Eisenach.
My dear Tom,--You will be surprised at the address at the top of this
letter, but not a whit more so than I am myself; how, when, and why I
came here, being matters which require some explanation, nor am I quite
certain of making them very intelligible to you even by that process.
My only chance of success, however, lies in beginning at the very
commencement, and so I shall start with my departure from Bonn, which
took place eight days ago, on the morning of the 22nd.
My last letter informed you of our having formed a travelling alliance
with a very attractive and charming person, Mrs. Gore Hampton. Lord
George Tiverton, who introduced us to each other, represented her as
being a fashionable of the first water, very highly connected, and very
rich,--facts sufficiently apparent by her manners and appearance, as
well as by the style in which she was travelling. He omitted, however,
all mention of her immediate circumstances, so that we were profoundly
ignorant as to whether she were a widow or had a husband living, and, if
so, whether separated from him casually or by a permanent arrangement.
It may sound very strange that we should have formed such a close
alliance while in ignorance of these circumstances, and doubtless in
our own country the inquiry would have preceded the ratification of
this compact, but the habits of the Continent, my dear Tom, teach
very different lessons. All social transactions are carried on upon
principles of unlimited credit, and you indorse every bill of
passing acquaintanceship with a most reckless disregard to the day
of presentation for payment Some would, perhaps, tell you that your
scruples would only prove false terrors. My own notion, however, is less
favorable, and my theory is this: you get so accustomed to "raffish"
intimacies, you lose all taste or desire for discrimination; in fact,
there's so much false money in circulation, it would be useless to "ring
a particular rap on the counter."
Not that I have the very most distant notion of applying my theory
to the case in hand. I adhere to all I said of Mrs. G. in my former
epistle, and notwithstanding your quizzing about my "raptures," &c.,
I can only repeat everything I there said about her loveliness and
fascination.
Perhaps one's heart becomes, like mutton, more tender by being old; but
this I must say, I never remember to have met that kind of woman when I
was young. Either I must have been a very inaccurate observer, or, what
I suspect to be nearer the fact, they were not the peculiar productions
of that age.
When the Continent was closed to us by war, there was a home stamp
upon all our manufactures; our chairs and tables, our knives, and our
candlesticks, were all made after native models, solid and substantial
enough, but, I believe, neither very artistic nor graceful. We were used
to them, however; and as we had never seen any other, we thought them
the very perfection of their kind. The Peace of '15 opened our eyes,
and we discovered, to our infinite chagrin and astonishment, that, in
matters of elegance and taste, we were little better than barbarians;
that shape and symmetry had their claims as well as utility, and that
the happy combination of these qualities was a test of civilization.
I don't think we saw this all at once, nor, indeed, for a number of
years, because, somehow, it's in the nature of a people to stand up for
their shortcomings and deficiencies,--that very spirit being the bone
and sinew of all patriotism; but I 'll tell you where we felt this
discrepancy most remarkably,--in our women, Tom; the very point, of all
others, that we ought never to have experienced it in.
There was a plastic elegance,--a species of soft, seductive way--about
foreign women that took us wonderfully. They did not wait for our
advances, but met us half-way in intimacy, and this without any boldness
or effrontery; quite the reverse, but with a tact and delicacy that were
perfectly captivating.
I don't doubt but that, for home purposes, we should have found that
our own answered best, and, like our other manufactures, that they
would last longer, and be less liable to damage; but, unfortunately, the
spirit of imitation that stimulated us in hardware and jewelry, set in
just as violently about our wives and daughters, and a pretty dance
has it led us! From my heart and soul I wish we had limited the use of
French polish to our mahogany!
I don't know how I got into this digression, Tom, nor have I the least
notion where it would conduct me; but I feel that the Mrs. Gore Hamptons
of this world took their origin in the time and from the spirit I speak
of, and a more dangerous Invention the age never made.
When you read over your notes, and sum up what I 've been saying, you
'll perhaps discover the reason of what you are pleased in your last
letter to call my "extreme sensibility to the widow's charms." But you
wrong us both, for _I_'m not in love, nor is _she_ a widow! And this
brings me back to my narrative.
About ten days ago, as I was sitting in my own room, in the _otium cum
dig._ of my old dressing-gown and slippers, I received a visit from
Mrs. G. in a manner which at once proclaimed the strictest secrecy and
confidence. She came, she said, to consult me, and, as a gentleman, I am
bound to believe her; but if you want to make use of a man's faculties,
you 'd certainly never begin by turning his brain. If you wished to send
him of a message, you 'd surely not set out by spraining his ankle?
They say that the French Cuirassiers puzzled our Horse Guards greatly at
Waterloo. There was no knowing where to get a stick at them. There 's a
kind of dress just now the fashion among ladies, that confuses me fully
as much,--a species of gauzy, filmy, floating costume that makes you
always feel quite near, and yet keeps you a considerable distance
off. It's a most bewitching, etherial style of costume, and especially
invented, I think, for the bewilderment of elderly gentlemen.
More than half of the effect of a royal visit to a man's own house is
in the contrast presented by an illustrious presence to the little
commonplace objects of his daily life. Seeing a king in his own sphere,
surrounded with all the attributes and insignia of his station, is not
nearly so astounding as to see him sitting in your old leather armchair,
with his feet upon your fender,--mayhap, stirring your fire with your
own poker. Just the same kind of thing is the appearance of a pretty
woman within the little den, sacred to your secret smokings and studies
of the "Times" newspaper. An angel taking off her wings in the hall,
and dropping in to take pot-luck with you, could scarcely realize a more
charming vision!
