I take it for granted that all special “charities” have had their origin
in some specific suffering. At least, I can aver that my first thought
on landing at Ostend was, “Why has no great philanthropist thought
of establishing such an institution as a Refuge for the Sea-sick?”
I declare this publicly, that if I ever become rich,--a consummation
which, looking to the general gentleness of my instincts, the wide
benevolence of my nature, and the kindliness of my temperament, mankind
might well rejoice at,--if, I repeat, I ever become rich, one of the
first uses of my affluence will be to endow such an establishment.
I will place it in some one of our popular ports, say Southampton.
Surrounded with all the charms of inland scenery, rich in every rustic
association, the patient shall never be reminded of the scene of his
late sufferings. A velvety turf to stroll on, with a leafy shade above
his-head, the mellow lowing of cattle in his ears, and the fragrant
odors of meadow-sweet and hawthorn around, I would recall the sufferer
from the dread memories of the slippery deck, the sea-washed stairs, or
the sleepy state-room. For the rattle of cordage, and the hoarse
trumpet of the skipper, I would substitute the song of the thrush or the
blackbird; and, instead of the thrice odious steward and his basin, I
would have trim maidens of pleasing aspect to serve him with syllabubs.
I will not go on to say the hundred device» I would employ to cheat
memory out of a gloomy record, for I treasure the hope that I may yet
live to carry out my theory, and have a copyright in my invention.
It was with sentiments deeply tinctured by the above that I tottered,
rather than walked, towards the “Hôtel Royal.” It was a bright moonlight
night, and, as if in mockery of the weather outside, as still and calm
as might be. Many a picturesque effect of light and shade met me as I
went: quaint old gables flaring in a strong flood of moonlight, showed
outlines the strangest and oddest; twinkling lamps shone out of tall,
dark-sided, old houses, from which strains of music came plaintively
enough in the night air; the sounds of a prolonged revel rose loudly
out of that deep-pillared chateau-like building in the Place, and in the
quiet alley adjoining, I could catch the low song of a mother as she
tried to sing her baby to sleep. It was all human in every touch and
strain of it And did I not drink it in with rapture? Was it not in a
transport of gratitude that I thanked Fortune for once again restoring
me to land? “O Earth, Earth!” says the Greek poet, “how art thou
interwoven with that nature that first came from thee!” Thus musing, I
reached the inn, where, though the hour was a late one, the household
was all active and astir.
“Many passengers arrived, waiter?” said I, in the easy, careless voice
of one who would not own to sea-sickness.
“Very few, sir; the severe weather has deterred several from venturing
across.”
“Any ladies?”
“Only one, sir; and, poor thing! she seems to have suffered fearfully.
She had to be carried from the boat, and when she tried to walk
upstairs, she almost fainted. There might have been some agitation,
however, in that, for she expected some one to have met her here; and
when she heard that he had not arrived, she was completely overcome.”
“Very sad, indeed,” said I, examining the _carte_ for supper.
“Oh yes, sir; and being in deep mourning, too, and a stranger away for
the first time from her country.”
I started, and felt my heart bounding against my side.
“What was it you said about deep mourning, and being young and
beautiful?” asked I, eagerly.
“Only the mourning, sir,--it was only the mourning I mentioned; for she
kept her veil close down, and would not suffer her face to be seen.”
“Bashful as beautiful! modest as she is fair!” muttered I. “Do you
happen to know whither she is going?”
“Yes, sir; her luggage is marked 'Brussels.'”
“It is she! It is herself!” cried I, in rapture, as I turned away, lest
the fellow should notice my emotion. “When does she leave this?”
“She seems doubtful, sir; she told the landlady that she is going
to reside at Brussels; but never having been abroad before, she is
naturally timid about travelling even so far alone.”
