with joy, and
her pallor was that of overpowering emotion. Her eyes rested upon St.
Arnaud, then quickly searched the room.
“He is not here--my son--” she said, trembling as she spoke.
“No, madam,” replied St. Arnaud, rising, “but he will be here very
shortly.”
Lady Hamilton advanced to the middle of the room, and placing her hand
on St. Arnaud’s arm, said:
“I know well who you are--my son’s friend and best benefactor. I am
almost glad that Gavin is not here, for I did not know how much it
would agitate me to meet him.”
St. Arnaud led her tenderly to a chair, saying:
“Remember, you are among friends who honour you and love Gavin.”
The woman, who had borne with stoical composure for twenty years
the miseries of a repudiated wife, broke down under these words of
kindness. She laid her head upon her arms and sobbed convulsively.
Freda, with wide and frightened childish eyes, watched her, while St.
Arnaud let her weep unchecked; he saw that it was doing her good.
Freda, who was an affectionate child, stole her little hand in Lady
Hamilton’s, and asked earnestly:
“Won’t you let me get you some coffee to make you stop crying--and a
little piece of bread with it and some cheese?”
Lady Hamilton drew the child to her, and smiling through her tears,
called her a dear child. Freda thought the ways of grown people very
remarkable.
In a few minutes Lady Hamilton recovered her self-possession--the
pains of joy are short-lived--and sat up, her wan face glowing with
happiness. And then, just as she and St. Arnaud were talking as if
they had known each other forty years, an eager step was heard on the
stairs, and Gavin, his face flushed with exercise, and looking every
inch a man and a soldier in his hussar uniform, bounded into the room.
St. Arnaud slipped into his own bedroom--the meeting between the mother
and son was too sacred for other eyes.
Gavin caught his mother in his arms and strained her to his heart. Both
wept--they had shed no tears at parting--and a dozen times Gavin cried:
“Mother! my mother!” and Lady Hamilton answered: “My son! my excellent,
brave son,” as if the mere repetition of the title each loved gave them
joy.
The first rapturous kisses over, mother and son looked at each other
with new eyes. When they had parted nearly two years before, Gavin was
a boy. He had looked up to his mother for help in every relation of
life, and she had been forgetful, as mothers are, of the development
of the boy into the man, and had yearned over him in his youth and
inexperience much as she had watched over him in his cradle. Now,
in the twinkling of an eye, after a separation of two years, their
situations were reversed. The mother saw at one glance that here she
had a stay and prop--the days of her comfort were beginning. And the
son saw that, in the natural evolution of events, he could now begin
to return to his mother that all-providing care with which she had
sheltered his hard and poverty-stricken youth. Lady Hamilton surveyed
his tall and well-formed figure with delight. She had never before in
her life seen him tolerably well dressed. To keep him decent had taxed
all her slender resources; and to see him in all the splendour of his
white hussar uniform was a revelation to her.
“I did not know you were so nearly handsome,” she said fondly, kissing
his forehead. “But I never before saw you in the guise of a gentleman.”
“Oh, my mother,” cried Gavin, “after I had left you and knew something
of the world, I wondered how you, alone and forsaken in a strange
country, ever continued to live at all! And to feed and clothe
_me_--what a burden I must have been to you!”
“No burden, but my only joy and hope. Tell me, therefore, my son, have
you so lived since we parted that I can still have joy and hope in you?
Look me in the face and tell me if you have led a clean life and an
upright life, for I know you cannot deceive my eyes, even if you would.”
Gavin looked at her honestly, clearly, unflinchingly.
“I have not been perfect, mother,” he replied. “No one is that, you
have always told me; but there is not one hour of my life since
we parted that you cannot know all about, if you wish to hear it.
Remember, the ways and talk of private soldiers, of whom I was one for
two years, are not the ways and talk in which you bred me; but these
soldiers were honest, brave fellows, if they were uncouth and coarse.
I have felt, however, much more at home in the company which St.
Arnaud made possible to me than I ever did among the soldiers; and in
one thing, at least, I obeyed your commands”--here Gavin laughed--“I
was often ragged and always cold and hungry, but I never was a moment
without a piece of soap, a comb, and a razor.”
