Produced by David Widger
PAUL GOSSLETT'S CONFESSIONS IN LOVE, LAW, AND THE CIVIL SERVICE
By Charles James Lever
Boston: Little, Brown, And Company.
1906.
MY FIRST MISSION UNDER F. O.
I was walking very sadly across the Green Park one day, my hat pressed
over my eyes, not looking to right or left, but sauntering slowly along,
depressed and heavy-hearted, when I felt a friendly arm slip softly
within my own, while a friendly voice said,--“I think I have got
something to suit you, for a few months at least. Don't you know
Italian?”
“In a fashion, I may say I do. I can read the small poets, and chat a
little. I'll not say much more about my knowledge.”
“Quite enough for what I mean. Now tell me another thing. You 're not a
very timid fellow, I know. Have you any objection to going amongst the
brigands in Calabria,--on a friendly mission, of course,--where it will
be their interest to treat you well?”
“Explain yourself a little more freely. What is it I should have to do?”
“Here's the whole affair; the son of a wealthy baronet, a Wiltshire
M.P., has been captured and carried off by these rascals. They demand
a heavy sum for his ransom, and give a very short time for the payment.
Sir Joseph, the youth's father, is very ill, and in such a condition as
would make any appeal to him highly dangerous; the doctors declare,
in fact, it would be fatal; and Lady Mary S. has come up to town, in a
state bordering on distraction, to consult Lord Scatterdale, the Foreign
Secretary, who is a personal friend of her husband. The result is
that his Lordship lias decided to pay the money at once; and the only
question is now to find the man to take it out, and treat with these
scoundrels.”
“That ought not to be a very difficult matter, one would say; there are
scores of fellows with pluck for such a mission.”
“So there are, if pluck were the only requisite; but something more is
needed. If Sir Joseph should not like to acknowledge the debt,--if, on
his recovery, he should come to think that the thing might have been
better managed, less cost incurred, and so on,--the Government will feel
embarrassed; they can't well quarrel with an old supporter; they can't
well stick the thing in the estimates; so that, to cover the outlay in
some decent fashion, they must give it a public-service look before they
can put it into the Extraordinaries; and so Lord S. has hit upon this
scheme. You are aware that a great question is now disputed between the
Bourbonists of Naples and the party of New Italy,--whether brigandage
means highway robbery, or is the outburst of national enthusiasm in
favor of the old dynasty. The friends of King Bomba, of course, call it
a 'La Vendée;' the others laugh at this, and say that the whole affair
is simply assassination and robbery, and totally destitute of any
political coloring. Who knows on which side the truth lies, or whether
some portion of truth does not attach to each of these versions? Now,
there are, as you said awhile ago, scores of fellows who would have
pluck enough to treat with the brigands; but there are not so many
who could be trusted to report of them,--to give a clear and detailed
account of what he saw of them,--of their organization, their
sentiments, their ambitions, and their political views, if they have
any. You are just the man to do this. You have that knack of observation
and that readiness with your pen which are needed. In fact, you seem to
me the very fellow to do this creditably.”
“Has Lord S. any distinct leanings in the matter?” asked I. “Does he
incline to regard these men as political adherents, or as assassins,
_purs et simples?_”
“I see what you mean,” said my friend, pinching my arm. “You want to
know the tone of your employer before you enter his service. You would
like to be sure of the tints that would please him.”
“Perhaps so. I won't go so far as to say it would frame my report,
but it might serve to tinge it. Now, do you know his proclivities, as
Jonathan would call them?”
“I believe they are completely with the Italian view of the matter. I
mean, he will not recognize anything political in these scoundrels.”
“I thought as much. Now as to the appointment. Do you think you could
obtain it for me?”
“You are ready to take it, then?”
“Perfectly.”
“And ready to start at once?”
“To-night.”
“Come back with me now, and I will inquire if Lord S. will see us. He
spoke to me yesterday evening on the matter, and somehow your name did
not occur to me, and I certainly recommended another man,--Hitchins of
the 'Daily News;' but I am sure he will not have sent for him yet, and
that we shall be in good time.”
As we walked back towards Downing Street, my friend talked on
incessantly about the advantages I might derive from doing this thing
creditably. They were sure to make a Blue Book out of my report, and who
knows if my name would not be mentioned in the House? At all events,
the newspapers would have it; and the Government would be obliged,--they
could n't help giving me something. “You'll have proved yourself a man
of capacity,” said he, “and that's enough. S. does like smart fellows
under him, he is so quick himself; sees a thing with half an eye, and
reads a man just as he reads a book.” He rattled along in this fashion,
alternately praising the great man, and assuring me that I was
exactly the sort of fellow to suit him. “He 'll not burden you with
instructions, but what he tells you will be quite sufficient; he is all
clearness, conciseness, and accuracy. There's only one caution I have to
give you,--don't ask him a question, follow closely all he says, and
never ask him to explain anything that puzzles you. To suppose that he
has not expressed himself clearly is a dire offence, mind that; and now,
here we are. Crosby, is my Lord upstairs?” asked he of the porter; and
receiving a bland nod in reply, he led the way to the Minister's
cabinet.
“I 'll ask to see him first myself,” whispered he, as he sent in his
card.
Now, though my friend was an M.P., and a stanch supporter of the party,
he manifested a considerable amount of anxiety and uneasiness when
waiting for the noble secretary's reply. It came at last.
“Can't possibly see you now, sir. Will meet you at the House at five
o'clock.”
“Will you kindly tell his Lordship I have brought with me the gentleman
I spoke to him about yesterday evening? He will know for what.”
The private secretary retired sullenly, and soon returned to say, “The
gentleman may come in; my Lord will speak to him.”
The next moment I found myself standing in a comfortably furnished room,
in front of a large writing-table, at which an elderly man with a small
head, scantily covered with gray hair, was writing. He did not cease his
occupation as I entered, nor notice me in any manner as I approached,
but went on repeating to himself certain words as he wrote them; and at
last, laying down his pen, said aloud, with a faint chuckle, “and your
Excellency may digest it how you can.”
I gave a very slight cough. He looked up, stared at me, arose, and,
walking to the fire, stood with his back to it for a couple of seconds
without speaking. I could see that he had some difficulty in dismissing
the topic which had just occupied him, and was only arriving at me by
very slow stages and heavy roads.
“Eh!” said he, at last; “you are the man of the paper. Not the 'Times
'--but the--the--what's it?”
“No, my Lord. I'm the other man,” said I, quietly.
“Ah, you 're the other man.” And as he spoke, he hung his head, and
seemed hopelessly lost in thought. “Have you seen Mr. Hammil?” asked he.
“No, my Lord.”
“You must see Mr. Hammil. Till you see Mr. Hammil, you need n't come to
me.”
“Very well, my Lord,” said I, moving towards the door.
“Wait a moment. You know Italy well, I am told. Do you know Cavour?”
“No, my Lord,” said I.
“Ah! They say he over-eats; have you heard that?”
“I can't say that I have, my Lord; but my acquaintance with Italy and
with Italians is very slight, indeed.”
