One may not have an intention to flourish, and may be pardoned for a
semblance of it, in exclaiming, somewhat royally, as creator and owner
of the place: ‘There you see Lakelands.’
The conveyances from the railway station drew up on a rise of road
fronting an undulation, where our modern English architect’s fantasia
in crimson brick swept from central gables to flying wings, over pents,
crooks, curves, peaks, cowled porches, balconies, recesses, projections,
away to a red village of stables and dependent cottages; harmonious
in irregularity; and coloured homely with the greensward about it, the
pines beside it, the clouds above it. Not many palaces would be reckoned
as larger. The folds and swells and stream of the building along the
roll of ground, had an appearance of an enormous banner on the wind.
Nataly looked. Her next look was at Colney Durance. She sent the
expected nods to Victor’s carriage. She would have given the whole
prospect for the covering solitariness of her chamber. A multitude of
clashing sensations, and a throat-thickening hateful to her, compelled
her to summon so as to force herself to feel a groundless anger,
directed against none, against nothing, perfectly crazy, but her only
resource for keeping down the great wave surgent at her eyes.
Victor was like a swimmer in morning sea amid the exclamations
encircling him. He led through the straight passage of the galleried
hall, offering two fair landscapes at front door and at back, down to
the lake, Fredi’s lake; a good oblong of water, notable in a district
not abounding in the commodity. He would have it a feature of the
district; and it had been deepened and extended; up rose the springs,
many ran the ducts. Fredi’s pretty little bathshed or bower had a space
of marble on the three-feet shallow it overhung with a shade of carved
woodwork; it had a diving-board for an eight-feet plunge; a punt and
small row-boat of elegant build hard by. Green ran the banks about, and
a beechwood fringed with birches curtained the Northward length: morning
sun and evening had a fair face of water to paint. Saw man ever the like
for pleasing a poetical damsel? So was Miss Fredi, the coldest of the
party hitherto, and dreaming a preference of ‘old places’ like Creckholt
and Craye Farm, ‘captured to be enraptured,’ quite according to man’s
ideal of his beneficence to the sex. She pressed the hand of her young
French governess, Louise de Seilles. As in everything he did for his
girl, Victor pointed boastfully to his forethought of her convenience
and her tastes: the pine-panels of the interior, the shelves for her
books, pegs to hang her favourite drawings, and the couch-bunk under a
window to conceal the summerly recliner while throwing full light on
her book; and the hearth-square for logs, when she wanted fire: because
Fredi bathed in any weather: the oaken towel-coffer; the wood-carvings
of doves, tits, fishes; the rod for the flowered silken hangings she was
to choose, and have shy odalisque peeps of sunny water from her couch.
‘Fredi’s Naiad retreat, when she wishes to escape Herr Strauscher or
Signor Ruderi,’ said Victor, having his grateful girl warm in an arm;
‘and if they head after her into the water, I back her to leave them
puffing; she’s a dolphin. That water has three springs and gets all the
drainage of the upland round us. I chose the place chiefly on account of
it and the pines. I do love pines!’
‘But, excellent man! what do you not love?’ said Lady Grace, with the
timely hit upon the obvious, which rings.
‘It saves him from accumulation of tissue,’ said Colney.
‘What does?’ was eagerly asked by the wife of the homoeopathic Dr. John
Cormyn, a sentimental lady beset with fears of stoutness.
Victor cried: ‘Tush; don’t listen to Colney, pray.’
But she heard Colney speak of a positive remedy; more immediately
effective than an abjuration of potatoes and sugar. She was obliged by
her malady to listen, although detesting the irreverent ruthless man,
who could direct expanding frames, in a serious tone, to love; love
everybody, everything; violently and universally love; and so without
intermission pay out the fat created by a rapid assimilation of
nutriment. Obeseness is the most sensitive of our ailments: probably as
being aware, that its legitimate appeal to pathos is ever smothered in
its pudding-bed of the grotesque. She was pained, and showed it, and
was ashamed of herself for showing it; and that very nearly fetched the
tear.
‘Our host is an instance in proof,’ Colney said. He waved hand at the
house. His meaning was hidden; evidently he wanted victims. Sight
of Lakelands had gripped him with the fell satiric itch; and it is a
passion to sting and tear, on rational grounds. His face meanwhile,
which had points of the handsome, signified a smile asleep, as if
beneath a cloth. Only those who knew him well were aware of the
claw-like alertness under the droop of eyelids.