At which Lady Hamilton smiled and said:
“You are my own true boy. My father and my brothers were always clean
and well-shaven, as becomes gentlemen. I don’t know how I should feel
toward a son who neglected those things.”
Gavin grew serious enough the next moment, for he said:
“And do you know that my--that Sir Gavin Hamilton is in Vienna?”
A deep flush rose instantly in Lady Hamilton’s pale face. Gavin
went on and described his adventure with Sir Gavin Hamilton at the
imperial palace and everything connected with him, and especially the
possibility that he and Lady Hamilton might meet if Lady Hamilton went
to the Empress Queen’s levee, which she, no doubt, would.
“And after her Majesty receives you, mother,” cried Gavin exultingly,
“Sir Gavin can no longer insult you by saying you were not his wife.”
“But will her Majesty receive me?”
“Undoubtedly; so Prince Kaunitz has promised St. Arnaud. And I have
privately told St. Arnaud that if by any accident or intrigue it is
refused, or even delayed, I will resign my commission at once and
enlist again as a private soldier. But St. Arnaud will manage it. St.
Arnaud has a great family connection in Paris. The Chancellor, Kaunitz,
knows all about him--so trust St. Arnaud to do for you what he has done
for me. He is the best friend with whom mortal man was ever blessed.”
“I long to see him again. When I arrived I was so overcome and agitated
that I scarcely knew what I was saying; but I loved him before I ever
saw him. And I love that good Madame Ziska--ah, Gavin, Gavin, how much
good there is in the world!”
“Come,” cried Gavin, jumping up. “I hear the carriage at the
door--Madame Ziska has returned from the opera-house--and where is St.
Arnaud?”
Gavin ran in the other rooms of the apartment, shouting:
“St. Arnaud! Where are you? Come and see my mother;” but St. Arnaud was
nowhere to be found. Gavin then escorted his mother to the floor below
to meet Madame Ziska and her husband. In all the terrible privations,
humiliations, and struggles of twenty years, Lady Hamilton had never
lost the best part of her birthright--the air and manner of the
high-bred Englishwoman. Her black gown was shabby and her slim hands
roughened by the actual toil she had been compelled to do, but she was
everywhere at ease, with that serene and graceful unconsciousness which
is the mark of a person born to consideration. Madame Ziska, although
born and bred in a far humbler position in life than the English
gentlewoman, had been gifted with a natural refinement and good sense
that was equal to all the advantages of birth and early education; so
the two women, on meeting, had every reason to be mutually satisfied
with the other.
Gavin very proudly introduced his mother as “Lady Ameeltone”--for he
had not yet learned the true pronunciation of his own name--to Madame
Ziska and Count Kalenga. Lady Hamilton took both of Madame Ziska’s
hands in hers and said earnestly:
“How can I thank you enough for what you have done for my son?”
To which Madame Ziska replied in her more emotional and demonstrative
way:
“Oh, madam, he is such a nice lad! And when I saw those two admirable
young men that freezing night when we first met, my heart went out to
them. At first they did not know whether I was married or a widow.
I believe they thought at first I was a widow, they paid me so many
gallant compliments, and all the time I was laughing to myself,
thinking how their tone would change if they knew I had a husband and
four big children snugly tucked away at home.”
“True,” cried Gavin with a grin. “We were sure that Madame Ziska was a
young widow, she was so charming, and we felt quite flat when we found
she regarded us merely as a couple of schoolboys to be helped out of a
predicament.”
Kalenga then joined in the conversation, and the children were brought
in and presented, Freda especially, a pretty, quaint child of thirteen,
who had already made friends with Lady Hamilton. When Madame Ziska
addressed her as Lady Hamilton, she smiled sadly and said:
“A title has often seemed a mockery to me, when I have been in so great
poverty and obscurity for so many years. But it is a part of my son’s
heritage, and that is why I hold to it.”
Madame Ziska, the soul of hospitality, proposed that they should all
sup together.
“And how vexatious it will be of St. Arnaud if he is not here,” she
said. “He must be detained somewhere. As I do not dance to-night, we
can put off our supper until eight o’clock, and by that time he will
probably be here.”
