MRS JELLYBAGS.
Oh dear!--this is a very long morning. I feel such suspense--such
anxiety; and poor Sergeant-major O'Callaghan is quite in a perspiration!
He is drinking and smoking down in the kitchen to pass away the time,
and if the lawyer don't come soon, the dear man will be quite fuddled.
He talks of buying a farm in the country. Well, we shall see; but if
the Sergeant thinks that he will make ducks and drakes of my money, he
is mistaken. I have not been three times a widow for nothing--I will
have it all settled upon myself; that must and shall be, or else--no
Sergeant O'Callaghan for me!
_Enter_ CLEMENTINA.
So, here you are, Miss. We'll wait till the will is read, and then we
shall see who is mistress here.
CLEM. I am as anxious as you, Mrs Jellybags. You may have wheedled my
poor uncle to make up the will in your favour; if so, depend upon it, I
shall expect nothing from your hands.
JEL. I should rather think not, Miss. If I recollect right, you threw
the carminative mixture in my face.
CLEM. And made you blush for the first time in your life.
JEL. I shall not blush to slam the door in your face.
CLEM. Rather than be indebted to you, I would beg my bread from door to
door.
JEL. I expect that you very soon will.
_Enter_ EDWARD.
EDW. My dearest Clementina, I have come to support you on this trying
occasion.
JEL. And ascertain how matters stand, before you decide upon marrying,
I presume, Mr Edward.
EDW. Madam, I am above all pecuniary considerations.
JEL. So everybody says, when they think themselves sure of money.
EDW. You judge of others by yourself.
JEL. Perhaps I do--I certainly do expect to be rewarded for my long and
faithful services.
CLEM. Do not waste words upon her, my dear.--You have my solemn
promise; nothing shall change my feeling towards you.
JEL. That may be; but did it never occur to you, Miss, that the
gentleman's feelings might alter?
EDW. Detestable wretch!
[_Hands_ CLEMENTINA _to a chair on the right, and sits by her. Enter
Nephews_ JOHN, THOMAS, WILLIAM, _and_ JAMES, _all with white
pocket-handkerchiefs in their hands--they take their seats two right and
two left_.]
JEL. (_aside_.) Here they all come, like crows that smell carrion.
How odious is the selfishness of this world! But here is Mr Gumarabic.
How do you do, Sir? (_Curtsies with a grave air_.)
GUM. Very well, I thank you, Mrs Jellybags. Can't say the--same of
all my patients. Just happened to pass by--thought I would step in and
hear the will read--odd, that I should pop in at the time--very odd.
Pray, may I ask, my dear Mrs Jellybags, were you present at the making
of the will?
JEL. No, my dear sir; my nerves would not permit me.
GUM. Nerves!--odd, very odd! Then you don't know how things are
settled?
JEL. No more than the man in the moon, my dear sir.
GUM. Man in the moon!--odd comparison that from a woman!--very odd!
Hope my chance won't prove all moonshine.
JEL. I should think not, my dear sir; but here comes Mr Seedy, and we
shall know all about it.
[_Enter_ Mr SEEDY--Mrs JELLYBAGS, _all courtesy, waves her hand to a
chair in the centre, with a table before it_. Mr SEEDY _sits down,
pulls the will out of his pocket, lays it on the table, takes out his
snuff-box, takes a pinch, then his handkerchief, blows his nose, snuffs
the candles, takes his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, puts them
on, breaks the seals, and bows to the company_: Mrs JELLYBAGS _has
taken her seat on the left next to him, and_ Dr GUMARABIC _by her
side_. Mrs JELLYBAGS _sobs very loud, with her handkerchief to her
face_.]
SEEDY. Silence, if you please.
[Mrs JELLYBAGS _stops sobbing immediately_.]
EDW. (_putting his arm round_ CLEMENTINA'S _waist_.) My dearest
Clementina!
[Mr SEEDY _hems twice, and then reads_,--]
"The last Will and Testament of Christopher Cadaverous, Gentleman, of
Copse horton, in the County of Cumberland.
"I, Christopher Cadaverous, being at this time in sound mind, do hereby
make my last will and testament.
"First, I pray that I may be forgiven all my manifold sins and
wickedness, and I do beg forgiveness of all those whom I may have
injured unintentionally or otherwise; and at the same time do pardon all
those who may have done me wrong, even to John Jones, the turnpike man,
who unjustly made me pay the threepenny toll twice over on Easter last,
when I went up to receive my dividends.
"My property, personal and real, I devise to my two friends, Solomon
Lazarus, residing at Number 3, Lower Thames-street, and Hezekiah Flint,
residing at Number 16, Lothbury, to have and to hold for the following
uses and purposes:--
"First, to my dearly beloved niece, Clementina Montagu, I leave the sum
of one hundred and fifty pounds, three and a half per cent consols, for
her sole use and benefit, to be made over to her, both principal and
interest, on the day of her marriage." [EDWARD _withdraws his arm from_
CLEMENTINA'S _waist--turns half round from her, and falls back in his
chair with a pish_!]
"To my nephew, Thomas Montagu, I leave the sum of nineteen pounds
nineteen shilling and sixpence--having deducted the other sixpence to
avoid the legacy duty."
[THOMAS _turns from the lawyer with his face to the front of the stage;
crossing his legs_.]
"To my nephew, John Montagu, I leave also the sum of nineteen pounds
nineteen shillings and sixpence."
[JOHN _turns away in the same manner_.]
"To my nephew, once removed, James Stirling, I leave the sum of five
pounds to purchase a suit of mourning."
[JAMES _turns away as the others_.]
"To my nephew, once removed, William Stirling, I leave the sum of five
pounds to purchase a suit of mourning."
[WILLIAM _turns away as the others_.]
"To my kind and affectionate housekeeper, Mrs Martha Jellybags--"
[Mrs JELLYBAGS _sobs loudly, and cries_ "Oh dear! Oh dear!"]
Mr SEEDY. Silence, if you please. (_Reads_.)