Admiration was the common note, in the various keys. The station
selected for the South-eastward aspect of the dark-red gabled pile on
its white shell-terrace, backed by a plantation of tall pines, a mounded
and full-plumed company, above the left wing, was admired, in files and
in volleys. Marvellous, effectively miraculous, was the tale of the vow
to have the great edifice finished within one year: and the strike of
workmen, and the friendly colloquy with them, the good reasoning, the
unanimous return to duty; and the doubling, the trebling of the number
of them; and the most glorious of sights--O the grand old English
working with a will! as Englishmen do when they come at last to heat;
and they conquer, there is then nothing that they cannot conquer. So
the conqueror said.--And admirable were the conservatories running three
long lines, one from the drawing-room, to a central dome for tropical
growths. And the parterres were admired; also the newly-planted Irish
junipers bounding the West-walk; and the three tiers of stately descent
from the three green terrace banks to the grassy slopes over the lake.
Again the lake was admired, the house admired. Admiration was evoked for
great orchid-houses ‘over yonder,’ soon to be set up.
Off we go to the kitchen-garden. There the admiration is genial,
practical. We admire the extent of the beds marked out for asparagus,
and the French disposition of the planting at wide intervals; and the
French system of training peach, pear, and plum trees on the walls to
win length and catch sun, we much admire. We admire the gardener. We are
induced temporarily to admire the French people. They are sagacious
in fruit-gardens. They have not the English Constitution, you think
rightly; but in fruit-gardens they grow for fruit, and not, as Victor
quotes a friend, for wood, which the valiant English achieve. We hear
and we see examples of sagacity; and we are further brought round to
the old confession, that we cannot cook; Colney Durance has us there; we
have not studied herbs and savours; and so we are shocked backward
step by step until we retreat precipitately into the nooks where waxen
tapers, carefully tended by writers on the Press, light-up mysterious
images of our national selves for admiration. Something surely we do, or
we should not be where we are. But what is it we do (excepting cricket,
of course) which others cannot do? Colney asks; and he excludes cricket
and football.
An acutely satiric man in an English circle, that does not resort to the
fist for a reply to him, may almost satiate the excessive fury roused
in his mind by an illogical people of a provocative prosperity, mainly
tongueless or of leaden tongue above the pressure of their necessities,
as he takes them to be. They give him so many opportunities. They are
angry and helpless as the log hissing to the saw. Their instinct to make
use of the downright in retort, restrained as it is by a buttoned coat
of civilization, is amusing, inviting. Colney Durance allured them to
the quag’s edge and plunged them in it, to writhe patriotically; and
although it may be said, that they felt their situation less than did he
the venom they sprang in his blood, he was cruel; he caused discomfort.
But these good friends about him stood for the country, an illogical
country; and as he could not well attack his host Victor Radnor, an
irrational man, he selected the abstract entity for the discharge of his
honest spite.
The irrational friend was deeper at the source of his irritation than
the illogical old motherland. This house of Lakelands, the senselessness
of his friend in building it and designing to live in it, after
experiences of an incapacity to stand in a serene contention with the
world he challenged, excited Colney’s wasp. He was punished, half way
to frenzy behind his placable demeanour, by having Dr. Schlesien for
chorus. And here again, it was the unbefitting, not the person, which
stirred his wrath. A German on English soil should remember the dues of
a guest. At the same time, Colney said things to snare the acclamation
of an observant gentleman of that race, who is no longer in his first
enthusiasm for English beef and the complexion of the women. ‘Ah, ya,
it is true, what you say: “The English grow as fast as odders, but
they grow to corns instead of brains.” They are Bull. Quaat true.’ He
bellowed on a laugh the last half of the quotation.
Colney marked him. His encounters with Fenellan were enlivening
engagements and left no malice; only a regret, when the fencing passed
his guard, that Fenellan should prefer to flash for the minute. He would
have met a pert defender of England, in the person of Miss Priscilla
Graves, if she had not been occupied with observation of the bearing
of Lady Grace Halley toward Mr. Victor Radnor; which displeased her on
behalf of Mrs. Victor; she was besides hostile by race and class to an
aristocratic assumption of licence. Sparing Colney, she with some scorn
condemned Mr. Pempton for allowing his country to be ridiculed without
a word. Mr. Pempton believed that the Vegetarian movement was
more progressive in England than in other lands, but he was at the
disadvantage with the fair Priscilla, that eulogy of his compatriots
on this account would win her coldest approval. ‘Satire was never an
argument,’ he said, too evasively.