“Gentle creature! why should she be exposed to such hazards? Bring me
some of this fricandeau with chiccory, waiter, and a pint of Beaune;
fried potatoes too.--Would that I could tell her to fear nothing!”
thought I. “Would that I could just whisper, 'Potts is here; Potts
watches over you; Potts will be that friend, that brother, that should
have come to meet you! Sleep soundly, and with a head at ease. You are
neither friendless nor forsaken!'” I feel I must be naturally a creature
of benevolent instincts; for I am never so truly happy as when engaged
in a work of kindness. Let me but suggest to myself a labor of charity,
some occasion to sorrow with the afflicted, to rally the weak-hearted,
and to succor the wretched, and I am infinitely more delighted than
by all the blandishment of what is called “society.” Men have their
allotted parts in life, just as certain fruits are meet for certain
climates. Mine was the grand comforting line. Nature meant me for a
consoler. I have none of those impulsive temperaments which make what
are called jolly fellows. I have no taste for those excesses which go
by the name of conviviality. I can, it is true, be witty, anecdotic,
and agreeable; I can spice conversation with epigram, and illustrate
argument by apt example; but my forte is tenderness.
“Is not this veal a little tough, waiter?” said I, in gentle
remonstrance.
“Monsieur is right,” said he, bowing; “but if a morsel of cold pheasant
would be acceptable--mademoiselle, the lady in mourning, has just taken
a wing of it--”
“Bring it directly.--Oh, ecstasy of ecstasies! We are then, as it were,
supping together--served from the same dish!--May I have the honor?”
said I, filling ont a glass of wine and bowing respectfully And with an
air of deep devotion across the table. The pheasant was exquisite, and
I ate with an epicurean enjoyment. I called for another pint of Beaune
too. It was an occasion for some indulgence, and I could not deny
myself. No sooner had the waiter left me alone, than I burst into an
expansive acknowledgment of my happiness. “Yes, Potts,” said I, “you are
richer in that temperament of yours than if you owned half California.
That boundless wealth of good intentions is a well no pumping can
exhaust. Go on doing imaginary good forever. You are never the poorer
for all the orphans you support, all the distresses you relieve. You
rescue the mariner from shipwreck without wetting your feet. You charge
at the head of a squadron without the peril of a scratch. All blessed be
the gift which can do these things!”
You call these delusions; but is it a delusion to be a king, to deliver
a people from slavery, to carry succor to a drowning crew? I have done
all of these; that is, I have gone through every changeful mood of hope
and fear that accompanies these actions, sipping my glass of Beaune
between whiles.
When I found myself in my bedroom I had no inclination for sleep; I
was in a mood of enjoyment too elevated for mere repose. It was so
delightful to be no longer at sea, to feel rescued from the miseries
of the rocking ship and the reeking cabin, that I would not lose the
rapture of forgetful-ness. I was in the mood for great things, too, if I
only knew what they were to be. “Ah!” thought I, suddenly, “I will write
to _her_. She shall know that she is not the friendless and forsaken
creature that she deems herself; she shall hear that, though separated
from home, friends, and country, there is one near to watch over and
protect her, and that Potts devotes himself to her service.” I opened my
desk, and in all the impatience of my ardor began:--
“'Dear Madam,'--Quere: Ought I to say 'dear'? 'We are not acquainted, and
can I presume upon the formula that implies acquaintanceship? No. I
must omit 'dear;' and then 'madam' looks fearfully stern and rigid,
particularly when addressed to a young unmarried lady; she is certainly
not 'madam' yet, surely. I can't begin 'miss,' What a language is
ours? How cruelly fatal to all the tenderer emotions is a dialect so
matter-of-fact and formal!
“If I could only start with 'Gentilissima Signora,' how I could get on!
What an impulse would the words lend me! What 'way on me' would they
impart for what was to follow! In our cast-metal tongue there is nothing
for it but the third person: 'The undersigned has the honor,' &c., &c.
This is chilling--it is positively repulsive. Let me see, will this
do?--
“'The gentleman who was fortunate enough to render you some trivial
service at the Milford station two days ago, having accidentally learned
that you are here and unprovided with a protector, in all humility
offers himself to afford you every aid and counsel in his power. No
stranger to the touching interest of your life, deeply sensible of the
delicacy that should surround your steps, if you deign to accept his
devoted services, he will endeavor to prove himself, by every sentiment
of respect, your most faithful, most humble, and most grateful servant
“'P. S. His name is Potts.'
“Yes, all will do but the confounded postscript. What a terrible
bathos,--'His name is Potts'! What if I say, 'One word of reply is
requested, addressed to Algernon Sydney Pottinger, at this hotel'?”
