ISADORE HAMEL IN LOMBARD STREET.
In following the results of Tom's presentation of the necklace we
have got beyond the period which our story is presumed to have
reached. Tom was in durance during the Christmas week, but we must go
back to the promise which had been made by her uncle, Sir Thomas, to
Lucy about six weeks before that time. The promise had extended only
to an undertaking on the part of Sir Thomas to see Isadore Hamel if
he would call at the house in Lombard Street at a certain hour on a
certain day. Lucy was overwhelmed with gratitude when the promise was
made. A few moments previously she had been indignant because her
uncle had appeared to speak of her and her lover as two beggars,--but
Sir Thomas had explained and in some sort apologised, and then had
come the promise which to Lucy seemed to contain an assurance of
effectual aid. Sir Thomas would not have asked to see the lover had
he intended to be hostile to the lover. Something would be done to
solve the difficulty which had seemed to Lucy to be so grave. She
would not any longer be made to think that she should give up either
her lover or her home under her uncle's roof. This had been terribly
distressing to her because she had been well aware that on leaving
her uncle's house she could be taken in only by her lover, to whom an
immediate marriage would be ruinous. And yet she could not undertake
to give up her lover. Therefore her uncle's promise had made her very
happy, and she forgave the ungenerous allusion to the two beggars.
The letter was written to Isadore in high spirits. "I do not know
what Uncle Tom intends, but he means to be kind. Of course you must
go to him, and if I were you I would tell him everything about
everything. He is not strict and hard like Aunt Emmeline. She means
to be good too, but she is sometimes so very hard. I am happier
now because I think something will be done to relieve you from the
terrible weight which I am to you. I sometimes wish that you had
never come to me in Kensington Gardens, because I have become such a
burden to you."
There was much more in which Lucy no doubt went on to declare that,
burden as she was, she intended to be persistent. Hamel, when he
received this letter, was resolved to keep the appointment made for
him, but his hopes were not very high. He had been angry with Lady
Tringle,--in the first place, because of her treatment of himself at
Glenbogie, and then much more strongly, because she had been cruel
to Lucy. Nor did he conceive himself to be under any strong debt
of gratitude to Sir Thomas, though he had been invited to lunch.
He was aware that the Tringles had despised him, and he repaid
the compliment with all his heart by despising the Tringles. They
were to him samples of the sort of people which he thought to be of
all the most despicable. They were not only vulgar and rich, but
purse-proud and conceited as well. To his thinking there was nothing
of which such people were entitled to be proud. Of course they
make money,--money out of money, an employment which he regarded
as vile,--creating nothing either useful or beautiful. To create
something useful was, to his thinking, very good. To create something
beautiful was almost divine. To manipulate millions till they should
breed other millions was the meanest occupation for a life's energy.
It was thus, I fear, that Mr. Hamel looked at the business carried on
in Lombard Street, being as yet very young in the world and seeing
many things with distorted eyes.
He was aware that some plan would be proposed to him which might
probably accelerate his marriage, but was aware also that he would be
very unwilling to take advice from Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas, no doubt,
would be coarse and rough, and might perhaps offer him pecuniary
assistance in a manner which would make it impossible for him to
accept it. He had told himself a score of times that, poor as he was,
he did not want any of the Tringle money. His father's arbitrary
conduct towards him had caused him great misery. He had been brought
up in luxury, and had felt it hard enough to be deprived of his
father's means because he would not abandon the mode of life that
was congenial to him. But having been thus, as it were, cast off
by his father, he had resolved that it behoved him to depend only
on himself. In the matter of his love he was specially prone to be
indignant and independent. No one had a right to dictate to him,
and he would follow the dictation of none. To Lucy alone did he
acknowledge any debt, and to her he owed everything. But even for
her sake he could not condescend to accept Sir Thomas's money, and
with his money his advice. Lucy had begged him in her letter to tell
everything to her uncle. He would tell Sir Thomas everything as to
his income, his prospects, and his intentions, because Sir Thomas as
Lucy's uncle would be entitled to such information. But he thought it
very improbable that he should accept any counsel from Sir Thomas.
