JACK WALLER’S STORY.
The day passed quickly over with my newly-found friends, whose
curiosity to learn my adventures since we parted, anticipated me in my
wish to learn theirs. After an early dinner, however, with a fresh log
upon the hearth, a crusty flask of red hermitage before us, Jack and I
found ourselves alone and at liberty to speak freely together.
“I scarcely could have expected such would be our meeting, Jack,” said
I, “from the way we last parted.”
“Yes, by Jove, Harry; I believe I behaved but shabbily to you in that
affair; but ‘Love and War,’ you know; and besides we had a distinct
agreement drawn up between us.”
“All true; and after all you are perhaps less to blame than my own
miserable fortune that lies in wait to entrap and disappoint me at
every turn in life. Tell me what do you know of the Callonbys?”
“Nothing personally; we have met them at dinner, a visit passed
subsequently between us, ‘et voila tout;’ they have been scenery
hunting, picture hunting, and all that sort of thing since their
arrival; and rarely much in Munich; but how do you stand there? to be
or not to be—eh?”
“That is the very question of all others I would fain solve; and yet am
in most complete ignorance of all about it; but the time approaches
which must decide all. I have neither temper nor patience for further
contemplation of it; so here goes; success to the Enterprize.”
“Or,” said Jack, tossing off his glass at the moment, “or, as they
would say in Ireland, ‘your health and inclinations, if they be
virtuous.’”
“And now, Jack, tell me something of your own fortunes since the day
you passed me in the post-chaise and four.”
“The story is soon told. You remember that when I carried off Mary, I
had no intention of leaving England whatever: my object was, after
making her my wife, to open negociations with the old colonel, and
after the approved routine of penitential letters, imploring
forgiveness, and setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction to
make it heaven itself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet ‘selon les
regles,’ sobbed, blubbered, blew our noses, and dressed for dinner,
very comfortable inmates of that particularly snug residence, ‘Hydrabad
Cottage.’ Now Mary, who behaved with great courage for a couple of
days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; the desertion of her
father, as she called it, weighed upon her mind, and all my endeavours
to rally and comfort her, were fruitless and unavailing. Each day,
however, I expected to hear something of, or from, the colonel, that
would put an end to this feeling of suspense; but no—three weeks rolled
on, and although I took care that he knew of our address, we never
received any communication. You are aware that when I married, I knew
Mary had, or was to have, a large fortune; and that I myself had not
more than enough in the world to pay the common expenses of our wedding
tour. My calculation was this—the reconciliation will possibly, what
with delays of post—distance—and deliberation, take a month—say five
weeks—now, at forty pounds per week, that makes exactly two hundred
pounds—such being the precise limit of my exchequer, when blessed with
a wife, a man, and a maid, three imperials, a cap-case, and a poodle, I
arrived at the Royal Hotel, in Edinburgh. Had I been Lord Francis
Egerton, with his hundred thousand a year, looking for a new
‘distraction,’ at any price; or still more—were I a London shopkeeper,
spending a Sunday in Boulogne sur Mer, and trying to find out something
expensive, as he had only one day to stay, I could not have more
industriously sought out opportunities for extravagance, and each day
contrived to find out some two or three acquaintances to bring home to
dinner. And as I affected to have been married for a long time, Mary
felt less genee among strangers, and we got on famously; still the
silence of the colonel weighed upon her mind, and although she partook
of none of my anxieties from that source, being perfectly ignorant of
the state of my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon this subject,
that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations, and permitted
her to write to her father. Her letter was a most proper one; combining
a dutiful regret for leaving her home, with the hope that her choice
had been such as to excuse her rashness, or, at least, palliate her
fault. It went to say, that her father’s acknowledgment of her, was all
she needed or cared for, to complete her happiness, and asking for his
permission to seek it in person. This was the substance of the letter,
which upon the whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously for the
reply. At the end of five days the answer arrived. It was thus:—
“‘Dear Mary,
“‘You have chosen your own path in life, and having done so, I have
neither the right nor inclination to interfere with your decision;
I shall neither receive you, nor the person you have made your
husband; and to prevent any further disappointment, inform you
that, as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters you might think
proper to address, will not reach me.
“‘Yours very faithful,
C. Kamworth,
Hydrabad Cottage.’
