He repelled me. “Sit down, sir, sit down! Do not follow me, I beg of
you; but sit down!”
His manner was earnest and emphatical. Mechanically and without knowing
what I did, I obeyed his direction. He came towards me.
“I have no time,” added he, “for qualifying and form. Tell me! am I the
son of a man of honour or a villain?”
He saw I was shocked at the unexpected rudeness of his question.
“Forgive me, my father! I have always been affectionate and dutiful;
I have ever looked up to you as my model and my oracle. But I have
been insulted! It never was one of your lessons to teach me to bear an
insult!”
“Is it,” replied I, with the sternness that the character of a father
will seldom fail to inspire under such circumstances, “because you have
been insulted, that you think yourself authorised to come home and
insult him to whom you owe nothing but respect and reverence?”
“Stop, sir! Before you claim my reverence, you must show your title to
it, and wipe off the aspersions under which you at present labour.”
“Insolent, presumptuous boy! Know that I am not by you to be instructed
in my duty, and will not answer so rude a questioner! The down as yet
scarcely shades your school-boy’s cheek; and have you so forgotten the
decencies of life as to scoff your father?”--His eye brightened as I
spoke.
“You are right, sir. It gives me pleasure to see your blood rise in
return to my passion. Your accent is the accent of innocence. But,
indeed! the more innocent and noble you shall prove yourself, the more
readily will you forgive my indignation.”
“I cannot tell. My temper does not fit me to bear the rudeness of a
son. Nor do I think that such behaviour as this can be any credit to
you, whatever may have been the provocation. Tell me however what is
the insult that has thus deeply shaken you?”
“I went this afternoon to the tennis-court near the river, and played
several games with the young count Luitmann. While we were playing,
came in the chevalier Dupont, my countryman. The insolence of his
nature is a subject of general remark; and he has, though I know not
for what reason, conceived a particular animosity to me. A trifling
dispute arose between us. We gradually warmed. He threatened to turn me
out of the court; I resented the insult; and he passionately answered,
that the son of an adventurer and a sharper had no business there,
and he would take care I should never be admitted again. I attempted
to strike him, but was prevented; and presently learned that the
sudden and unexplained way in which we have emerged from poverty was
the ground of his aspersion. As I gained time, and reflected more
distinctly upon what was alleged, I felt that personal violence could
never remove an accusation of this sort. I saw too, though, intoxicated
as I had idly been with the unwonted splendour to which I was
introduced, I had not adverted to it at the time, that the case was of
a nature that required explanation. I had been accustomed to reverence
and an implicit faith in the wisdom and rectitude of my parents, and
therefore encountered in silent submission the revolution of our
fortune. But this neutrality will suffice no longer.
“To you, sir, I resort for explanation. Send me back to the insolent
youth and his companions, with a plain and unanswerable tale, that may
put to silence for ever these brutal scoffs and reproaches. Let it be
seen this night which of the two has most fully merited to be thrust
out of honourable society. I trust I have not so demeaned myself but
that our mutual companions will join to compel this unmannered boor to
retract his aspersions.”
“Charles, you are too warm and impetuous!”--
“Too warm, sir! when I hear my father loaded with the foulest
appellations?”
“You are young and ill qualified to terminate in the proper way a
business of this serious aspect: leave it to me!”
“Excuse me, my father! Though the names I have repeated were bestowed
upon you, it was against me that the insult was employed. I must return
immediately, and obtain justice. This is a moment that must in some
degree fix my character for fortitude and determination, and I cannot
withdraw from the duty it imposes. Only tell me what I have to say.
Furnish me with a direct and unambiguous explanation of what Dupont has
objected to us, and I undertake for the rest.”
“I see, my son, that you are moved, and I will trust you!”
He seized my hand, he gazed earnestly in my face, he seemed prepared to
devour every word I should utter.
“Gaspar de Coligny, the flower of the French nobility, has been with me
this morning. He has stated to me in an ingenuous and friendly way the
same difficulty with which Dupont has so brutally taunted you. I was
meditating and arranging my answer but now, when you entered the room.”