"In return for all her attention to me during my illness, and her ten
years' service, I leave the whole of my--"
[Mr SEEDY _having come to the bottom of the page lays down the will,
takes out his snuff-box, takes a pinch, blows his nose, snuffs the
candles, and proceeds_.]
"I leave the whole of my wardrobe, for her entire use and disposal; and
also my silver watch with my key and seal hanging to it.
"And having thus provided for--"
[Mrs JELLYBAGS, _who has been listening attentively, interrupts_ Mr
SEEDY _in great agitation_.]
JEL. Will you be pleased to read that part over again?
SEEDY. Certainly, ma'am. "I leave the whole of my wardrobe, and also
my silver watch, with the key and seal hanging to it."
[Mrs JELLYBAGS _screams, and falls back in a swoon on her chair--no one
assists her_.]
"And having thus provided for all my relations, I do hereby devise the
rest of my property to the said Solomon Lazarus and Hezekiah Flint, to
have and to hold for the building and endowment of an hospital for
diseases of the heart, lights, liver, and spleen, as set off by the
provisions in the schedule annexed to my will as part and codicil to
it."
SEEDY. Would the relations like me to read the provisions?
OMNES. No! no! no!
[Mr SEEDY _is about to fold up the papers_.]
GUM. I beg your pardon, sir, but is there no other codicil?
SEEDY. I beg your pardon, Mr Gumarabic, I recollect now there is one
relative to you.
GUM. (_nods his head_.) I thought so.
[SEEDY _reads_.]
"And whereas I consider that my apothecary, Mr Haustus Gumarabic, hath
sent in much unnecessary physic, during my long illness--it is my
earnest request that my executors will not fail to tax his bill."
GUM. (_rises and comes forward_.) Tax my bill!--well that is odd, very
odd! I may as well go and look after my patients. [_Exit_.]
[JAMES _and_ WILLIAM _come forward_.]
JAMES. I say, Bill, how are you off for a suit of mourning?
WILL. Thanky for nothing, Jem. If the old gentleman don't go to heaven
until I put it on, he will be in a very bad way. Come along, it's no
use staying here.
[JOHN _and_ THOMAS _come forward_.]
JOHN. I say, Tom, how are you off for nineteen pounds nineteen and six?
Heh!
THOS. Let's toss and see which shall have both legacies. Here goes--
heads or tails?
JOHN. Woman for ever.
THOS. You've won, so there's an end of not only my expectations but
realities. Come along, Mrs Jellybags must be anxious to look over her
wardrobe.
JOHN. Yes, and also the silver watch and the key and seal hanging to
it. Good bye, Jemmy! Ha! ha!
[_Exeunt, laughing_.]
CLEM. For shame, John. (_Turns to_ EDWARD.) My dear Edward, do not
appear so downcast. I acknowledge that I am myself much mortified and
disappointed--but we must submit to circumstances. What did I tell you
before this will was read?--that nothing could alter my feelings towards
you, did I not?
EDW. (_with indifference_.) Yes.
CLEM. Why then annoy yourself, my dear Edward?
EDW. The confounded old junks!
CLEM. Nay, Edward, recollect that he is dead--I can forgive him.
EDW. But I won't. Has he not dashed my cup of bliss to the ground?
Heavens! what delightful anticipations I had formed of possessing you
and competence--all gone!
CLEM. All gone, dear Edward?
[Mrs JELLYBAGS, _who has been sitting very still, takes her
handkerchief from her eyes and listens_.]
EDW. Yes, gone!--gone for ever! Do you imagine, my ever dear
Clementina, that I would be so base, so cruel, so regardless of you and
your welfare, to entrap you into marriage with only one hundred and
fifty pounds! No, no!--judge me better. I sacrifice myself--my
happiness--all for you!--banish myself from your dear presence, and
retire to pass the remainder of my existence in misery and regret,
maddened with the feeling that some happier mortal will obtain that dear
hand, and will rejoice in the possession of those charms which I had too
fondly, too credulously, imagined as certain to be mine.
[_Takes out his handkerchief and covers his face_; CLEMENTINA _also puts
her handkerchief to her face and weeps_. Mrs JELLYBAGS _nods her head
ironically_.]
CLEM. Edward!
EDW. My dear, dear Clementina!
CLEM. You won't have me?
EDW. My honour forbids it. If you knew my feelings--how this poor
heart is racked!
CLEM. Don't leave me, Edward. Did you not say that for richer or for
poorer, for better or for worse, you would be mine, till death did us
part?
EDW. Did I!
CLEM. You know you did, Edward.
EDW. It's astonishing how much nonsense we talk when in love. My
dearest Clementina, let us be rational. We are almost without a
sixpence. There is an old adage, that when poverty comes in at the
door, love flies out of the window. Shall I then make you miserable!
No! no! Hear me, Clementina. I will be generous. I now absolve you
from all your vows. You are free. Should the time ever come that
prosperity shine upon me, and I find that I have sufficient for both of
us of that dross which I despise, then will I return, and, should my
Clementina not have entered into any other engagement, throw my fortune
and my person at her feet. Till then, dearest Clementina, farewell!
CLEM. (_sinking into a chair sobbing_.) Cruel Edward! Oh, my heart
will break!
EDW. I can bear it myself no longer. Farewell! farewell! [_Exit_.]
JEL. (_coming forward_.) Well, this is some comfort.--(_To_
CLEMENTINA.) Did I not tell you, Miss, that if you did not change your
mind, others might?
CLEM. Leave me, leave me.
JEL. No, I shan't; I have as good a right here as you, at all events.
I shall stay, Miss.
CLEM. (_rising_.) Stay then--but I shall not. Oh, Edward! Edward!
[_Exit, weeping_.]
JEL. (_alone_.) Well, I really thought I should have burst--to be
forced not to allow people to suppose that I cared, when I should like
to tear the old wretch out of his coffin to beat him. _His_ wardrobe!