I made a great many copies of this document, always changing something
as I went. I felt the importance of every word, and fastidiously
pondered over each expression I employed. The bright sun of morning
broke in at last upon my labors and found me still at my desk, still
composing. All done, I lay down and slept soundly.
“Is she gone, waiter?” said I, as he entered my room with hot water. “Is
she gone?”
“Who, sir?” asked he, in some astonishment.
“The lady in black, who came over in the last mail-packet from Dover;
the young lady in deep mourning, who arrived all alone.”
“No, sir. She has sent all round the hotels this morning to inquire
after some one who was to have met her here, but, apparently, without
success.”
“Give her this; place it in her own hand, and, as you are leaving the
room, say, in a gentle voice: 'Is there an answer, mademoiselle?' You
understand?”
“Well, I believe I do,” said he, significantly, as he slyly pocketed the
half-Napoleon fee I had tendered for his acceptance.
Now the fellow had thrown into his countenance--a painfully astute and
cunning face it was--one of those expressive looks which actually made
me shudder. It seemed to say, “This is a conspiracy, and we are both in
it.”
“You are not for a moment to suppose,” said I, hurriedly, “that there
is one syllable in that letter which could compromise me, or wound the
delicacy of the most susceptible.”
“I am convinced that monsieur has written it with most consummate
skill,” said he, with a supercilious grin, and left the room.
How I detest the familiarity of a foreign waiter! The fellows cannot
respond to the most ordinary question without an affectation of showing
off their immense acuteness and knowledge of life. It is their eternal
boast how they read people, and with what an instinctive subtlety they
can decipher all the various characters that pass before them. Now this
impertinent lackey, who is to say what has he not imputed to me? Utterly
incapable as such a creature must necessarily be of the higher and
nobler motives that sway men of my order, he will doubtless have
ascribed to me the most base and degenerate motives.
I was wrong in speaking one word to the fellow. I might have said, “Take
that note to Number Fourteen, and ask if there be an answer;” or, better
still, if I had never written at all, but merely sent in my card to ask
if the lady would vouchsafe to accord me an audience of a few minutes.
Yes, such would have been the discreet course; and then I might have
trusted to my manner, my tact, and a certain something in my general
bearing, to have brought the matter to a successful issue. While I thus
meditated, the waiter re-entered the room, and, cautiously closing
the door, approached me with an ostentatious pretence of secrecy and
mystery.
“I have given her the letter,” said he, in a whisper.
“Speak up!” said I, severely; “what answer has the lady given?”
“I think you 'll get the answer presently,” said he, with a sort of grin
that actually thrilled through me.
“You may leave the room,” said I, with dignity, for I saw how the fellow
was actually revelling in the enjoyment of my confusion.
“They were reading it over together for the third time when I came
away,” said he, with a most peculiar look.
“Whom do you mean? Who are they that you speak of?”
“The gentleman that she was expecting. He came by the 9.40 train from
Brussels. Just in time for your note.” As the wretch uttered these
words, a violent ringing of bells resounded along the corridor, and he
rushed out without waiting for more.
I turned in haste to my note-book; various copies of my letter were
there, and I was eager to recall the expressions I had employed in
addressing her. Good heavens! what had I really written? Here were
scraps of all sorts of absurdity; poetry, too! verses to the “Fair
Victim of a Recent War,” with a number of rhymes for the last word,
such as “low,” “snow,” “mow,” &c.,--all evidences of composition under
difficulty.
While I turned over these rough copies, the door opened, and a large,
red-faced, stern-looking man, in a suit of red-brown tweed, and with
a heavy stick in his hand, entered; he closed the door leisurely after
him, and I half thought that I saw him also turn the key in the lock. He
advanced towards me with a deliberate step, and, in a voice measured as
his gait, said,--
“I am Mr. Jopplyn, sir,--I am Mr. Christopher Jopplyn.”
“I am charmed to hear it, sir,” said I, in some confusion, for, without
the vaguest conception of wherefore, I suspected lowering weather ahead.
“May I offer you a chair, Mr. Jopplyn? Won't you be seated? We are going
to have a lovely day, I fancy,--a great change after yesterday.”
“Your name, sir,” said he, in the same solemnity as before,--“your name
I apprehend to be Porringer?”
