I am obliged to acknowledge that I was vainglorious enough to accept
a seat in the Crofton carriage on the morning of their departure,
and accompany them for a mile or so of the way,--even at the price of
returning on foot,--just that I might show myself to the landlady and
that odious old waiter in a position of eminence, and make them do
a bitter penance for the insults they had heaped on an illustrious
stranger. It was a poor and paltry triumph, and over very contemptible
adversaries, but I could not refuse it to myself. Crofton, too,
contributed largely to the success of my little scheme, by insisting
that I should take the place beside his sister, while he sat with his
back to the horses; and though I refused at first, I acceded at last,
with the bland compliance of a man who feels himself once more in his
accustomed station.
As throughout this true history I have candidly revealed the inmost
traits of my nature--well knowing the while how deteriorating such
innate anatomy must prove--I have ever felt that he who has small claims
to interest by the events of his life, can make some compensation to
the world by an honest exposure of his motives, his weaknesses, and his
struggles. Now, my present confession is made in this spirit, and is not
absolutely without its moral, for, as the adage tells us, “Look after
the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves;” so would I say,
Guard yourself carefully against petty vices. You and I, most esteemed
reader, are--I trust fervently--little likely to be arraigned on a
capital charge. I hope sincerely that transportable felonies, and even
misdemeanors, may not picture among the accidents of our life; such-like
are the pounds that take care of themselves, but the “small pence” which
require looking after, are little envies and jealousies and rancors,
petty snobberies of display, small exhibitions of our being better than
this man or greater than that; these, I repeat to you, accumulate on
a man's nature just the way barnacles fasten on a ship's bottom,--from
mere time, and it is wonderful what damage can come of such paltry
obstacles.
I very much doubt if a Roman conqueror regarded the chained captive who
followed his chariot with a more supreme pride than I bestowed upon that
miserable old waiter who now bowed himself to the ground before me,
and when I ordered my dinner for four o'clock, and said that probably I
might have a friend to dine with me, his humiliation was complete.
“I wish I knew the secret of your staying here,” said Mary Crofton, as
we drove along; “why will you not tell it?”
“Perhaps it might prove indiscreet, Mary; our friend Potts may have
become a _mauvais sujet_ since we have seen him last?”
I wrapped myself in a mysterious silence, and only smiled.
“Lindau, of all places, to stop at!” resumed she, pettishly. “There is
nothing remarkable in the scenery, no art treasures, nothing socially
agreeable; what can it possibly be that detains you in such a place?”
“My dear Mary,” said Crofton, “you are, without knowing it, violating a
hallowed principle; you are no less than leading into temptation. Look
at poor Potts there, and you will see that, while he knows in his
inmost heart the secret which detains him here is some passing and
insignificant circumstance unworthy of mention, you have, by imparting
to it a certain importance, suggested to his mind the necessity of a
story; give him now but five minutes to collect himself, and I'll engage
that he will 'come out' with a romantic incident that would never have
seen the light but for a woman's curiosity.”
“Good heavens!” thought I, “can this be a true interpretation of my
character? Am I the weak and impressionable creature this would bespeak
me?” I must have blushed deeply at my own reflection, for Crofton
quickly added,--
“Don't get angry with me, Potts, any more than you would with a friend
who 'd say, 'Take care how you pass over that bridge, I know it is
rotten and must give way.'”
“Let me answer you,” said I, courageously, for I was acutely hurt to be
thus arraigned before another. “It is more than likely that you, with
your active habits and stirring notions of life, would lean very heavily
on him who, neither wanting riches nor honors, would adopt some simple
sort of dreamy existence, and think that the green alleys of the beech
wood, or the little path beside the river, pleasanter sauntering than
the gilded antechamber of a palace; and just as likely is it that you
would take him roundly to task about wasted opportunities, misapplied
talents, and stigmatize as inglorious indolence what might as possibly
be called a contented humility. Now, I would ask you, why should one
man be the measure of another? The load you could carry with ease might
serve to crush me, and yet there may be some light burdens that would
suit _my_ strength, and in bearing which I might taste a sense of duty
grateful as your own.”
“I have no patience with you,” began Crofton, warmly; but his sister
stopped him with an imploring look, and then, turning to me, said,--
“Edward fancies that every one can be as energetic and active as
himself, and occasionally forgets what you have just so well remarked as
to the relative capacities of different people.”