“Why did they recommend you, then, for this affair? I told Gresson that
I wanted a man who could have ready access to their public men, who knew
Balbi, Gino Capponi, Ricasoli, and the rest of them. Now, sir, how is it
possible, without intimacy with these men and their opinions, that you
could write such leading articles as I suggested in, their papers? How
could you ever get admission to the columns of the 'Opinione' and the
'Perseveranza,' eh? Answer me that.”
“I am afraid, my Lord, there is some grave misunderstanding here. I
never dreamed of proposing myself for such a difficult task. I came here
on a totally different mission. It was to take your Lordship's orders
about the ransom and rescue of a young Englishman who has been captured
by the brigands in Southern Italy--”
“That scamp, St. John. A very different business, indeed. Why, sir, they
value him at one thousand pounds, and I 'll venture to assert that his
friends--if that be the name of the people who know him--would call him
a dear bargain at twenty. I'm certain his own father would say so; but,
poor fellow, he is very ill, and can't talk on this or any other matter
just now. Lady Mary, however, insists on his release, and we must see
what can be done. You know the habits and ways of these rascals,--these
brigands,--don't you?”
“No, my Lord; nothing whatever about them.”
“Then, in Heaven's name, sir, what do you know?”
“Very little about anything, my Lord, I must confess; but as I am
sorely pushed to find a livelihood, and don't fancy being a burden to
my friends, I told Mr. Gresson, this morning, that I was quite ready to
undertake the mission if I should be intrusted with it; and that, so far
as bail or security went, my uncle Rankin, of Rankin and Bates, would
unquestionably afford it.”
“Ah, this is very different, indeed,” said he, ponderingly, and with a
look of compassionate interest I had not thought his face capable of.
“Gone too fast, perhaps; have been hit hard at Doncaster or Goodwood?”
“No, my Lord; I never betted. I started with a few thousand pounds and
lost them in a speculation.”
“Well, well. I have no right to enter into these things. Go and see Mr.
Temple, the financial clerk. Take this to him, and see what he says to
you. If he is satisfied, come down to the House to-night. But stay! You
ought to start this evening, oughtn't you?”
“I believe, my Lord, the time is very short. They require the money to
be paid by the twelfth.”
“Or they'll cut his ears off, I suppose,” said he, laughing. “Well, he's
an ugly dog already; not that cropping will improve him. Here, take this
to Temple, and arrange the matter between you.”
And he hurriedly wrote half a dozen lines, which he enclosed and
addressed, and then returning to his seat, said, “_Bonne chance!_ I wish
you success and a pleasant journey.”
I will not dwell upon the much longer and more commonplace interview
that followed. Mr. Temple knew all about me,--knew my uncle, and
knew the whole story of my misfortunes. He was not, however, the less
cautious in every step he took; and as the sum to be intrusted to me
was so large, he filled in a short bail-bond, and, while I sat with him,
despatched it by one of his clerks to Lombard Street, for my uncle's
signature. This came in due time; and, furnished with instructions how
to draw on the Paymaster-General, some current directions how to proceed
till I presented myself at the Legation at Naples, and a sum sufficient
for the travelling expenses, I left London that night for Calais, and
began my journey. If I was very anxious to acquit myself creditably in
this my first employment in the public service, and to exhibit an
amount of zeal, tact, and discretion that might recommend me for future
employment, I was still not indifferent to the delights of a journey
paid for at the Queen's expense, and which exacted from me none of those
petty economies which mar the perfect enjoyment of travelling.
If I suffer myself to dwell on this part of my history, I shall be
ruined, for I shall never get on; and you will, besides, inevitably--and
as unjustly as inevitably--set me down for a snob.
I arrived at Naples at last. It was just as the day was closing in, but
there was still light enough to see the glorious bay and the outline of
Vesuvius in the background. I was, however, too full of my mission
now to suffer my thoughts to wander to the picturesque, and so I made
straight for the Legation.
I had been told that I should receive my last instructions from H.M.'s
Minister, and it was a certain Sir James Magruber that then held that
office at Naples. I know so very little of people in his peculiar walk,
that I can only hope he may not be a fair sample of his order; for he
was the roughest, the rudest, and most uncourteous gentleman it has ever
been my fortune to meet.
He was dressing for dinner when I sent up my card, and at once ordered
that I should be shown up to his room.
“Where's your bag?” cried he, roughly, as I entered.
Conceiving that this referred to my personal luggage, and was meant as
the preliminary to inviting me to put up at his house, I said that I had
left my “traps” at the hotel, and, with his permission, would install
myself there for the few hours of my stay.
“Confound your 'traps,' as you call them,” said he. “I meant your
despatches,--the bag from F. O. Ain't you the messenger?”
“No, sir; I am not the messenger,” said I, haughtily.
“And what the devil do you mean, then, by sending me your card, and
asking to see me at once?”
“Because my business is peremptory, sir,” said I, boldly, and proceeded
at once to explain who I was and what I had come for. “To-morrow will
be the tenth, sir,” said I, “and I ought to be at Rocco d'Anco by the
morning of the twelfth, at farthest.”
He was brushing his hair all the time I was speaking, and I don't think
that he heard above half of what I said.
“And do you mean to tell me they are such infernal fools at F.O. that
they 're going to pay one thousand pounds sterling to liberate this
scamp St. John?”
“I think, sir, you will find that I have been sent out with this object”
“Why, it's downright insanity! It is a thousand pities they had n't
caught the fellow years ago. Are you aware that there's scarcely a crime
in the statute-book he has not committed? I'd not say murder wasn't
amongst them. Why, sir, he cheated me,--me,--the man who now speaks
to you,--at billiards. He greased my cue, sir. It was proved,--proved
beyond the shadow of a doubt. The fellow called it a practical joke,
but he forgot I had five ducats on the game; and he had the barefaced
insolence to amuse Naples by a representation of me as I sided my ball,
and knocked the marker down afterwards, thinking it was his fault. He
was attached, this St. John was, to my mission here at the time; but I
wrote home to demand--not to ask, but demand--his recall. His father's
vote was, however, of consequence to the Government, and they refused
me. Yes, sir, they refused me; they told me to give him a leave of
absence if I did not like to see him at the Legation; and I gave it,
sir. And, thank Heaven, the fellow went into Calabria, and fell into the
hands of the brigands,--too good company for him, I 'm certain. I 'll be
shot if he could n't corrupt them; and now you 're come out here to pay
a ransom for a fellow that any other country but England would send to
the galleys.”
“Has he done nothing worse, sir,” asked I, timidly, “than this stupid
practical joke?”
“What, sir, have you the face to put this question to me,--to H.M.'s
Minister at this court,--the subject of this knavish buffoonery? Am I
a fit subject for a fraud,--a--a freedom, sir? Is it to a house which
displays the royal arms over the entrance-door men come to play blackleg
or clown? Where have you lived, with whom have you lived, what pursuit
in life have you followed, that you should be sunk in such utter
ignorance of all the habits of life and civilization?”