“This was a tremendous coup, and not in the least anticipated by either
of us; upon me the effect was stunning, knowing, as I did, that our
fast-diminishing finances were nearly expended. Mary on the other hand,
who neither knew nor thought of the exchequer, rallied at once from her
depression, and after a hearty fit of crying, dried her eyes, and
putting her arm round my neck, said:
“‘Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, since papa will not share
any of my affection.’
“‘I wish he would his purse though,’ muttered I, as I pressed her in my
arms, and strove to seem perfectly happy.
“I shall not prolong my story by dwelling upon the agitation this
letter cost me; however, I had yet a hundred pounds left, and an aunt
in Harley-street, with whom I had always been a favourite. This
thought, the only rallying one I possessed, saved me for the time; and
as fretting was never my forte, I never let Mary perceive that any
thing had gone wrong, and managed so well in this respect, that my good
spirits raised her’s, and we set out for London one fine sunshiny
morning, as happy a looking couple as ever travelled the north road.
“When we arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’ my first care was to get into a
cab, and drive to Harley-street. I rung the bell; and not waiting to
ask if my aunt was at home, I dashed up stairs to the drawing-room; in
I bolted, and instead of the precise old Lady Lilford, sitting at her
embroidery, with her fat poodle beside her, beheld a strapping looking
fellow, with a black moustache, making fierce love to a young lady on a
sofa beside him.
“‘Why, how is this—I really—there must be some mistake here.’ In my
heart I knew that such doings in my good aunt’s dwelling were
impossible.
“‘I should suspect there is, sir,’ drawled out he of the moustache, as
he took a very cool survey of me, through his glass.
“‘Is Lady Lilford at home, may I ask,’ said I, in a very apologetic
tone of voice.
“‘I haven’t the honor of her ladyship’s acquaintance,’ replied he in a
lisp, evidently enjoying my perplexity, which was every moment becoming
more evident.
“‘But this is her house,’ said I, ‘at least—’
“‘Lady Lilford is at Paris, sir,’ said the young lady, who now spoke
for the first time. ‘Papa has taken the house for the season, and that
may perhaps account for your mistake.’
“What I muttered by way of apology for my intrusion, I know not; but I
stammered—the young lady blushed—the beau chuckled, and turned to the
window, and when I found myself in the street, I scarcely knew whether
to laugh at my blunder, or curse my disappointment.
“The next morning I called upon my aunt’s lawyer, and having obtained
her address in Paris, sauntered to the ‘Junior Club,’ to write her a
letter before post hour. As I scanned over the morning papers, I could
not help smiling at the flaming paragraph which announced my marriage,
to the only daughter and heiress of the Millionaire, Colonel Kamworth.
Not well knowing how to open the correspondence with my worthy
relative, I folded the paper containing the news, and addressed it to
‘Lady Lilford, Hotel de Bristol, Paris.’
“When I arrived at the ‘Clarendon,’ I found my wife and her maid
surrounded by cases and band-boxes; laces, satins and velvets were
displayed on all sides, while an emissary from ‘Storr and Mortimer’ was
arranging a grand review of jewellery on a side table, one half of
which would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore, to purchase. My advice was
immediately called into requisition; and pressed into service, I had
nothing left for it, but to canvass, criticise, and praise, between
times, which I did, with a good grace, considering that I anticipated
the ‘Fleet,’ for every flounce of Valenciennes lace; and could not help
associating a rich diamond aigrette, with hard labour for life, and the
climate of New South Wales. The utter abstraction I was in, led to some
awkward contre temps; and as my wife’s enthusiasm for her purchases
increased, so did my reverie gain ground.
“‘Is it not beautiful, Jack?—how delicately worked—it must have taken a
long time to do it.’
“‘Seven years,’ I muttered, as my thoughts ran upon a very different
topic.
“‘Oh, no—not so much,’ said she laughing; ‘and it must be such a hard
thing to do.’
“‘Not half so hard as carding wool, or pounding oyster shells.’
“‘How absurd you are. Well, I’ll take this, it will look so well in—’
“‘Botany Bay,’ said I, with a sigh that set all the party laughing,
which at last roused me, and enabled me to join in the joke.