All this preliminary discourse of mine, Tom, looks as if I were skulking
the explanation that I promised. I know well what is passing in your
mind this minute, and I fancy that I hear you mutter, "Why not tell us
what she came about,--what brought her there?" It's not so easy as
you think, Tom Purcell. When a very pretty woman, in the most becoming
imaginable toilette, comes and tells you a long story of personal
sufferings, and invokes your sympathy against the cruel treatment of
a barbarous husband and his hard-hearted family; when the narrative
alternates between traits of shocking tyranny on one side, and angelic
submission on the other; when you listen to wrongs that make your
blood boil, recounted by accents that make your heart vibrate; when the
imploring looks and tones and gesture that failed to excite pity in her
"monster of a husband" are all rehearsed before you yourself,--to _you_
directed those tearful glances of melting tenderness,--to _you_ raised
up those beautiful hands of more than sculptured symmetry,--I say,
again, that your reason is never consulted on the whole process. Your
sensibility is aroused, your sympathy is evoked, and all your tenderest
emotions excited, pretty much as in hearing an Italian opera, where,
without knowing one word of the language, the tones, the gestures,
the play of feature, and the signs of passion move and melt you into
alternate horror at cruelty, and compassionate sorrow for suffering.
Make the place, instead of the stage, your own study, and the personage
no _prima donna_, but a very charming creature of the real world, and
the illusion is ten times more complete.
I have no more notion of Mrs. Gore Hampton's history than I should have
of the plot of a novel from reading a newspaper notice of it. She was
married at sixteen. She was very beautiful, very rich,--a petted, spoilt
child. She thought the world a fairy tale, she said. I was going to ask,
was it "Beauty and the Beast" that was in her mind? At first all was
happiness and bliss; then came jealousy, not on her part, but his;
disagreements and disputes followed. They went abroad to visit some
royal personage,--a duchess, a grand-duchess, an archduchess of
something, who figures through the whole history in a mysterious and
wonderful manner, coming in at all times and places, and apparently
never for any other purpose than wickedness, like Zamiel in the
"Freyschutz;" but, notwithstanding, she is always called the dear,
good, kind Princess,--an apparent contradiction that also assists the
mystification. Then, there are letters from the husband,--reproach and
condemnation; from the wife,--love, tenderness, and fidelity.
The Duchess happily writes French, so I am spared the pains of following
_her_ correspondence. Chancery was nothing to the confusion that comes
of all this letter-writing, but I come out with the one strong fact,
that the dear Princess stands by Mrs. G. through thick and thin, and
takes a bold part against the husband. A shipwrecked sailor never clung
to a hencoop with greater tenacity than did I grasp this one solitary
fact, floating at large upon the wide ocean of uncertainty.
I assure you I almost began to feel an affection for the Duchess,
from the mere feeling of relief this thought afforded. She was like a
sanctuary to my poor, persecuted, hunted-down imagination!
Have you ever, in reading a three-volume novel, Tom, been on the eve
of abandoning the task from pure inability to trace out the story, when
suddenly, and as it were by chance, some little trait or incident gives,
if not a clew to the mystery, at least that small flickering of light
that acts as a guide-star to speculation?
This was what I experienced here, and I said to myself, "I know the
sentiments of the Duchess, at least, and that's something."
Do you know that I did n't like proceeding any farther with the story;
like a tired swimmer, who had reached a rock far out at sea, I did n't
fancy trusting myself once more to the waves. However, I was not allowed
the option. Away went the narrative again,--like an express train in a
dark tunnel. If we now and then did emerge upon a bit of open country
where we could see about us, it was to dive the next minute into some
deep cutting, or some gloomy cavern, without light or intelligence.
It appeared to me that Mr. Gore Hampton would be a very proper case for
private assassination; but I did n't like the notion of doing it myself,
and I was considerably comforted by finding that the course she had
decided on, and for which she was now asking my assistance, was more
pacific in character, and less dangerous. We were to seek out the dear
Princess; she was to be at Ems on the 24th, and we were at once to throw
ourselves, figuratively, into her hands, and implore protection.
The "monster"--the word is shorter than his name, and serves equally
well--had written innumerable letters to prejudice her against his
wife, recounting the most infamous calumnies and the most incredible
accusations. These we were to refute: how I did n't exactly know, but we
were to do it. With the dear Princess on our side, the monster would be
quite powerless for further mischief; for, by some mysterious agency, it
appeared that this wonderful Duchess could restore a damaged reputation,
just as formerly kings used to cure the evil.
It was a great load off my mind, Tom, to know that nothing more was
expected of me. She might have wanted me to go to England, where there
are two writs out against me, or to advance a sum of money for law when
I have n't a sixpence for living, or maybe to bully somebody that would
n't be bullied; in fact, I did n't know what impossibilities mightn't
be passing through her brain, or what difficult tasks she might be
inventing, as we read of in those stories where people make compacts
with the devil, and always try to pose him by the terms of the bargain.
In the present instance, I certainly got off easier than I should have
done with the "Black Gentleman." All that was required of me was to
accompany a very charming and most agreeable woman on an excursion of
about two or three days' duration through one of the most picturesque
parts of the Rhine country, in a comfortable town-built britschka,
with every appliance of ease and luxury about it. We have an adage
in Ireland, "There's worse than this in the North," and faith, Tom, I
couldn't help saying so. Mrs. G.'s motive in asking my companionship was
to show her dear Duchess that she was domesticated, and living with a
most respectable family, of which I was the head. You may laugh at the
notion, Tom, but I was to be brought forward as a model "paterfamilias,"
who could harbor nothing wrong.