“I want him to do something, to be something besides a dreamer!” burst
he in, almost angrily.
“Well, then,” said I, “you shall see me begin this moment, tor I will
get down here and walk briskly back to the town.” I called to the
postilions to pull up at the same time, and in spite of remonstrances,
entreaties,--almost beseeching from Mary Crofton,--I persisted in my
resolve, and bade them farewell.
Crofton was so much hurt that he could scarcely speak, and when he gave
me his hand it was in the coldest of manners.
“But you 'll keep our rendezvous, won't you!” said Mary; “we shall meet
at Rome.”
“I really wonder, Mary, how you can force our acquaintanceship where it
is so palpably declined. Good-bye,--farewell,” said he to me.
“Good-bye,” said I, with a gulp that almost choked me; and away drove
the carriage, leaving me standing in the train of dust it had raised.
Every crack of the postboys' whips gave me a shock as though I had felt
the thong on my own shoulders; and, at last, as sweeping round a turn of
the road the carriage disappeared from view, such was the sense of utter
desolation that came over me, that I sat down on a stone by the wayside,
overwhelmed. I do not know if I ever felt such an utter sense of
destitution as at that moment. “What a wealth of friends must a man
possess,” thought I, “who can afford to squander them in this fashion!
How could I have repelled the counsels that kindness alone could have
prompted? Surely Crofton must know far more of life than I did?” From
this I went on to inquire why it was that the world showed itself so
unforgiving to idleness in men of small fortune, since, if no burden to
the community, they ought to be as free as their richer brethren. It was
a puzzling theme, and though I revolved it long, I made but little of
it; the only solution that occurred to me was, that the idleness of the
humble man is not relieved by the splendors and luxuries which surround
a rich man's leisure, and that the world resents the pretensions of ease
unassociated with riches. In what a profound philosophy was it, then,
that Diogenes rolled his tub about the streets! There was a mock purpose
about it, that must have flattered his fellow-citizens. I feel assured
that a great deal of the butterfly-hunting and beetle-gathering that we
see around us is done in this spirit They are a set of idle folk anxious
to indulge their indolence without reproach.
Thus pondering and musing, I strolled back to the town. So still and
silent was it, so free from all movement of traffic or business, that
I was actually in the very centre of it without knowing it. There
were streets without passengers, and shops without customers, and even
_cafés_ without guests, and I wondered within myself why people should
thus congregate to do nothing, and I rambled on from street to alley,
and from alley to lane, never chancing upon one who had anything in
hand. At last I gained the side of the lake, along which a little
quay ran for some distance, ending in a sort of terraced walk, now
grass-grown and neglected. There were at least the charms of fresh air
and scenery here, though the worthy citizen seemed to hold them cheaply,
and I rambled along to the end, where, by a broad flight of steps, the
terrace communicated with the lake; a spot, doubtless, where, once on
a time, the burghers took the water and went out a-pleasuring with fat
fraus and fräuleins. I had reached the end, and was about to turn back
again, when I caught sight of a man, seated on one of the lower steps,
employed in watching two little toy ships which he had just launched.
Now, this seemed to me the very climax of indolence, and I sat myself
down on the parapet to observe him. His proceedings were indeed of the
strangest, for as there was no wind to fill the sails and his vessels
lay still and becalmed, he appeared to have bethought him of another
mode to impart interest to him. He weighted one of them with little
stones till he brought her gunwale level with the water, and then
pressing her gently with his hand, he made her sink slowly down to the
bottom. I 'm not quite certain whether I laughed outright, or that some
exclamation escaped me as I looked, but some noise I must unquestionably
have made, for he started and turned up his head, and I saw Harpar the
Englishman whom I had met the day before at Constance.
“Well, you 're not much the wiser after all,” said he, gruffly, and
without even saluting me.
There was in the words, and fierce expression of his face, something
that made me suspect him of insanity, and I would willingly have retired
without reply had he not risen and approached me.
“Eh,” repeated he, with a sneer, “ain't I right? You can make nothing of
it?”
“I really don't understand you!” said I. “I came down here by the merest
accident, and never was more astonished than to see you.”
“Oh, of course; I am well used to that sort of thing,” went he on in
the same tone of scoff. “I 've had some experience of these kinds of
accidents before; but, as I said, it's no use, you 're not within one
thousand miles of it, no, nor any man in Europe.”