Such being the condition of Hamel's mind it was to be feared that but
little good would come from his visit to Lombard Street. Lucy had
simply thought that her uncle, out of his enormous stores, would
provide an adequate income. Hamel thought that Sir Thomas, out of his
enormous impudence, would desire to dictate everything. Sir Thomas
was, in truth, anxious to be good-natured, and to do a kindness to
his niece; but was not willing to give his money without being sure
that he was putting it into good hands.
"Oh, you're Hamel," said a young man to him, speaking to him across
the counter in the Lombard Street office. This was Tom, who, as the
reader will remember, had not yet got into his trouble on account of
the policeman.
Tom and Hamel had never met but once before, for a few moments in the
Coliseum at Rome, and the artist, not remembering him, did not know
by whom he was accosted in this familiar manner. "That is my name,
Sir," said Hamel. "Here is my card. Perhaps you will do me the
kindness to take it to Sir Thomas Tringle."
"All right, old fellow; I know all about it. He has got Puxley with
him from the Bank of England just at this moment. Come through into
this room. He'll soon have polished off old Puxley." Tom was no more
to Hamel than any other clerk, and he felt himself to be aggrieved;
but he followed Tom into the room as he was told, and then prepared
to wait in patience for the convenience of the great man. "So you and
Lucy are going to make a match of it," said Tom.
This was terrible to Hamel. Could it be possible that all the clerks
in Lombard Street talked of his Lucy in this way, because she was the
niece of their senior partner? Were all the clerks, as a matter of
course, instructed in the most private affairs of the Tringle family?
"I am here in obedience to directions from Sir Thomas," said Hamel,
ignoring altogether the impudent allusion which the young man had
made.
"Of course you are. Perhaps you don't know who I am?"
"Not in the least," said Hamel.
"I am Thomas Tringle, junior," said Tom, with a little accession of
dignity.
"I beg your pardon; I did not know," said Hamel.
"You and I ought to be thick," rejoined Tom, "because I'm going in
for Ayala. Perhaps you've heard that before?"
Hamel had heard it and was well aware that Tom was to Ayala an
intolerable burden, like the old man of the sea. He had heard of Tom
as poor Ayala's pet aversion,--as a lover not to be shaken off though
he had been refused a score of times. Ayala was to the sculptor only
second in sacredness to Lucy. And now he was told by Tom himself that
he was--"going in for Ayala." The expression was so distressing to
his feelings that he shuddered when he heard it. Was it possible that
any one should say of him that he was "going in" for Lucy? At that
moment Sir Thomas opened the door, and grasping Hamel by the hand led
him away into his own sanctum.
"And now, Mr. Hamel," said Sir Thomas, in his cheeriest voice, "how
are you?" Hamel declared that he was very well, and expressed a hope
that Sir Thomas was the same. "I am not so young as I was, Mr. Hamel.
My years are heavier and so is my work. That's the worst of it. When
one is young and strong one very often hasn't enough to do. I daresay
you find it so sometimes."
"In our profession," said Hamel, "we go on working, though very often
we do not sell what we do."
"That's bad," said Sir Thomas.
"It is the case always with an artist before he has made a name for
himself. It is the case with many up to the last day of a life of
labour. An artist has to look for that, Sir Thomas."
"Dear me! That seems very sad. You are a sculptor, I believe?"
"Yes, Sir Thomas."
"And the things you make must take a deal of room and be very heavy."
At this Mr. Hamel only smiled. "Don't you think if you were to call
an auction you'd get something for them?" At this suggestion the
sculptor frowned but condescended to make no reply. Sir Thomas went
on with his suggestion. "If you and half-a-dozen other beginners made
a sort of gallery among you, people would buy them as they do those
things in the Marylebone Road and stick them up somewhere about their
grounds. It would be better than keeping them and getting nothing."