I believe I smiled myself at the character assigned. But "isn't life a
stage?" and in nothing more so than the fact that no man can choose his
part, but must just take what the great stage-manager--Fate--assigns
him; and it is just as cruel to ridicule the failures and shortcomings
we often witness in public men as to shout, in gallery-fashion, at
some poor devil actor obliged to play a gentleman with broken boots and
patched pantaloons.
There were, indeed, two difficulties, neither of them inconsiderable,
in the matter. One was money. The journey would needs be costly. Posting
abroad is to the full as expensive as at home. The other was as to
Mrs. Dodd. How would she take it? I was bound over in the very heaviest
recognizances to secrecy. Mrs. G. insisted that I alone should be the
depositary of her secret; and she was wise there, for Mrs. D. would have
revealed it to Betty Cobb before she slept. What if she should take
a jealous turn? It was true the Mary Jane affair had made her rather
ashamed of herself, but time was wearing off the effect. Mrs. Gore
Hampton was a handsome woman, and there would be a kind of _éclat_ in
such a rivalry! I knew well, Tom, that if she once mounted this hobby,
there was nothing could stop her. All her visions of fashionable
introductions, all the bright charms of high society, to which Mrs. G.'s
intimacy was to lead, would melt away, like a mirage, before the high
wind of her angry indignation.
She would have put Mrs. G. in the dock, and arraigned her like any
common offender. It was not without reason, then, that I dreaded such a
catastrophe; and in a kind of semi-serious, semi-jocose way, I told Mrs.
Gore of my misgivings.
She took it beautifully, Tom. She did n't laugh as if the thing was
ridiculous, and as if the idea of Kenny Dodd performing "Amoroso" was a
glaring absurdity. "Not at all," she gravely said; "I have been thinking
over that, and, as you remark, it _is_ a difficulty." Shall I own to
you, Tom, that the confession sent a strange thrill through me; and
like a man selected to lead a forlorn hope, I still felt that the choice
redounded to my credit?
"I think, however," said she, after a pause, "if you confided the matter
to _my_ management, if you leave _me_ to explain to Mrs. Dodd, I shall
be able, without revealing more than I wish, to satisfy her as to the
object of our journey."
I heartily assented to an arrangement so agreeable; I even promised not
to see Mrs. D. before we started, lest any unfortunate combination of
circumstances might interfere with our project.
The pecuniary embarrassment I communicated to Lord George. He quite
agreed with me that I could n't possibly allude to it to Mrs. G. "In all
likelihood," said he, "she will just hand you a book of blank checks, or
Herries's circulars, and say, 'Pray do me the favor to take the trouble
off my hands.' It is what she usually does with any of her friends with
whom she is sufficiently intimate; for, as I told you, she is a 'perfect
child about money.'" I might have told him that, so far as having very
little of it, so was I too.
"But supposing," said I, "that, in the bustle of departure, and in the
preoccupation of other thoughts, she should n't remember to do this;
such is likely enough, you know?"
"Oh, nothing more so," said he, laughing. "She is the most absent
creature in the world."
"In that case," said I, "one ought to be, in a measure, prepared."
"To a certain extent, assuredly," said he, coolly. "You might as well
take something with you,--a hundred pounds or so."
You can imagine the choking gulp in my throat as I heard these words.
Why, I had n't twenty--no, not ten; I doubt, greatly, if I had fully
five pounds in my possession. I was living in the daily hope of that
remittance from you, which, by the way, seems always tardier in coming
in proportion as Ireland grows more prosperous.
Tiverton, however, does not limit his services to good counsel; he can
act as well as think. For a bill of three thousand francs, at thirty-one
days, I received, from the landlord of the hotel, something short of a
hundred Napoleons,--a trifle under six hundred per cent per annum, but,
of course, not meant to run for that time. Lord George said, "Everything
considered, it was reasonable enough;" and if that implied that I 'd
never repay a farthing of it, perhaps he was correct. "I 'm sorry,"
said he, "that the 'bit of stiff,'" meaning the bill, "was n't for five
thousand francs, for I want a trifle of cash myself, at this moment." In
this regret I did not share, Tom, for I clearly saw that the additional
eighty pounds would have been out of _my_ pocket!
I have now, as briefly as I am able, but, perhaps, tediously enough,
told you of all the preliminary arrangements of our journey, save one,
which was three lines that I left for Mrs. D. before starting,--not very
explanatory, perhaps, but written in "great haste."
It was a splendid morning when we started. The sun was just topping the
Drachenfels, and sending a perfect flood of golden glory over the Rhine,
and that rich tract of yellow corn country along its left bank, the
right being still in deep shadow. From the Kreutzberg to the Seven
Mountains it was one gorgeous panorama, with mountain and crag, and
ruined castles, vine-clad cliffs, and plains of waving wheat, all seen
in the calm splendor of a still summer's morning.
I never saw anything as beautiful; perhaps I never shall again. Of my
rapturous enjoyment of the scene, as we whirled along with four posters
at a gallop, the best criterion I can give you is that I totally
forgot everything but the enchanting vision around me. Ireland, home,
Dodsborough, petty sessions, police and poor-rates, county cess,
Chancery, all my difficulties, down even to Mrs. D. herself, faded away,
and left me in undisturbed and unbounded enjoyment.
I have often had to tell you of my disappointment with the Continent;
how little it responded to my previous expectations, and how short
came every trait of nationality of that striking effect I had once
foreshadowed. The distinctive features of race, from which I had
anticipated so much amusement, all the peculiarities of dress, custom,
and manner which I had speculated on as sources of interest, had either
no existence whatever, or demanded a far shrewder and nicer observation
than mine to detect. These have I more than once complained of to you in
my letters; and I was fast lapsing into the deep conviction that, except
in being the rear-guard of civilization, and adhering to habits which
have long since been superseded by improved and better modes with us,
the Continent differs wonderfully little from England.