I replied that I was a gentleman, I trusted as well educated, and I knew
as well-born, as himself.
He sprang to the bell as I said this, and rang on till the room was
crowded with servants, who came rushing in under the belief that it was
a fire-alarm.
“Take him away,--put him out--Giacomo,--Hippo-lyte,--Francis!” screamed
he. “See that he's out of the house this instant. Send Mr. Carlyon here.
Let the police be called, and order gendarmes if he resists.”
While he was thus frothing and foaming, I took my hat, and, passing
quietly through the ranks of his household, descended the stairs, and
proceeded into the street.
I reached the “Vittoria” in no bland humor. I must own that I was
flurried and irritated in no common degree. I was too much excited to
be able, clearly, to decide how far the insult I had received required
explanation and apology, or if it had passed the limits in which apology
is still possible.
Perhaps, thought I, if I call him out, he 'll hand me over to the
police; perhaps he 'll have me sent over the frontier. Who knows what
may be the limit to a minister's power? While I was thus speculating and
canvassing with myself, a card was presented to me by the waiter,--“Mr.
Sponnington, Attaché, H.M.'s Legation, Naples,”--and as suddenly the
owner of it entered the room.
He was a fair-faced, blue-eyed young man, very shortsighted, with a
faint lisp and an effeminate air. He bowed slightly as he came forward,
and said, “You 're Mr. Goss-lett, ain't you?” And not waiting for any
reply, he sat down and opened a roll of papers on the table. “Here are
your instructions. You are to follow them when you can, you know, and
diverge from them whenever you must. That is, do whatever you like,
and take the consequences. Sir James won't see you again. He says you
insulted him; but he says that of almost every one. The cook insults him
when the soup is too salt, and I insulted him last week by writing with
pale ink. But you 'd have done better if you 'd got on well with him. He
writes home,--do you understand?--he writes home.”
“So do most people,” I said dryly.
“Ah! but not the way he does. He writes home and has a fellow
black-listed. Two crosses against you sends you to Greece, and three is
ruin! Three means the United States.”
“I assure you, sir, that as regards myself, your chief's good opinion or
good word are matters of supreme indifference.”
Had I uttered an outrageous blasphemy, he could not have looked at me
with greater horror.
“Well,” said he, at last, “there it is; read it over. Bolton will cash
your bills, and give you gold. You must have gold; they 'll not take
anything else. I don't believe there is much more to say.”
“Were you acquainted with Mr. St. John?” asked I.
“I should think I was. Rodney St John and I joined together.”
“And what sort of a fellow is he? Is he such a scamp as his chief
describes?”
“He's fast, if you mean that; but we 're all fast.”
“Indeed!” said I, measuring him with a look, and thinking to compute the
amount of his colleague's iniquity.
“But he's not worse than Stormont, or Mosely, or myself; only he's
louder than we are. He must always be doing something no other fellow
ever thought of. Don't you know the kind of thing I mean? He wants to be
original. Bad style that, very. That 's the way he got into this scrape.
He made a bet he 'd go up to Rocco d'Anco, and pass a week with Stoppa,
the brigand,--the cruellest dog in Calabria. He didn't say when he'd
come back again, though; and there he is still, and Stoppa sent one of
his fellows to drop a letter into the Legation, demanding twenty-five
thousand francs for his release, or saying that his ears, nose, &c, will
be sent on by instalments during the month. Ugly, ain't it?”
“I trust I shall be in time to save him. I suspect he's a good fellow.”
“Yes, I suppose he is,” said he, with an air of uneasiness; “only I 'd
not go up there, where you 're going, for a trifle, I tell you that.”
“Perhaps not,” said I, quietly.
“For,” resumed he, “when Stoppa sees that you're a nobody, and not worth
a ransom, he 'd as soon shoot you as look at you.” And this thought
seemed to amuse him so much that he laughed at it as he quitted the room
and descended the stairs, and I even heard him cackling over it in the
street.
Before I went to bed that night I studied the map of Calabria
thoroughly, and saw that by taking the diligence to Atri the next day I
should reach Valdenone by about four o'clock, from which a guide could
conduct me to Rocco d'Anco,--a mountain walk of about sixteen miles,--a
feat which my pedestrian habits made me fully equal to. If the young
attache's attempt to terrorize over me was not a perfect success, I am
free to own that my enterprise appeared to me a more daring exploit than
I had believed it when I thought of it in Piccadilly. It was not merely
that I was nearer to the peril, but everything conspired to make me more
sensible to the danger. The very map, where a large tract was marked
“little known,” suggested a terror of its own; and I fell asleep, at
last, to dream of every wild incident of brigand life I had seen in
pictures or witnessed on the stage.
As that bland young gentleman so candidly told me, “I was a nobody,”
and, consequently, of no interest to any one. Who would think of sending
out an express messenger to ransom Paul Gosslett? At all events, I could
console myself with the thought that if the world would give little
for me, it would grieve even less; and with this not very cheering
consolation I mounted to the banquette of the diligence, and started.
After passing through a long, straggling suburb, not remarkable for
anything but its squalor and poverty, we reached the seashore, and
continued to skirt the bay for miles. I had no conception of anything
so beautiful as the great sheet of blue water seen in the freshness of
a glorious sunrise, with the white-sailed lateener skimming silently
along, and reflected, as if in a mirror, on the unruffled surface. There
was a peaceful beauty in all around, that was a positive enchantment,
and the rich odors of the orange and the verbena filled the air almost
to a sense of delicious stupefaction. Over and over did I say to
myself, “Why cannot this delicious dream be prolonged for a lifetime? If
existence could but perpetuate such a scene as this, let me travel along
the shore of such a sea, overshadowed by the citron and the vine,--I ask
for no more.” The courier or conductor was my only companion,--an old
soldier of the first empire, who had fought on the Beresina and in
Spain,--a rough old sabreur, not to be appeased by my best cigars and my
brandy-flask into a good word for the English. He hated them formerly,
and he hated them still. There might be, he was willing to believe,
one or two of the nation that were not cani; but he had n't met them
himself, nor did he know any one who had. I relished his savagery, and
somehow never felt in the slightest degree baffled or amazed by his
rudeness. I asked him if he had heard of that unlucky countryman of mine
who had been captured by the brigands, and he said that he had heard
that Stoppa meant to roast him alive; for that Stoppa did n't like the
English,--a rather strong mode of expressing a national antipathy, but
one, on the whole, he did not entirely disapprove of.
“Stoppa, however,” said I, assuming as a fact what I meant for a
question,--“Stoppa is a man of his word. If he offered to take a ransom,
he'll keep his promise?”
“That he will, if the money is paid down in zecchin gold. He 'll take
nothing else. He 'll give up the man; but I 'd not fancy being the
fellow who brought the ransom if there was a light piece in the mass.”
“He 'd surely respect the messenger who carried the money?”
“Just as much as I respect that old mare who won't come up to her
collar;” and he snatched the whip, as he spoke, from the driver, and
laid a heavy lash over the sluggish beast's loins. “Look here,” said
he to me, as we parted company at Corallo, “you 're not bad,--for an
Englishman, at least,---and I 'd rather you did n't come to trouble.