It was quite clear to me now that he _was_ mad, and my only care was to
get speedily rid of him.
“I 'm not surprised,” said I, with an assumed ease,--“I'm not surprised
at your having taken to so simple an amusement, for really in a place so
dull as this any mode of passing the time would be welcome.”
“Simple enough when you know it,” said he, with a peculiar look.
“You arrived last night, I suppose?” said I, eager to get conversation
into some pleasanter channel.
“Yes, I got here very late. I had the misfortune to sprain my ankle, and
this detained me a long time on the way, and may keep me for a couple of
days more.”
I learned where he was stopping in the town, and seeing with what pain
and difficulty he moved, I offered him my aid to assist him on his way.
“Well, I 'll not refuse your help,” said he, dryly; “but Just go along
yonder, about five-and-twenty or thirty yards, and I'll join you. You
understand me, I suppose?”
Now, I really did not understand him, except to believe him perfectly
insane, and suggest to me the notion of profiting by his lameness to
make my escape with all speed. I conclude some generous promptings
opposed this course, for I obeyed his injunctions to the very letter,
and waited till he came up to me. He did so very slowly, and evidently
in much suffering, assisted by a stick in one hand, while he carried his
two little boats in the other.
“Shall I take charge of these for you?” said I, offering to carry them.
“No, don't trouble yourself,” said he in the same rude tone. “Nobody
touches these but myself.”
I now gave him my arm, and we moved slowly along.
“What has become of the vagabonds? Are they here with you?” asked he,
abruptly.
“I parted with them yesterday,” said I, shortly, and not wishing to
enter into further explanations.
“And you did wisely,” rejoined he, with a serious air. “Even when
these sort of creatures have nothing very bad about them, they are bad
company, out of the haphazard chance way they gain a livelihood. If you
reduce life to a game, you must yourself become a gambler. Now, there's
one feature of that sort of existence intolerable to an honest man; it
is, that to win himself, some one else must lose. Do you understand me?”
“I do, and am much struck by what you say.”
“In that case,” said he, with a nudge of his elbow against my side,--“in
that case you might as well have not come down to watch _me?_--eh?”
I protested stoutly against this mistake, but I could plainly perceive
with very little success.
“Let it be, let it be,” said he, with a shake of the head. “As I said
before, if you saw the thing done before your eyes you 'd make nothing
of it. I 'm not afraid of you, or all the men in Europe! There now,
there's a challenge to the whole of ye! Sit down every man of ye, with
the problem before ye, and see what you 'll make of it.”
“Ah,” thought I, “this is madness. Here is a poor monomaniac led away
into the land of wild thoughts and fancies by one dominating caprice;
who knows whether out of the realm of this delusion he may not be a man
acute and sensible.”
“No, no,” muttered he, half aloud; “there are, maybe, half a million of
men this moment manufacturing steam-engines; but it took one head, just
one head, to set them all working, and if it was n't for old Watt, the
world at this day would n't be five miles in advance of what it was a
century back. I see,” added he, after a moment, “you don't take much
interest in these sort of things. _Your_ line of parts is the walking
gentleman, eh? Well, bear in mind it don't pay; no, sir, it don't pay!
Here, this is my way; my lodging is down this lane. I'll not ask you to
come further; thank you for your help, and good-bye.”
“Let us not part here; come up to the inn and dine with me,” said I,
affecting his own blunt and abrupt manner.
“Why should _I_ dine with _you?_” asked he, roughly.
“I can't exactly say,” stammered I, “except out of good-fellowship,
just as, for instance, I accepted your invitation t' other morning to
breakfast.”
“Ah, yes, to be sure, so you did. Well, I 'll come. We shall be all
alone, I suppose?”
“Quite alone.”
“All right, for I have no coat but this one;” and he looked down at the
coarse sleeve as he spoke, with a strange and sad smile, and then waving
his band in token of farewell, he said, “I 'll join you in half an
hour,” and disappeared up the lane.
I have already owned that I did not like this man; he had a certain
short abrupt way that repelled me at every moment. When he differed in
opinion with me, he was not satisfied to record his dissent, but he
must set about demolishing my conviction, and this sort of intolerance
pervaded all he said. There was, too, that business-like practical tone
about him that jars fearfully on the sensitive fibre of the idler's
nature.
