For some hours I wandered over the house, admiring the pictures and
the bronzes and the statuettes, and the hundreds of odd knick-knacks of
taste or curiosity that filled the _salons_. The treasures of art were
all new to me, and I thought I could never weary of gazing on some grand
landscape by Both, or one of those little interiors of Dutch life by
Ostade or Mieris. It seemed to me the very summit of luxury, that all
these glorious objects should be there, awaiting as it were the eye of
him who owned them, patient slaves of his pleasure, to be rewarded
by, perhaps, a hurried glance as he passed. The tempered light, the
noiseless footsteps, as one trod the triple-piled carpet, the odor of
rich flowers everywhere, imparted a dreaminess to the sense of enjoyment
that, after long, long years, I can recall and almost revive by an
effort of memory.
I met no one as I loitered through the rooms, for I was in a part of the
house only opened on great occasions or for large receptions; and so
I strayed on, lost in wonderment at the extent and splendor of a scene
which, to my untutored senses, seemed of an actually royal magnificence.
Having reached what I believed to be the limit of the suite of rooms,
I was about to retrace my steps, when I saw that a small octagon tower
opened from an angle of the room, though no apparent doorway led into
it. This puzzle interested me at once, and I set about to resolve it,
if I might. I opened one of the windows to inspect the tower on
the outside, and saw that no stairs led up to it, nor any apparent
communication existed with the rest of the house. I bethought me of the
sliding mirror which in my own room concealed the bookcase, and set to
work to see if some similar contrivance had not been employed here; but
I searched in vain. Defeated and disappointed, I was turning away when,
passing my hand along the margin of a massive picture-frame, I touched
a small button; and as I did so, with a faint sound like a wail, the
picture moved slowly, like an opening door, and disclosed the interior
of the tower. I entered at once, my curiosity now raised to a point of
intensity to know what had been so carefully and cunningly guarded from
public view. What a blank disappointment was mine! The little room,
about nine or ten feet in diameter, contained but a few straw-bottomed
chairs, and a painted table on which a tea-service of common blue-ware
stood. A Dutch clock was on a bracket at one side of the window, and a
stuffed bird--a grouse, I believe--occupied another. A straight-backed
old sofa, covered with a vulgar chintz, stood against the wall; an open
book, with a broken fan in the leaves, to mark the place, lay on the
sofa. The book was “Paul and Virginia”. A common sheet almanac was nailed
against the wall, but over the printed columns of the months a piece of
white paper was pasted, on which, in large letters, was written “June
11, 18--. Dies infausta.”
I started. I had read that date once before in my mother's prayer-book,
and had learned it was her marriage-day. As a ray of sunlight displays
in an instant every object within its beam, I at once saw the meaning of
every detail around me. These were the humble accessories of that modest
home from which my dear mother was taken; these were the grim reminders
of the time my father desired to perpetuate as an undying sorrow. I
trembled to think what a nature I should soon be confronted with, and
how terrible must be the temper of a man whose resentments asked
for such aliment to maintain them! I stole away abashed at my own
intrusiveness, and feeling that I was rightfully punished by the misery
that overwhelmed me. How differently now did all the splendor appear to
me as I retraced my steps! how defiantly I gazed on that magnificence
which seemed to insult the poverty I had just quitted! What a contrast
to the nurtured spitefulness of his conduct was my poor mother's careful
preservation of a picture representing my father in his uniform. A badly
painted thing it was; but with enough of likeness to recall him. And
as such, in defiance of neglect and ill-usage and insult, she preserved
it,--a memorial, not of happier days, but of a time when she dreamed
of happiness to come. While I was thus thinking, seeking in my mind
comparisons between them, which certainly redounded but little to his
credit, Nixon came up to me, saying, “Oh, Master Digby, we 've been
looking for you in every direction. Sir Roger has asked over and over
why you have not been to see him; and I 'm afraid you 'll find him
displeased at your delay.”
“I 'm ready now,” said I, drily, and followed him.
My father was in his study, lying on a sofa, and cutting the leaves of
a new book as I entered; and he did not interrupt the operation to offer
me his hand.
“So, sir,” said he, calmly and coldly, “you have taken your time to
present yourself to me? Apparently you preferred making acquaintance
with the house and the grounds.”
“I am very sorry, sir,” I began; “but I did not know you had risen.
Nixon told me about one or two--”
“Indeed! I was not aware that you and Mr. Nixon had been discussing my
habits. Come nearer; nearer still. What sort of dress is this? Is it a
smock-frock you have on?”