“Pottinger, if you permit me; Pottinger, not Porringer.”
“It shall be as you say, sir; I am indifferent what you call yourself.”
He heaved something that sounded like a hoarse sigh, and proceeded:
“I have come to settle a small account that stands between us. Is that
document your writing?” As he said this, he drew, rather theatrically,
from his breast-pocket the letter I had just written, and extended
it towards me. “I ask, sir,--and I mean you to understand that I will
suffer no prevarication,--is that document in your writing?”
I trembled all over as I took it, and for an instant I determined to
disavow it; but in the same brief space I bethought me that my denial
would be in vain. I then tried to look boldly, and brazen it out; I
fancied to laugh it off as a mere pleasantry, and, failing in courage
for each of these, I essayed, as a last resource, the argumentative and
discussions! line, and said,--
“If you will favor me with an indulgent hearing for a few minutes,
Mr. Jopplyn, I trust to explain to your complete satisfaction the
circumstances of that epistle.”
“Take five, sir,--five,” said he, laying a ponderous silver watch on the
table as he spoke, and pointing to the minute-hand.
“Really, sir,” said I, stung by the peremptory and dictatorial tone he
assumed, “I have yet to learn that intercourse between gentlemen is to
be regulated by clockwork, not to say that I have to inquire by what
right you ask me for this explanation.”
“One minute gone,” said he, solemnly.
“I don't care if there were fifty,” said I, passionately. “I disclaim
all pretension of a perfect stranger to obtrude himself upon me, and by
the mere assumption of a pompous manner and an imposing air, to inquire
into my private affairs.”
“There are two!” said he, with the same solemnity.
“Who is Mr. Jopplyn,--what is he to me?” cried I, in increased
excitement, “that he presents himself in my apartment like a commissary
of police? Do you imagine, sir, because I am a young man, that
this--this--impertinence “--Lord, what a gulp it cost me!--“is to pass
unpunished? Do you fancy that a red beard and a heavy walking-cane are
to strike terror into me? You may think, perhaps, that I am unarmed--”
“Three!” said he, with a bang of his stick on the floor that made me
actually jump with the stick.
“Leave the room, sir,” said I; “it is my pleasure to be alone,--the
apartment is mine,--I am the proprietor here. A very little sense of
delicacy, a very small amount of good breeding, might show you, that
when a gentleman declines to receive company, when he shows himself
indisposed to the society of strangers--”
“One minute more, now,” said he, in a low growl; while he proceeded to
button up his coat to the neck, and make preparation for some coming
event.
My heart was in my mouth; I gave a glance at the window; it was the
third story, and a leap out would have been fatal. What would I not
have given for one of those weapons I had so proudly proclaimed myself
possessed of! There was not even a poker in the room. I made a spring at
the bell-rope, and before he could interpose, gave one pull that, though
it brought down the cord, resounded through the whole house.
“Time is up, Porringer,” said he, slowly, as he replaced the watch in
his pocket, and grasped his murderous-looking cane.
[Illustration: 132]
There was a large table in the room, and I intrenched myself at once
behind this, armed with a light cane chair, while I screamed murder in
every language I could command. Failing to reach me across the table,
my assailant tried to dodge me by false starts, now at this side, now
at that. Though a large fleshy man, he was not inactive, and it required
all my quickness to escape him. These manoeuvres being unsuccessful, he
very quickly placed a chair beside the table and mounted upon it. I now
hurled my chair at him; he warded off the blow and rushed on; with one
spring I bounded under the table, reappearing at the opposite side
just as he had reached mine. These tactics we now pursued for several
minutes, when my enemy suddenly changed his attack, and, descending from
the table, he turned it on edge; the effort required strength. I seized
the moment and reached the door; I tore it open in some fashion,
gained the stairs, the court, the streets, and ran ever onward with the
wildness of one possessed with no time for thought, nor any knowledge to
guide; I turned left and right, choosing only the narrowest lanes
that presented themselves, and at last came to a dead halt at an open
drawbridge, where a crowd stood waiting to pass.
“How is this? What's all the hurry for? Where are you running this
fashion?” cried a well-known voice. I turned, and saw the skipper of the
packet.
“Are you armed? Can you defend me?” cried I, in terror; “or shall I leap
in and swim for it?”