It was exactly in proportion as his society was distasteful to me, that
I felt a species of pride in associating with him, as though to say,
“I am not one of those who must be fawned on and flattered. I am of
a healthier and manlier stamp; I can afford to hear my judgments
arraigned, and my opinions opposed.” And in this humor I ascended the
stairs of the hotel, and entered the room where our table was already
laid out.
To compensate, as far as they could, for the rude reception of the day
before, they had given me now the “grand apartment” of the inn, which,
by a long balcony, looked over the lake, and that fine mountain range
that leads to the Splugen pass. A beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers
ornamented the centre of the small dinner-table, tastily decked with
Bohemian glass, and napkins with lace borders. I rather liked this
little display of elegance. It was a sort of ally on my side against
the utilitarian plainness of my guest. As I walked up and down the room,
awaiting his arrival, I could not help a sigh, and a very deep one too,
over the thought of what had been my enjoyment that moment if my guest
had been one of a different temperament,--a man willing to take me on
my own showing, and ready to accept any version I should like to give of
myself. How gracefully, how charmingly I could have played the host to
such a man! What vigor would it have imparted to my imagination,
what brilliancy to my fancy! With what a princely grace might I have
dispensed my hospitalities, as though such occasions were the daily
habit of my life; whereas a dinner with Harpar would be nothing more
or less than an airing with a “Slave in the chariot,”--a perpetual
reminder, like the face of a poor relation, that my lot was cast in an
humble sphere, and it was no use trying to disguise it.
“What's all this for?” said Harpar's harsh voice, as he entered the
room. “Why did n't you order our mutton-chop below stairs in the common
room, and not a banquet in this fashion? You must be well aware I could
n't do this sort of thing by _you_. Why, then, have you attempted it
with _me?_”
“I have always thought it was a host's prerogative,” said I, meekly, “to
be the arbiter of his own entertainment.”
“So it might where he is the arbiter of his purse; but you know well
enough neither you nor I have any pretension to these costly ways, and
they have this disadvantage, that they make all intercourse stilted
and unnatural. If you and I had to sit down to table, dressed in court
suits, with wigs and bags, ain't it likely we'd be easy and cordial
together? Well, this is precisely the same.”
“I am really sorry,” said I, with a forced appearance of courtesy,
“to have incurred so severe a lesson, but you must allow me this one
trangression before I begin to profit by it.” And so saying, I rang the
bell and ordered dinner.
Harpar made no reply, but walked the room, with his hands deep in his
pockets, humming a tune to himself as he went.
At last we sat down to table; everything was excellent and admirably
served, but we ate on in silence, not a syllable exchanged between us.
As the dessert appeared, I tried to open conversation. I affected to
seem easy and unconcerned, but the cold half-stern look of my companion
repelled all attempts, and I sat very sad and much discouraged, sipping
my wine.
“May I order some brandy-and-water? I like it better than these French
wines,” asked he, abruptly; and as I arose to ring for it, he added,
“and you 'll not object to me having a pipe of strong Cavendish?” And
therewith he produced a leather bag and a very much smoked meerschaum,
short and ungainly as his own figure. As he thrust his hand into the
pouch, a small boat, about the size of a lady's thimble, rolled out from
amidst the tobacco; he quickly took it and placed it in his waistcoat
pocket,--the act being done with a sort of hurry that with a man of less
self-possession might have perhaps evinced confusion.
“You fancy you 've seen something, don't you?” said he, with a defiant
laugh. “I 'd wager a five-pound note, if I had one, that you think at
this moment you have made a great discovery. Well, there it is, make
much of it!”
As he spoke, he produced the little boat, and laid it down before me. I
own that this speech and the act convinced me that he was insane; I was
aware that intense suspectfulness is the great characteristic of
madness, and everything tended to show that he was deranged.
Rather to conceal what was passing in my own mind than out of curiosity,
I took up the little toy to examine it. It was beautifully made, and
finished with a most perfect neatness; the only thing I could not
understand being four small holes on each side of the keel, fastened by
four little plugs.
“What are these for?” asked I.
“Can't you guess?” said he, laughingly.
“No; I have never seen such before.”
“Well,” said he, musingly, “perhaps they _are_ puzzling,--I suppose they
are. But mayhap, too, if I thought you 'd guess the meaning, I 'd not
have been so ready to show it to you.” And with this he replaced the
boat in his pocket and smoked away. “You ain't a genius, my worthy
friend, that's a fact,” said he, sententiously.