Don't you get any further into these mountains than St. Andrea, and
don't stay, even there, too long. Don't go in Stoppa's way; for if you
have money, he 'll cut your throat for it, and if you have n't, he
'll smash your skull for being without it. I 'll be on the way back
to Naples on Saturday; and if you'll take a friend's advice, you'll be
beside me.”
I was not sorry to get away from my old grumbling companion; but his
words of warning went with me in the long evening's drive up to
St. Andrea, a wild mountain road, over which I jogged in a very
uncomfortable barroccino.
Was I really rushing into such peril as he described? And if so, why so?
I could scarcely affect to believe that any motives of humanity moved
me; still less, any sense of personal regard or attachment. I had never
known--not even seen--Mr. St. John. In what I had heard of him there was
nothing that interested me. It was true that I expected to be rewarded
for my services; but if there was actual danger in what I was about to
do, what recompense would be sufficient? And was it likely that this
consideration would weigh heavily on the minds of those who employed me?
Then, again, this narrative, or report, or whatever it was, how was I
to find the material for it? Was it to be imagined that I was to
familiarize myself with brigand life by living amongst these rascals,
so as to be able to make a Blue Book about them? Was it believed that
I could go to them, like a census commissioner, and ask their names and
ages, how long they had been in their present line of life, and how
they throve on it? I'll not harass myself more about them, thought I, at
last. I 'll describe my brigand as I find him. The fellow who comes to
meet me for the money shall be the class. “Ex pede Herculem” shall serve
one here, and I have no doubt I shall be as accurate as the others who
contribute to this sort of literature.
I arrived at St. Andrea as the Angelus was ringing, and saw that pretty
sight of a whole village on their knees at evening prayer, which would
have been prettier had not the devotees been impressed with the most
rascally countenances I ever beheld.
From St. Andrea to Rocco was a walk of seventeen miles, but I was not
sorry to exchange the wearisome barroccino I had been jolting in for the
last six hours, for my feet; and after a light meal of bread and onions,
washed down with a very muddy imitation of vinegar, I set forth with
a guide for my destination. There was not much companionship in my
conductor, who spoke a patois totally unintelligible to me, and who
could only comprehend by signs. His own pantomime, however, conveyed to
me that we were approaching the brigand region, and certain significant
gestures about his throat and heart intimated to me that sudden death
was no unusual casualty in these parts. An occasional rude cross erected
on the roadside, or a painted memorial on the face of a rock, would also
attest some bygone disaster, at the sight of which he invariably knelt
and uttered a prayer, on rising from which he seemed to me, each time,
but half decided whether he would accompany me farther.
At last, after a four hours' hard walk, we gained the crest of a
mountain ridge, from which the descent seemed nearly precipitous, and
here my companion showed me, by the faint moonlight, a small heap of
stones, in the midst of which a stake was placed upright; he muttered
some words in a very low tone, and held up eight fingers, possibly to
convey that eight people had been murdered or buried in that place.
Whatever the idea, one thing was certain,--he would go no farther. He
pointed to the zigzag path I was to follow, and stretched out his hand
to show me, as I supposed, where Rocco lay, and then unslinging from his
shoulder the light carpet-bag he had hitherto carried for me, he held
out his palm for payment.
I resolutely refused, however, to accept his resignation, and ordered
him, by a gesture, to resume his load and march on; but the fellow shook
his head doggedly, and pointed with one finger to the open palm of the
other hand. The gesture was defiant and insolent; and as we were man to
man, I felt it would be an ignominy to submit to him, so I again
showed signs of refusal, and pointed to the bag. At this he drew a
long thin-bladed knife from his garter; but, as quickly, I pulled out a
revolver from my breast-pocket. The fellow's sharp ear caught the click
of the lock, and, with a spring, he darted over the low parapet and
disappeared. I never saw him more.
A cold sweat broke over me as I took up my burden and resumed my way.
There was but one path, so that I could not hesitate as to the road; but
I own that I began that descent with a heart-sinking and a terror that
I have no words to convey. That the fellow would spring out upon me at
some turn of the way seemed so certain that at each sharp angle I halted
and drew breath for the struggle I thought was coming. My progress was
thus much retarded, and my fatigue greatly increased. The day broke at
last, but found me still plodding on in a dense pine-wood which clothed
the lower sides of the mountain. In addition to my carpet-bag I had
the heavy belt in which the gold pieces were secured, and the weight of
which became almost insupportable.
What inconceivable folly had ever involved me in such an adventure? How
could I have been so weak as to accept such a mission? Here was I, more
than a thousand miles away from home, alone, on foot in the midst of a
mountain tract, the chosen resort of the worst assassins of Europe, and,
as if to insure my ruin, with a large sum in gold on my person. What
could my friend have meant by proposing the enterprise to me? Did he
imagine the mountain-paths of the Basilicata were like Pall Mall? or did
he,--and this seemed more likely,--did he deem that the man who had
so little to live for must, necessarily, care less for life? If I must
enter the public service, thought I, at the peril of my neck, better to
turn to some other means of living. Then I grew sardonic and malicious,
declaring to myself how like a rich man it was to offer such an
employment to a poor man, as though, when existence had so little to
charm, one could not hold to it with any eagerness. The people, muttered
I, who throw these things to us so contemptuously are careful enough of
themselves. You never find one of them risk his life, no, nor even peril
his health, in any enterprise.
As the sun shone out and lit up a magnificent landscape beneath me,
where, in the midst of a wooded plain, a beautiful lake lay stretched
out, dotted over with little islands, I grew in better humor with
myself and with the world at large. It was certainly very lovely. The
snow-peaks of the Abruzzi could be seen, here and there, topping the
clouds, which floated lightly up from the low-lying lands of the valley.
Often and often had I walked miles and miles to see a scene not fit to
be compared with this. If I had only brought my colors with me, what a
bit of landscape I might have carried away! The pencil could do nothing
where so much depended on tint and glow. A thin line of blue smoke rose
above the trees near the lake, and this I guessed to proceed from the
village of Rocco d'Anco. I plucked up my courage at the sight, and again
set forth, weary and footsore, it is true, but in a cheerier, heartier
spirit than before.