The reason of this impression was manifestly because I was always in
intercourse with foreigners who live and trade upon English travellers,
who make a livelihood of ministering to John Bull's national leanings
in dress, cookery, and furniture; and who, so to say, get up a kind of
artificial England abroad, where the Englishman is painfully reminded of
all the comforts he has left behind him, without one single opportunity
for remembering the compensations he is receiving in return. To this
cause is attributable, mainly, the vulgar impression conveyed by a first
glance at the Continent It is a bad travesty of a homely original.
[Illustration: 304]
What a sudden change came over me now, as we swept along through this
enchanting country, where every sight and every sound were novel
and interesting! The little villages, almost escarped from the tall
precipice that skirted the river, were often of Roman origin; old towers
of brick, and battlemented walls, displaying the S. P. Q. R.,--those
wonderful letters which, from school days to old age, call up such
conceptions of this mighty people. A great wagon would draw aside to let
us pass; and its giant oxen, with their massive beams of timber on their
necks, remind one of the old pictures in some illustrated edition of the
"Georgics." The splash of oars, and the loud shouts of men, turn your
eyes to the Rhine, and it is a raft, whole acres of timber, slowly
floating along, the evidence of some primeval pine forest hundreds
of miles away, where the night winds used to sigh in the days of the
Cæsars. And now every head is bare, and every knee is bowed, for a
procession moves past, on its way to some holy shrine, the zigzag path
to which, up the mountain, is traceable by the white line of peasant
girls, whose voices are floating down in mellow chorus. Oh, Tom!
the whole scene was full of enchantment, and didn't require the
consciousness that would haunt me to make it a vision of perfect
enjoyment. You ask what was that same consciousness I allude to? Neither
more nor less, my dear friend, than the little whisper within me, that
said, "Kenny Dodd, where are you going, and for what? Is it Mrs. D.
is sitting beside you? or are you quite sure it's not some other man's
wife?"
You 'll say, perhaps, these were rather disturbing reflections, and so
they would have been had they ever got that far; but as mere flitting
fancies, as passing shadows over the mind, they heightened the enjoyment
of the moment by some strange and mysterious agency, which I am quite
unable to explain, but which, I believe, is referable to the same
category as the French Duchess's regret "that iced water was n't a sin,
or it would be the greatest delight of existence."
If my conscience had been unmannerly enough to say, "Ain't you doing
wrong, Kenny Dodd?" I 'm afraid I 'd have said "Yes," with a chuckle of
satisfaction. I'm afraid, my dear Tom, that the human heart, at least in
the Irish version, is a very incomprehensible volume.
Let us strive to be good as much as we may, there is a secret sense of
pleasure in doing wrong that shows what a hold wickedness has of us.
I believe we flatter ourselves that we are cheating the devil all the
while, because we intend to do right at last; but the danger is that the
game comes to an end before we suspect, and there we are, "cleaned out,"
and our hand full of trumps.
You'll say, "What has all this to say to the Rhine, or Mrs. Gore
Hampton?" Nothing whatever. It only shows that, like the Reflections on
a Broomstick, your point of departure bears no relation to the goal of
your voyage.
"What's the name of this village, Mr. Dodd?" whispers a soft voice from
the deep recesses of the britschka.
"This is Andernach, Madam," said I, opening my "John," for I find
there's no doing without him. "It is one of the most ancient cities of
the Rhine. It was called by the Romans--"
"Never mind what it was called by the Romans; isn't there a legend about
this ancient castle? To be sure there is; pray find it."
And I go on mumbling about Drusus, and Roman camps, and vaulted portals.
"Oh, it's not that," cries she, laughing.
"There are two articles of traffic peculiar to this spot Millstones--"
She puts her hand on my lips here, and I am unable to continue my
reading, while she goes on: "I remember the legend now. It was a certain
Siegfried, the Count Palatine of the Rhine, who, on his return from the
Crusades, was persuaded by slanderous tongues to believe his wife had
been faithless to him."
"The wretch!--the Count, I mean."
"So he was. He drove her out a wanderer upon the wide world, and she
fled across the Rhine into that mountain country you see yonder, which
then, as now, was all impenetrable forest There she passed years and
years of solitary existence, unknown and friendless. There were no Mr.
Dodds in those days, or, at least, she had not the good fortune to meet
with them."
I sigh deeply under the influence of such a glance, Tom, and she
resumes,--
"At last, one day, when fatigued with the chase, and separated from
his companions, the cruel Count throws himself down to rest beside a
fountain; a lovely creature, attired gracefully but strangely in the
skins of wild beasts--"
"She did n't kill them herself?" said I, interrupting.
"How absurd you are! Of course she did n't;" and she draws her own
ermine mantle across her as she speaks, smoothing the soft fur with
her softer hand. "The Count starts to his feet, and recognizes her in
a moment, and at the same instant, too, he is so struck by the manifest
protection Providence has vouchsafed her, that he listens to her tale of
justification, and conducts her in triumph home,--his injured but
adored wife. I think, really, people were better formerly than they
are now,--more forgiving, or rather, I mean, more open to truth and its
generous impulses."
"Faith, I can't say," replied I, pondering; "the skins may have had
something to say to it." Here she bursts into such a fit of laughter
that I join from sheer sympathy with the sound, but not guessing in the
least why or at what.
We soon left Andernach behind us, and rolled along beside the rapid
Rhine, on a beautiful road almost level with the river, which now for
some miles becomes less bold and picturesque.