The afternoon passed only too quickly, Lady Hamilton listening to the
adventures of Gavin, and every moment feeling a deeper thankfulness for
the man he had become. She herself, accustomed in her youth to the most
refined society, had formerly noted with regret many little things in
Gavin which it was inevitable that he should acquire from the humble
associates of his childhood and boyhood. But all these small faults of
manners and language seemed to have disappeared. In two short months
Gavin had become perfectly fitted for the society to which he was born
and entitled.
Eight o’clock came, and Kalenga’s chair had just been wheeled up
to the comfortable supper-table, when St. Arnaud appeared. Madame
Ziska covered him with reproaches for deserting them on that, of all
afternoons.
“Wait, madam,” mysteriously said St. Arnaud. “I have not been forgetful
of Lady Hamilton, though I presume she thought I vanished into thin air
when I disappeared so suddenly. I have been to see Prince Kaunitz at
the Chancellery. The Chancellor has been to see the Empress Queen, and
has just given me this.”
St. Arnaud drew from his pocket an elaborately sealed letter, with the
imperial arms, addressed to “The Lady Hamilton.” It was a letter from
the Court Chamberlain commanding the attendance of Lady Hamilton at
the next weekly levee of the Empress Queen, on the following Tuesday
evening.
Gavin jumped up, snapped his fingers, danced, laughed, embraced St.
Arnaud a dozen times.
“Now,” he cried, “we will see what Sir Garvan Ameeltone”--with infinite
contempt--“will do when her Majesty receives Lady Ameeltone!”
Lady Hamilton, more accustomed than Gavin to the society of the great,
was deeply gratified, but not, like him, highly elated; and when
he spoke of his father in a tone that indicated so much hatred and
contempt, she flashed him a look that reduced him to silence at once.
Nevertheless, there was no mistaking the earnest gratitude of the few
words, straight from her heart, with which she thanked St. Arnaud. It
was, indeed, a long step toward her rights to be received by a great
and virtuous sovereign in the very presence, as it were, of the man who
had vainly tried to repudiate her.
It was an evening of great happiness to them all. Madame Ziska and
Kalenga had become so attached to Gavin and St. Arnaud that whatever
made them happy, the husband and wife shared thoroughly. Lady Hamilton
found in Kalenga so much patience under misfortune, and so much
affection and appreciation of his wife, that she honoured him with all
her heart. When she saw their mutual devotion, she could not but think
with vain regret: “Had Sir Gavin Hamilton so treated me, I should have
been the happiest woman in the world.”
Next morning a very great and important subject came up, of which only
Lady Hamilton and Madame Ziska realized the true significance. This was
the gown that Lady Hamilton was to wear to the imperial levee. Gavin
tried to settle it at once by saying:
“Go to the shops and buy the handsomest gown you can find. I can pay
for a part of it, and St. Arnaud will lend me the rest.”
“Thank you, no,” replied his mother, smiling. “It would not be in good
taste that I should appear handsomely dressed, even if you had the
money, which you have not. It is much better that my dress should be
as simple as circumstances will allow. Therefore, I shall wear a plain
black satin gown. When I was presented, in my girlhood, to the King and
Queen of England, I wore a very simple gown, for my parents were not
rich people for their station in life. I think I cannot do better than
follow their plan now, although they have long since been taken from
me.”
The days could not go fast enough for Gavin between then and Tuesday.
The only thing that marred his happiness was the possibility that Sir
Gavin Hamilton would not be present to witness the triumph of the
woman he had so ill used and insulted. True, Sir Gavin did not mean to
be at the levee, for he heard in due time of the arrival of his wife,
and knew that the Empress Queen would receive her. But he had no notion
of being driven from Vienna by her presence, and sardonically concluded
that Lady Hamilton would be as anxious to avoid him as he would be to
avoid her.
Tuesday evening came, and Gavin and St. Arnaud, dressed in their court
uniforms, awaited Lady Hamilton’s appearance from her room. With only
little Freda to assist her, Lady Hamilton was making her toilet.
Presently the door opened, and Freda, with a candle in each hand, came
out, looking solemn beyond expression, and putting the candlesticks on
the table, gazed with grave admiration at Lady Hamilton, who followed
her.
