Ich möchte ihn im Schlafrock sehen.
Der Reisende Teufel.
(I 'd like to see him in his robe-de-chambre.)
(The Travelling Devil.)
There has always appeared to us something of treachery, not to speak of
indelicacy, in the privileges authors are wont to assume in following
their characters into their most secret retirement, watching there
their every movement and gesture, overhearing their confidential
whisperings,--nay, sometimes sapping their very thoughts, for the mere
indulgence of a prying, intrusive curiosity.
For this reason, highly appreciating, as we must do, the admirable wit
of the “Diable Boiteux,” and the pleasant familiar humor of the “Hermite
de la Chaussée d'Antin,” we never could entirely reconcile ourselves to
the means by which such amusing views of life were obtained, while we
entertain grave doubts if we,--that is, the world at large,--have any
right to form our judgments of people from any other evidence than what
is before the public. It appears to us somewhat as if, that following
Romeo or Desdemona into the Green-room, we should be severe upon the
want of keeping which suggested the indulgence of a cigar or a pot of
porter, and angry at the high-flown illusions so grossly routed and
dispelled.
“Act well your part; there all the honour lies,” said the poet moralist;
but it's rather hard to say that you are to “act” it off as well as on
the stage; and if it be true that no man is a hero to his valet, the
valet should say nothing about it; and this is the very offence we think
novel-writers commit, everlastingly stripping off the decorations and
destroying the illusions they take such trouble to create, for little
else than the vain boastfulness of saying, See, upon what flimsy
materials I can move you to sentiments of grief, laughter, pity, or
contempt. Behold of what vulgar ingredients are made up the highest
aspirations of genius,--the most graceful fascinations of beauty.
Having denounced, by this recorded protest, the practice, and
disclaiming, as we must do, all desire to benefit by its enjoyment, we
desire our reader, particularly if he be of the less worthy gender, to
feel a due sense of the obligation he owes us, if we claim his company
for half an hour on such a voyage of discovery. Step softly, there is no
excuse for noise, as the stair-carpet is thick, and not a sound need be
heard. Gently, as you pass that green door,--that is the bedroom of Mr.
and Mrs. Kennyfeck. We will not linger there, nor invade the sanctity of
those precincts, within which the monotonous tones of Mrs. K. are heard,
revelling in that species of domestic eloquence which, like the liberty
of the press, is oftener pleasant to those who employ, than to those
who receive its judgments. Here for a few minutes let us stay. This is
Roland Cashel's apartment; and, strange enough, instead of sleeping, he
is up at his table, writing, too,--he, of all men the least epistolary.
There may be no great indication of character in mere handwriting, but
the manner, the gesture, the degree of rapidity of the writer, as seen
at the moment, are all full of individuality. Mark, then, with what
speed his pen moves; not the daisy-cutting sling of the accomplished
rider, but the slashing gallop of the heavy charger. Many a blot, never
an erasure,--so, there it goes,--“Yours ever, Roland Cashel.” And now,
he begins another.
Come, these are no times for squeamishness. Let us anticipate “Sir
James,” and read before he seals it.
Dublin. My dear Comrade,--We are neither of us very gifted
letter-writers, but events are always enough to tell, even
when style be wanting; and here am I, so overwhelmed by the
rush of new sensations that I know not where to begin, or
how to tell what has really happened since we parted, nor
distinguish actual stubborn facts from my own fancies. My
brief note from Porto Giacomo told you that I had succeeded
to something like fifteen thousand pounds a year. I believe
it is rather more, with a good round sum, I don't know how
much, in bank; and now, here I am,' just arrived, but
marvellously at home, in the house of the worthy fellow that
has established my claim.
If I only knew so much of my good luck, I 'd say it was no
bad thing to be pleasantly domesticated in a capital
mansion, with every refinement and luxury at hand, and two
such girls, the daughters! Oh, _amigo mio_, you'd think
wondrous little of the Barcelonetta belles, if I could show
you these damsels! Such tempting shyness; such shrinking,
playful modesty; and then so frank, without that slap-dash
abruptness! Never mind,--I own freely that Maritaña is
lovely; there is not such a mouth--as to a foot--well,
well. I wish I could take a peep at you all again, just as
night closes, and she comes out to take her walk upon the
grass, and hear her singing as she went, or watch her as she
danced the manolo, which--by the way--one of the girls here
caught up wonderfully, and in almost an instant too. But the
manolo, with a long, sweeping, flounced, and furbelowed
petticoat! Only think of the absurdity! Not but she looked
exceedingly pretty the while, but how much better had she,
if one could only have cut half a yard off her drapery!
