with the reflection that the course of true love never runs smooth. A
lady whom in my mind I had selected as a mother-in-law, by no means
reciprocated my feelings of respect and goodwill. But the young lady,
her daughter, fortunately sided with me, and had, in fact, given her
very willing consent to the change in her mother's position which I
had suggested. I was naturally anxious to assure that young lady as
frequently and as emphatically as possible how much I appreciated
her assistance, and how determined I was never to have any other
mother-in-law but the one of my choice; nor could there be anything
obscure in such a declaration, as of three sisters in the family that
particular one was the only unmarried one. But neither in obscure nor
in explicit language was I allowed to approach her; a blockade was
declared and rigorously enforced, and we were soon separated by a
distance of some few hundred miles.
[Illustration]
I can look back complacently on the troubles of those days now that
twenty years have elapsed since I emerged victorious from the contest;
but then the future looked blank and bleak, and I felt nonplussed and
down-hearted. Knowing, however, what a faint heart is said never to
win, I was anxious to keep mine up to the mark, and with a view to
stimulating its buoyancy I went to make a friendly call on du Maurier.
He would, I felt sure, be sympathetic, and, whatever else might be
wanting in that troublesome eye of his, there would be a certain
vivifying twinkle in it that could always set me up.
It was as I expected, and I had the full benefit of the eye, and of an
ear, too, that he lent willingly as I told him how matters stood.
"Well," he said, "if you can't smuggle in a letter, let's smuggle in
your portrait. It will be rather a joke if she comes across you in
_Punch_. I've just got a subject in which I can use you."
To be sure, I jumped at the idea, only beseeching him to make me
as handsome as he possibly could, without losing sight of the main
object, viz., that the young lady should be able to recognise me. Her
mother too, I felt sure, would not fail to be duly impressed, for to
figure in _Punch_ would raise me in her estimation as a person of no
small importance.
The drawing was made and published, and the scheme worked well;
coupled, perhaps, with a few millions of other influences, and with
the assistance of the Fates, it achieved the desired result, and
before a year had elapsed the original drawing could be presented
by du Maurier to the young lady, now become a bride, as a memento of
bygone troubles.
One more digression suggested by the name of Arthur Sullivan; it
shall be the last. I am not going back to the time when we were boys
together in Leipsic, but will only mention him in connection with
Carry; this time Carry in another form.
[Illustration]
Shortly after that big wave intervened that separated her from us a
happy chance put me in possession of a dog, the most affectionate and
lovable of Skye terriers.
I named him Carry.
That dog, his qualities and virtues, and especially his musical gifts,
deserve more than a passing mention; but, trusting that he, like every
dog, will have his day, I will here only transcribe a letter of his
that he wrote with the assistance of his friend, Arthur Sullivan, who,
attracted perhaps by the gifts above named, had kindly taken charge of
him during my temporary absence on the Continent. Poor dog! He is dead
now; so that there can be no indiscretion in publishing his bark and
its translation. The former is best given in its original setting.
The latter, purporting to be a "Translation of the foregoing by A.S.,"
runs as follows:--
"MY DEAR AND ESTEEMED MASTER,--My kind friend, Mr. Sullivan,
who pretends to be as fond of me as you are, has taken me away
from the enjoyment of a delicious mutton bone, in order to
answer your letter; and as I cannot find a pen to suit me
well, he is writing whilst I dictate. I was very low-spirited
the other day after leaving you, and appeared to feel the
parting very much, but it soon wore off under the influence
of biscuit, bones, and kindness; indeed, I must do Sully and
his family the justice to say that they try to do the utmost
to make me happy and comfortable, although they don't always
succeed, for sometimes I appear dissatisfied (hoping,
_entre-nous_, by that means to get more out of them).
"I have several idiosyncrasies and failings, of which my
master (_pro tem._) is trying to correct me, but finds it
rather hard work, for I am not so easily brought out of them.
I have a will of my own, but Sully says: 'Train up a dog in
the way it should go, and he will not depart, &c., &c.'--and
Sully is right.
"Don't you think it is a bad plan to wash me with soap? I
think it deters me from licking my skin, and consequently
from having those ideas of cleanliness engendered within me
which are so necessary to every well-bred dog moving in good
society!
"I want to get back to my bone, but Sully says I must first
deliver a message from him. You are to give his love to your
dear parents (in which I heartily join), and tell them how
grieved he was that he did not see them to wish them 'God
speed' before they left England, and how it hurt him to think
that a long, long time would perhaps elapse before he should
see them again.
"And now, my dear master, I must say 'Good-bye.' Much love in
few words, in which Sully joins me.
"Believe me, ever your
"Attached and faithful dog,
[Illustration: Carry
X
his mark]
"F. MOSCHELES, Esq."
* * * * *
And now I come to du Maurier's last letter--the best, as I am sure
every right-minded person will admit. I have kept it "pour la bonne
bouche" (excuse my quoting French. "Will me not of it," as our
neighbours say; there are unassailable precedents for such quoting,
you know--or ought to know). The letter in question speaks of an event
so momentous, that of all events it is the one most worthy to "be
marked with a white, white stone"; and marked it was, if not with a
stone, with satins and laces and a veil and white orange blossoms.
"Come and be introduced to the future Mrs. Kicky," it said. "She
intends to celebrate her 21st birthday by a small dance. There will
be friends and pretty girls, 'en veux tu, en violà.' So rek-lect,
olf'lah, Tuesday, at half-past seven."
[Illustration]
The drawing shows how I was introduced, and how graciously I was
received.
The letter needs a word of explanation, as it speaks of the "future
Mrs. 'Kicky,'" and I have not yet mentioned that Kicky was but another
name for du Maurier. He got it at an early period of his life. Just
as any other baby less favoured by "Dame Fortune the witch" would have
done, he gave himself his nickname. He picked it up in Brussels when
he was two years old, and under the care of Flemish servants. They
called him "Mannekin" (little man), and that he converted into
"Kicky." I append one of the numerous varieties of his signature.
[Illustration: Kick]
* * * * *
The Rag, Tag, and Bobtail had its day, and was shelved soon after
we bid adieu to Bohemia; but the Kicky survived and flourished, and
to-day not only his old chums, but those nearest and dearest to him,
feel that they could not do without that particular appellation,
associated as it is with a thousand and one happy memories.
And having arrived at that busiest of stations, the Matrimonial
Junction, where the converted bachelor alights and changes for Better
or for Worse, this chapter fitly comes to a close, meant as it was
only to sketch some of the pleasant recollections that I, in common
with so many of his friends, have of du Maurier's bachelor days.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's In Bohemia with Du Maurier, by Felix Moscheles