At last we arrived at Coblentz to dinner, stopping at a capital inn
called the "Giant," after which we strolled through the town to stare
at the shops and the quaintly dressed peasant girls, whose embroidered
head-gear, a kind of velvet cap worked in gold or silver, so pleased
Mrs. G. that we bought three or four of them, as well as several of
those curiously wrought silver daggers which they wear stuck through
their black hair.
I soon discovered that my fair friend was a "child" about other things
besides "money." Jewelry was one of these, and for which she seemed
to have the most insatiable desire, combined with a most juvenile
indifference as to cost. The country girls wear massive gold earrings of
the strangest fashion, and nothing would content her but buying several
sets of these. Then she took a fancy to their gold chains and rosaries,
and, lastly, to their uncouth shoe-buckles, all of which she assured me
would be priceless in a fancy dress.
In fact, my dear Tom, these minor preparations of hers, to resemble a
Rhine-land peasant, came to a little over seventeen pounds sterling, and
suggested to me, more than once, the secret wish that our excursion had
been through Ireland, where the habits of the natives could have been
counterfeited at considerably less cost.
As "we were in for it," however, I bore myself as gallantly as might be,
and pressed several trifling articles on her acceptance, but she tossed
them over contemptuously, and merely said, "Oh, we shall find all
these things so much better at Ems. They have such a bazaar there!" an
announcement that gave me a cold shudder from head to foot. After taking
our coffee, we resumed our journey, Ems being only distant some eleven
or twelve miles, and, I must say, a drive of unequalled beauty.
Once more on the road, Mrs. G. became more charming and delightful than
ever. The romantic glen, through which we journeyed, suggested much
material for conversation, and she was legendary and lyrical, plaintive
and merry by turns, now recounting some story of tragic history, now
remembering some little incident of modern fashionable life, but all, no
matter what the theme, touched with a grace and delicacy quite her
own. In a little silence that followed one of these charming sallies, I
noticed that she smiled as if at something passing in her own thoughts.
"Shall I tell you what I was thinking of?" said she, smiling.
"By all means," said I; "it is a pleasant thought, so pray let me share
in it."
"I'm not quite so certain of that," said she. "It is rather puzzling
than pleasant. It is simply this: 'Here we are now within a mile of Ems.
It is one of the most gossiping places in Europe. How shall we announce
ourselves in the Strangers' List?"
The difficulty had never occurred to me before, Tom; nor indeed, did I
very clearly appreciate it even now. I thought that the name of Kenny
Dodd would have sufficed for me, and I saw no reason why Mrs. Gore
Hampton should not have been satisfied with her own appellation.
"I knew," said she, laughing, "that you never gave this a thought. Isn't
that so?" I had to confess that she was quite correct, and she went on:
"Adolphus "--this was the familiar for Mr. Gore Hampton--"is so well
known that you could n't possibly pass for him; besides, he is very
tall, and wears large moustaches,--the largest, I think, in the Blues."
"That's clean out of the question, then," said I, stroking my smooth
chin in utter despair.
"You 're very like Lord Harvey Bruce, could n't you be _him?_"
"I'm afraid not; my passport calls me Kenny James Dodd."
"But Lord Harvey is a kind of relative of mine; his mother was a Gore; I
'm sure you could be him."
I shook my head despondently; but somehow, whenever a sudden fancy
strikes her, the impulse to yield to it seems perfectly irresistible.
"It's an excellent idea," continued she, "and all you have to do is to
write the name boldly in the Travellers' Book, and say your passport is
coming with one of your people."
"But he might be here?"
"Oh, he's not here; he could n't be here! I should have heard of it if
he were here."
"There may be several who may know him personally here."
"There need be no difficulty about that," replied she; "you have only
to feign illness, and keep your room. I 'll take every precaution to
sustain the deception. You shall have everything in the way of comfort,
but no visitors,--not one.".
I was thunderstruck, Tom! the notion of coming away from home, leaving
my family, and braving Mrs. D., all that I might go to bed at Ems, and
partake of low diet under a fictitious title, actually overwhelmed me.
I thought to myself, "This is a hazardous exploit of mine; it may be a
costly one too: at the rate we are travelling, money flies like chaff,
but at least I shall have something for it. I shall see fashionable
life under the most favorable auspices. I shall dine in public with my
beautiful travelling-companion. I shall accompany her to the Cursaal,
to the Promenade, to the play-tables. I shall eat ice with her under the
'Lindens,' in the 'Allée.' I shall be envied and hated by all the puppy
population of the Baths, and feel myself glorious, conquering, and
triumphant." These, and similar, had been my sustaining reflections,
under all the adverse pressure of home thoughts. These had been my
compensation for the terrors that assuredly loomed in the distance.
But now, instead of the realization, I was to seek my consolation in a
darkened room, with old newspapers and water gruel!
Anger and indignation rendered me almost speechless. "Was it for this?"
I exclaimed twice or thrice, without being able to finish my sentence;
and she gently drew her hand within my arm, and, in the tenderest of
accents, stopped me, and said, "No; not for this!"
Ah, Tom! you know what we used to hear in the "Beggar's Opera," long
ago. "'Tis women that seduces all mankind." I suppose it's true. I
suppose that if nature has made us physically strong, she has made us
morally weak.
I wanted to be resolute; injured and indignant, I did my best to feel
outraged, but it wouldn't do. The touch of three taper fingers of an
ungloved hand, the silvery sounds of a soft voice, and the tenderly
reproachful glance of a pair of dark blue eyes routed all my resolves,
and I was half ashamed of myself for needing even such gentle reproof.