If people knew his wardrobe as well as I do, who have been patching at
it these last ten years--not a shirt or a stocking that would fetch
sixpence! And as for his other garments, why a Jew would hardly put
them into his bag! (_Crying_.) Oh dear! oh dear! After all, I'm just
like Miss Clementina; for Sergeant O'Callaghan, when he knows all this,
will as surely walk off without beat of drum, as did Mr Edward--and
that too with all the money I have lent him. Oh these men! these men!--
whether they are living or dying there is nothing in them but treachery
and disappointment! When they pretend to be in love, they only are
trying for your money; and even when they make their wills, they leave
to those behind them nothing but _ill-will_.
[_Exit, crying, off the stage as the curtain falls_.]
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR.
THE SKY-BLUE DOMINO.
It was a flue autumnal evening; I had been walking with a friend until
dusk on the Piazza Grande, or principal square in the town of Lucca. We
had been conversing of England, our own country, from which I had then
banished myself for nearly four years, having taken up my residence in
Italy to fortify a weak constitution, and having remained there long
after it was requisite for my health from an attachment to its pure sky,
and the _dolce far niente_ which so wins upon you in that luxurious
climate. We had communicated to each other the contents of our
respective letters arrived by the last mail; had talked over politics,
great men, acquaintances, friends and kindred; and, tired of
conversation, had both sank into a pleasing reverie as we watched the
stars twinkling above us, when my friend rose hastily and bid me good
night.
"Where are you going, Albert?" inquired I.
"I had nearly forgotten I had an appointment this evening. I promised
to meet somebody at the Marquesa di Cesto's masquerade."
"Pshaw! are you not tired of these things?" replied I; "that eternal
round of black masks and dominos of all colours; heavy harlequins, fools
and clowns by nature wearing their proper dresses there, and only in
masquerade when out of it; nuns who have no holiness in their ideas,
friars without a spice of religion, ugly Venuses, Dianas without
chastity, and Hebes as old as your grandmother."
"All very true, Herbert, and life itself is masquerade enough; but the
fact is, that I have an appointment: it is of importance, and I must not
fail."
"Well, I wish you more amusement than I have generally extracted from
these burlesque meetings," replied I. "Adieu, and may you be
successful!" And Albert hastened away.
I remained another half hour reclining on the bench, and then returned
to my lodgings. My servant Antonio lighted the candle and withdrew. On
the table lay a note; it was an invitation from the Marquesa. I threw
it on one side and took up a book, one that required reflection and deep
examination; but the rattling of the wheels of the carriages as they
whirled along past my window would not permit me to command my
attention. I threw down the book; and taking a chair at the window,
watched the carriages full of masks as they rolled past, apparently so
eager in the pursuit of pleasure. I was in a cynical humour. What
fools, thought I, and yet what numbers will be there; there will be an
immense crowd; and what can be the assignation which Albert said was of
such consequence? Such was my reflection for the next ten minutes,
during which at least fifty carriages and other vehicles had passed in
review before me.
And then I thought of the princely fortune of the Marquesa, the splendid
palazzo at which the masquerade was given, and the brilliant scene which
would take place.
"The Grand Duke is to be there, and everybody of distinction in Lucca.
I have a great mind to go myself."
A few minutes more elapsed. I felt that I was lonely, and I made up my
mind that I would go. I turned from the window and rang the bell.
"Antonio, see if you can procure me a domino, a dark-coloured one if
possible; and tell Carlo to bring the carriage round as soon as he can."
Antonio departed, and was away so long that the carriage was at the door
previous to his return.
"Signor, I am sorry, very, very sorry; but I have run to every shop in
Lucca, and there is nothing left but a sky-blue domino, which I have
brought with me."
"Sky-blue! why, there will not be two sky-blue dominos in the whole
masquerade: I might as well tell my name at once, I shall be so
conspicuous."
"You are as well hidden under a sky-blue domino as a black one, Signor,
if you choose to keep your own secrets," observed Antonio.
"Very true," replied I, "give me my mask."
Enshrouding myself in the sky-blue domino, I went down the stairs, threw
myself into the carriage, and directed Carlo to drive to the palazzo of
the Marquesa.
In half an hour we arrived at the entrance-gates of the Marquesa's
superb country seat. From these gates to the palazzo, a sweep of
several hundred yards, the avenue though which the driver passed was
loaded with variegated lamps, hanging in graceful festoons from branch
to branch; and the notes of music from the vast entrance-hall of the
palazzo floated through the still air. When I arrived at the area in
front of the flight of marble steps which formed the entrance of the
palazzo, I was astonished at the magnificence, the good taste, and the
total disregard of expense which were exhibited. The palazzo itself
appeared like the fabric built of diamonds and precious stones by the
genii who obeyed the ring and lamp of Aladdin, so completely was its
marble front hidden with a mass of many-coloured lamps, the reflection
from whose galaxy of light rendered it bright as day for nearly one
hundred yards around; various mottoes and transparencies were arranged
in the walks nearest to the palazzo; and then all was dark, rendered
still darker from the contrast with the flood of light which poured to a
certain distance from the scene of festivity. Groups of characters and
dominos were walking to and fro in every direction; most of them
retracing their steps when they arrived at the sombre walks and alleys,
some few pairs only continuing their route where no listeners were to be
expected.
This is an animating scene, thought I, as the carriage stopped, and I am
not sorry that I have made one of the party. As soon as I had
descended, I walked up the flight of marble steps which led to the
spacious hall in which the major part of the company were collected.
The music had, for a moment, ceased to play; and finding that the
perfume of the exotics which decorated the hall was too powerful, I was
again descending the steps, when my hand was seized and warmly pressed
by one in a violet-coloured domino.
"I am so glad that you are come; we were afraid that you would not. I
will see you again directly," said the domino; and it then fell back
into the crowd and disappeared.