As I uttered these words, Charles let go my hand, and withdrew his
eyes, with evident tokens of disappointment and chagrin. He paused for
a few moments, and then resumed:--
“Why do you tell me of meditation and arrangement! Why did you send
away Coligny unanswered, or why baffle and evade the earnestness of my
enquiries? I know not all the sources of wealth; but I cannot doubt
that the medium through which wealth has honourably flowed may, without
effort and premeditation, easily be explained. A just and a brave man
acts fearlessly and with explicitness; he does not shun, but court, the
scrutiny of mankind; he lives in the face of day, and the whole world
confesses the clearness of his spirit and the rectitude of his conduct.
“Sir, I have just set my foot on the threshold of life. There is one
lesson you have taught me, which I swear never to forget,--to hold life
and all its pleasures cheap, in comparison with an honourable fame.
My soul burns with the love of distinction. I am impatient to burst
away from the goal, and commence the illustrious career. I feel that I
have a hand and a heart capable of executing the purposes that my soul
conceives. Uninured to dishonour, or to any thing that should control
the passion of my bosom, think, sir, what are my emotions at what has
just occurred!
“I was bred in obscurity and a humble station. I owed this
disadvantage, you tell me, to your error. I forgave you; I was content;
I felt that it was incumbent on me by my sword and my own exertions
to hew my way to distinction. You have since exchanged the lowness of
our situation for riches and splendour. At this revolution I felt no
displeasure; I was well satisfied to start upon more advantageous terms
in the race I determined to run. But, sir, whence came these riches?
Riches and poverty are comparatively indifferent to me; but I was not
born to be a mark for shame to point her finger at. A little while ago
you were poor; you were the author of your own poverty; you dissipated
your paternal estate. Did I reproach you? No; you were poor, but not
dishonoured! I attended your couch in sickness; I exerted my manual
labour to support you in affliction. I honoured you for your affection
to my mother; I listened with transport to the history of your youth;
I was convinced I should never blush to call Reginald de St. Leon my
father. I believed that lessons of honour, so impressive as those you
instilled into my infant mind, could never flow but from an honourable
spirit. Oh, if there is any thing equivocal or ignoble in the riches we
have displayed, restore me, instantly restore me, to unblemished and
virtuous poverty!”
I was astonished at the firmness and manliness of spirit that Charles
upon this occasion discovered. I could scarcely believe that these
were the thoughts and words of a youth under seventeen years of age.
I felt that every thing illustrious and excellent might be augured of
one who, at these immature years, manifested so lofty and generous a
soul. I could have pressed him in my arms, have indulged my emotions in
sobs and tears of transport, and congratulated myself that I was father
to so worthy a son. But his temper and manners awed, and held me at a
distance. This was one consequence of the legacies of the stranger!
“Charles!” said I, “your virtues extort my confidence. For the world
a tale must be prepared that shall serve to elude its curiosity and
its malice. But to you I confess, there is a mystery annexed to the
acquisition of this wealth that can never be explained.”
He stood aghast at my words. “Am I to believe my ears? A tale prepared?
A mystery never to be explained? I adjure you by all that you love, and
all that you hold sacred----!”
His voice was drowned in a sudden gush of tears. With an action of
earnestness and deprecation, he took hold of my hand.
“No, sir, no artful tale, no disguise, no hypocrisy!----” As he
spoke, his voice suddenly changed, his accent became clear and
determined.--“Will you consent this very hour to quit the court of
Dresden, and to resign fully and without reserve this accursed wealth,
for the acquisition of which you refuse to account?”
“Whence,” replied I, “have you the insolence to make such a
proposal?----No, I will not!”
“Then I swear by the omnipresent and eternal God, you shall never see
or hear of me more!”
I perceived that this was no time for the assertion of paternal
authority. I saw that the poor boy was strangely and deeply moved,
and I endeavoured to soothe him. I felt that the whole course of his
education had inspired him with an uncontrollable and independent
spirit, and that it was too late to endeavour to repress it.