Four hours' walking, occasionally halting for a little rest, brought me
to Rocco, a village of about twenty houses, straggling up the side of
a vine-clad hill, the crest of which was occupied by a church. The
population were all seated at their doors, it being some festa, and
were, I am bound to admit, about as ill-favored a set as one would wish
to see. In the aspect of the men, and, indeed, still more in that of the
women, one could at once recognize the place as a brigand resort. There
were, in the midst of all the signs of squalor and poverty, rich scarfs
and costly shawls to be seen; while some of the very poorest wore gold
chains round their necks, and carried handsomely ornamented pistols and
daggers at their waist-belts. I may as well mention here, not to let
these worthy people be longer under a severe aspersion than needful,
that they were not themselves brigands, but simply the friends and
partisans of the gangs, who sold them the different spoils of which they
had divested the travellers. The village was, in fact, little else than
the receptacle of stolen goods until opportunity offered to sell them
elsewhere. I had been directed to put up at a little inn kept by an
ex-friar who went by the name of Fra Bartolo, and I soon found the place
a very pleasant contrast, in its neatness and comfort, to the dirt
and wretchedness around it. The Frate, too, was a fine, jovial,
hearty-looking fellow, with far more the air of a Sussex farmer in his
appearance than a Calabrian peasant. He set me at ease at once by saying
that, of course, I came for the fishing, and added that the lake was
in prime order and the fish plenty. This was said with such palpable
roguery that I saw it was meant for the bystanders, and knew, at once,
he had been prepared for my arrival and expected me. I was, however,
more in need of rest and refreshment than of conversation, and, after
a hearty but hurried meal, I turned in and fell off to sleep as I had
never slept before. Twice or thrice I had a faint consciousness that
attempts were made to awaken me, and once, that a candle was held close
to my eyes; but these were very confused and indistinct sensations, and
my stupor soon conquered them.
“That 's pretty well for a nap. Just nine hours of it,” said the Frate,
as he jogged my shoulder, and insisted on arousing me.
“I was so tired,” said I, stretching myself, and half turning to the
wall for another bout.
“No, no; you mustn't go to sleep again,” said he, bending over me. “He's
come;” and he made a gesture with his thumb towards an adjoining room.
“He's been there above an hour.”
“Do you mean--”
“Hush!” he said cautiously. “We name no names here. Get up and see him;
he never likes loitering down in these places. One can't be sure of
everybody in this world.” And here he threw up his eyes, and seemed for
a moment overwhelmed at the thought of human frailty and corruption.
“He is expecting me, then?” said I.
“Very impatiently, sir. He wanted to arouse you when he arrived, and he
has been twice in here to see if you were really asleep.”
Something like a thrill ran through me to think that, as I lay there,
this brigand, this man of crimes and bloodshed,--for, of course, he was
such--had stood by my bedside, and bent over me. The Frate, however,
urging me to activity, left me no time for these reflections, and I
arose quickly, and followed him. I was eager to know what manner of man
it was to whom I was about to make my approach; but I was hurried along
a passage, and half pushed into a room, and the door closed behind me,
before I had time for a word.
On a low settle-bed, just in front of me, as I entered, a man lay,
smoking a short meerschaum, whose dress and get up, bating some signs of
wear and ill-usage, would have made the fortune of a small theatre. His
tall hat was wreathed with white roses, from the midst of which a tall
feather, spray-like and light, stood up straight. His jacket of bright
green, thrown open wide, displayed a scarlet waistcoat perfectly loaded
with gold braiding. Leather breeches, ending above the knee, showed the
great massive limb beneath to full advantage; while the laced stocking
that came up to the calf served, on one side, as belt for a stiletto
whose handle was entirely incrusted with precious stones. “You are a
good sleeper, Signor Inglese,” said he, in a pleasant, richly toned
voice, “and I feel sorry to have disturbed you.” This speech was
delivered with all the ease and courtesy of a man accustomed to the
world. “You may imagine, however, that I cannot well delay in places
like this. Rocco, I believe, is very friendly to me; but where there are
three hundred people there may easily be three traitors.”
I assented, and added that from what Fra Bartolo had told me, neither he
nor his had much to fear in those parts.
“I believe so, too,” added he, caressing his immense mustache, which
came down far below his chin on either side. “We have, between us, the
best bond of all true friendship,--we need each other. You have brought
the ransom in gold, I hope?”
“Yes; in gold of the English mint, too.”
“I 'd rather have our own. The zecchin has less alloy than your coin,
and as what we take generally goes into the crucible, the distinction is
of value.”
“If I had only known--”
“Never mind. It is too late, now, to think of it. Let us conclude the
matter, for I wish to be away by daybreak.”
I unfastened my waist-belt, and, opening a secret spring, poured forth a
mass of bright sovereigns on the table.
“I have such perfect reliance in your honor, signor,” said I, “that I
make no conditions, I ask no questions. That you will at once release my
countryman, I do not doubt for an instant.”
“He is already at liberty,” said he, as he continued to pile the coin
in little heaps of ten each. “Every step you took since you arrived
at Naples was known to me. I knew the moment you came, the hotel you
stopped at, the visit you paid to your minister, the two hours passed
in the Bank, your departure in the diligence; and the rascal you engaged
for a guide came straight to me after he left you. My police, _signor
mio_, is somewhat better organized than Count Cavour's,” said he, with a
laugh.
The mention of the Count's name reminded me at once to sound him on
politics, and see if he, and others like him, in reality interested
themselves as partisans on either side.
“Of course,” said he, “we liked the old dynasty better than the present
people. A splendid court and a brilliant capital attracted strangers
from all quarters of Europe. Strangers visited Capri, Amalfi, Paestum;
they went here and there and everywhere. And they paid for their
pleasures like gentlemen. The officials, too, of those days were men
with bowels, who knew every one must live. What have we now? Piedmontese
dogs, who are not Italians; who speak no known tongue, and who have no
other worship than the house of Savoy.”
“Might I venture to ask,” said I, obsequiously, “how is it that I find a
man of your acquirements and ability in such a position as this?”
“Because I like this life better than that of an 'Impiegato' with
five hundred ducats a year! Perhaps I don't follow it all from choice.
Perhaps I have my days of regrets, and such like. But for that, are you
yourself so rightly fitted in life--I ask at random--that you feel you
are doing the exact thing that suits you? Can you say, as you rise of a
morning, 'I was cut out for this kind of existence,--I am exactly where
I ought to be'?”
I shook my head in negative, and for some seconds nothing was said on
either side.
“The score is all right,” said he, at last. “Do you know,”--here he gave
a very peculiar smile; indeed, his face, so far as I could see,
beneath the shadow of his hat and his bushy beard, actually assumed an
expression of intense drollery,--“do you know, I begin to think we have
made a bad bargain here!”
“How so?” asked I.
“I begin to suspect,” said he, “that our prisoner was worth a much
heavier ransom, and that his friends would willingly have paid four
times this sum for him.”
“You are entirely mistaken there,” said I. “It is the astonishment of
every one that he has been ransomed at all. He is a good-for-nothing
spendthrift fellow, whom most families would be heartily glad to be rid
of; and so far from being worth a thousand pounds, I believe nine out of
ten parents would n't have paid as many shillings for him.”
“We all liked him,” said he. “We found him pleasant company; and he fell
into all our ways like one of ourselves.”
“A scamp was sure to do that easier than an honest man,” said I,
forgetting, in my eagerness, how rude my speech was.
“Perhaps there is truth in what you say, sir,” said he, haughtily.
“Communities like ours scarcely invite men of unblemished morals, and
therefore I do not ask you to return with me.”
He arose as he spoke, and swept the coin into a bag which he wore at
his side. Still, thought I, he might tell me something more about
these brigands. Are they partisans of the Bourbons, or are they mere
highwaymen? Here is a man fully equal to the discussion of such a
question. Shall I ask him to decide the matter?