The Rev. Septimus Barmby received the meed of her smile, for saying in
his many-fathom bass, with an eye on Victor: ‘At least we may boast of
breeding men, who are leaders of men.’
The announcement of luncheon, by Victor’s butler Arlington, opportunely
followed and freighted the remark with a happy recognition of that which
comes to us from the hands of conquerors. Dr. Schlesien himself, no
antagonist to England, but like Colney Durance, a critic, speculated in
view of the spread of pic-nic provision beneath the great glass dome, as
to whether it might be, that these English were on another start out of
the dust in vigorous commercial enterprise, under leadership of one of
their chance masterly minds-merchant, in this instance: and be debated
within, whether Genius, occasionally developed in a surprising superior
manner by these haphazard English, may not sometimes wrest the prize
from Method; albeit we count for the long run, that Method has assurance
of success, however late in the race to set forth.
Luncheon was a merry meal, with Victor and Nataly for host and hostess;
Fenellan, Colney Durance, and Lady Grace Halley for the talkers. A gusty
bosom of sleet overhung the dome, rattled on it, and rolling Westward,
became a radiant mountain-land, partly worthy of Victor’s phrase: ‘A
range of Swiss Alps in air.’
‘With periwigs Louis Quatorze for peaks,’ Colney added.
And Fenellan improved on him: ‘Or a magnified Bench of Judges at the
trial of your caerulean Phryne.’
The strip of white cloud flew on a whirl from the blue, to confirm it.
But Victor and Lady Grace rejected any play of conceits upon nature.
Violent and horrid interventions of the counterfeit, such mad similes
appeared to them, when pure coin was offered. They loathed the Rev.
Septimus Barmby for proclaiming, that he had seen ‘Chapters of Hebrew
History in the grouping of clouds.’
His gaze was any one of the Chapters upon Nesta. The clerical
gentleman’s voice was of a depth to claim for it the profoundest which
can be thought or uttered; and Nesta’s tender youth had taken so strong
an impression of sacredness from what Fenellan called ‘his chafer
tones,’ that her looks were often given him in gratitude, for the mere
sound. Nataly also had her sense of safety in acquiescing to such a
voice coming from such a garb. Consequently, whenever Fenellan and
Colney were at him, drawing him this way and that for utterances
cathedral in sentiment and sonorousness, these ladies shed protecting
beams; insomuch that he was inspired to the agreeable conceptions
whereof frequently rash projects are an issue.
Touching the neighbours of Lakelands, they were principally enriched
merchants, it appeared; a snippet or two of the fringe of aristocracy
lay here and there among them; and one racy-of-the-soil old son of
Thames, having the manners proper to last century’s yeoman. Mr. Pempton
knew something of this quaint Squire of Hefferstone, Beaves Urmsing by
name; a ruddy man, right heartily Saxon; a still glowing brand amid the
ashes of the Heptarchy hearthstone; who had a song, The Marigolds, which
he would troll out for you anywhere, on any occasion. To have so near
to the metropolis one from the centre of the venerable rotundity of
the country, was rare. Victor exclaimed ‘Come!’ in ravishment over the
picturesqueness of a neighbour carrying imagination away to the founts
of England; and his look at Nataly proposed. Her countenance was
inapprehensive. He perceived resistance, and said: ‘I have met two
or three of them in the train: agreeable men: Gladding, the banker; a
General Fanning; that man Blathenoy, great billbroker. But the fact
is, close on London, we’re independent of neighbours; we mean to be.
Lakelands and London practically join.’
‘The mother city becoming the suburb,’ murmured Colney, in report of the
union.
‘You must expect to be invaded, sir,’ said Mr. Sowerby; and Victor
shrugged: ‘We are pretty safe.’
‘The lock of a door seems a potent security until some one outside is
heard fingering the handle nigh midnight,’ Fenellan threw out his airy
nothing of a remark.
It struck on Nataly’s heart. ‘So you will not let us be lonely here,’
she said to her guests.
The Rev. Septimus Barmby was mouthpiece for congregations. Sound of a
subterranean roar, with a blast at the orifice, informed her of their
‘very deep happiness in the privilege.’
He comforted her. Nesta smiled on him thankfully.