It immediately occurred to me that it was my friend Albert who spoke to
me. "Very odd," thought I, "that he should have found me out!" And
again I fell into the absurdity of imagining that because I had put on a
conspicuous domino, I was sure to be recognised. "What can he want with
me? We must be in some difficulty, some unexpected one, that is
certain." Such were my reflections as I slowly descended the steps,
occasionally pausing for a moment on one, as I was lost in conjecture,
when I was again arrested by a slight slap on the shoulder. I looked
round: it was a female; and although she wore her half-mask, it was
evident that she was young, and I felt convinced that she was beautiful.
"Not a word," whispered she, putting her finger to her lip; "follow me."
Of course I followed: who could resist such a challenge?
"You are late," said the incognito, when we had walked so far away from
the palazzo as to be out of hearing of the crowd.
"I did not make up my mind to come until an hour ago," replied I.
"I was so afraid that you would not come. Albert was sure that you
would, he was right. He told me just now that he had spoken to you."
"What! was that Albert in the rose-coloured domino?"
"Yes; but I dare not stay now--my father will be looking for me. Albert
is keeping him in conversation. In half an hour he will speak to you
again. Has he explained to you what has occurred?"
"Not one word."
"If he has not had time--and I doubt if he will have, as he must attend
to the preparations--I will write a few lines, if I can, and explain, or
at least tell you what to do; but I am so harassed, so frightened! We
do indeed require your assistance. Adieu!" So saying, the fair unknown
tripped hastily away.
"What the deuce is all this?" muttered I, as I watched her retreating
figure. "Albert said that he had an appointment, but he did not make me
his confidant. It appears that something which has occurred this night
occasions him to require my assistance. Well, I will not fail him."
For about half an hour I sauntered up and down between the lines of
orange-trees which were dressed up with variegated lamps, and shed their
powerful fragrance in the air: I ruminated upon what might be my
friend's intentions, and what might be the result of an intrigue carried
on in a country where the stiletto follows Love so close through all the
mazes of his labyrinth, when I was again accosted by the violet-coloured
domino.
"Hist!" whispered he, looking carefully round as he thrust a paper into
my hand; "read this after I leave you. In one hour from this be you on
this spot. Are you armed?"
"No," replied I; "but Albert--"
"You may not need it; but nevertheless take this,--I cannot wait." So
saying, he put a stiletto into my hand, and again made a hasty retreat.
It had been my intention to have asked Albert what was his plan, and
further why he did not speak English instead of Italian, as he would
have been less liable to be understood if overheard by eavesdroppers;
but a little reflection told me that he was right in speaking Italian,
as the English language overheard would have betrayed him, or at least
have identified him as a foreigner.
"A very mysterious affair this!" thought I; "but, however, this paper
will, I presume, explain the business. That there is a danger in it is
evident, or he would not have given me this weapon;" and I turned the
stiletto once or twice to the light of the lamp next to me, examining
its blade, when, looking up, I perceived a black domino standing before
me.
"It is sharp enough, I warrant," said the domino; "you have but to
strike home. I have been waiting for you in the next walk, which I
thought was to be our rendezvous. Here is a paper which you will fasten
to his dress. I will contrive that he shall be here in an hour hence by
a pretended message. After his death you will put this packet into his
bosom;--you understand. Fail not: remember the one thousand sequins;
and here is my ring, which I will redeem as soon as your work is done.
The others will soon be here. The pass-word is `Milano.' But I must
not be seen here. Why a sky-blue domino? it is too conspicuous for
escape;" and as I received from him the packet and ring, the black
domino retreated through the orange grove which encircled us.
I was lost in amazement: there I stood with my hands full--two papers, a
packet, a stiletto, and a diamond ring!
"Well," thought I, "this time I am most assuredly taken for somebody
else--for a bravo I am not. There is some foul work going on, which
perhaps I may prevent."
"But why a sky-blue domino?" said he.
I may well ask the same question. "Why the deuce did I come here in a
sky-blue domino, or any domino at all?"
I put the ring on my finger, the stiletto and packet in my bosom, and
then hastened away to the garden on the other side of the palazzo, that
I might read the mysterious communication put into my hands by my friend
Albert; and as I walked on, my love for admiration led me away so as to
find myself pleased with the mystery and danger attending upon the
affair; and feeling secure, now that I had a stiletto in my bosom for my
defence, I resolved that I would go right through it until the whole
affair should be unravelled.
I walked on till I had gained the last lamp on the other side of the
palazzo. I held up to its light the mysterious paper: it was in
Italian, and in a woman's handwriting.
"We have determined upon flight, as we cannot hope for safety here,
surrounded as we are by stilettoes on every side. We feel sure of
pardon as soon as the papers which Albert received by this day's mail,
and which he will entrust to you when you meet again, are placed in my
father's hands. We must have your assistance in removing our
treasure. Our horses are all ready, and a few hours will put us in
safety; but we must look to you for following us in your carriage, and
conveying for me what would prove so great an incumbrance to our
necessary speed. When Albert sees you again, he will be able to tell
you where it is deposited. Follow us quick, and you will always have
the gratitude of--
"VIOLA.
"PS. I write in great haste, as I cannot leave my father's side for a
moment without his seeking for me."
"What can all this mean? Albert told me of no papers by this day's
mail. Viola! I never heard him mention such a name. He said to me,
`Read this, and all will be explained.' I'll be hanged if I am not as
much in the dark as ever! Follow them in my carriage with the
treasure--never says where! I presume he is about to run off with some
rich heiress. Confound this sky-blue domino! Here I am with two
papers, a packet, a stiletto, and a ring; I am to receive another
packet, and am to convey treasure. Well, it must solve itself--I will
back to my post; but first let me see what is in this paper which I am
to affix upon the man's dress after I have killed him." I held it up to
the light, and read, in capital letters, "The reward of a traitor!"
"Short and pithy," muttered I, as I replaced it in my pocket: "now I'll
back to the place of assignation, for the hour must be nearly expired."
As I retraced my steps, I again reverted to the communication of
Viola--"Surrounded as we are by stilettoes on every side!" Why, surely
Albert cannot be the person that I am required by the black domino to
despatch; and yet it may be so--and others are to join me here before
the hour is passed. A thought struck me: whoever the party might be
whose life was to be taken, whether Albert or another, I could save him.