“As, at length, one half of the room became filled with millinery, and
the other glittered with jewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with
her exertions, and we found ourselves alone.
“When I told her that my aunt had taken up her residence in Paris, it
immediately occurred to her, how pleasant it would be to go there too;
and, although I concurred in the opinion for very different reasons, it
was at length decided we should do so; and the only difficulty now
existed as to the means, for although the daily papers teem with ‘four
ways to go from London to Paris;’ they all resolved themselves into
one, and that one, unfortunately to me, the most difficult and
impracticable—by money.
“There was, however, one last resource open—the sale of my commission.
I will not dwell upon what it cost me to resolve upon this—the
determination was a painful one, but it was soon come to, and before
five-o’clock that day, Cox and Greenwood had got their instructions to
sell out for me, and had advanced a thousand pounds of the purchase.
Our bill settled—the waiters bowing to the ground (it is your ruined
man that is always most liberal)—the post-horses harnessed, and
impatient for the road, I took my place beside my wife, while my valet
held a parasol over the soubrette in the rumble, all in the approved
fashion of those who have an unlimited credit with Coutts and Drummond;
the whips cracked, the leaders capered, and with a patronizing bow to
the proprietor of the ‘Clarendon,’ away we rattled to Dover.
“After the usual routine of sea sickness, fatigue, and poisonous
cookery, we reached Paris on the fifth day, and put up at the ‘Hotel de
Londres,’ Place Vendome.
“To have an adequate idea of the state of my feelings as I trod the
splendid apartments of this princely Hotel, surrounded by every luxury
that wealth can procure, or taste suggest, you must imagine the
condition of a man, who is regaled with a sumptuous banquet on the eve
of his execution. The inevitable termination to all my present
splendour, was never for a moment absent from my thoughts, and the
secrecy with which I was obliged to conceal my feelings, formed one of
the greatest sources of my misery. The coup, when it does come, will be
sad enough, and poor Mary may as well have the comfort of the
deception, as long as it lasts, without suffering as I do. Such was the
reasoning by which I met every resolve to break to her the real state
of our finances, and such the frame of mind in which I spent my days at
Paris, the only really unhappy ones I can ever charge my memory with.
“We had scarcely got settled in the hotel, when my aunt, who inhabited
the opposite side of the ‘Place,’ came over to see us and wish us joy.
She had seen the paragraph in the Post, and like all other people with
plenty of money, fully approved a match like mine.
“She was delighted with Mary, and despite the natural reserve of the
old maiden lady, became actually cordial, and invited us to dine with
her that day, and every succeeding one we might feel disposed to do so.
So far so well, thought I, as I offered her my arm to see her home; but
if she knew of what value even this small attention is to us, am I
quite so sure she would offer it?—however, no time is to be lost; I
cannot live in this state of hourly agitation; I must make some one the
confidant of my sorrows, and none so fit as she who can relieve as well
as advise upon them. Although such was my determination, yet somehow I
could not pluck up courage for the effort. My aunt’s congratulations
upon my good luck, made me shrink from the avowal; and while she ran on
upon the beauty and grace of my wife, topics I fully concurred in, I
also chimed in with her satisfaction at the prudential and proper
motives which led to the match. Twenty times I was on the eve of
interrupting her, and saying, ‘But, madam, I am a beggar—my wife has
not a shilling—I have absolutely nothing—her father disowns us—my
commission is sold, and in three weeks, the ‘Hotel de Londres’ and the
‘Palais Royale,’ will be some hundred pounds the richer, and I without
the fare of a cab, to drive me to the Seine to drown myself.’
“Such were my thoughts; but whenever I endeavoured to speak them, some
confounded fulness in my throat nearly choked me; my temples throbbed,
my hands trembled, and whether it was shame, or the sickness of
despair, I cannot say; but the words would not come, and all that I
could get out was some flattery of my wife’s beauty, or some vapid
eulogy upon my own cleverness in securing such a prize. To give you in
one brief sentence an idea of my state, Harry—know, then, that though
loving Mary with all my heart and soul, as I felt she deserved to be
loved, fifty times a day I would have given my life itself that you had
been the successful man, on the morning I carried her off, and that
Jack Waller was once more a bachelor, to see the only woman he ever
loved, the wife of another.