‘Don’t imagine, Mrs. Victor, that you can be shut off from neighbours,
in a house like this; and they have a claim,’ said Lady Grace, quitting
the table.
Fenellan and Colney thought so:
‘Like mice at a cupboard.’
‘Beetles in a kitchen.’
‘No, no-no, no!’ Victor shook head, pitiful over the good people likened
to things unclean, and royally upraising them: in doing which, he
scattered to vapour the leaden incubi they had been upon his flatter
moods of late. ‘No, but it’s a rapture to breathe the air here!’ His
lifted chest and nostrils were for the encouragement of Nataly to soar
beside him.
She summoned her smile and nodded.
He spoke aside to Lady Grace: ‘The dear soul wants time to compose
herself after a grand surprise.’
She replied: ‘I think I could soon be reconciled. How much land?’
‘In treaty for some hundred and eighty or ninety acres... in all
at present three hundred and seventy, including plantations, lake,
outhouses.’
‘Large enough; land paying as it does--that is, not paying. We shall be
having to gamble in the City systematically for subsistence.’
‘You will not so much as jest on the subject.’
Coming from such a man, that was clear sky thunder. The lady played
it off in a shadowy pout and shrug while taking a stamp of his
masterfulness, not so volatile.
She said to Nataly: ‘Our place in Worcestershire is about half the size,
if as much. Large enough when we’re not crowded out with gout and can
open to no one. Some day you will visit us, I hope.’
‘You we count on here, Lady Grace.’
It was an over-accentuated response; unusual with this well-bred woman;
and a bit of speech that does not flow, causes us to speculate. The lady
resumed: ‘I value the favour. We’re in a horsey-doggy-foxy circle down
there. We want enlivening. If we had your set of musicians and talkers!’
Nataly smiled in vacuous kindness, at a loss for the retort of a
compliment to a person she measured. Lady Grace also was an amiable
hostile reviewer. Each could see, to have cited in the other, defects
common to the lower species of the race, admitting a superior personal
quality or two; which might be pleaded in extenuation; and if the
apology proved too effective, could be dispersed by insistence upon it,
under an implied appeal to benevolence. When we have not a liking for
the creature whom we have no plain cause to dislike, we are minutely
just.
During the admiratory stroll along the ground-floor rooms, Colney
Durance found himself beside Dr. Schlesien; the latter smoking,
striding, emphasizing, but bearable, as the one of the party who was
not perpetually at the gape in laudation. Colney was heard to say:
‘No doubt: the German is the race the least mixed in Europe: it might
challenge aboriginals for that. Oddly, it has invented the Cyclopaedia
for knowledge, the sausage for nutrition! How would you explain it?’
Dr. Schlesien replied with an Atlas shrug under fleabite to the
insensately infantile interrogation.
He in turn was presently heard.
‘But, my good sir! you quote me your English Latin. I must beg of you
you write it down. It is orally incomprehensible to Continentals.’
‘We are Islanders!’ Colney shrugged in languishment.
‘Oh, you do great things...’ Dr. Schlesien rejoined in kindness, making
his voice a musical intimation of the smallness of the things.
‘We build great houses, to employ our bricks’
‘No, Colney, to live in,’ said Victor.
‘Scarcely long enough to warm them.’
‘What do you... fiddle!’
‘They are not Hohenzollerns!’
‘It is true,’ Dr. Schlesien called. ‘No, but you learn discipline; you
build. I say wid you, not Hohenzollerns you build! But you shall look
above: Eyes up. Ire necesse est. Good, but mount; you come to something.
Have ideas.’
‘Good, but when do we reach your level?’
‘Sir, I do not say more than that we do not want instruction from
foreigners.’
‘Pupil to paedagogue indeed. You have the wreath in Music, in
Jurisprudence, Chemistry, Scholarship, Beer, Arms, Manners.’
Dr. Schlesien puffed a tempest of tobacco and strode.
‘He is chiselling for wit in the Teutonic block,’ Colney said, falling
back to Fenellan.
Fenellan observed: ‘You might have credited him with the finished
sculpture.’
‘They’re ahead of us in sticking at the charge of wit.’
‘They’ve a widening of their swallow since Versailles.’
‘Manners?’
‘Well, that’s a tight cravat for the Teutonic thrapple! But he’s off by
himself to loosen it.’