“My dear Charles,” said I, “what is come to you? When I listen to a
language like this from your lips, I scarcely know you for my son. This
impertinent Dupont has put you quite beside yourself. Another time we
will talk over the matter calmly; and depend upon it, every thing shall
be made out to your satisfaction.”
“Do not imagine, sir, that my self-possession is not perfect and
complete. I know what I do, and my resolution is unalterable. If you
have any explanation to give, give it now. If you will yield to my
proposal, declare your assent, and I am again your son. But to bear the
insults of my fellows unanswered, or to live beneath the consciousness
of an artful and fictitious tale, no consideration on earth shall
induce me. I love you, sir; I cannot forget your lessons or your
virtues. I love my mother and my sisters; no words can tell how dearly
and how much. But my resolution is taken; I separate myself from you
all and for ever. Nothing in my mind can come in competition with a
life of unblemished honour.”
“And are you such a novice, as to need the being told that honour is a
prize altogether out of the reach of an unknown and desolate wanderer,
such as you propose to become? My wealth, boy, is unlimited, and can
buy silence from the malicious, and shouts and applause from all the
world. A golden key unlocks the career of glory, which the mean and the
pennyless are never allowed to enter.”
“I am not such a novice, as not to have heard the language of vice,
though I never expected to hear it from a father. Poverty with
integrity shall content me. The restless eagerness of my spirit is so
great, that I will trust to its suggestions, and hope to surmount the
obstacles of external appearance. If I am disappointed in this, and
destined to perish unheard of and unremembered, at least I will escape
reproach. I will neither be charged with the deeds, nor give utterance
to the maxims, of dishonour.”
“Charles,” replied I, “be not the calumniator of your father! I swear
to you by every thing that is sacred; and you know my integrity; never
did the breath of falsehood pollute these lips;----”
He passionately interrupted me. “Did the stranger bequeath you three
thousand crowns? Have you lately received an unexpected acquisition by
the death of a near relation in France?”
I was silent. This was not a moment for trifling and equivocation.
“Oh, my father, how is your character changed and subverted? You say
true. For sixteen years I never heard a breath of falsehood from your
lips; I trusted you as I would the oracles of eternal truth. But it
is past! A few short months have polluted and defaced a whole life
of integrity! In how many obscurities and fabulous inconsistencies
have you entangled yourself? Nor is it the least of the calamities
under which my heart sickens at this moment, that I am reduced to hold
language like this to a father!”
What misery was mine, to hear myself thus arraigned by my own son,
and to be unable to utter one word in reply to his accusations! To
be thus triumphed over by a stripling; and to feel the most cruel
degradation, in the manifestation of an excellence that ought to have
swelled my heart with gratulation and transport! I had recollected my
habitual feelings for near forty years of existence; I had dropped from
my memory my recent disgrace, and dared to appeal to my acknowledged
veracity; when this retort from my son came to plunge me tenfold deeper
in a sea of shame. He proceeded:--
“I am no longer your son! I am compelled to disclaim all affinity
with you! But this is not all. By your dishonour you have cut me off
from the whole line of my ancestors. I cannot claim affinity with
them, without acknowledging my relation to you. You have extinguished
abruptly an illustrious house. The sun of St. Leon is set for ever!
Standing as I do a candidate for honourable fame, I must henceforth
stand by myself, as if a man could be author of his own existence,
and must expect no aid, no favour, no prepossession, from any earthly
consideration, save what I am, and what I shall perform.”
“My son,” replied I, “you cut me to the heart. Such is the virtue you
display, that I must confess myself never to have been worthy of you,
and I begin to fear I am now less worthy of you than ever. Yet you must
suffer me to finish what I was about to say when you so passionately
interrupted me. I swear then, by every thing that is sacred, that I
am innocent. Whatever interpretation the world may put upon my sudden
wealth, there is no shadow of dishonesty or guilt connected with its
acquisition. The circumstances of the story are such that they must
never be disclosed; I am bound to secrecy by the most inviolable
obligations, and this has led me to utter a forged and inconsistent
tale. But my conscience has nothing with which to reproach me. If then,
Charles, my son, once my friend, my best and dearest consolation!”--I
pressed his hand, and my voice faltered as I spoke,--“if you are
resolute to separate yourself from me, at least take this recollection
with you wherever you go,--Whatever may be my external estimation, I am
not the slave of vice, your father is not a villain!”