“But, this is growing tedious, Harry, I must get over the ground
faster; two months passed over at Paris, during which we continued to
live at the ‘Londres,’ giving dinners, soirees, dejeuners, with the
prettiest equipage in the ‘Champs Elysees,’ we were quite the mode; my
wife, which is rare enough for an Englishwoman, knew how to dress
herself. Our evening parties were the most recherche things going, and
if I were capable of partaking of any pleasure in the eclat, I had my
share, having won all the pigeon matches in the Bois de Boulegard, and
beat Lord Henry Seymour himself in a steeple chase. The continual round
of occupation in which pleasure involves a man, is certainly its
greatest attraction—reflection is impossible—the present is too full to
admit any of the past, and very little of the future; and even I, with
all my terrors awaiting me, began to feel a half indifference to the
result in the manifold cares of my then existence. To this state of
fatalism, for such it was becoming, had I arrived, when the vision was
dispelled in a moment, by a visit from my aunt, who came to say, that
some business requiring her immediate presence in London, she was to
set out that evening, but hoped to find us in Paris on her return. I
was thunderstruck at the news, for, although as yet I had obtained no
manner of assistance from the old lady, yet, I felt that her very
presence was a kind of security to us, and that in every sudden
emergency, she was there to apply to. My money was nearly expended, the
second and last instalment of my commission was all that remained, and
much of even that I owed to trades-people. I now resolved to speak
out—the worst must be known, thought I, in a few days—and now or never
be it. So saying, I drew my aunt’s arm within my own, and telling her
that I wished a few minutes conversation alone, led her to one of the
less frequented walks in the Tuilleries gardens. When we had got
sufficiently far to be removed from all listeners, I began then—‘my
dearest aunt, what I have suffered in concealing from you so long, the
subject of my present confession, will plead as my excuse in not making
you sooner my confidante.’ When I had got thus far, the agitation of my
aunt was such, that I could not venture to say more for a minute or
two. At length, she said, in a kind of hurried whisper, ‘go on;’ and
although then I would have given all I possessed in the world to have
continued, I could not speak a word.
“‘Dear John, what is it, any thing about Mary—for heavens sake speak.’
“‘Yes,’ dearest aunt, ‘it is about Mary, and entirely about Mary.’
“‘Ah, dear me, I feared it long since; but then, John, consider she is
very handsome—very much admired—and—’
“‘That makes it all the heavier, my dear aunt—the prouder her present
position, the more severely will she feel the reverse.’
“‘Oh, but surely, John, your fears must exaggerate the danger.’
“‘Nothing of the kind—I have not words to tell you—’
“‘Oh dear, oh dear, don’t say so,’ said the old lady blushing, ‘for
though I have often remarked a kind of gay flirting manner she has with
men—I am sure she means nothing by it—she is so young—and so—’
“I stopped, stepped forward, and looking straight in my aunt’s face,
broke out into a fit of laughter, that she, mistaking for hysterical
from its violence, nearly fainted upon the spot.
“As soon as I could sufficiently recover gravity to explain to my aunt
her mistake, I endeavoured to do so, but so ludicrous was the contre
temps, and so ashamed the old lady for her gratuitous suspicions, that
she would not listen to a word, and begged me to return to her hotel.
Such an unexpected turn to my communication routed all my plans, and
after a very awkward silence of some minutes on both sides, I mumbled
something about our expensive habits of life, costly equipage, number
of horses, &c., and hinted at the propriety of retrenchment.
“‘Mary rides beautifully,’ said my aunt, drily.’
“‘Yes, but my dear aunt, it was not exactly of that I was going to
speak, for in fact—’
“Oh John,’ said she, interrupting—‘I know your delicacy too well to
suspect; but, in fact, I have myself perceived what you allude to, and
wished very much to have some conversation with you on the subject.’
“‘Thank God,’ said I to myself, ‘at length, we understand each
other—and the ice is broken at last.’
“‘Indeed, I think I have anticipated your wish in the matter; but as
time presses, and I must look after all my packing, I shall say good by
for a few weeks, and in the evening, Jepson, who stays here, will bring
you, “what I mean,” over to your hotel; once more, then, good by.’