My reverie was again broken by a tap on the shoulder.
"Am I right? What is the pass-word?"
"Milano!" replied I, in a whisper.
"All's right, then--Giacomo and Tomaso are close by--I will fetch them."
The man turned away, and in a minute re-appeared with two others,
bending as they forced their way under the orange-trees.
"Here we all are, Felippo," whispered the first. "_He_ is to be here in
a few minutes."
"Hush!" replied I, in a whisper, and holding up to them the brilliant
ring which sparkled on my finger.
"Ah, Signor, I cry your mercy," replied the man, in a low voice; "I
thought it was Felippo."
"Not so loud," replied I, still in a whisper. "All is discovered, and
Felippo is arrested. You must away immediately. You shall hear from me
to-morrow."
"Corpo di Bacco! Where, Signor? at the old place?"
"Yes away--now, and save yourselves."
In a few seconds the desperate men disappeared among the trees, and I
was left alone.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Slaves of the Ring, you have done my bidding at all events, this time,"
thought I, and I looked at the ring more attentively. It was a splendid
solitaire diamond, worth many hundred crowns. "Will you ever find your
way back to our lawful owner?" was the question in my mind when Albert
made his appearance in his violet-coloured domino.
"'Twas imprudent of you to send me the paper by the black domino," said
he, hastily. "Did I not tell you that I would be here in an hour? We
have not a moment to spare. Follow me quickly, and be silent."
I followed--the paper which Albert referred to needed no explanation; it
was, indeed, the only part of the whole affair which I comprehended. He
led the way to about three hundred yards of the path through the wood.
"There," said he, "in that narrow avenue, you will find my faithful
negro with his charge. He will not deliver it up without you show him
this ring." And Albert put a ring upon my finger.
"But, Albert,"--my mind misgave me--Albert never had a faithful negro to
my knowledge; it must be some other person who had mistaken me for his
friend,--"I am afraid," continued I--
"Afraid!--let me not hear you say that. You never yet knew fear," said
he, interrupting me. "What have you to fear between this and Pisa?
Your own horses will take you there in three hours. But here's the
packet, which you must deliver yourself. Now that you know where the
negro is, return to the palazzo, deliver it into his own hands,
requesting his immediate perusal. After that do not wait a moment, but
hasten here to your charge. While the Grand Duke is reading it I will
escape with Viola."
"I really cannot understand all this," said I, taking the packet.
"All will be explained when we meet at Pisa. Away, now; to the Grand
Duke--I will go to the negro and prepare him for your coming."
"But allow me--"
"Not a word more, if you love me," replied the violet-coloured domino,
who, I was now convinced, was not Albert; it was not his voice--there
was a mystery and a mistake; but I had become so implicated that I felt
I could not retreat without sacrificing the parties, whoever they might
be.
"Well," said I, as I turned back to the palazzo, "I must go on now; for,
as a gentleman and man of honour, I cannot refuse. I will give the
packet to the Grand Duke, and I will also convey his treasure to Pisa,
Confound this sky-blue domino!"
As I returned to the palazzo, I was accosted by the black domino.
"Milano!" replied I.
"Is all right, Felippo?" said he, in a whisper.
"All is right, Signor," was my answer.
"Where is he?"
I pointed with my finger to a clump of orange-trees.
"And the paper and packet?"
I nodded my head.
"Then you had better away--I will see you to-morrow."
"At the old place, Signor?"
"Yes," replied the black domino, cutting into a cross-path, and
disappearing.
I arrived at the palazzo, mounted the steps, forced my way through the
crowd, and perceived the Grand Duke in an inner saloon, the lady who had
accosted me leaning on his arm. It then occurred to me that the Grand
Duke had an only daughter, whose name was Viola. I entered the saloon,
which was not crowded, and walking boldly up to the Grand Duke,
presented the packet, requesting that his Highness would give it his
immediate attention. I then bowed, and hastened away, once more passed
through the thronged hall, and gained the marble steps of the palazzo.
"Have you given it?" said a low voice close to me.
"I have," replied I; "but, Signor--"
"Not a word, Carlo: hasten to the wood, if you love me." And the
violet-coloured domino forced his way into the crown which filled the
hall.
"Now for my journey to Pisa," said I. "Here I am, implicated in high
treason, perhaps, in consequence of my putting on a sky-blue domino.
Well, there's no help for it."
In a few minutes I had gained the narrow avenue, and having pursued it
about fifty yards, perceived the glaring eyes of the crouched negro. By
the starlight, I could just distinguish that he had a basket, or
something like one, before him.
"What do you come for, Signor?" said the negro, rising on his feet.
"For what has been placed under your charge; here is the ring of your
master."
The negro put his fingers to the ring and felt it, that he might
recognise it by its size and shape.
"Here it is, Signor," said he, lifting up the basket gently, and putting
it into my arms. It was not heavy, although somewhat cumbrous from its
size.
"Hark! Signor, there is confusion in the palazzo. You must be quick,
and I must not be seen with you." And away darted the negro like
lightning through the bushes.
I also hastened away with the basket (contents unknown), for it appeared
to me that affairs were coming to a crisis. I heard people running
different ways, and voices approaching me. When I emerged from the
narrow avenue, I perceived several figures coming down the dark walk at
a rapid pace, and, seized with a sort of panic, I took to my heels. I
soon found that they were in pursuit, and I increased my speed. In the
gloom of the night, I unfortunately tripped over a stone, and fell with
the basket to the ground; and then the screams from within informed me
that the treasure intrusted to my safe keeping was a child. Fearful
that it was hurt, and forgetting, for the time, the danger of being
captured, I opened the lid, and examined its limbs, while I tried to
pacify it; and while I was sitting down in my sky-blue domino, thus
occupied in hushing a baby, I was seized by both shoulders, and found
myself a prisoner.
"What is the meaning of this rudeness, Signors?" said I, hardly knowing
what to say.
