“Martin Arms, Oughterard.
“In spite of all your reasonings, all your cautions, and all your
warnings, here I am once more, Harry, denizen of the little dreary
parlor whence I first looked out at Dan Nelligan's shop something
more than a year since. What changes of fortune has that brief space
accomplished I what changes has it effected even in my own nature! I
feel this in nothing more than in my altered relations with others. If
the first evidence of amendment in a man be shame and sorrow for the
past, I may probably be on the right road now, since I heartily grieve
over the worthless, purposeless life I have led hitherto.
“I am well aware that you would not accept the reason I gave you for
coming here. You said that, as to taking leave of my constituents, a
letter was the ordinary and the sufficient course. You also hinted that
our intercourse had not been of that close and friendly nature which
requires a personal farewell, and then you suggested that other and less
defensible motives had probably their share in this step. Well, you
are right, perfectly right; I wanted to see the spot which has so far
exerted an immense influence over me; I wanted--if you will have the
confession--to see _her_ too,--to see her in the humble station she
belongs to, in the lowly garb of the steward's daughter. I was curious
to ascertain what change her bearing would undergo in the change of
position; would she conform to the lowlier condition at once and
without struggle, or would her haughty nature chafe and fret against the
obstacles of a small and mean existence? If you were right in guessing
this, you are equally wrong in the motive you ascribe to me. Not,
indeed, that you palpably express, but only hint at it; still I cannot
endure even the shadow of such a surmise without a flat and full denial.
Perhaps, after all, I have mistaken your meaning,--would it were so! I
do indeed wish that you should not ascribe to me motives so unworthy
and so mean. A revenge for her refusal of me! a reprisal for the proud
rejection of my hand and fortune! No, my dear Harry, I feel, as I write
the words, that they never were yours. You say, however, that I am
curious to know if I should think her as lovable and attractive in the
humble dress and humble station that pertain to her, as when I saw her
moving more than equal amongst the proudest and haughtiest of Europe.
To have any doubt on this score would be to distrust her sincerity of
character. She must be what I have ever seen her, or she is an actress.
Difference of condition, different associates, different duties will
exact different discipline, but she herself must be the same, or she is
a falsehood,--a deception.
“And then you add, it is perhaps as well that I should 'submit to the
rude test of a disenchantment.' Well, I accept the challenge, and I am
here.
“These thoughts of self would obtrude in the very beginning of a letter
I had destined for other objects. You ask me for a narrative of my
journey and its accidents, and you shall have it. On my way over here
in the packet, I made acquaintance with an elderly man, who seemed
thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances of the Martins and
their misfortunes. From him I ascertained that all Scanlan had told me
was perfectly correct. The reversion of the estate has been sold for a
sum incredibly small in proportion to its value, and in great part
the proceeds of gambling transactions. Martin is, therefore, utterly,
irretrievably ruined. Merl has taken every step with all the security
of the best advice, and in a few months, weeks perhaps, will be declared
owner of Cro' Martin. Even in the 'fast times' we live in, such rapid
ruin as this stands alone! You tell me that of your own college and mess
associates not more than one in five or six have survived the wreck
of fortune the first few years of extravagance accomplish, and
that Manheim, Brussels, and Munich can show the white-seamed,
mock-smartened-up gentilities which once were the glories of Bond
Street and the Park; but for poor Martin, I suspect, even these last
sanctuaries do not remain,--as I hear it, he is totally gone.
“From the very inn where I am staying Merls agents are issuing notices
of all kinds to the tenants and 'others' to desist and refrain from
cutting timber, quarrying marbles, and what not, on certain unspeakable
localities, with threats in case of non-compliance. Great placards cover
the walls of the town, headed 'Caution to all Tenants on the Estate
of Cro' Martin.' The excitement in the neighborhood is intense,
overwhelming. Whatever differences of political opinion existed between
the Martins and the people of the borough, whatever jealousies grew out
of disparity of station, seemed suddenly merged in sympathy for this
great misfortune. They are, of course, ignorant of the cause of this
sudden calamity, and ask each other how, when, and where such a fortune
because engulfed.
“But to proceed regularly. On my reaching Dublin, after a hurried visit
to my father, I drove off to Mr. Repton's house. You may remember his
name as that of the old lawyer, some of whose bar stories amused you
so highly. I found him in a spacious mansion of an old neglected
street,--Henrietta Street,--once the great aristocratic quarter of
Ancient Dublin, and even to this day showing traces of real splendor.
The old man received me in a room of immense proportions, furnished as
it was when Flood was the proprietor. He was at luncheon when I entered;
and for company had the very same stranger with whom I made acquaintance
in the packet.