From that moment I was her slave; she might have sent me to a
plantation, or sold me in a market-place, resistance, on my part, was
out of the question; and is n't this a pretty confession for the father
of a family, and the husband of Mrs. D.? Not but, if I had time, I could
explain the problem, in a non-natural sense, as the fashionable phrase
has it, or even go farther, and justify my divided allegiance, like
one of our own bishops, showing the difference between submission
to constituted authority, and fidelity to matters of faith,--Mrs. D.
standing to represent Queen Victoria, and Mrs. Gore Hampton Pope Pius
the Ninth!
These thoughts didn't occur to me at once, Tom; they were the fruit of
many a long hour of self-examination and reflection as I lay alone in my
silent chamber, thinking over all the singular things that have occurred
to me in life, the strange situations I have occupied, and of this, I
own, the very strangest of all.
It must be a dreadful thing to be really sick in one of these places.
There seems to be no such thing as night, at least as a season of
repose. The same clatter of plates, knives, and glasses goes on; the
same ringing of bells, and scuffling sounds of running feet; waltzes
and polkas; wagons and mule-carts; donkeys and hurdy-gurdies; whistling
waiters and small puppies, with a weak falsetto, infest the air, and
make up a din that would addle the spirit of Pandemonium.
Hour after hour had I to lie listening to these, taking out my wrath
in curses upon Strauss and late suppers, and anathematizing the whole
family of opera writers, who have unquestionably originated the bleating
performances of every late bed-goer. Not a wretch toiled upstairs, at
four in the morning, without yelling out "Casta Diva," or "Gib, mir
wein." The half-tipsy ones were usually sentimental, and hiccuped the
"Tu che al cielo," out of the "Lucia."
To these succeeded the late sitters at the play-tables,--a race who,
to their honor be it recorded, never sing. Gambling is a grave
passion, and, whether a man win or lose, it takes all fun out of him. A
deep-muttered malediction upon bad luck, a false oath to play no more, a
hearty curse against Fortune were the only soliloquies of these the last
votaries of Pleasure that now sought their beds as day was breaking.
Have you ever stopped your ears, Tom, and looked at a room full of
people dancing? The effect is very curious. What was so graceful but
a moment back is now only grotesque. The plastic elegance of gesture
becomes downright absurdity. She who tripped with such fairy-like
lightness, or that other who floated with swan-like dignity, now seems
to move without purpose, and, stranger still, without grace. It was
the measure which gave the soul to the performance,--it was that mystic
accord, like what binds mind to matter, that gave the wondrous charm
to the whole; divested of this it was like motion without
vitality,--abrupt, mechanical, convulsive. Exactly the same kind of
effect is produced by witnessing fashionable amusements, with a spirit
untuned to pleasure. You know nothing of their motives, nor incentives
to enjoyment; you are not admitted to any participation in their plan or
their object, and to your eyes it is all "dancing without music."
I need not dwell on a tiresome theme, for such would be any description
of my life at Ems. Of my lovely companion I saw but little. About
midday her maid would bring me a few lines, written in pencil, with kind
inquiries after me. Later on I could detect the silvery music of her
voice, as she issued forth to her afternoon drive. Later again I could
hear her, as she passed along the corridor to her room; and then,
as night wore on, she would sometimes come to my door to say a few
words,--very kind ones, and in her own softest manner, but of which I
could recall nothing, so occupied was I with observing her in all the
splendor of evening dress.
When a bright object of this kind passes from your presence, there still
lingers for a second or so a species of twilight, after which comes
the black and starless night of deep despondency. Out of these dreamy
delusive fits of low spirits I used to start with the sudden question,
"What are you doing here, Kenny Dodd? Is it the father of a family ought
to be living in this fashion? What tomfoolery is this? Is this kind of
life instructive, intellectual, or even amusing? Is it respectable? I
am not certain it is any one of the four. How long is it to continue, or
where is it to end? Am I to go down to the grave under a false name, and
are the Dodd family to put on mourning for Lord Harvey Bruce?"
One night that these thoughts had carried me to a high pitch of
excitement, I was walking hurriedly to and fro in my room inveighing
against the absurd folly which originally had embarked me on this
journey. Anger had so far mastered my reason that I began to doubt
everything and everybody. I grew sceptical that there were such people
in the world as Mr. Gore Hampton or Lord Harvey Bruce, and in my heart
I utterly rejected the existence of the "Princess." Up to this moment
I had contented myself with hating her, as the first cause of all my
calamities, but now I denied her a reality and a being. I did n't
at first perceive what would come of my thus disturbing a great
foundation-stone, and how inevitably the whole edifice would come
tumbling down about my ears in consequence.
This terrible truth, however, now stared me in the face, and I sat down
to consider it with a trembling spirit.
"May I come in?" whispered a low but well-known voice,--"may I come in?"
[Illustration: 314]
My first thoughts were to affect sleep and not answer, but I saw that
there was an eagerness in the manner that would not brook denial, and
answered, "Who 's there?"
"It is I, my dear friend," said Mrs. Gore Hampton, entering, and
closing the door behind her. She came forward to where I was sitting
despondingly on the side of the bed, and took a chair in front of me.
"What's the matter; you are surely not ill in reality?" asked she,
tenderly.
"I believe I am," replied I. "They say in Ireland 'mocking is catching,'
and, faith, I half suspect I 'm going to pay the price of my own
deceitfulness."
"Oh, no, no! you only say that to alarm me. You will be perfectly well
when you leave this; the confinement disagrees with you."
"I think it does," said I; "but when are we to go?"
"Immediately; to-night, if possible. I have just received a few lines
from the dear Princess--"
"Oh, the Princess!" ejaculated I, with a faint groan.