"You are arrested by order of the Grand Duke," was the reply.
"I am arrested!--why?--I am an Englishman!"
"That makes no difference; the orders are to arrest all found in the
garden in sky-blue dominos."
"Confound the sky-blue domino!" thought I, for the twentieth time at
least. "Well, Signora, I will attend you; but first let me try to
pacify this poor frightened infant."
"Strange that he should be found running away with a child at the same
time that the Lady Viola has disappeared!" observed one of my captors.
"You are right, Signora," replied I; "it is very strange; and what is
more strange is, that I can no more explain it than you can. I am now
ready to accompany you. Oblige me by one of you carrying the basket
while I take care of the infant."
In a few minutes we had arrived at the palazzo. I had retained my mask,
and I was conducted through the crowd into the saloon into which I had
previously entered when I delivered the packet to the Grand Duke.
"There he is! there he is!" was buzzed through the crowd in the hall.
"Holy Virgin! he has a child in his arms! _Bambino bellissimo_!" Such
were the exclamations of wonder and surprise as they made a lane for my
passage, and I was in the presence of the Grand Duke, who appeared to be
in a state of great excitement.
"It is the same person!" exclaimed the Duke. "Confess! are you not the
party who put a packet into my hands about a quarter of an hour since?"
"I am the person, your Highness," replied I, as I patted and soothed the
frightened child.
"Who gave it you?"
"May it please your Highness, I do not know."
"What child is that?"
"May it please your Highness, I do not know."
"Where did you get it?"
"Out of that basket, your Highness."
"Who gave you the basket?"
"May it please your Highness, I do not know."
"You are trifling with me. Let him be searched."
"May it please your Highness, I will save them that trouble, if one of
the ladies will take the infant. I have received a great many presents
this evening, all of which I will have the honour of displaying before
your Highness."
One of the ladies held out her arms to the infant, who immediately bent
from mine toward her, naturally clinging to the other sex as its friend
in distress.
"In the first place, your Highness, I have this evening received this
ring," taking off my finger the one given by the party in a
violet-coloured domino, and presenting it to him.
"And from whom?" said his Highness, instantly recognising the ring.
"May it please your Highness, I do not know. I have also received
another ring, your Highness," continued I, taking off the ring given me
by the black domino.
"And who gave you this?" interrogated the Duke, again evidently
recognising it.
"May it please your Highness, I do not know. Also, this stiletto, but
from whom, I must again repeat, I do not know. Also, this packet, with
directions to put it into a dead man's bosom."
"And you are, I presume, equally ignorant of the party who gave it to
you?"
"Equally so, your Highness; as ignorant as I am of the party who desired
me to present you with the other packet which I delivered. Here is also
a paper I was desired to pin upon a man's clothes after I had
assassinated him."
"Indeed!--and to this, also, you plead total ignorance?"
"I have but one answer to give to all, your Highness, which is, I do not
know."
"Perhaps, Sir, you do not know your own name or profession," observed
his Highness, with a sneer.
"Yes, your Highness," replied I, taking off my mask, "that I do know. I
am an Englishman, and, I trust, a gentleman, and a man of honour. My
name is Herbert; and I have more than once had the honour to be a guest
at your Highness's entertainments."
"Signor, I recognise you," replied the Grand Duke. "Let the room be
cleared--I must speak with this gentleman alone."
When the company had quitted the saloon, I entered into a minute detail
of the events of the evening, to which his Highness paid the greatest
attention; and when I had finished, the whole mystery was unravelled to
me by him, and with which I will now satisfy the curiosity of my
readers.
The Grand Duke had one daughter, by name Viola, whom he had wished to
marry to Rodolph, Count of Istria; but Viola had met with Albert,
Marquis of Salerno, and a mutual attachment had ensued. Although the
Grand Duke would not force his daughter's wishes and oblige her to marry
Count Rodolph, at the same time he would not consent to her espousals
with the Marquis Albert. Count Rodolph had discovered the intimacy
between Viola and the Marquis of Salerno, and had made more than one
unsuccessful attempt to get rid of his rival by assassination. After
some time, a private marriage with the marquis had been consented to by
Viola; and a year afterwards the Lady Viola retired to the country, and
without the knowledge, or even suspicions, of her father, had given
birth to a male child, which had been passed off as the offspring of one
of the ladies of the court who was married, and to whom the secret had
been confided.
At this period the secret societies, especially the _Carbonari_, had
become formidable in Italy, and all the crowned heads and reigning
princes were using every exertion to suppress them. Count Rodolph was
at the head of these societies, having joined them to increase his
power, and to have at his disposal the means of getting rid of his
rival. Of this the Marquis of Salerno had received intimation, and for
some time had been trying to obtain proof against the count; for he knew
that if once it was proved, Count Rodolph would never be again permitted
to appear in the state of Lucca. On the other hand, Count Rodolph had
been making every arrangement to get rid of his rival, and had
determined that it should be effected at this masquerade.
The Marquis of Salerno had notice given him of this intention, and also
had on that morning obtained the proof against Count Rodolph, which he
was now determined to forward to the Grand Duke; but, aware that his
assassination by the _Carbonari_ was to be attempted, and also that the
wrath of the Grand Duke would be excessive when he was informed of their
private marriage, he resolved to fly with his wife to Pisa, trusting
that the proofs of Count Rodolph being connected with the _Carbonari_,
and a little time, would soften down the Grand Duke's anger. The
marquis had arranged that he should escape from the Duke's dominions on
the night of the masquerade, as it would be much easier for his wife to
accompany him from thence than from the Grand Duke's palace, which was
well guarded; but it was necessary that they should travel on horseback,
and they could not take their child with them. Viola would not consent
that it should be left behind; and on this emergency he had written to
his friend, the Count d'Ossore, to come to their assistance at the
masquerade, and, that they might recognise him, to wear a sky-blue
domino, a colour but seldom put on. The Count d'Ossore had that morning
left his town mansion on a hunting excursion, and did not receive the
letter, of which the Marquis and Viola were ignorant. Such was the
state of affairs at the time that I put on the sky-blue domino to go to
the masquerade.