“I opine that the same judgment might be passed upon a great many?” said
I, testily.
“No,” continued he, following on his own thoughts without heeding my
remark, “_you 'll_ not set the Thames a-fire.”
“Is that the best test of a man's ability?” asked I, sneeringly.
“You're the sort of fellow that ought to be--let us see now what you
ought to be,--yes, you 're just the stamp of man for an apothecary.”
“You are so charming in your frankness,” said I, “that you almost tempt
me to imitate you.”
“And why not? Sure we oughtn't to talk to each other like two devils in
waiting. Out with what you have to say!”
“I was just thinking,” said I,--“led to it by that speculative turn of
yours,--I was just thinking in what station _your_ abilities would have
pre-eminently distinguished you.”
“Well, have you hit it?”
“I'm not quite certain,” said I, trying to screw up my courage for an
impertinence, “but I half suspect that in our great national works--our
lines of railroad, for instance--there must be a strong infusion of men
with tastes and habits resembling yours.”
“You mean the navvies?” broke he in. “You 're right, I was a navvy once;
I turned the first spadeful of earth on the Coppleston Junction, and,
seeing what a good thing might be made of it, I suggested task-work to
my comrades, and we netted from four-and-six to five shillings a day
each. In eight months after, I was made an inspector; so that you see
strong sinews can be good allies to a strong head and a stout will.”
I do not believe that the most angry rebuke, the most sarcastic
rejoinder, could have covered me with a tenth part of the shame and
confusion that did these few words. I'd have given worlds, if I had
them, to make a due reparation for my rudeness, but I knew not how to
accomplish it I looked into his face to read if I might hit upon some
trait by which his nature could be approached; but I might as well have
gazed at a line of railroad to guess the sort of town that it led to.
The stern, rugged, bold countenance seemed to imply little else than
daring and determination, and I could not but wonder how I had ever
dared to take a liberty with one of his stamp.
“Well,” said I, at last, and wishing to lead him back to his story, “and
after being made inspector--”
“You can speak German well,” said he, totally inattentive to my
question; “just ask one of these people when there will be any
conveyance from this to Ragatz.”
“Ragatz, of all places!” exclaimed I.
“Yes; they tell me it's good for the rheumatics, and I have got some
old shoulder pains I 'd like to shake off before winter. And then this
sprain, too; I foresee I shall not be able to walk much for some days to
come.”
“Ragatz is on my road; I am about to cross the Splugen into Italy; I'll
bear you company so far, if you have no objection.”
“Well, it may not seem civil to say it, but I have an objection,” said
he, rising from the table. “When I've got weighty things on my mind, I
've a bad habit of talking of them to myself aloud. I can't help it, and
so I keep strictly alone till my plans are all fixed and settled; after
that, there's no danger of my revealing them to any one. There now, you
have my reason, and you 'll not dispute that it's a good one.”
“You may not be too distrustful of yourself,” said I, laughing,
“but, assuredly, you are far too flattering in your estimate of _my_
acuteness.”
“I'll not risk it,” said he, bluntly, as he sought for his hat.
“Wait a moment,” said I. “You told me at Constance that you were in
want of money; at the time I was not exactly in funds myself. Yesterday,
however, I received a remittance; and if ten or twenty pounds be of any
service, they are heartily at your disposal.”
He looked at me fixedly, almost sternly, for a minute or two, and then
said,--
“Is this true, or is it that you have changed your mind about me?”
“True,” said I,--“strictly true.”
“Will this loan--I mean it to be a loan--inconvenience you much?”
“No, no; I make you the offer freely.”
“I take it, then. Let me have ten pounds; and write down there an
address where I am to remit it some day or other, though I can't say
when.”
“There may be some difficulty about that,” said I. “Stay. I mean to be
at Rome some time in the winter; send it to me there.”
“To what banker?”
“I have no banker; I never had a banker. There's my name, and let the
post-office be the address.”
“Whichever way you 're bent on going, you 're not on the road to be a
rich man,” said Harpar, as he deposited my gold in his leather purse;
“but I hope you 'll not lose by me. Good-bye.” He gave me his hand, not
very warmly or cordially, either, and was gone ere I well knew it.