Victor came on the couple testily. ‘What are you two concocting! I
say, do keep the peace, please. An excellent good fellow; better up in
politics than any man I know; understands music; means well, you can
see. You two hate a man at all serious. And he doesn’t bore with his
knowledge. A scholar too.’
‘If he’ll bring us the atmosphere of the groves of Academe, he may swing
his ferule pickled in himself, and welcome,’ said Fenellan.
‘Yes!’ Victor nodded at a recognized antagonism in Fenellan; ‘but
Colney’s always lifting the Germans high above us.’
‘It’s to exercise his muscles.’
Victor headed to the other apartments, thinking that the Rev. Septimus
and young Sowerby, Old England herself, were spared by the diversion
of these light skirmishing shots from their accustomed victims to the
‘masculine people of our time. His friends would want a drilling to be
of aid to him in his campaign to come. For it was one, and a great one.
He remembered his complete perception of the plan, all the elements of
it, the forward whirling of it, just before the fall on London Bridge.
The greatness of his enterprise laid such hold of him that the smallest
of obstacles had a villanous aspect; and when, as anticipated, Colney
and Fenellan were sultry flies for whomsoever they could fret, he was
blind to the reading of absurdities which caused Fredi’s eyes to stream
and Lady Grace beside him to stand awhile and laugh out her fit. Young
Sowerby appeared forgiving enough--he was a perfect gentleman: but
Fredi’s appalling sense of fun must try him hard. And those young
fellows are often more wounded by a girl’s thoughtless laughter than by
a man’s contempt. Nataly should have protected him. Her face had the
air of a smiling general satisfaction; sign of a pleasure below the
mark required; sign too of a sleepy partner for a battle. Even in the
wonderful kitchen, arched and pillared (where the explanation came to
Nesta of Madame Callet’s frequent leave of absence of late, when an
inferior dinner troubled her father in no degree), even there his Nataly
listened to the transports of the guests with benign indulgence.
‘Mama!’ said Nesta, ready to be entranced by kitchens in her bubbling
animation: she meant the recalling of instances of the conspirator her
father had been.
‘You none of you guessed Armandine’s business!’ Victor cried, in a glee
that pushed to make the utmost of this matter and count against chagrin.
‘She was off to Paris; went to test the last inventions:--French brains
are always alert:--and in fact, those kitchen-ranges, gas and coal, and
the apparatus for warming plates and dishes, the whole of the battery is
on the model of the Duc d’Ariane’s--finest in Europe. Well,’ he agreed
with Colney, ‘to say France is enough.’
Mr. Pempton spoke to Miss Graves of the task for a woman to conduct a
command so extensive. And, as when an inoffensive wayfarer has chanced
to set foot near a wasp’s nest, out on him came woman and her champions,
the worthy and the sham, like a blast of powder.
Victor ejaculated: ‘Armandine!’ Whoever doubted her capacity, knew not
Armandine; or not knowing Armandine, knew not the capacity in women.
With that utterance of her name, he saw the orangey spot on London
Bridge, and the sinking Tower and masts and funnels, and the rising of
them, on his return to his legs; he recollected, that at the very edge
of the fall he had Armandine strongly in his mind. She was to do her
part: Fenellan and Colney on the surface, she below: and hospitality
was to do its part, and music was impressed--the innocent Concerts; his
wealth, all his inventiveness were to serve;--and merely to attract
and win the tastes of people, for a social support to Lakelands! Merely
that? Much more:--if Nataly’s coldness to the place would but allow him
to form an estimate of how much. At the same time, being in the grasp of
his present disappointment, he perceived a meanness in the result,
that was astonishing and afflicting. He had not ever previously felt
imagination starving at the vision of success. Victor had yet to learn,
that the man with a material object in aim, is the man of his object;
and the nearer to his mark, often the farther is he from a sober self;
he is more the arrow of his bow than bow to his arrow. This we pay for
scheming: and success is costly; we find we have pledged the better half
of ourselves to clutch it; not to be redeemed with the whole handful of
our prize! He was, however, learning after his leaping fashion. Nataly’s
defective sympathy made him look at things through the feelings she
depressed. A shadow of his missed Idea on London Bridge seemed to cross
him from the close flapping of a wing within reach. He could say only,
that it would, if caught, have been an answer to the thought disturbing
him.
Nataly drew Colney Durance with her eyes to step beside her, on the
descent to the terrace. Little Skepsey hove in sight, coming swift as
the point of an outrigger over the flood.