I was made “presentable” in due time, and on the fifth day after my
arrival made my appearance at the dinner-table. “Sit there, sir,”
said my father, “opposite me.” And I was not sorry to perceive that an
enormous vase with flowers effectually screened me from his sight.
The post of honor thus accorded me was a sufficient intimation to my
father's guests how he intended me to be treated by them; and as they
were without an exception all hangers-on and dependants,--men who dined
badly or not at all when uninvited to his table,--they were marvellously
quick in understanding that I was to be accepted as his heir, and, after
himself, the person of most consideration there.
Besides the three individuals I have already mentioned, our party
included two foreigners,--Baron Steinmetz, an aide-de-camp of the King,
and an Italian duke, San Giovanni. The Duke sat on my father's right,
the Baron on mine. The conversation during dinner was in French, which I
followed imperfectly, and was considerably relieved on discovering that
the German spoke French with difficulty, and blundered over his genders
as hopelessly as I should have done had I attempted to talk. “Ach Gott,”
muttered he to himself in German, “when people were seeking for a common
language, why did n't they take one that all humanity could pronounce?”
“So meine ich auch, Herr Baron,” cried I; “I quite agree with you.”
He turned towards me with a look of-positive affection, on seeing I knew
German, and we both began to talk together at once with freedom.
“What's the boy saying?” cried my father, as he caught the sounds of
some glib speech of mine. “Don't let him bore you with his bad French,
Steinmetz.”
“He is charming me with his admirable German,” said the Baron. “I can't
tell when I have met a more agreeable companion.”
This was, of course, a double flattery, for my German was very bad, and
my knowledge on any subject no better; but the fact did not diminish the
delight the praise afforded me.
“Do you know German, Digby?” asked my father.
“A little,--a very little, sir.”
“The fellow would say he knew Sanscrit if you asked him,” whispered
Hotham to Eccles; but my sharp ears overheard him.
“Come, that's better than I looked for,” said my father. “What do you
say, Eccles? Is there stuff there?”
“Plenty, Sir Roger; enough and to spare. I count on Digby to do me great
credit yet.”
“What career do you mean your son to follow?” asked the Italian, while
he nodded to me over his wine-glass in most civil recognition.
“I'll not make a sailor of him, like that sea-wolf yonder; nor a
diplomatist, like my silent friend in the corner. Neither shall he be a
soldier till British armies begin to do something better than hunt out
illicit stills and protect process-servers.”
“A politician, perhaps?”
“Certainly not, sir. There 's no credit in belonging to a Parliament
brought down to the meridian of soap-boilers and bankrupt bill-brokers.”
“There's the Church, Sir Roger,” chimed in Eccles.
“There's the Pope's Church, with some good prizes in the wheel; but your
branch, Master Bob, is a small concern, and it is trembling, besides.
No. I 'll make him none of these. It is in our vulgar passion for
money-getting we throw our boys into this or that career in life, and
we narrow to the stupid formula of some profession abilities that were
meant for mankind. I mean Digby to deal with the world; and to fit him
for the task, he shall learn as much of human nature as I can afford to
teach him.”
“Ah, there's great truth in that, very great truth; very wise and very
original too,” were the comments that ran round the board.
Excited by this theme, and elated by his success, my father went on:--
“If you want a boy to ride, you don't limit him to the quiet hackney
that neither pulls nor shies, neither bolts nor plunges; and so, if you
wish your son to know his fellow-men, you don't keep him in a charmed
circle of deans and archdeacons, but you throw him fearlessly into
contact with old debauchees like Hotham, or abandoned scamps of the
style of Cleremont,”--and here he had to wait till the laughter subsided
to add, “and, last of all, you take care to provide him with a finishing
tutor like Eccles.”
“I knew your turn was coming, Bob,” whispered Hotham; but still all
laughed heartily, well satisfied to stand ridicule themselves if others
were only pilloried with them.
When dinner was over, we sat about a quarter of an hour, not more, and
then adjourned to coffee in a small room that seemed half boudoir, half
conservatory. As I loitered about, having no one to speak to, I found
myself at last in a little shrubbery, through which a sort of labyrinth
meandered. It was a taste of the day revived from olden times, and
amazed me much by its novelty. While I was puzzling myself to find out
the path that led out of the entanglement, I heard a voice I knew at
once to be Hotham's, saying,--
“Look at that boy of Norcott's: he's not satisfied with the imbroglio
within doors, but he must go out to mystify himself with another.”
“I don't much fancy that young gentleman,” said Cleremont.
“And I only half. Bob Eccles says we have all made a precious mistake in
advising Norcott to bring him back.”
“Yet it was our only chance to prevent it. Had we opposed the plan,
he was sure to have determined on it. There's nothing for it but your
notion, Hotham; let him send the brat to sea with you.”
“Yes, I think that would do it.” And now they had walked out of earshot,
and I heard no more.
If I was not much reassured by these droppings, I was far more moved by
the way in which I came to hear them. Over and over had my dear mother
cautioned me against listening to what was not meant for me; and
here, simply because I found myself the topic, I could not resist the
temptation to learn how men would speak of me. I remembered well the
illustration by which my mother warned me as to the utter uselessness of
the sort of knowledge thus gained. She told me of a theft some visitor
had made at Abbotsford,--the object stolen being a signet-ring Lord
Byron had given to Sir Walter. The man who stole this could never
display the treasure without avowing himself a thief. He had, therefore,
taken what from the very moment of the fraud became valueless. He might
gaze on it in secret with such pleasure as his self-accusings would
permit. He might hug himself with the thought of possession; but how
could that give pleasure, or how drown the everlasting shame the mere
sight of the object must revive? So would it be, my mother said, with
him who unlawfully possessed himself of certain intelligence which he
could not employ without being convicted of the way he gained it The
lesson thus illustrated had not ceased to be remembered by me; and
though I tried all my casuistry to prove that I listened without
intention, almost without being aware of it, I was shocked and grieved
to find how soon I was forgetting the precepts she had labored so hard
to impress upon me.
She had also said, “By the same rule which would compel you to restore
to its owner what you had become possessed of wrongfully, you are bound
to let him you have accidentally overheard know to what extent you are
aware of his thoughts.”
“This much, at least, I can do,” said I: “I can tell these gentlemen
that I heard a part of their conversation.”
I walked about for nigh an hour revolving these things in my head, and
at last returned to the house. As I entered the drawing-room, I was
struck by the silence. My father, Cleremont, and the two foreigners were
playing whist at one end of the room, Hotham and Eccles were seated at
chess at another. Not a word was uttered save some brief demand of
the game, or a murmured “check,” by the chess-players. Taking my place
noiselessly beside these latter, I watched the board eagerly, to try and
acquire the moves.
“Do you understand the game?” whispered Hotham.
“No, sir,” said I, in the same cautious tone.
“I 'll show you the moves, when this party is over.” And I muttered my
thanks for the courtesy.
“This is intolerable!” cried out my father. “That confounded whispering
is far more distracting than any noise. I have lost all count of my
game. I say, Eccles, why is not that boy in bed?”
“I thought you said he might sup, Sir Roger.”
“If I did, it was because I thought he knew how to conduct himself. Take
him away at once.”
And Eccles rose, and with more kindness than I had expected from him,
said, “Come, Digby, I 'll go too, for we have both to be early risers
to-morrow.”
Thus ended my first day in public, and I have no need to say what a
strange conflict filled my head that night as I dropped off to sleep.