“I'll stand by you. Don't be afraid, man,” said he, drawing my arm
within his; “no one shall harm you. Were they robbers?”
“No, worse,--assassins!” said I, gulping, for I was heartily ashamed of
my terror, and determined to show “cause why” in the plural.
“Come in here, and have a glass of something,” said he, turning into a
little cabaret, with whose penetralia he seemed not unfamiliar. “You 're
all safe here,” said he, as he closed the door of a little room. “Let's
hear all about it, though I half guess the story already.”
I had no difficulty in perceiving, from my companion's manner, that
he believed some sudden shock had shaken my faculties, and that my
intellects were for the time deranged; nor was it very easy for me to
assume sufficient calm to disabuse him of his error, and assert my own
perfect coherency. “You have been out for a lark,” said he, laughingly.
“I see it all. You have been at one of those tea-gardens and got into a
row with some stout Fleming. All the young English go through that sort
of thing. Ain't I right?”
“Never more mistaken in your life, Captain. My conduct since I landed
would not discredit a canon of St. Paul's. In fact, all my habits,
my tastes, my instincts, are averse to every sort of junketing. I am
essentially retiring, sensitive, And, if you will, over-fastidious in my
choice of associates. My story is simply this.” My reader will readily
excuse my repeating what is already known to him. It is enough if I say
that the captain, although anything rather than mirthful, held his
hand several times over his face, and once laughed out loudly and
boisterously.
“You don't say it was Christy Jopplyn, do you?” said he, at last. “You
don't tell me it was Jopplyn?”
“The fellow called himself Jopplyn, but I know nothing of him beyond
that.”
“Why, he's mad jealous about that wife of his; that little woman with
the corkscrew curls, and the scorbutic face, that came over with us.
Oh! you did not see her aboard, you went below at once, I remember; but
there was, she, in her black ugly, and her old crape shawl--”
“In mourning?”
“Yes. Always in mourning. She never wears anything else, though Christy
goes about in colors, and not particular as to the tint, either.”
There came a cold perspiration over me as I heard these words, and
perceived that my proffer of devotion had been addressed to a married
woman, and the wife of the “most jealous man in Europe.”
“And who is this Jopplyn?” asked I, haughtily, and in all the proud
confidence of my present security.
“He's a railway contractor,--a shrewd sort of fellow, with plenty of
money, and a good head on his shoulders; sensible on every point except
his Jealousy.”
“The man must be an idiot,” said I, indignantly, “to rush
indiscriminately about the world with accusations of this kind. Who
wants to supplant him? Who seeks to rob him of the affections of his
wife?”
“That's all very well and very specious,” said he, gravely; “but if
men will deliberately set themselves down at a writing-table, hammering
their brains for fine sentiments, and toiling to find grand expressions
for their passion, it does not require that a husband should be as
jealous as Christy Jopplyn to take it badly. I don't think I'm a rash or
a hasty man, but I know what I 'd do in such a circumstance.”
“And pray, what would _you_ do?” said I, half impertinently.
“I 'd just say,4 Look here, young gent, is this balderdash here your
hand? Well, now, eat your words. Yes, eat them. I mean what I say. Eat
up that letter, seal and all, or, by my oath, I 'll break every bone in
your skin!'”
“It is exactly what I intend,” cried a voice, hoarse with passion; and
Jopplyn himself sprang into the room, and dashed at me.
The skipper was a most powerful man, but it required all his strength,
and not very gingerly exercised either, to hold off my enraged
adversary. “Will you be quiet, Christy?” cried he, holding him by the
throat “Will you just be quiet for one instant, or must I knock you
down?”
“Do! do! by all means,” muttered I; for I thought if he were once on the
ground, I could finish him off with a large pewter measure that stood on
the table.
With a rough shake the skipper had at last convinced the other that
resistance was useless, and induced him to consent to a parley.
“Let him only tell you” said he, “what he has told me, Christy.”
“Don't strike, but hear me,” cried I; and safe in my stockade behind the
skipper, I recounted my mistake.
“And _you_ believe all this?” asked Jopplyn of the skipper, when I had
finished.
“Believe it,--I should think I do! I have known him since he was a child
that high, and I 'll answer for his good conduct and behavior.”