My first meeting with the marquis in his violet-coloured domino is
easily understood: being in a sky-blue domino I was mistaken for the
Count d'Ossore. I was myself led into the mistake by the Marquis Albert
having the same Christian name as my English friend. The second meeting
with the Count Rodolph, in the black domino, was accidental. The next
walk had been appointed as the place of meeting with the _Carbonari_
Felippo and his companions; but Count Rodolph, perceiving me examining
my stiletto by the light of the lamp, presumed that I was Felippo, and
that I had mistaken the one path for the other which had been agreed
upon. The papers given to me by Count Rodolph were _Carbonari_ papers,
which were to be hid in the marquis's bosom after he had been
assassinated, to make it appear that he had belonged I to that society,
and by the paper affixed to his clothes, that he had been murdered by
the agents of the society for having betrayed them. The papers which
the marquis had requested me to give to the Grand Duke were the proofs
of Count Rodolph's belonging to the secret society; and with the papers
was enclosed a letter to the Grand Duke, in which they I acknowledged
their secret union. And now, I believe, the reader will comprehend the
whole of this mysterious affair.
After all had been explained, I ventured to ask his Highness if he would
permit me to fulfil my promise of taking the child to its mother, as I
considered it a point of honour that I should keep my engagement, the
more so, as the delay would occasion the greatest distress to his
daughter; and I ventured to add, that I trusted his Highness would
pardon what could not now be remedied, and that I should have the
satisfaction of being the bearer of such pleasing intelligence to his
daughter and the marquis.
The Grand Duke paced the room for a minute, and then replied, "Signor
Herbert, I feel so disgusted with the treachery and baseness of Count
Rodolph, that I hardly need observe, if my daughter were free he never
should espouse her; indeed, he will have immediate orders to quit the
state. You have been instrumental in preserving the life of the Marquis
of Salerno, who is my son-in-law, and as matters now stand, I am
indebted to you. Your dismissal of the bravoes, by means of the count's
ring, was a masterly stroke. You shall have the pleasure of taking my
forgiveness to my daughter and her husband; but as for the child, it may
as well remain here. Tell Viola I retain it as a hostage for the quick
return of its mother."
I took my leave of his Highness, and hastened to Pisa, where I soon
found out the retreat of the marquis and his wife. I sent up my name,
requesting immediate admittance, as having a message from the Grand
Duke. I found them in great distress. The Count d'Ossore had returned
late on the night of the masquerade, found the letter, hastened to the
Marquesa de Cesto's, and had arrived just after the elopement had been
discovered. He immediately followed them to Pisa, when an explanation
took place, and they discovered that they had been communicating with
some unknown person, by whom they had, in all probability, been
betrayed.
It would be difficult to portray their astonishment and joy when I
entered into a detail of what had occurred, and wound up with the
message from the Grand Duke; and I hardly need add, now that I wind up
my story, that the proofs of gratitude I received from the marquis and
his wife, during my subsequent residence in Italy, left me no occasion
to repent that I had gone to the masquerade of the Marquesa de Cesto, in
a SKY-BLUE DOMINO.
THE END.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.
MODERN TOWN HOUSES.
I have often thought, when you consider the difference of comfort
between houses built from sixty to a hundred years back, in comparison
with the modern edifices, that the cry of the magician in "Aladdin," had
he called out "new houses," instead of "new lamps," for old ones, would
not have appeared so very absurd. It was my good fortune, for the major
part of my life, to occupy an ancient house, built, I believe, in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth. My father lived in it before I was in
existence: I was born in it, and it was bequeathed to me. It has since
been my misfortune to have lived three years in one of the modern-built
houses; and although I have had my share of the ills to which we all are
heir, I must date my real unhappiness from the first month after I took
possession. With your permission, I will enter into my history, as it
may prove a warning to others, who will not remember the old proverb of
"_Let well alone_."
I am a married man, with six children; my three eldest are daughters,
and have now quitted a school, near Portman-Square, to which my wife
insisted upon my sending them, as it was renowned for finishing young
ladies. Until their return to domiciliate themselves under my roof, I
never heard a complaint of my house, which was situated at Brompton. It
was large, airy, and comfortable, with excellent shrubberies, and a few
acres of land; and I possessed every comfort and even luxury which could
be rationally required, my wife and daughters having their carriage, and
in every respect my establishment being that of a gentleman.
I had not, however, taken my daughters from school more than two months,
before I was told that we were "living out of the world," although not a
mile and a half from Hyde Park Corner; and, to my surprise, my wife
joined in the cry; it was always from morn to night, "We might do this
but, we cannot do this because, we are quite out of the world." It was
too far to dine out in town; too far for people to come and dine with
us; too far to go to the play, or the opera; too far to drive in the
park; too far even to walk in Kensington Gardens. I remonstrated, that
we had managed to dine out, to receive visitors, and to enjoy all other
amusements very well for a considerable number of years, and that it did
not appear to me that Brompton had walked away from London, on the
contrary, that London was making rapid advances towards Brompton; but it
would not do,--all day the phrase rang in my ears, "out of the world,"
until I almost began to wish that I was out too. But it is no use
having the best of an argument when opposed to women. I had my choice,
either to give up my house, and take another in London, or to give up my
peace. With an unwilling sigh, I at last consented to leave a place
dear to me, from long association and many reminiscences; and it was
arranged that Brompton Hall was to be let, or sold, and that we were to
look out immediately for a house in some of the squares in the
metropolis. If my wife and daughters found that the distance from
London was too far for other purposes, at all events it was not too far
for house-hunting. They were at it incessantly week after week; and, at
last, they fixed upon one in the neighbourhood of Belgrave-Square,
which, as they repeated, possessed all the cheerfulness and fresh air of
the country, all the advantages of a town residence. The next day I was
to be dragged to see it, and give my opinion; at the same time, from the
commendations bestowed upon it previous to my going, I felt assured that
I was expected to give their opinion, and not my own.