Hamel had in his studio at home an allegorical figure of Italia
United, and another of a Prostrate Roman Catholic Church, which
in his mind's eye he saw for a moment stuck here or there about
the gardens of some such place as Glenbogie! Into them had been
infused all the poetry of his nature and all the conviction of his
intelligence. He had never dreamed of selling them. He had never
dared to think that any lover of Art would encourage him to put into
marble those conceptions of his genius which now adorned his studio,
standing there in plaster of Paris. But to him they were so valuable,
they contained so much of his thoughts, so many of his aspirations,
that even had the marble counterparts been ordered and paid for
nothing would have induced him to part with the originals. Now he was
advised to sell them by auction in order that he might rival those
grotesque tradesmen whose business it is to populate the gardens of
wealthy but tasteless Britons! It was thus that the idea represented
itself to him. He simply smiled; but Sir Thomas did not fail to
appreciate the smile.
"And now about this young lady?" said Sir Thomas, not altogether in
so good a humour as he had been when he began his suggestion. "It's a
bad look out for her when, as you say, you cannot sell your work when
you've done it."
"I think you do not quite understand the matter, Sir Thomas."
"Perhaps not. It certainly does seem unintelligible that a man should
lumber himself up with a lot of things which he cannot sell. A
tradesman would know that he must get into the bankruptcy court if
he were to go on like that. And what is sauce for the goose will
be sauce for the gander also." Mr. Hamel again smiled but held his
tongue. "If you can't sell your wares how can you keep a wife?"
"My wares, as you call them, are of two kinds. One, though no doubt
made for sale, is hardly saleable. The other is done to order. Such
income as I make comes from the latter."
"Heads," suggested Sir Thomas.
"Busts they are generally called."
"Well, busts. I call them heads. They are heads. A bust, I take it,
is--well, never mind." Sir Thomas found a difficulty in defining his
idea of a bust. "A man wants to have something more or less like some
one to put up in a church and then he pays you."
"Or perhaps in his library. But he can put it where he likes when he
has bought it."
"Just so. But there ain't many of those come in your way, if I
understand right."
"Not as many as I would wish."
"What can you net at the end of the year? That's the question."
Lucy had recommended him to tell Sir Thomas everything; and he had
come there determined to tell at any rate everything referring to
money. He had not the slightest desire to keep the amount of his
income from Sir Thomas. But the questions were put to him in so
distasteful a way that he could not bring himself to be confidential.
"It varies with various circumstances, but it is very small."
"Very small? Five hundred a year?" This was ill-natured, because Sir
Thomas knew that Mr. Hamel did not earn five hundred a year. But he
was becoming acerbated by the young man's manner.
"Oh dear, no," said Hamel.
"Four hundred?"
"Nor four hundred,--nor three. I have never netted three hundred in
one year after paying the incidental expenses."
"That seems to me to be uncommonly little for a young man who is
thinking of marrying. Don't you think you had better give it up?"
"I certainly think nothing of the kind."
"Does your father do anything for you?"
"Nothing at all."
"He also makes heads?"
"Heads,--and other things."
"And sells them when he has made them."
"Yes, Sir Thomas; he sells them. He had a hard time once, but now he
is run after. He refuses more orders than he can accept."
"And he won't do anything for you."
"Nothing. He has quarreled with me."
"That is very bad. Well now, Mr. Hamel, would you mind telling me
what your ideas are?" Sir Thomas, when he asked the question, still
intended to give assistance, was still minded that the young people
should by his assistance be enabled to marry. But he was strongly of
opinion that it was his duty, as a rich and protecting uncle, to say
something about imprudence, and to magnify difficulties. It certainly
would be wrong for an uncle, merely because he was rich, to give
away his money to dependent relatives without any reference to those
hard principles which a possessor of money always feels it to be his
business to inculcate. And up to this point Hamel had done nothing
to ingratiate himself. Sir Thomas was beginning to think that the
sculptor was an impudent prig, and to declare to himself that, should
the marriage ever take place, the young couple would not be made
welcome at Glenbogie or Merle Park. But still he intended to go on
with his purpose, for Lucy's sake. Therefore he asked the sculptor as
to his ideas generally.