Gavin caught his breath with admiration when his mother came full into
the circle of light. He had never thought of her as a beautiful woman,
only as the dearest woman in the world. He had seen only in her large,
dark eyes the mother love shining for him. He had only felt in her rare
smiles the sympathy with him that made her smile sometimes in the
midst of her hard lot. And he had never seen her dressed except in the
plainest and, often, in the shabbiest manner.
But to-night she wore her simple black satin robe with the air of
a princess. For the first time in twenty years her beautiful white
neck and handsome arms were bared to view. Her hair, silver and black
mingled, was still abundant, and arranged with singular grace and
becomingness. At night the lines of care in her face were not visible;
pleasure, from which she had long since parted, had again come to her,
and had brought to her cheek a flush like the glow of youth. She wore
no jewels--she had none to wear--but her majestic and high-bred beauty
needed no ornaments.
Gavin’s first gasp of admiration over, he was strangely silent, while
St. Arnaud, with the polished grace of a man of the world, complimented
Lady Hamilton upon her distinguished appearance. No woman ever loses
her appreciation of a pretty compliment, and as for Gavin, Lady
Hamilton was more touched than she would have acknowledged by his
admiration. She had asked herself while dressing: “Will he like me in
this guise?” as a young girl questions of her lover. There was no
doubt that Gavin liked her in that guise; but when his mother turned to
him once more his eyes were full of tears.
“Oh, my mother,” he cried. “To think what youth and beauty were yours
when sorrow came to you! To think that I, your child, never before saw
you except in the clothes of work and poverty! I feel now as I never
felt before the terrible hardship of your lot.”
“But the worst is over,” replied Lady Hamilton; “and remember, I always
had you.”
“Yes, to feed and clothe; to eat up all you could earn; to wear out the
poor garments you could afford to buy me.”
“At least, all you had was honestly earned. Let us be thankful that you
lived at no man’s grudging table and wore no one’s cast-offs. That is
why, after so many years of work and poverty, we are still able to take
our stand among our equals.”
As Lady Hamilton spoke with so much spirit and dignity, it occurred
to St. Arnaud that the man who could desert such a woman must be very
perverse or very bad.
St. Arnaud handed Lady Hamilton into the hired carriage that was to
take her and Gavin to the palace, saying he would follow them as soon
as he could dispose of some letters he must have ready for the next
post to Paris.
As Lady Hamilton and Gavin walked together through the splendid saloons
of the Imperial Court none there showed more dignity and composure.
Lady Hamilton was the only woman present who wore no jewels, and this
absence of ornament made her conspicuous. She was, however, well fitted
by her splendid dignity and the calm and unruffled manner of an English
gentlewoman to stand the scrutiny of the hundreds of eyes levelled at
her. The universal verdict was the same as St. Arnaud’s in respect to
Sir Gavin Hamilton. Gavin, resplendent in his gorgeous, white uniform,
looked about him with sparkling eyes of triumph, which said plainly to
all: “This is my mother. Have I not a right to be proud of her?” Many
persons stopped and spoke with them while they were finding their place
in line. Among them was Prince Kaunitz. The Chancellor ever had an eye
to grace and dignity in a woman, and within a few minutes of being
presented to Lady Hamilton he whispered to her and Gavin:
“Will you do me the honour to sup at my house after the levee?”
Lady Hamilton accepted with politeness, and Gavin with a frank delight
he could not conceal. These little supper parties at the Chancellor’s
house were among the most agreeable and distinguished parties in
Vienna. Only a small number of persons, more eminent for talents than
rank, and the best among the foreign visitors at Vienna, were asked to
them. To be invited once gave the _entrée_ to any of them. Gavin had
never been bidden before, and he knew very well that he was indebted to
his mother’s personal charm for being invited at all.
When their turn came to be ushered into the presence of the Empress
Queen, Lady Hamilton showed to great advantage. Unabashed by Maria
Theresa’s splendid presence, she, nevertheless, did homage to so much
greatness united with all the attractions of a charming and lovable
woman. The Empress Queen’s first remark was to say, with slight but
unmistakable emphasis on the words, “Lady Hamilton”:
“I hope, Lady Hamilton, you are pleased with what we have been able to
do for your son.”