“Alas, my father!” rejoined Charles, mournfully, “what am I to believe?
What secret can be involved in so strange a reverse of fortune, that is
not dishonourable? You have given utterance to different fictions on
the subject, fictions that you now confess to be such; how am I to be
convinced that what you say at this moment is not dictated more by a
regard for my tranquillity, than by the simplicity of conscious truth?
If I believe you, I am afraid my credit will be the offspring rather
of inclination, than of probability. And indeed, if I believe you,
what avails it? The world will not believe. Your character is blasted;
your honour is destroyed; and, unless I separate myself from you, and
disown your name, I shall be involved in the same disgrace.”
Saying thus, he left me, and in about half an hour returned. His return
I had not foreseen; I had made no use of his absence. My mind was
overcome, my understanding was stupified, by a situation and events
I had so little expected. I had stood, unmoved, leaning against the
wall, from the instant of his departure. I seemed rooted to the spot,
incapable of calling up my fortitude, or arranging my ideas. My eyes
had rolled,--my brow was knit,--I had bit my lips and my tongue with
agony. From time to time I had muttered a few words,--“My son! my
son!--wealth! wealth!--my wife!--my son!” but they were incoherent and
without meaning.
Charles re-entered the apartment where the preceding conversation had
passed, and the noise he made in entering roused me. He had his hat
in his hand, which he threw from him, and exclaimed with an accent of
dejection and anguish, “My father!--farewell!”
“Cruel, cruel boy! can you persist in your harsh and calamitous
resolution? If you have no affection for me, yet think of your mother
and your sisters!”
Seek not, sir, to turn me from my purpose! The struggle against
it in my own bosom has been sufficiently severe; but it must be
executed.“--His voice, as he spoke, was inward, stifled, and broken
with the weight of his feelings.
“Then--farewell!” I replied. “Yet take with you some provision for
your long and perilous adventure. Name the sum you will accept, and,
whatever is its amount, it shall instantly be yours.”
“I will have nothing. It is this wealth, with whose splendour I was at
first child enough to be dazzled, that has destroyed us. My fingers
shall not be contaminated with an atom of it. What is to be my fate,
as yet, I know not. But I am young, and strong, and enterprising, and
courageous. The lessons of honour and nobility live in my bosom. Though
my instructor is lost, his instructions shall not be vain!
“Once more farewell! From my heart I thank you for your protestations
of innocence. Never will I part with this last consolation, to believe
them. I have recollected the manner in which they were uttered; it was
the manner of truth. If there be any evidence of a contrary tendency,
that I will forget. Though to the world I shall be without father and
without relatives, I will still retain this sacred consolation for my
hours of retirement and solitude, that my ancestors were honourable,
and my father, in spite of all presumptions to the contrary,--was
innocent.
“How hard it is to quit for ever a family of love and affection, as
ours has been! Bear witness for me, how deeply, I sympathised with you
at Paris, in Switzerland, in Constance! Though now you dissolve the tie
between us, yet, till now, never had a son greater reason for gratitude
to a father. You and my mother have made me what I am; and that I may
preserve what you have made me, I now cast myself upon an untried
world. The recollection of what I found you in the past period of my
life, shall be for ever cherished in my memory!
“I quit my mother and my sisters without leave-taking or adieu. It will
be a fruitless and painful addition to what each party must learn to
bear. Dear, excellent, peerless protector and companions of my early
years! my wishes are yours, my prayers shall for ever be poured out for
you! You, sir, who rob them of a son and a brother, be careful to make
up to them a loss, which I doubt not they will account grievous! I can
do nothing for them. I can throw myself into the arms of poverty; it is
my duty. But, in doing so, I must separate myself from them, assuredly
innocent, and worthy of more and greater benefits than I could ever
confer on them!--Farewell!”
Saying this, he threw himself into my arms, and I felt the agonies of a
parting embrace.