Have you received the pistols I sent from London? I hope you
'll think them handsome,--I know they are true, having tried
them at thirty-five, and even fifty paces. The yataghan I 'm
certain you 'll admire; it has the peculiar handle and hilt
you 're fond of. Pray let our friends on the Chilian side
learn something of the qualities of the blade itself. I have
been thinking since about the emeralds--and perhaps Maritaña
may refuse them. If so, do what you will with them so that I
hear no more of the matter. And now for the bond: release
me from that tie by all means. It is not that I really feel
it in the light of a contract,--Maritaña never did; but I
have it ever on my mind, like a debt. I give you full powers:
draw upon me for the sum you please, and I promise not to
dishonor the check. Pedro likes a good bargain, and don't
balk him!
I don't know what your own views are in that quarter, but I
tell you frankly that Maritaña has higher and bolder
aspirations than either you or I were likely to aid her in
attaining. She is a proud girl, Enrique, and will never care
for any man that is not able and willing to elevate her into
a very different sphere from that she moves in. I never
actually loved her,--I certainly do not do so now,--and yet
I cannot get her out of my head.
Before I forget it, let me ask you to pay Ruy Dias two
hundred doubloons for me. The horse I killed was not worth
forty; but, these are not times for bargaining, and the
fellow didn't want to part with the beast Alconetti--the
Italian in the Plaza--has something against me,--pay it too;
and now that I am on the subject of debts, whenever you
next cruise off Ventillanos, send a party on shore to catch
the dean, and give him four-and-twenty with a rope's end,--
say it is from me; he 'll know why, and so shall you, when
you inform me that it has been cleverly effected.
Above all, my dear boy, write; I so long to hear about you
all, and to know all that has happened since I left you.
Send the old trunks with my uniform to the agents in the
Havannah; I 'd like to see them once more. François may
keep anything else of mine, except what you would like to
select as a “souvenir.” Don't let Rica write to me. I feel I
should have no chance in a correspondence with him; nor
need I have any, because whatever you say, I agree to,--
remember that.
If you can manage about the emeralds, it would be the most
gratifying news to me. You might tell her that we are so
certain of never meeting again, and that all is now over
forever, and so on,--it would have an air of unkindness to
reject them. Besides, I see no reason why she should! No
matter; I needn't multiply reasons, where, if one will not
suffice, a thousand must fail, and the chances are, if she
suspect my anxiety on the subject, it will decide her
against me. Do it, then, all in your own way.
Have I said all I wanted? Heaven knows! My head is full; my
heart, too, is not without its load. I wish you were here. I
wish it for many reasons. I already begin to suspect you are
right about the sudden effect a spring into wealth may
produce; but I hope that all you said on that score may not
be true. If I thought so, I 'd--No matter, I 'll endeavor to
show that you are unjust, and that is better. Yours ever,
Roland Cashel.
Don Enrique da Cordova,
Lieutenant of the Columbian frigate “Esmeralda.” Care of
Messrs. Eustache et Le Moine, merchants, Havannah.
The next epistle which followed was far more brief. It was thus:--
Messrs. Vanderhaeghen und Droek, Antwerp.
Enclosed is an order on Hamerton for seventeen thousand four
hundred and forty-eight gulden, principal and interest for
three years, of an unjust demand made by you on me before
the tribunal of Bruges.
You failed, even with all the aid of your knavish laws and
more knavish countrymen, to establish this iniquitous claim,
and only succeeded in exhibiting yourselves as rogues and
swindlers,--good burgher-like qualities in your commercial
city.
I have now paid what I never owed; but there still remains
between us an unsettled score. Let my present punctuality
guarantee the honorable intentions I entertain of settling
it one day; till when, as you have shown yourselves my
enemy,
Believe me to be yours, Roland Cashel.
The order on the banker ran as follows:--
Pay to Vanderhaeghen und Droek, two of the greatest knaves alive,
seventeen thousand four hundred and forty-eight gulden, being the
principal and interest for three years of a dishonest claim made upon
Roland Cashel. To Hamerton and Co., Cheapside.
With all that soothing consciousness we hear is the result of good
actions, Cashel lay down on his bed immediately on concluding this last
epistle, and was fast asleep almost before the superscription was dried.
And now, worthy reader, another peep, and we have done. Ascending
cautiously the stairs, you pass through a little conservatory, at the
end of which a heavy cloth curtain conceals a door. It is that of a
dressing-room, off which, at opposite sides, two bedrooms lie. This same
dressing-room, with its rose-colored curtains and ottoman, its little
toilet-tables of satin-wood, its mirrors framed in alabaster, its
cabinets of buhl, and the book-shelves so coquettishly curtained with
Malines lace, is the common property of the two sisters whom we so
lately introduced to your notice.