“More than pleased, your Majesty,” replied Lady Hamilton. “I am deeply
and eternally grateful both to yourself and to the Emperor. And if my
son ever comes into his inheritance as an English gentleman there will
be one Englishman who can never speak or think of your Majesty except
with the liveliest gratitude.”
“I and the Emperor were peculiarly gratified at the refusal of your
son and Captain St. Arnaud to accept of their parole when offered it
by the King of Prussia. And the marvellous escape they made gave us as
much pleasure as it did chagrin to the King of Prussia. These incidents
of personal daring are of great value in keeping up the spirits of men
engaged in defending us against the perpetual assaults of Prussia.”
Lady Hamilton bowed deeply, and passed on.
It was Gavin’s turn next, and to him Maria Theresa made one of those
tactful speeches which, coming from a sincere heart, never failed to
win the hearts of others.
“I have had great pleasure in meeting Lady Hamilton. You are fortunate
in having such a mother.”
Gavin’s eyes shone so brightly and his face coloured so deeply with
pleasure that he was on the point of forgetting what little court
etiquette he had learned by dropping on his knee and seizing the
Empress Queen’s hands and kissing them violently. Some remnant of
self-control saved him, but his air and manner indicated so much joy,
pride, and gratitude that a smile went around the whole circle of
onlookers, not even excepting the Empress Queen and Emperor.
Lady Hamilton had thought that years of poverty and obscurity would
give her a dislike for the brilliant scenes of a court levee. On the
contrary, she found herself taking pleasure in a society for which her
birth and education originally fitted her. She was haunted, however,
by a horror of Sir Gavin Hamilton’s appearance. Great as had been his
offences toward her, he was still enough of an object of interest to
her to make her dread a possible meeting with him. She once had loved
him well, and however deep the resentment she felt toward him, she
could never regard him as an object of indifference. Gavin, manlike,
could not understand this. He did not seek the places where he would
find his father, but he certainly did not avoid him. As he had never
known affection for his father, he could well be indifferent to meeting
him.
But to Lady Hamilton’s intense relief, Sir Gavin did not appear at the
levee that evening. This was not from want of courage, but Sir Gavin
realized that he would be at a hopeless disadvantage. The sympathies
of the court and society were with his wife and son, and, besides, he
felt perfectly certain that no place or person would restrain Gavin if
Sir Gavin failed in respect to Lady Hamilton; so Sir Gavin wisely went
somewhere else for the early part of the evening.
Eleven o’clock was the hour when the specially favoured were to
assemble at the Chancellor’s splendid house. It had just struck the
hour when Gavin escorted his mother up the broad marble stairs of the
Chancellery and into a cosy little drawing-room, where a choice company
were assembled. St. Arnaud was there before them, and in a moment more
Prince Kaunitz came in, with profuse apologies for being later than his
guests.
“But I really believe,” he complained, “that the Empress Queen can
work twenty-four hours in the day, and she wishes me to do the same.
Will you believe it, in the middle of the levee she sent me word that
I must look over a batch of dispatches, awaiting me in her closet, and
I actually fell asleep over them, as I had been at work since six this
morning. After the levee her Majesty came into the closet and shook
me with her own hand until I waked. And, confidentially, I may say I
did not open my eyes as soon as I might. Then she said in the briskest
tone you can imagine: ‘Come, let us to work. We must earn our bread.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ I replied, ‘I cannot speak for your Majesty, but
I know the Emperor and myself have earned at least a month’s bread by
the work we have done this day.’ ‘Well,’ said her Majesty, ‘I have
spent more hours than either of you in state affairs to-day, and I
have likewise given, as I always do, all the attention necessary to
the education and training of my ten children.’ ‘The good God has
spared me the ten children, madam, but I believe if your Majesty had
twenty children to look after, you would still do more work than the
Emperor and myself--and we are two of the most persistently industrious
men living.’ This made her Majesty laugh, and she said: ‘Poor, good
Kaunitz, go home. I have sent the Emperor to bed, and I alone will work
at these dispatches.’ I would have stayed at that, but she sent me away
after a little. So here I am, late, but glad to get here on any terms.”