“I see,” said he, laughing, as I propounded my mystery; “you want to
make a book about us. But our people don't understand that sort of
curiosity; they distrust, and they occasionally resent it. Stay a week
or ten days where you are. Fra Bartolo will feed you better than we
should, and cram you with brigand stories better still. You 'll find
it far pleasanter, and your readers will think so too. Addio;” and he
touched his hat in a half-haughty way, and strolled out. I sat down for
an instant to recover myself, when the quick clatter of a horse's feet
aroused me, and he was gone.
There was no doubt of it; he was a very remarkable man,--one who in
happier circumstances might have made a figure in life, and achieved a
conspicuous position. Who was he; whence came he? The Frate could tell
me all these things. As the robber said, he could cram me admirably.
I arranged at once to stay a week there. My week was prolonged to a
fortnight, and I was well into the third week ere I shook his great hand
and said good-bye.
During all this I wrote, I may say, from morning till night. At one
time it was my Blue Book; at another I took a spell at stories of robber
life. I wrote short poems,--songs of the brigands I called them. In
fact, I dished up my highwayman in a score of ways, and found him good
in all. The portmanteau which I had brought out full of gold I now
carried back more closely packed with MSS. I hurried to England, only
stopping once to call at the Legation, and learn that Mr. St. John had
returned to his post, and was then hard at work in the Chancellerie.
When I arrived in London, my report was ready; but as the ministry had
fallen the week before, I was obliged to rewrite it, every word. Lord
Muddlemore had succeeded my patron, Lord Scatterdale; and as he was a
strong Tory, the brigands must be Bourbons for him; and they were so. I
had lived amongst them for months, and had eaten of their raw lamb
and drunk of their fiery wine, and pledged toasts to the health of
Francesco, and “Morte” to everybody else. What splendid fellows I made
them! Every chief was a La Rochejaquelin; and as for the little bit of
robbery they did now and then, it was only to pay for masses for their
souls when they were shot by the Bersaglieri. My Blue Book was printed,
quoted by the “Times,” cited in the House; I was called “the intrepid
and intelligent witness” by Disraeli; and I was the rage. Dinners fell
in showers over me, and invitations to country-houses came by every
post. Almost worn out by these flatteries, I was resolving on a course
of abstinence, when a most pressing invitation came to a country
gathering where Mr. St. John was to be of the party. I had never
met him, and, indeed, was rather irritated at the ingratitude he had
displayed in never once acknowledging, even by a few lines, the great
service I had rendered him. Still I was curious to see a man whose
figure occupied so important a place in my life's tableau.
I went; but St. John had not arrived,--he was detained by important
affairs in town, and feared he should not be able to keep his promise.
For myself, perhaps, it was all the better. I had the whole field my
own, and discoursed brigandage without the fear of a contradiction.
A favorite representation with me was my first night at Rocco. I used
to give it with considerable success. I described the village and the
Frate, and then went on to my first sight of the renowned chief himself;
for, of course, I never hesitated to call in Stoppa, any more than
to impart to his conversation a much higher and wider reach than it
actually had any claim to.
My “Stoppa” was pronounced admirable. I lounged, smoked, gesticulated,
and declaimed him to perfection. I made him something between William
Tell and the Corsican brothers; and nervous people would n't have seen
him, I ween, for worlds.
On the occasion that I speak of, the company was a large one, and I
outdid myself in my pains to succeed. I even brought down with me the
identical portmanteau, and actually appeared in the veritable hat and
coat of the original adventure.
My audience was an excellent one; they laughed where I was droll, and
positively shrieked where I became pathetic. I had sent round little
water-colors of the scenery, and was now proceeding to describe the inn
of the Frate, and my first arrival there.
“I will not affect to declare,” said I, “that it was altogether without
some sense of anxiety--I might even say fear--that I approached the room
where this man of crime and bloodshed awaited me. Stoppa! a name
that brought terror wherever it was uttered, the word that called the
soldiers to arms from the bivouac, and silenced the babe as it sobbed on
its mother's breast. I entered the room, however, boldly, and, advancing
to the bed where he lay, said in a careless tone, 'Capitano,'--they like
the title,--'Capitano, how goes it?'”
Just as I uttered the words, a heavy hand fell on my shoulder! I turned,
and there, there at my side, stood Stoppa himself, dressed exactly as I
saw him at Rocco.
Whether it was the terrible look of the fellow, or some unknown sense
of fear that his presence revived, or whether it was a terror lest my
senses were deceiving me, and that a wandering brain alone had conjured
up the image, I cannot say; but I fainted, and was carried senseless and
unconscious to my room. A doctor was sent for, and said something about
“meningitis.” “I had overworked my brain, overstrained my faculties, and
so forth;” with rest and repose, however, I should get over the attack.
I had a sharp attack, but in about a week was able to get up again. As
all were enjoined to avoid strictly any reference to the topic which it
was believed had led to my seizure, and as I myself did not venture to
approach it, days passed over with me in a half-dreamy state, my mind
continually dwelling on the late incident, and striving to find out some
explanation of it.
“Mr. St. John, sir, wishes to pay you a visit,” said the servant one
morning, as I had just finished my breakfast; and as the man retired,
St. John entered the room.
“I am sorry I gave you such a start the other evening,” he began. But I
could not suffer him to proceed; for, clutching him by the arm, I cried
out, “For Heaven's sake, don't trifle with a brain so distracted as
mine, but tell me at once, are you--”
“Of course I am,” said he, laughing. “You don't fancy, do you, that you
are the only man with a gift for humbug?”
“And it was to you I paid the ransom?” gasped I out.
“Who had a better right to it, old fellow? Tell me that,” said he, as he
drew forth a cigar and lighted it. “You see, the matter was thus: I
had lost very heavily at 'Baccarat' at the club; and having already
overdrawn my allowance, I was sorely put to. My chief had no great
affection for me, and had intimated to the banker that, if I wanted
an advance, it would be as well to refuse me. In a word, I found every
earth stopped, and was driven to my wits' end. I thought I 'd turn
brigand,--indeed, if the occasion had offered, perhaps I should,--and
then I thought I 'd get myself captured by the brigands. No man could
complain of a fellow being a defaulter if he had been carried off by
robbers. With this intention I set out for Rocco, which had got the
reputation of being a spot in favor with these gentry; but, to my
surprise, on arriving there, I discovered Rocco was out of fashion. No
brigand had patronized the place for the last three years or more, and
the landlord of the White Fox told me that the village was going fast
to decay. The Basilicata, in fact, was no longer 'the mode;' and
every brigand who had any sense of dignity had betaken himself to
the mountains below Atri. Fra Bartolo's account of Stoppa was not so
encouraging that I cared to follow him there. He had taken a fancy, of
late, for sending the noses as well as the ears of the captives to
their friends at Naples, and I shrank from contributing my share to this
interesting collection; and it was then it occurred to me to pretend I
had been captured, and arrange the terms of my own ransom. Fra Bartolo
helped me throughout,--provided my costume, wrote my letters, and, in
a word, conducted the whole negotiation like one thoroughly acquainted
with all the details. I intended to have confided everything to you so
soon as I secured the money, but I saw you so bent on being the hero of
a great adventure, and so full of that blessed Blue Book you had come
to write, that I felt it would be a sin to disenchant you. There's the
whole story; and if you only keep my secret, I'll keep yours. I 'm off
this week to Rio as second Secretary, so that, at all events, wait till
I sail.”