“‘Good by, my dearest, kindest friend,’ said I, taking a most tender
adieu of the old lady. ‘What an excellent creature she is,’ said I,
half aloud, as I turned towards home—‘how considerate, how truly
kind—to spare me too all the pain of explanation.’ Now I begin to
breathe once more. ‘If there be a flask of Johannisberg in the
“Londres,” I’ll drink your health this day, and so shall Mary;’ so
saying, I entered the hotel with a lighter heart, and a firmer step
than ever it had been my fortune to do hitherto.
“‘We shall miss the old lady, I’m sure, Mary, she is so kind.’
“‘Oh! indeed she is; but then, John, she is such a prude.’
“Now I could not help recurring in my mind to some of the conversation
in the Tuilleries garden, and did not feel exactly at ease.
“‘Such a prude, and so very old-fashioned in her notions.’
“‘Yes, Mary,’ said I, with more gravity than she was prepared for, ‘she
is a prude; but I am not certain that in foreign society, where less
liberties are tolerated than in our country, if such a bearing be not
wiser.’ What I was going to plunge into, heaven knows, for the waiter
entered at the moment, and presenting me with a large and carefully
sealed package, said, ‘de la part de mi ladi Lilfore,’—‘but stay, here
comes, if I am not mistaken, a better eulogy upon my dear aunt, than
any I can pronounce.’
“How heavy it is, said I to myself, balancing the parcel in my hand.
‘There is no answer,’ said I, aloud to the waiter, who stood as if
expecting one.
“‘The servant wishes to have some acknowledgment in writing, sir, that
it has been delivered into your own hands.’
“Jepson entered,—‘well, George, your parcel is all right, and here is a
Napoleon to drink my health.’
“Scarcely had the servants left the room, when Mary, whose curiosity
was fully roused, rushed over, and tried to get the packet from me;
after a short struggle, I yielded, and she flew to the end of the room,
and tearing open the seals, several papers fell to the ground; before I
could have time to snatch them up, she had read some lines written on
the envelope, and turning towards me, threw her arms around my neck,
and said, ‘yes Jack, she is, indeed, all you have said; look here,’ I
turned and read—with what feeling I leave to you to guess—the
following:—
“‘DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE,
“‘The enclosed will convey to you, with my warmest wishes for your
happiness, a ticket on the Francfort Lottery, of which I inclose the
scheme. I also take the opportunity of saying that I have purchased the
Hungarian pony for Mary—which we spoke of this morning. It is at
Johnston’s stable, and will be delivered on sending for it.’
“‘Think of that, Jack, the Borghese poney, with the silky tail;
mine—Oh! what a dear good old soul; it was the very thing of all others
I longed for, for they told me the princess had refused every offer for
it.’
“While Mary ran on in this strain, I sat mute and stupified; the sudden
reverse my hopes had sustained, deprived me, for a moment, of all
thought, and it was several minutes before I could rightly take in the
full extent of my misfortunes.
“How that crazy old maid, for such, alas, I called her to myself now,
could have so blundered all my meaning—how she could so palpably have
mistaken, I could not conceive; what a remedy for a man overwhelmed
with debt—a ticket in a German lottery, and a cream-coloured pony, as
if my whole life had not been one continued lottery, with every day a
blank; and as to horses, I had eleven in my stables already. Perhaps
she thought twelve would read better in my schedule, when I, next week,
surrendered as insolvent.
“Unable to bear the delight, the childish delight of Mary, on her new
acquisition, I rushed out of the house, and wandered for several hours
in the Boulevards. At last I summoned up courage to tell my wife. I
once more turned towards home, and entered her dressing-room, where she
was having her hair dressed for a ball at the Embassy. My resolution
failed me—not now thought I—to-morrow will do as well—one night more of
happiness for her and then—I looked on with pleasure and pride, as
ornament after ornament, brilliant with diamonds and emeralds, shone in
her hair, and upon her arms, still heightened her beauty, and lit up
with a dazzling brilliancy her lovely figure.—But it must come—and
whenever the hour arrives—the reverse will be fully as bitter; besides
I am able now—and when I may again be so, who can tell—now then be it,
said I, as I told the waiting-maid to retire; and taking a chair beside
my wife, put my arm round her.
“‘There, John dearest, take care; don’t you see you’ll crush all that
great affair of Malines lace, that Rosette has been breaking her heart
to manage this half hour.’