“No, sir. It's a blouse to keep my jacket clean. I have got but one.”
“And these shoes; are they of your own making?”
“No, sir. I could n't make even as good as these.”
“You are a very poor-looking object, I must say. What was Antoine about
that he did n't, at least, make you look like a gentleman, eh? Can you
answer me that?”
“No, sir, I cannot”
“Nor I, either,” said he, sighing. “Have you been equally neglected
inside as out? Have you learned to read?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And to write?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Write my name, then, there, on that piece of paper, and let me see it.”
I drew nigh, and wrote in a fall, bold hand, Roger Norcott.
“Why not Sir Roger Norcott, boy? Why not give me my name and title too?”
“You said your name, sir, and I thought--”
“No matter what you thought. This literalism comes of home breeding,”
muttered he to himself; “they are made truthful at the price of being
vulgar. What do you know besides reading and writing?”
“A little Latin, sir, and some French, and some German, and three books
of Euclid, and the Greek grammar--”
“There, there, that's more than enough. It will tax your tutor's
ingenuity to stub up all this rubbish, and prepare the soil for
real acquirement. I was hoping I should see you a savage: a fresh,
strong-natured impulsive savage! What I 'm to do with you, with your
little peddling knowledge of a score of things, I can't imagine. I 'd
swear you can neither ride, row, nor fence, never handled a cricket-ball
or a single-stick?”
“Quite true, sir; but I 'd like to do every one of them.”
“Of course you have been taught music?”
“Yes, sir; the piano, and a little singing.”
“That completes it,” cried he, flinging his book from him. “They 've
been preparing you for a travelling circus, while I wanted to make you
a gentleman. Mind me now, sir, and don't expect that I ever repeat my
orders to any one. What I say once I mean to be observed. Let your past
life be entirely forgotten by you,--a thing that had no reality; begin
from this day--from this very room--a new existence, which is to have
neither link nor tie to what has gone before it. The persons you will
see here, their ways, their manners, their tone, will be examples for
your imitation; copy them, not servilely nor indiscriminately, but as
you will find how their traits will blend with your own nature. Never
tell an untruth, never accept an insult without redress, be slow about
forming friendships, and where you hate, hate thoroughly. That's enough
for the present. Ask Mr. Eccles to have the kindness to take you to his
tailor and order some clothes. You must dine alone till you are suitably
dressed. After that you shall come to my table. One thing more and you
may go: don't ever approach me with tales or complaints of any one;
right yourself where you can, and where you cannot, bear your grievance
silently. You can change nothing, alter nothing, here; you are a guest,
but a guest over whom I exercise full control. If you please me, it will
be well for you; if not, you understand--it will cost me little to tell
you so. Go. Go now.” He motioned me to leave him, and I went. Straight
to my room I went, and sat down at once to write it all to mother. My
heart swelled with indignation at the way I had been received, and a
hundred times over did I say to myself that there was no poverty, no
hardship I would not face rather than buy a life of splendor on such
ignominious terms. Oh, if I could but get back again to the little home
I had quitted, how I would bless the hour that restored me to peace
of mind and self-respect! As I wrote, my indignation warmed with every
line. I found that my passion was actually mastering my reason. Better
to finish this, later on,--when I shall be cooler, thought I; and I
walked to my window and opened it. There were voices of people speaking
in the paddock below, and I leaned over the balcony and saw the two men
I had seen at breakfast, seated on rustic chairs, watching a young horse
being broken to the saddle. The well-worn ring in the grass showed that
this spot was reserved for such purposes, nor was I displeased to know
that such a source of interest lay so near to me.
“Isn't he one of your Mexicans, George?” asked Captain Hotham.
“No, sir, he's a Hungarian-bred 'un. Master calls him a Jucker, whatever
that is.”
“Plenty of action, anyhow.”
“A little too much, sir; that's his fault. He's a-comin' now, and it's
all they can do to keep him going over the park paling. Take this
one back,” said he to the groom, who was ringing a heavy-shouldered,
ungainly colt in the ring.
“You 'll not gain much credit by that animal, George,” said Cleremont,
as he lighted a cigar.
“He ain't a beauty, sir; he 's low before, and he's cow-hocked behind;
but Sir Roger says he's the best blood in Norfolk. Take care, take care,
sir! the skittish devil never knows where he 'll send his hind-legs.
Steady, Tom, don't check him: why, he's sweating as if he had been round
the two-mile course.”