"Why, what do you mean?" asked she, eagerly.
"Oh, nothing; go on."
"But, first tell me, what made you sigh so when I spoke of the
Princess?"
"God knows," said I; "I believe my head was wandering."
"Poor, dear head!" said she, patting me as if I was a small King
Charles's spaniel, "it will be better in the fresh air. The Princess
writes to say that we must meet her at Eisenach, since she finds herself
too ill to come on here. She urges us to lose no time about it, because
the Empress Sophia will be on a visit with her in a few days, which of
course would interfere with our seeing her frequently. The letter should
have been here yesterday, but she gave it to the Archduke Nicholas, and
he only remembered it when he was walking with me this evening."
These high and mighty names only made me sigh heartily, and she seemed
at once to read all that was passing within me.
"I see what it is," said she, with deep emotion; "you are growing weary
of me. You are beginning to regret the noble chivalry, the generous
devotion you had shown me. You are asking yourself, 'What am I to her?
Why should she cling to me?' Cruel question--of a still more cruel
answer! But go, sir, return to your family, and leave me if you will to
those heartless courtiers who mete out their sympathies by a sovereign's
smiles, and only bestow their pity when royalty commands it; and yet,
before we part forever, let me here, on my bended knees, thank and
bless--" I can't do it, Tom; I can't write it. I find I am blubbering
away just as badly as when the scene occurred. Blue eyes half swimming
in tears, silky-brown ringlets, and a voice broken by sobs, are
shamefully unfair odds against an Irish gentleman on the shady side of
fifty-two or three.
It 's all very well for you--sitting quietly at your turf fire--with an
old sleepy spaniel snoring on the hearth-rug, and nothing younger in the
house than Mrs. Shea, your late wife's aunt--to talk about "My time of
life"--"Grownup daughters"--and so on. "He scoffs at wounds who never
felt a scar." The fact is, I 'm not a bit more susceptible than other
people; I even think I am less yielding--less open to soft influences
than many of my acquaintances. I can answer for it, I never found
that the strongest persuasions of a tax-gatherer disposed me to
look favorably on "county cess, or a rate-in-aid." Even the priest
acknowledges me a tough subject on the score of Easter dues and
offerings. If I know anything about my own nature, it is that I have
rather a casuistic, hair-splitting kind of way with me,--the very
reverse of your soft, submissive, easily seduced fellows. I was always
known as the obstinate juryman at our assizes, that preferred starvation
and a cart to a glib verdict like the others. I am not sure that anybody
ever found it an easy task to convince me about anything,
except, perhaps, Mrs. D., and then, Tom, it was not precisely
"conviction,"--_that_ was something else.
I think I have now made out a sufficient defence of myself, and I'll not
make the lawyer's blunder of proving too much. Give me the same latitude
that is always conceded to great men when their actions will not square
with their previous sentiments. Think of the Duke and Sir Robert, and be
merciful to Kenny Dodd.
We left Ems, like a thief, in the night; the robbery, however, was
performed by the landlord, whose bill for five days amounted to upwards
of twenty-seven pounds sterling. Whether Grégoire and Mademoiselle
Virginie drank all the champagne set down in it I cannot say; but if
so, they could never have been sober since their arrival. There are some
other curious items, too, such as maraschino and eau de Dantzic, and a
large assessment for "real Havannahs"! Who sipped and smoked the above
is more than I know.
With regard to out-of-door amusements, Mrs. G. must have ridden, at
the least, four donkeys daily, not to speak of carriages, and a sort of
sedan-chair for the evening.
I assure you I left the place with a heart even lighter than my purse.
I was failing into a very alarming kind of melancholy, and couldn't much
longer have answered for my actions.
If we loitered inactively at Ems, we certainly suffered no grass to
grow under our feet now. Four horses on the level, six when the road was
heavy or newly gravelled; bulls at all the hills.
It's the truth I 'm telling you, Tom, for a light London britschka, the
usual team on a rising ground was six horses and three oxen, with
about two men per quadruped,--boys and beggars _ad libitum_, I laughed
heartily at it, till it came to paying for them, after which it became
one of the worst jokes you can imagine. Onward we went, however, in one
fashion or another, walking to "blow the cattle" when the road was level
and smooth, and keeping a very pretty hunting-pace when the ruts were
deep, and the rocks rugged.
It seemed, to judge from our speed, that our haste was most imminent,
for we changed horses at every station with an attempt at despatch that
greatly disconcerted the post functionaries, and probably suggested to
them grievous doubts about our respectability. After twenty-four hours
of this jolting process, I was, as you may suppose, well wearied,--the
more so, since my late confinement to bed had made me weak and
irritable. Mrs. G., however, seemed to think nothing of it, so that for
very shame' sake I could not complain. There is either a greater fund of
endurance about women than in men, or else they have a stronger and more
impulsive will, overcoming all obstacles in its way, or regarding them
as nothing. I assure you, Tom, I'd have pulled up short at any of the
villages we passed through and booked myself for a ten-hours' sleep, in
that horizontal position that nature intended, but she wouldn't hear of
it. "We must get on, dear Mr. Dodd;" "_You_ know how important time is
to us;" "Do our best, and we shall be late enough." These and such like
were the propositions which I had to assent to, without the very vaguest
conception why.
That night seemed to me as if it would never end. I never could close my
eyes without dreaming of bailiffs, writs, judges' warrants, and Mrs. D.