“You may trust my prudence for a longer term than that,” said I.
“I rather suspect so,” said he, laughing. “They say that your clever
report on brigandage is to get you a good berth, and I don't think you
'll spoil your advancement by an indiscreet disclosure.”
We parted with a hearty shake hands, and I never met him till ten years
after. How that meeting came about, and why I now reveal this incident,
I may relate at another time.
CONFESSION THE SECOND.
AS TO LOVE.
CHAPTER I. “IN DOUBT”
The door into the anteroom where I was waiting stood half-open, and
I heard a very imperious voice say, “Tell Mr. Gosslett it is
impossible,--quite impossible! There are above three hundred applicants,
and I believe he is about the least suitable amongst them.” A
meek-looking young gentleman came out after this; and, closing the door
cautiously, said, “My Lord regrets extremely, Mr. Gosslett, that you
should have been so late in forwarding your testimonials. He has already
filled the place; but if another vacancy occurs, his Lordship will bear
your claims in mind.”
I bowed in silent indignation, and withdrew. How I wished there had been
any great meeting, any popular gathering, near me at that moment, that I
might go down and denounce, with all the force of a wounded and insulted
spirit, the insolence of office and the tyranny of the place-holder!
With what withering sarcasm I would have flayed those parasites of
certain great houses who, without deserts of their own, regard every
office under the Crown as their just prerogative! Who was Henry Lord
Scatterdale that he should speak thus of Paul Gosslett? What evidences
of ability had he given to the world? What illustrious proofs of high
capacity as a minister, that he should insult one of those who, by the
declared avowal of his party, are the bone and sinew of England? Let
Beales only call another meeting, and shall I not be there to expose
these men to the scorn and indignation of the country? Down with the
whole rotten edifice of pampered menials and corrupt place-men,--down
with families patented to live on the nation,--down with a system which
perpetuates the worst intrigues that ever disgraced and demoralized a
people,--a system worse than the corrupt rule of the Bourbons of Naples,
and more degrading than--
“Now, stoopid!” cried a cabman, as one of his shafts struck me on the
shoulder, and sent me spinning into an apple-stall.
I recovered my legs, and turned homewards to my lodgings in a somewhat
more subdued spirit.
“Please, sir,” said a dirty maid-of-all-work, entering my room after
me, “Mrs. Mechim says the apartment is let to another gentleman
after Monday, and please begs you have to pay one pound fourteen and
threepence, sir.”
“I know, I know,” said I, impatiently.
“Yes, sir,” replied the smutty face, still standing in the same place.
“Well, I have told you I know all that. You have got your answer,
haven't you?”
“Please yes, sir, but not the money.”
“Leave the room,” said I, haughtily; and my grand imperious air had its
success, for I believe she suspected I was a little deranged.
I locked the door to be alone with my own thoughts, and, opening my
writing-desk, I spread before me four sovereigns and some silver.
“Barely my funeral expenses,” said I, bitterly. I leaned my head on my
hand, and fell into a mood of sad thought. I was n't a bit of a poet. I
could n't have made three lines of verse had you given me a million for
it; but somehow I bethought me of Chatterton in his garret, and said
to myself, “Like him, poor Gosslett sunk, famished in the midst of
plenty,--a man in all the vigor of youth, able, active, and energetic,
with a mind richly gifted, and a heart tender as a woman's.” I could n't
go on. I blubbered out into a fit of crying that nearly choked me.
“Please, sir,” said the maid, tapping at the door, “the gentleman in the
next room begs you not to laugh so loud.”
“Laugh!” burst I out. “Tell him, woman, to take care and be present
at the inquest. His evidence will be invaluable.” As I spoke, I threw
myself on my bed, and fell soon after into a sound sleep.
When I woke, it was night. The lamps were lighted in the street, and
a small, thin rain was falling, blurring the gas-flame, and making
everything look indistinct and dreary. I sat at the window and looked
out, I know not how long. The world was crape-covered to me; not a
thought of it that was not dark and dismal. I tried to take a retrospect
of my life, and see where and how I might have done better; but all I
could collect was, that I had met nothing but ingratitude and injustice,
while others, with but a tithe of my capacity, had risen to wealth
and honor. I, fated to evil from my birth, fought my long fight with
fortune, and sank at last, exhausted. “I wonder will any one ever say,
'Poor Gosslett'? I wonder will there be--even late though it be--one
voice to declare, 'That was no common man! Gosslett, in any country but
our own, would have been distinguished and honored. To great powers
of judgment he united a fancy rich, varied, and picturesque; his
temperament was poetic, but his reasoning faculties asserted the mastery
over his imagination '? Will they be acute enough to read me thus? Will
they know,--in one word,--will they know the man they have suffered to
perish in the midst of them?” My one gleam of comfort was the unavailing
regret I should leave to a world that had neglected me. “Yes,” said I,
bitterly, “weep on, and cease not.”
I made a collection of all my papers,--some of them very curious
indeed,--stray fragments of my life,--brief jottings of my opinions on
the current topics of the day. I sealed these carefully up, and began
to bethink me whom I should appoint my literary executor. I had not the
honor of his acquaintance, but how I wished I had known Martin Tupper!
There were traits in that man's writings that seemed to vibrate in the
closer chambers of my heart. While others gave you words and phrases,
he gave you the outgushings of a warm nature,--the overflowings of an
affectionate heart. I canvassed long with myself whether a stranger
might dare to address him, and prefer such a request as mine; but I
could not summon courage to take the daring step.
After all, thought I, a man's relatives are his natural heirs. My
mother's sister had married a Mr. Morse, who had retired from business,
and settled down in a cottage near Rochester. He had been “in rags”--I
mean the business of that name--for forty years, and made a snug thing
of it; but, by an unlucky speculation, had lost more than half of his
savings. Being childless, and utterly devoid of affection for any one,
he had purchased an annuity on the joint lives of his wife and himself,
and retired to pass his days near his native town.
I never liked him, nor did he like me. He was a hard, stern,
coarse-natured man, who thought that any one who had ever failed in
anything was a creature to be despised, and saw nothing in want of
success but an innate desire to live in indolence, and be supported by
others. He often asked me why I did n't turn coal-heaver? He said
he would have been a coal-heaver rather than be dependent upon his
relations.
My aunt might originally have been somewhat softer-natured, but time and
association had made her very much like my uncle. Need I say that I
saw little of them, and never, under any circumstances, wrote a line to
either of them?
I determined I would go down and see them, and, not waiting for morning
nor the rail, that I would go on foot. It was raining torrents by this
time, but what did I care for that? When the ship was drifting on the
rocks, what mattered a leak more or less?