The great Chancellor was a charming host, and when they gathered
around the supper-table, a small company of the brightest wits in
Vienna, he infected every one present with his own gayety and charm.
He distinguished Lady Hamilton by his attentions, and it was a small
but cherished triumph for Gavin, who counted that among the happiest
evenings of his life.
Supper was not over nor the guests ready to depart until some time
after midnight. Others had come in, and the party grew merrier as the
hours flew by. As the final move was made to go, Prince Kaunitz stood
up, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and said:
“Before parting, pledge with me the health of a lady who has only
lately come to adorn Vienna, but who, we hope, will long remain with
us.”
The Prince fixed his smiling glance upon Lady Hamilton, who sat
opposite to him. She rose, too, but the smile froze on her lips and
she turned deadly pale at the noiseless entrance of a person by a door
directly facing her and behind Prince Kaunitz. The Chancellor, not
hearing the new arrival, continued with much grace: “The lady whose
health I propose is Lady Gavin Hamilton.”
Lady Hamilton’s sudden pallor and agitation had not escaped notice,
and a slight movement on the part of the newcomer had attracted every
eye to him. The Chancellor, still unhearing, happened to glance into
a tall mirror over the fireplace, opposite him, and in it he saw Sir
Gavin Hamilton, standing perfectly cool and composed, his hand on his
dress sword, and looking Lady Hamilton full in the eye. She, blanched
and trembling, yet undauntedly returned his gaze as she stood. The
only change of attitude she made was to lay her hand lightly upon the
shoulder of Gavin, who sat next her. But the action was eloquent. It
was as if she said, “Here is my charge and my protector in one.”
Gavin’s face had turned scarlet as his mother’s grew white. He sat
quite motionless, for once not knowing what to say or do. Many times
he had wondered what he should do when his mother and father met, as
they were likely to do at any moment after Lady Hamilton’s arrival in
Vienna, and he had never yet hit upon any course of action. But he had
vauntingly said to himself, “When the time comes I shall do the right
thing.” The time had come, and he sat silent and disconcerted and
feeling nothing but a furious anger and helplessness.
Lady Hamilton continued to look Sir Gavin calmly in the eye, and the
pause grew momentous. A clock ticking in the room seemed a loud noise,
so utter was the stillness. Seconds passed, which seemed minutes, and
as Lady Hamilton’s glance remained fixed on Sir Gavin, they seemed
to change places. She grew courageous, and the crimson returned to
her face; while the fresh colour left his cheeks, and he, this man of
iron composure, grew tremulous. The Chancellor, who watched it all,
and who enjoyed it from the bottom of his heart--for Kaunitz had an
elfish spirit which made him delight in awkward _contretemps_ for
others--suddenly spoke in a very cool, soft voice: “Give Sir Gavin
Hamilton a glass,” he said to a servant. “He will join us, no doubt, in
our homage to Lady Hamilton.”
All there fully expected to see Sir Gavin touch his sword as he replied
to Prince Kaunitz. So, indeed, he wished to do; but Lady Hamilton’s
steady glance held him as if by mesmeric power. Mechanically and
against his own volition he raised the glass handed him by the servant
to his lips and drank as the others did. Then, quickly recovering
himself, he threw the costly glass on the floor, where it crashed into
a hundred pieces, and, turning his back, walked quickly out.
Whatever Lady Hamilton felt, she had managed to retain her
self-possession perfectly. Not so Gavin. He felt dazed and
disconcerted, and but for St. Arnaud’s tactful manner of getting him
out of the room would have showed the confusion which reigned in his
soul. Prince Kaunitz himself put Lady Hamilton into the carriage. Gavin
entered after her, and St. Arnaud, saying he wished a breath of air
before going to bed, followed on foot.
Once alone in the carriage with his mother, Gavin clasped her in his
arms, saying, “How proud I was of you! And how superior did you appear
to the wretch--”
“Hush,” replied Lady Hamilton in a strained voice; and suddenly
bursting into tears, she cried: “He was not always like this. I cannot,
cannot think that he was always bad. He was a gallant man and a
gentleman when I married him.”
Gavin remained silent, amazed and confounded at this revelation of a
woman’s secret tenderness, which could survive twenty years of neglect,
persecution, and unspeakable humiliation.