Heaven bless you for that bail bond, though endorsed in a lie, honest
ship-captain! and I only hope I may live to requite you for it.
Jopplyn was appeased; but it was the suppressed wrath of a brown bear
rather than the vanquished anger of a man. He had booked himself for
something cruel, and he was miserable to be balked. Nor was I myself--I
shame to own it--an emblem of perfect forgiveness. I know nothing harder
than for a constitutionally timid man of weak proportions to forgive
the bullying superiority of brute force. It is about the greatest trial
human forgiveness can be subjected to; so that when Jopplyn, in a vulgar
spirit of reconciliation, proposed that we should go and dine with him
that day, I declined the invitation with a frigid politeness.
“I wish I could persuade you to change your plans,” said he, “and let
Mrs. J. and myself see you at six.”
“I believe I can answer for him that it is impossible,” broke in the
skipper; while he added in a whisper, “They never _can_ afford any
delay; they have to put on the steam at high pressure from one end of
Europe to t' other.”
What could he possibly mean by imputing such haste to my movements,
and who were “they” with whom he thus associated me? I would have given
worlds to ask, but the presence of Jopplyn prevented me, and so I
could simply assent with a sort of foolish laugh, and a muttered “Very
true,--quite correct.”
“Indeed, how you manage to be here now, I can scarcely imagine,”
continued the skipper. “The last of yours that went through this took
a roll of bread and a cold chicken with him into the train, rather than
halt to eat his supper,--but I conclude _you_ know best.”
What confounded mystification was passing through his marine intellects
I could not fathom. To what guild or brotherhood of impetuous travellers
had he ascribed me? Why should I not “take mine ease in mine inn”?
All this was very tantalizing and irritating, and pleading a pressing
engagement, I took leave of them both, and returned to the hotel.
I was in need of rest and a little composure. The incident of the
morning had jarred my nerves and disconcerted me much. But a few hours
ago, and life had seemed to me like a flowery meadow, through which,
without path or track, one might ramble at will; now it rather presented
the aspect of a vulgar kitchen-garden, fenced in, and divided, and
partitioned off, with only a few very stony alleys to walk in. “This
boasted civilization of ours,” exclaimed I, “what is it but snobbery?
Our class distinctions, our artificial intercourses, our hypocritical
professions, our deference for externals,--are they not the flimsiest
pretences that ever were fashioned? Why has no man the courage to make
short work of these, and see the world as it really is? Why has not some
one gone forth, the apostle of frankness and plain speaking, the same
to prince as to peasant? What I would like would be a ramble through the
less visited parts of Europe,--countries in which civilization slants
in just as the rays of a setting sun steal into a forest at evening.
I would buy me a horse. Oh, Blonde.” thought I, suddenly, “am I not in
search of you? Is it not in the hope to recover you that I am here; and,
with you for my companion, am I not content to roam the world, taking
each incident of the way with the calm of one who asks little of his
fellow-man save a kind word as he passes, and a God-speed as he goes?”
I knew perfectly that, with any other beast for my “mount,” I could
not view the scene of life with the same bland composure. A horse that
started, that tripped, that shied, reared, kicked, craned his neck, or
even shook himself, as certain of these beasts do, would have kept me in
a paroxysm of anxiety and uneasiness, the least adapted of all modes for
thoughtfulness and reflection. Like an ill-assorted union, it would have
given no time save for squabble and recrimination. But Blondel almost
seemed to understand my mission, and lent himself to its accomplishment.
There was none of the obtrusive selfishness of an ordinary horse in his
ways. He neither asked you to remark the glossiness of his skin, nor the
graceful curve of his neck; he did not passage nor curvet Superior to
the petty arts by which vulgar natures present themselves to notice, he
felt that destiny had given him a duty, and he did it.
Thus thinking, I returned once more to the spirit which had first sent
me forth to ramble, to wander through the world, spectator, not actor;
to be with my fellow-men in sympathy, but not in action; to sorrow and
rejoice as they did, but, if possible, to understand life as a drama,
in which, so long as I was the mere audience, I could never be
painfully afflicted or seriously injured by the catastrophe: a wonderful
philosophy, but of which, up to the present, I could not boast any
pre-eminent success.