It was dark night when I set out; and when day broke, dim and dreary, I
was soaked thoroughly through, and not more than one-fifth of the way.
There was, however, that in the exercise, and in the spirit it called
forth, to rally me out of my depression; and I plodded along through
mud and mire, breasting the swooping rain in a far cheerier frame than
I could have thought possible. It was closing into darkness as I reached
the little inn where the cottage stood, and I was by this time fairly
beat between fatigue and hunger.
“Here's a go!” cried my uncle, who opened the door for me. “Here's Paul
Gosslett, just as we're going to dinner.”
“The very time to suit him,” said I, trying to be jocular.
“Yes, lad, but will it suit us? We 've only an Irish stew, and not too
much of it, either.”
“How are you, Paul?” said my aunt, offering her hand. “You seem wet
through. Won't you dry your coat?”
“Oh, it's no matter,” said I. “I never mind wet.”
“Of course he does n't,” said my uncle. “What would he do if he was up
at the 'diggins'? What would he do if he had to pick rags as I have,
ten, twelve hours at a stretch, under heavier rain than this?”
“Just so, sir,” said I, concurring with all he said.
“And what brought you down, lad?” asked he.
“I think, sir, it was to see you and my aunt. I haven't been very well
of late, and I fancied a day in the country might rally me.”
“Stealing a holiday,--the old story,” muttered he. “Are you doing
anything now?”
“No, sir. I have unfortunately nothing to do.”
“Why not go on the quay then, and turn coal-heaver? I 'd not eat bread
of another man's earning when I could carry a sack of coals. Do you
understand that?”
“Perhaps I do, sir; but I'm scarcely strong enough to be a coal-porter.”
“Sell matches, then,--lucifer matches!” cried he, with a bang of his
hand on the table, “or be a poster.”
“Oh, Tom!” cried my aunt, who saw that I had grown first red, and then
sickly pale all over.
“As good men as he have done both. But here's the dinner, and I suppose
you must have your share of it.”
I was in no mood to resent this invitation, discourteous as it was,
for I was in no mood to resent anything. I was crushed and humbled to a
degree that I began to regard my abject condition as a martyr might his
martyrdom.
The meal went over somewhat silently; little was spoken on any side. A
half-jocular remark on the goodness of my appetite was the only approach
to a pleasantry. My uncle drank something which by the color I judged
to be port, but he neither offered it to my aunt nor myself. She
took water, and I drank largely of beer, which once more elicited a
compliment to me on my powers of suction.
“Better have you for a week than a fortnight, lad,” said my uncle, as we
drew round the fire after dinner.
My aunt now armed herself with some knitting apparatus, while my uncle,
flanked by a smoking glass of toddy on one side and the “Tizer” on the
other, proceeded to fill his pipe with strong tobacco, puffing out at
intervals short and pithy apothegms about youth being the season for
work and age for repose,--under the influence of whose drowsy wisdom,
and overcome by the hot fire, I fell off fast asleep. For a while I was
so completely lost in slumber that I heard nothing around. At last I
began to dream of my long journey, and the little towns I had passed
through, and the places I fain would have stopped at to bait and rest,
but nobly resisted, never breaking bread nor tasting water till I had
reached my journey's end. At length I fancied I heard people calling me
by my name, some saying words of warning or caution, and others jeering
and bantering me; and then quite distinctly,--as clearly as though the
words were in my ear,--I heard my aunt say,--“I'm sure Lizzy would take
him. She was shamefully treated by that heartless fellow, but she's
getting over it now; and if any one, even Paul there, offered, I 'm
certain she 'd not refuse him.”
“She has a thousand pounds,” grunted out my uncle.
“Fourteen hundred in the bank; and as they have no other child, they
must leave her everything they have, when they die.”
“It won't be much. Old Dan has little more than his vicarage, and he
always ends each year a shade deeper in debt than the one before it.”
“Well, she has her own fortune, and nobody can touch that.”
I roused myself, yawned aloud, and opened my eyes.
“Pretty nigh as good a hand at sleeping as eating,” said my uncle,
gruffly.
“It's a smart bit of a walk from Duke Street, Piccadilly,” said I, with
more vigor than I had yet assumed.
“Why, a fellow of your age ought to do that twice a week just to keep
him in wind.”
“I say, Paul,” said my aunt, “were you ever in Ireland?”
“Never, aunt. Why do you ask me?”
“Because you said a little while back that you felt rather poorly of
late,--low and weakly.”
“No loss of appetite, though,” chuckled in my uncle.
“And we were thinking,” resumed she, “of sending you over to stay a few
weeks with an old friend of ours in Donegal. He calls it the finest air
in Europe; and I know he 'd treat you with every kindness.”
“Do you shoot?” asked my uncle.
“No, sir.”
“Nor fish?”
“No, sir.”
“What are you as a sportsman? Can you ride? Can you do anything?”
“Nothing whatever, sir. I once carried a game-bag, and that was all.”
“And you're not a farmer nor a judge of cattle. How are you to pass your
time, I 'd like to know?”
“If there were books, or if there were people to talk to--”
“Mrs. Dudgeon's deaf,--she's been deaf these twenty years; but she has a
daughter. Is Lizzy deaf?”
“Of course she's not,” rejoined my aunt, tartly.
“Well, she'd talk to you; and Dan would talk. Not much, I believe,
though; he a'n't a great fellow for talk.”
“They 're something silent all of them, but Lizzy is a nice girl and
very pretty,--at least she was when I saw her here two years ago.”
“At all events, they are distant connections of your mother's; and as
you are determined to live on your relations, I think you ought to give
them a turn.”
“There is some justice in that, sir,” said I, determined now to resent
no rudeness, nor show offence at any coarseness, however great it might
be.
“Well, then, I 'll write to-morrow, and say you 'll follow my letter,
and be with them soon after they receive it. I believe it's a lonely
sort of place enough,--Dan calls it next door to Greenland; but there's
good air, and plenty of it.”
We talked for some time longer over the family whose guest I was to be,
and I went off to bed, determined to see out this new act of my life's
drama before I whistled for the curtain to drop.
It gave a great additional interest besides to my journey to have
overheard the hint my aunt threw out about a marriage. It was something
more than a mere journey for change of air. It might be a journey to
change the whole character and fortune of my life. And was it not thus
one's fate ever turned? You went somewhere by a mere accident, or you
stopped at home. You held a hand to help a lady into a boat, or you
assisted her off her horse, or you took her in to dinner; and out of
something insignificant and trivial as this your whole life's destiny
was altered. And not alone your destiny, but your very nature; your
temper, as fashioned by another's temper; your tastes as moulded by
others' tastes; and your morality, your actual identity, was the sport
of a casualty too small and too poor to be called an incident.
“Is this about to be the turning-point in my life?” asked I of myself.
“Is Fortune at last disposed to bestow a smile upon me? Is it out of the
very depth of my despair I 'm to catch sight of the first gleam of light
that has fallen upon my luckless career?”