Then I got the notion into my head that I had been sentenced for some
crime or other to everlasting travelling,--an impression, doubtless,
suggested by my hearing through my sleep how we were constantly crossing
some frontier, and entering a new territory. Now it was Hesse Cassel
would pry into our portmanteaus; now it was Bavaria wanted to peep at
our passports. Sigmaringen insisted on seeing that we had no concealed
fire-arms. Hoch Heckingen searched us for smuggled tobacco. From a deep
doze, which to my ineffable shame I discovered I had been taking on my
fair companion's shoulder, I was suddenly awakened at daybreak by the
roll of a drum, and the clatter of presenting arms. This was a place
called Heinfeld, in the Duchy of Saxe-Weimar, where the commandant,
supposing us to be royal personages, from our six horses and mounted
courier, turned out the guard to salute us. I gave him briefly to
understand that we were _incog._, and we passed on without further
molestation.
By noon we reached Eisenach, where, descending at the "Rautenkranz," the
head inn, I bolted my door, and, throwing myself on my bed, slept far
into the night. When I awoke, the house was all at rest, every one had
retired, and in this solitude did I begin the recital of the singular
page in my history which is now before you. I felt like one of those
storm-tossed mariners who, on some unknown and distant ocean, commit
their sorrows to paper, and then enclosing it in a bottle, leave the
address to Fortune. I know not if these lines are ever to reach you.
I know not who may read them. Perhaps, like Perouse, my fate may be a
mystery for future ages. I feel altogether very low about myself.
I was obliged to break off suddenly above, but I am now better. We have
been two days here, and I like the place greatly. It lies in the midst
of a fine mountain range--the Thuringians--with a deep forest on every
side. Up to this we have had no tidings of the Princess, but we pass
our time agreeably enough in visiting the remarkable objects in the
neighborhood, one of which is the Wartburg, where Luther passed a year
of imprisonment.
I have collected some curious materials about the life of this
Protestant champion for Father Maher, which will make a considerable
sensation at home. There is an armory, too, in the castle of the most
interesting kind; but, as usual, all the remarkable warriors were little
fellows. The robbers of antiquity were big, but the great characters
of chivalry, I remark, were small. The Constable dc Bourbon's armor
wouldn't fit Kenny Dodd.
I intend to send off this package to-day, by a "gentleman of the Jewish
persuasion," so he styles himself, who is travelling "in the interest of
soft soap," and will be in England within a fortnight. Where I shall be
myself, by that time, Tom, Heaven alone can tell!
My cash is running very low. I don't think that, above my lawful debts
in this place, I could muster twelve pounds, and, after a careful
exploration of the locality, I see no spot at all likely to "advance
money on good personal security." You must immediately remit me a
hundred, or a hundred and fifty, for present emergencies. My humiliation
will be terrible if I have to speak about pecuniary matters in a certain
quarter; and, as I said before, how long we may remain here, or where
proceed when we leave this, I know as much as you do!
I have begun four letters to Mrs. D., but have not satisfied myself that
I am on the right tack in any of them. Writing home when you have not
heard from it, is like legislation for a distant colony without any clew
to the state of public opinion. You may be trying rigorous measures with
a people ripe for rebellion, or perhaps refusing some concession that
they have just wrested by force. When I think of domestic matters, I am
strongly reminded of the Caffre war, for somehow affairs never look so
badly as when they seem to promise a peace; and, like Sandilla, Mrs. D.
is great at an ambush.
You must write to her, Tom; say that I am greatly distressed at not
getting any answers to my letters; that I wrote four,--which is true,
though I never sent off any of them. Make a plausible case for my
absence out of the present materials, and speak alarmingly about my
health, for she knows I have sold my policy of insurance at the Phoenix,
and is really uneasy when I look ill.
If I was n't in such a mess, I should be distressed about the family,
for I left them at Bonn with a mere trifle. When a man has got an
incurable malady, he spends little money on doctoring, and so there is
nothing saves fretting so much as being irretrievably ruined. Besides,
it is in the world as in the water, it is struggling that drowns you;
lie quietly down on your back, don't stir hand or limb, and somebody
will be sure to pull you out, though it may chance to be by the hair.
I have often thought, Tom, that life is like the game of chess. It's a
fine thing to have the "move," if you play well, but if you don't, take
my word for it, it's better to stay quiet, and not budge. This will give
you the key to my system; and if I ever get into public life, this, I
assure you, shall be "Dodd's Parliamentary Guide."
I have now done, and you 'll say it's time too; but let me tell you,
Tom, that when I seal and send off this, I 'll feel myself very lonely
and miserable. It was a comfort to me some days back to go every now and
then and dot down a line or two-, it kept me from thinking, which was a
great blessing. You know how Gibbon felt when he wrote the last sentence
of his great history; and although the Rise and Fall of Kenny Dodd be a
small matter to posterity, it has a great hold upon his own affections.
I see my pony at the door, and Mrs. G. is already mounted. We are going
to some old abbey in the forest, where she is to sketch, and I am to
smoke for an hour or two; so good-bye, and remember that my escape from
this must depend upon your assistance. This Princess has not yet
made her appearance, nor have I the slightest guide as to her future
intentions.
There are a quantity of home questions I am anxious to speak about,
but must defer the discussion till my next. I have not seen a newspaper
since I started on this excursion. I know not who is "in" or "out." I
shall learn all these things later on; so, once more, good-bye. Address
me at the "Rue Garland," and believe me, faithfully, your friend,
Kenny I. Dodd.
P. S. When you mention to the neighbors having heard from me, it would
be as well to say nothing of this little adventure of mine. Say that the
Dodds are all well, and enjoying themselves, or something like that. If
Mrs. D. has written to old Molly, try and get hold of the epistle, or
otherwise I might as well be in the "Hue and Cry." Indeed, I don't see
why you could n't stop her letters at the post-office in Bruff.