“‘Et puis,’ said I.
“‘Et puis. I could not go to the ball, naughty boy. I am bent on great
conquest to-night; so pray don’t mar such good intentions.’
“‘And you should be greatly disappointed were you not to go?’
“‘Of course I should; but what do you mean; is there any reason why I
should not? You are silent, John—speak—oh speak—has any thing occurred
to my—’
“‘No, no, dearest—nothing that I know has occurred to the Colonel.’
“‘Well then, who is it? Oh tell me at once.’
“‘Oh, my dear, there is no one in the case but ourselves;’ so saying,
despite the injunction about the lace, I drew her towards me, and in as
few words, but as clearly as I was able, explained all our
circumstances—my endeavour to better them—my hopes—my fears—and now my
bitter disappointment, if not despair.
“The first shock over, Mary showed not only more courage, but more
sound sense than I could have believed. All the frivolity of her former
character vanished at the first touch of adversity; just as of old,
Harry, we left the tinsel of our gay jackets behind, when active
service called upon us for something more sterling. She advised,
counselled, and encouraged me by turns; and in half an hour the most
poignant regret I had was in not having sooner made her my confidante,
and checked the progress of our enormous expenditure somewhat earlier.
“I shall not now detain you much longer. In three weeks we sold our
carriages and horses, our pictures, (we had begun this among our other
extravagances,) and our china followed; and under the plea of health
set out for Baden; not one among our Paris acquaintances ever
suspecting the real reason of our departure, and never attributing any
monied difficulties to us—for we paid our debts.
“The same day we left Paris, I despatched a letter to my aunt,
explaining fully all about us, and suggesting that as I had now left
the army for ever, perhaps she would interest some of her friends—and
she has powerful ones—to do something for me.
“After some little loitering on the Rhine, we fixed upon Hesse Cassel
for our residence. It was very quiet—very cheap. The country around
picturesque, and last but not least, there was not an Englishman in the
neighbourhood. The second week after our arrival brought us letters
from my aunt. She had settled four hundred a year upon us for the
present, and sent the first year in advance; promised us a visit as
soon as we were ready to receive her; and pledged herself not to forget
when an opportunity of serving me should offer.
“From that moment to this,” said Jack, “all has gone well with us. We
have, it is true, not many luxuries, but we have no wants, and better
still, no debts. The dear old aunt is always making us some little
present or other; and somehow I have a kind of feeling that better luck
is still in store; but faith, Harry, as long as I have a happy home,
and a warm fireside, for a friend when he drops in upon me, I scarcely
can say that better luck need be wished for.”
“There is only one point, Jack, you have not enlightened me upon, how
came you here? You are some hundred miles from Hesse, in your present
chateau.”
“Oh! by Jove, that was a great omission in my narrative; but come, this
will explain it; see here”—so saying, he drew from a little drawer a
large lithographic print of a magnificent castellated building, with
towers and bastions, keep, moat, and even draw-bridge, and the walls
bristled with cannon, and an eagled banner floated proudly above them.
“What in the name of the Sphynxes is this?”
“There,” said Jack, “is the Schloss von Eberhausen; or, if you like it
in English, Eberhausen Castle, as it was the year of the deluge; for
the present mansion that we are now sipping our wine in bears no very
close resemblance to it. But to make the mystery clear, this was the
great prize in the Francfort lottery, the ticket of which my aunt’s
first note contained, and which we were fortunate enough to win. We
have only been here a few weeks, and though the affair looks somewhat
meagre, we have hopes that in a little time, and with some pains, much
may be done to make it habitable. There is a capital chasses of some
hundred acres; plenty of wood and innumerable rights, seignorial,
memorial, &c., which, fortunately for my neighbours, I neither
understand nor care for; and we are therefore the best friends in the
world. Among others I am styled the graf or count——.”
“Well, then, Monsieur Le Comte, do you intend favouring me with your
company at coffee this evening; for already it is ten o’clock; and
considering my former claim upon Mr. Lorrequer, you have let me enjoy
very little of his society.”
We now adjourned to the drawing-room, where we gossipped away till past
midnight; and I retired to my room, meditating over Jack’s adventures,
and praying in my heart, that despite all his mischances, my own might
end as happily.