The animal that called for this criticism was a dark chestnut, but so
bathed in sweat as to appear almost black. He was one of those cross
breeds between the Arab and the western blood, that gain all the beauty
of head and crest and straightly formed croup, and yet have length of
body and depth of rib denied to the pure Arab. To my thinking he was the
most perfect creature I had ever seen, and as he bounded and plunged,
there was a supple grace and pliancy about him indescribably beautiful.
George now unloosened the long reins which were attached to the heavy
surcingle, and after walking the animal two or three times round the
circle, suffered him to go free. As if astonished at his liberty, the
young creature stood still for a minute or two, and sniffed the air, and
then gave one wild bound and headlong plunge, as though he were going
straight into the earth; after which he looked timidly about him, and
then walked slowly along in the track worn by the others.
“He's far quieter than the last time I saw him,” said Hotham.
“He's gettin' more sense every day, sir,” replied George; “he don't
scratch his head with his hind-leg now, sir, and he don't throw hisself
down neither.”
“He has n't given up biting, I see,” said Cleremont.
“No, sir; and they tell me them breed never does; but it's only play,
sir.”
“I'll give you six months before you can call him fit to ride, George.”
“My name ain't Spunner, sir, if the young gent as come yesterday don't
back him in six weeks' time.”
“And is it for the boy Norcott intends him?” asked Cleremont of Hotham.
“So he told me yesterday; and though I warned him that he hadn't another
boy if that fellow should come to grief, he only said, 'If he's got _my_
blood in him, he 'll keep his saddle; and if he has n't, he had better
make room for another.'”
“Ain't he a-going beautiful now?” cried George, as the animal swung
slowly along at a gentle trot, every step of which was as measured as
clockwork.
“You 'll have to teach the youngster also, George,” said Hotham. “I 'm
sure he never backed a horse in his life.”
“Nay, sir, he rode very pretty indeed when he was six years old. I
didn't put him on a Shelty, or one of the hard-mouthed 'uns, but a nice
little lively French mare, that reared up the moment he bore hard on her
bit; so that he learned to sit on his beast without holdin' on by the
bridle.”
“He's a loutish boy,” said Cleremont to the Captain. “I 'll wager what
you like they'll not make a horseman of him.”
“Ecoles says he's a confounded pedant,” said the other; “that he wanted
to cap Horace with him at breakfast.”
“Poor Bob! that was n't exactly his line; but he 'd hold his own in
Balzac or Fred Soulié.”
“Oh, now I see what Norcott was driving at when he said, 'I wanted
the stuff to make a gentleman, and they 've sent me the germ of a
school-usher.' I said, 'Send him to sea with me. I shall be afloat in
March, and I 'll take him.'”
“Well, what answer did he make you?”
“It was n't a civil one,” said the other, gruffly. “He said, 'You
misapprehend me, Hotham. A sea-captain is only a boatswain in
epaulettes. I mean the boy to be a gentleman.'”
“And you bore that?”
“Yes. Just as well as you bore his telling you at dinner on Sunday last
that a Legation secretary was a cross between an old lady and a clerk in
the Customs.”
“A man who scatters impertinences broadcast is only known for the merits
of his cook or his cellar.”
“Both of which are excellent.”
“Shall I send him in, sir?” asked George, as he patted the young horse
and caressed him.
“Well, Eccles,” cried Hotham, as the tutor lounged lazily tip, “what do
you say to the mount they 're going to put your pupil on?”
“I wish they 'd wait a bit I shall not be ready for orders till next
spring, and I 'd rather they 'd not break his neck before February or
March.”
“Has Norcott promised you the presentation, Bob?”
“No. He can't make up his mind whether he 'll give it to me or to a
Plymouth Brother, or to that fellow that was taken up at Salford for
blasphemy, and who happens to be in full orders.”
“With all his enmity to the Established Church, I think he might be
satisfied with you,” said Cleremont.
“Very neat, and very polite too,” said Eccles; “but that this is the
Palace of Truth, I might feel nettled.”
“Is it, by Jove?” cried Hotham. “Then it must be in the summer months,
when the house is shut up. Who has got a strong cigar? These Cubans of
Norcott's have no flavor. It must be close on luncheon-time.”
“I can't join you, for I 've to go into town, and get my young bear
trimmed, and his nails cut. 'Make him presentable,' Norcott said, and
I 've had easier tasks to do.”
So saying, Eccles moved off in one direction, while Hotham and Cleremont
strolled away in another; and I was left to my own reflections, which
were not few.