“Repton started as we recognized each other, but at a sign or a word,
I'm not certain which, from the other, merely said, 'My friend was just
speaking of his having met you, Mr. Massingbred.' This somewhat informal
presentation over, I joined them, and we fell a chatting over the story
of Cro' Martin.
“They were both eager to hear something about Merl, his character,
pursuits, and position; and you would have been amazed to see how
surprised they were at my account of a man whose type we are all so
familiar with.
“You would scarcely credit the unfeigned astonishment manifested by
these two shrewd and crafty men at the sketch I gave them of our Hebrew
friend. One thing is quite clear,--it was not the habit, some forty or
fifty years ago, to admit the Merls of the world to terms of intimacy,
far less of friendship.
“'As I said, Repton,' broke in the stranger, sternly, 'it all comes of
that degenerate tone which has crept in of late, making society like a
tavern, where he who can pay his bill cannot be denied entrance. Such
fellows as this Merl had no footing in our day. The man who associated
with such would have forfeited his own place in the world.'
“'Very true,' said Repton, 'though we borrowed their money we never
bowed to them.'
“'And we did wisely, sir,' retorted the other. 'The corruption of their
manners was fifty times worse than all their usury! The gallant Hussar
Captain, as we see here, never scrupled about admitting to his closest
intimacy a fellow not fit company for his valet. Can't you perceive that
when a man will descend to such baseness to obtain money, there is no
measuring the depth he will go to when pressed to pay it?'
“'I am intimate with Martin,' said I, interrupting, 'and I can honestly
assure you that it was rather to an easy, careless, uncalculating
disposition he owes his misfortunes, than to anything like a spendthrift
habit.'
“'Mere hair-splitting this, sir,' replied he, almost rudely. 'He who
spends what is not his own, I have but one name for. It matters little
in my estimation whether he extorts the supply by a bill or a bullet.'
“I own to you, Harry, I burned to retort to a speech the tone and manner
of which were both more offensive than the words; but the stranger's
age, his venerable appearance, and something like deep and recent sorrow
about him, restrained me, and I caught, by a look from Repton, that he
was grateful for my forbearance.
“'Come, sir,' said he, addressing me, 'you say you know Captain Martin;
now let me ask you one question: Is there any one trait or feature of
his character to which, if his present misfortunes were to pass
away, you could attach a hope of amendment? Has not this life of
bill-renewing, these eternal straits for cash--with all the humiliations
that accompany them,--made him a mere creature of schemes and plots,--a
usurer in spirit, though a pauper in fact?'
“'When I say, sir, that you are addressing this demand to one whom
Captain Martin deems his friend, you will see the impropriety you have
fallen into.'
“'My young friend is right,' broke in Repton. 'The Court rules against
the question; nor would it be evidence even if answered.'
“I was angry at this interference of Repton's. I wanted to reply to this
man myself; but still, as I looked at his sorrow-struck features, and
saw what I fancied the marks of a proud suffering spirit, I was well
satisfied at not having given way to temper; still more so did I feel as
he turned towards me, and, with a manner of ineffable gentleness, said,
'I entreat you to pardon me, sir, for an outburst of which I am already
ashamed. A rude life and some bitter experiences have made me hard
of heart and coarse in speech; still, it is only in moments of
forgetfulness that I cease to remember what indulgence he owes to others
who has such need of forgiveness himself.'
“I grasped his hand at once, and felt that his pressed mine like a
friend's.
“'You spoke of going down to the West,' said he, after a brief pause.
'I start for that country to-night; you would do me a great favor should
you accompany me.'
“I acceded at once, and he went on. 'Repton was to have been of the
party, but business delays him a few days in town.'
“'I 'll join you before the end of the week,' said Repton; 'by that time
Mr. Massingbred will have expended all his borough blandishments and be
free to give us his society.'
“Though the old lawyer now tried, and tried cleverly, to lead us away
to lighter, pleasanter themes, the attempt was a failure; each felt, I
suspect, some oppressive weight on his spirits that indisposed him to
less serious talk; and again we came back to the Martins, the stranger
evidently seeking to learn all he could of the disposition and temper of
the young man.
“'It is as I thought,' said he, at last. 'It is the weak, sickly tone
of the day has brought all this corruption upon us! Once upon a time
the vices and follies of young men took their rise in their several
natures,--this one gambled, the other drank, and so on,--the mass,
however, was wonderfully sound and healthy; the present school, however,
is to ape a uniformity, so that each may show himself in the livery of
his fellows, thus imbibing wickedness he has no taste for, and none be
less depraved and heartless than those around him. Let the women but
follow the fashion, and there 's an end of us, as the great people we
boasted to be!'