There were they wont to sit for hours after the return from a ball,
discussing the people they had met, their dress, their manner, their
foibles and flirtations; criticising with no mean acuteness all the
varied games of match-making mammas and intriguing aunts, and
canvassing the schemes and snares so rife around them. And oh, ye
simple worshippers of muslin-robed innocence! oh, ye devoted slaves
of ringleted loveliness and blooming freshness! bethink ye what wily
projects lie crouching in hearts that would seem the very homes of
careless happiness; what calculations; what devices; how many subtleties
that only beauty wields, or simple man is vanquished by!
It was considerably past midnight as the two girls sat at the fire,
their dressing-gowns and slippered feet showing that they had prepared
for bed; but the long luxuriant hair, as yet uncurled, flowed in heavy
masses on their neck and shoulders. They did not, as usual, converse
freely together; a silence and a kind of constraint sat upon each, and
although Olivia held a book before her, it was less for the purpose of
reading than as a screen against the fire, while her sister sat with
folded arms and gently drooping head, apparently lost in thought. It was
after a very lengthened silence, and in a voice which showed that the
speaker was following up some train of thought, Miss Kennyfeck said,--
“And do you really think him handsome, Olivia?”
“Of whom are you speaking, dear?” said Olivia, with the very softest
accent.
Miss Kennyfeck started; her pale cheeks became slightly red as, with a
most keen irony, she replied, “Could you not guess? Can I mean any one
but Mr. Clare Jones?”
“Oh, he's a downright fright,” answered the other; “but what could have
made you think of him?”
“I was not thinking of him, nor were you either, sister dear,” said Miss
Kennyfeck, fixing her eyes full upon her; “we were both thinking of the
same person. Come, what use in such subterfuges? Honesty, Livy, may not
be the 'best policy,' but it has one great advantage,--it saves a deal
of time; and so I repeat my question, do you think him handsome?”
“If you mean Mr. Cashel, dearest,” said the younger, half bashfully, “I
rather incline to say he is. His eyes are very good; his forehead and
brow--”
“There,--no inventory, I beg,--the man is very well-looking, I dare say,
but I own he strikes me as _tant soit peu sauvage_. Don't you think so?”
“True, his manners--”
“Why, he has none; the man has a certain rakish, free-and-easy demeanor
that, with somewhat more breeding, would rise as high as 'tigerism,' but
now is detestable vulgarity.”
“Oh, dearest, you are severe.”
“I rather suspect that you are partial.”
“I, my dear! not I, in the least. He is not, by any means, the style
of person I like. He can be very amusing, perhaps; he certainly is very
odd, very original.”
“He is very rich, Livy,” said the elder sister, with a most dry gravity.
“That can scarcely be called a fault, still less a misfortune,” replied
Olivia, slyly.
“Well, well, let us have done with aphorisms, and speak openly. If you
are really pleased with his manner and address, say so at once, and I
'll promise never to criticise too closely a demeanor which, I vow, does
not impress me highly,--only be candid.”
“But I do not see any occasion for such candor, my dear. He is no more
to me than he is to _you_. I ask no protestations from _you_ about this
Mr. Roland Cashel.”
Miss Kennyfeck bit her lip and seemed to repress a rising temptation to
reply, but was silent for a moment, when she said, in a careless, easy
tone,--
“Do you know, Livy dearest, that this same manolo you danced this
evening is not by any means a graceful performance to look at, at least
when danced with long, sweeping drapery, flapping here and flouncing
there. It may suit those half-dressed Mexican damsels who want to
display a high arched instep and a rounded ankle, and who know that they
are not transgressing the ordinary limits of decorum in the display; but
certainly your friend Mr. Softly did not accord all his approval. Did
you remark him?”
“I did not; I was too much engaged in learning the figure: but Mr.
Softly disapproves of all dancing.”
“Oh, I know he does,” yawned Miss Kennyfeck, as if the very mention
of his name suggested sleep; “the dear man has his own notions of
pleasantry,--little holy jokes about Adam and Eve. There is nothing
so intolerable to me as the insipid playfulness of your young parson,
except, perhaps, the coarse fun of your rising barrister. How I hate Mr.
Clare Jones!”
“He is very underbred.”
“He is worse; the rudest person I ever met,--so familiar.”
“Why will he always insist on shaking hands?”
“Why will he not at least wash his own, occasionally?”
“And then his jests from the Queen's Bench,--the last _mot_--I'm sure I
often wished it were so literally--of some stupid Chief Justice. Well,
really, in comparison, your savage friend is a mirror of good looks and
good manners.”
“Good night, my dear,” said Olivia, rising, as though to decline a
renewal of the combat.
“Good night,” echoed her sister, bluntly, “and pleasant dreams of
'Roland the brave, Roland the true;' the latter quality being the one
more in request at this moment.” And so, humming the well-known air, she
took her candle and retired.