"My idea is that I shall marry Miss Dormer, and support her on the
earnings of my profession. My idea is that I shall do so before long,
in comfort. My idea also is, that she will be the last to complain
of any discomfort which may arise from my straitened circumstances
at present. My idea is that I am preparing for myself a happy
and independent life. My idea also is,--and I assure you that of
all my ideas this is the one to which I cling with the fondest
assurance,--that I will do my very best to make her life happy when
she comes to grace my home."
There was a manliness in this which would have touched Sir Thomas
had he been in a better humour, but, as it was, he had been so much
irritated by the young man's manner, that he could not bring himself
to be just. "Am I to understand that you intend to marry on something
under three hundred a year?"
Hamel paused a moment before he made his reply. "How am I to answer
such a question," he said, at last, "seeing that Miss Dormer is in
your hands, and that you are unlikely to be influenced by anything
that I may say?"
"I shall be very much influenced," said Sir Thomas.
"Were her father still alive, I think we should have put our heads
together, and between us decided on what might have been best for
Lucy's happiness."
"Do you think that I'm indifferent to her happiness?" demanded Sir
Thomas.
"I should have suggested to him," continued Hamel, not noticing the
last question, "that she should remain in her own home till I could
make one for her worthy of her acceptance. And then we should have
arranged among us what would have been best for her happiness. I
cannot do this with you. If you tell her to-morrow that she must give
up either your protection or her engagement with me, then she must
come to me, and make the best of all the little that I can do for
her."
"Who says that I'm going to turn her out?" said Sir Thomas, rising
angrily from his chair.
"I do not think that any one has said this of you."
"Then why do you throw it in my teeth?"
"Because your wife has threatened it."
Then Sir Thomas boiled over in his anger. "No one has threatened it.
It is untrue. You are guilty both of impertinence and untruth in
saying so." Here Hamel rose from his chair, and took up his hat.
"Stop, young man, and hear what I have to say to you. I have done
nothing but good to my niece."
"Nevertheless, it is true, Sir Thomas, that she has been told by your
wife that she must either abandon me or the protection of your roof.
I find no fault with Lady Tringle for saying so. It may have been the
natural expression of a judicious opinion. But when you ask after my
intentions in reference to your niece I am bound to tell you that I
propose to subject her to the undoubted inconveniences of my poor
home, simply because I find her to be threatened with the loss of
another."
"She has not been threatened, Sir."
"You had better ask your wife, Sir Thomas. And, if you find that what
I have said is true, I think you will own that I have been obliged to
explain myself as I have done. As you have told me to my face that
I have been guilty of untruth, I shall now leave you." With this he
walked out of the room, and the words which Sir Thomas threw after
him had no effect in recalling him.
It must be acknowledged that Hamel had been very foolish in referring
to Aunt Emmeline's threat. Who does not know that words are
constantly used which are intended to have no real effect? Who does
not know that an angry woman will often talk after this fashion?
But it was certainly the fact that Aunt Emmeline had more than once
declared to Lucy that she could not be allowed to remain one of
that family unless she would give up her lover. Lucy, in her loyal
endeavours to explain to her lover her own position, had told him of
the threat, and he, from that moment, had held himself prepared to
find a home for his future wife should that threat be carried into
execution. Sir Thomas was well aware that such words had been spoken,
but he knew his wife, and knew how little such words signified. His
wife, without his consent, would not have the power to turn a dog
from Merle Park. The threat had simply been an argument intended to
dissuade Lucy from her choice; and now it had been thrown in his
teeth just when he had intended to make provision for this girl, who
was not, in truth, related to him, in order that he might ratify her
choice! He was very angry with the young prig who had thus rushed out
of his presence. He was angry, too, with his wife, who had brought
him into his difficulty by her foolish threat. But he was angry,
also, with himself, knowing that he had been wrong to accuse the man
of a falsehood.