“I give you, so well as I can trust my memory, his words, Harry, but I
cannot give you a certain sardonic bitterness,--a tone of mingled scorn
and sorrow, such as I never before witnessed. He gave me the impression
of being one who, originally frank, generous, and trustful, had, by
intercourse with the world and commerce with mankind, grown to suspect
every one and disbelieve in honesty, and yet could not bring his heart
to acknowledge what his head had determined. In this wise, at least, I
read his character from the opportunities I had of conversing with him
on our journey. It was easy to see that he was a gentleman,--taking the
word in the widest of its acceptations,--but from things that dropped
from him, I could gather that his life had been that of an adventurer.
He had been in the sea and land services of many of those new states
of Southern America, had even risen to political importance in some of
them; had possessed mines and vast tracts of territory one day, and
the next saw himself 'without a piastre.' He had conducted operations
against the Indians, and made treaties with them, and latterly had lived
as the elected chief of a tribe in the west of the Rocky Mountains. But
he knew civilized as well as savage life, had visited Spain in the rank
of an envoy, and was familiar with all the great society of Rome, and
the intrigues of its prince-bishops. The only theme, however, on which
he really warmed was sport. The prairies brought out all his enthusiasm,
and then he spoke like one carried away by glorious recollections of
a time when, as he said himself, 'heart and hand and eye never failed
him.'
“When he spoke of family ties or home affections, it was in a spirit of
almost mockery, which puzzled me. His reasoning was that the attachments
we form are only emanations of our own selfishness. We love, simply to
be loved again. Whereas, were we single-hearted, we should be satisfied
to know that those dear to us were well and happy, and only seek to
serve them without demonstration or display.
“Am I wearying you, Harry, by dwelling on the traits of a man who, for
the brief space I have known him, has made the most profound impression
upon me? Even where I dissent--as is often the case--from his views,
I have to own to myself that were I _he_, I should think and reason
precisely as he does. I fancied at first that, like many men who had
quitted civilized life for the rude ways of the 'bush,' he would have
contrasted the man of refinement unfavorably with the savage, but he was
too keen and acute for such a sweeping fallacy; he saw the good and evil
in both, and sensibly remarked how independent of all education were
the really strong characteristics of human nature. 'There is not a great
quality of our first men,' said he, 'that I have not found to exist
among the wild tribes of the Far West, nor is there an excellence
of savage nature I have not witnessed amidst the polished and the
pampered.'
“From what I can collect, he is only here passingly; some family matter
has brought him over to this country; but he is already impatient to be
back to his old haunts and associates, and his home beside the Orinoco.
He has even asked me to come and visit him there; and from all I can see
I should be as likely to attain distinction among the Chaymas as in
the House of Commons, and should find the soft turf of the Savannahs as
pleasant as the Opposition benches. In fact, Harry, I have half
promised to accept his invitation; and if he renew it with anything like
earnestness, I am resolved to go.
“I am just setting out for the Hendersons', and while the horses are
being harnessed I have re-read your letter. Of course I have 'counted
the cost,'--I have weighed the question to a pennyweight! I could
already write down the list of those who will not know me at all, those
who will know me a little, and the still fewer who will know my wife!
Can you not see, my dear friend, that where one drags the anchor so
easily, the mooring-ground was never good? The society to which you
belong by such slender attachments gives no wound by separation from it.
“My anxiety now is on a very different score: it is that she will still
refuse me. The hope I cling to is that she will see in my persistence a
proof of sincerity. I would not, if I could, bring any family influence
to my aid, and yet, short of this, there is nothing I would not do to
insure success.
“I wish I had never re-opened your letter; that vein of sarcastic
coolness which runs through it will never turn me from my purpose. You
seem to forget, besides, that you are talking to a man of the world,
just as hackneyed, just as 'used up' as yourself. I should like to see
you assume this indolent dalliance before La Henderson! Take my word for
it, Harry, you 'd be safer with the impertinence amongst some of your
duchesses in Pall Mall. You say that great beauty in a woman, like
genius in a man, is a kind of brevet nobility, and yet you add that
the envy of the world will never weary of putting the possessor 'on his
title.' How gladly would I accept this challenge! Ay, Harry, I tell you,
in all defiance, that your proudest could not vie with her!
“If I wanted a proof of the vassalage of the social state we live in, I
have it before me in the fact that a man like yourself, wellborn, young,
rich, and high-hearted, should place the judgments and prejudices of
half a dozen old tabbies of either sex above all the promptings of a
noble ambition--all the sentiments of a generous devotion. Your
starling cry of 'the Steward's daughter,' then, does not deter, it only
determines the purpose
“Of yours faithfully,
“Jack Massingbred.”
“You 'll see by the papers that I have accepted the Chiltern Hundreds.
This is the first step.--now for the second!”