The next day, accordingly, we repaired thither, setting off immediately
after breakfast, to meet the surveyor and builder, who was to be on the
spot. The house in question was one of a row just building, or built,
whitened outside, in imitation of stone. It was Number 2. Number 1 was
finished; but the windows still stained with the drippings of the
whitewash and colouring. Number 2, the one in question, was complete;
and, as the builder asserted, ready for immediate occupation. Number 3
was not so far advanced. As for the others, they were at present
nothing but carcasses, without even the front steps built to them; and
you entered them by a drawbridge of planks.
The builder stood at the front door, and bowed most respectfully.
"Why," observed I, looking at the piles of mortar, lime, and bricks,
standing about in all directions, "we shall be smothered with dust and
lime for the next two years."
"Don't be alarmed, sir," replied the builder; "every house in the row
will be finished before the winter. We really cannot attend to the
applications for them."
We entered the house.
"Is not the entrance handsome?" observed my wife; "so neat and clean."
To this I had not a reply to make; it certainly did look neat and clean.
We went into the dining-room. "What a nice room," exclaimed my eldest
daughter. "How many can we dine in this room?"
"Um!" replied I; "about twelve, I suppose, comfortably."
"Dear me!" observed the builder; "you have no notion of the size of the
house; rooms are so deceiving, unfurnished. You may sit down twenty
with ease; I'll appeal to the lady. Don't you think so, ma'am?"
"Yes, I do," replied my wife.
After that we went over the drawing-rooms, bed-rooms, and attics.
Every bed-room was apportioned by my wife and daughters, and the others
were allotted to the servants; and that in the presence of the builder,
who took good note of all that passed.
The kitchen was admired; so were the pantry, scullery, coal-hole,
dust-hole, etcetera; all so nice and clean; so compact; and, as the
builder observed, not a nail to drive anywhere.
"Well, my dear, what do you think now? isn't it a charming house?" said
my wife, as we re-ascended into the dining-parlour.
"It's a very nice house, my dear; but still it requires a little
consideration," replied I.
"Consideration, my dear?" replied my wife; "what! now that you have gone
over it?"
"I am afraid that I cannot give you very long, sir," observed the
builder; "there are two other parties after the house, and I am to give
them an answer by two o'clock."
"Mr Smithers told me the same yesterday," whispered my wife.
"What did you say the rent was, Mr Smithers?"
"Only 200 pounds per annum."
"Any ground-rent?"
"Only 27 pounds 10 shillings."
"And the taxes?"
"Oh, they will be a mere trifle."
"The rent appears to me to be very high."
"High, my dear sir! consider the situation, the advantages. We can't
build them fast enough at that price. But of course, sir, you best
know," replied he, carelessly walking towards the window.
"Take it; my dear," said my wife.
"You must take it, papa."
"Pray take it, papa."
"Mr Whats-your-name, I beg your pardon--"
"Smithers, sir," said the builder, turning round.
"Pray, Mr Smithers, what term of lease do you let at?"
"Seven, fourteen, or twenty-one, at the option of either party, sir."
"I should have no objection to take it for three years."
"Three years, my dear sir!--that would be doing yourself an injustice.
You would lose half the value of your fixtures provided you left--and
then the furniture. Depend upon it, sir, if you once get into it, you
will never wish to leave it."
"That may or not be," replied I; "but I will not take it for more than
three years. The town-air may not agree with me; and if, as you say,
people are so anxious to take the houses, of course it can make no
difference to you."
"I'm afraid, sir, that for so short a time--"
"I will not take it for longer," replied I, rising up, glad of an excuse
to be off.
"Oh, papa!"
"My dear Mr B--."
"On that point," replied I, "I will not be overruled. I will not take a
lease for more than three years, with the right of continuing, if I
please."
The builder perceived that I was in earnest.
"Well, sir," replied he, "I hardly know what to say; but rather than
disappoint the ladies, I will accept you as a tenant for three years
certain."
"Confound the fellow!" thought I; but I was pinned, and there was an end
of the matter. Mr Smithers pulled out paper and ink; two letters of
agreement were written upon a small deal table, covered with blotches of
various coloured paints; and the affair was thus concluded.
We got into the carriage and drove home, my wife and daughters in
ecstasies, and I obliged to appear very well satisfied, that I might not
damp their spirits; yet I must say that although the house appeared a
very nice house, I had my forebodings.
"At all events," thought I, "the lease is only for three years;" and
thus I consoled myself.
The next day the whole house was in commotion. I believe my wife and
daughters were up at daybreak. When I went into the breakfast room, I
discovered that the pictures had been taken down, although there was no
chance of their being hung up for many weeks at least, and every thing
was in preparation for packing up. After breakfast my wife set off for
town to order carpets and curtains, and did not come home till six
o'clock, very tired with the fatigues of the day. She had also brought
the measure of every grate, to ascertain what fenders would suit; the
measure of the bed-rooms and attics, to remodel the carpets; for it was
proposed that Brompton Hall should be disposed of, the new occupier
taking at a valuation what furniture might be left. To this I appeared
to consent; but was resolved in my own mind that, if taken, it should
only be for the same term of years as my new lease. I will pass over a
month of hurry, bustle, and confusion; at the end of which I found
myself in our new habitation. It was completely furnished, with the
exception of the drawing-room carpet, which had not been laid down, but
was still in a roll tied up with packthread in the middle of the room.
The cause of this I soon understood from my wife. It was always the
custom, she said, to give a house-warming upon entering a new house, and
she therefore proposed giving a little dance. To this, as it would
please her and my daughters, I raised no objection.
I have always observed, that what is proposed as a little dance
invariably ends in a great one; for from the time of proposing till the
cards are about, it increases like a snowball; but that arises, perhaps,
from the extreme difficulty of knowing when to draw the line between
friends and acquaintances. I have also observed that when your wife and
daughters intend such a thing, they always obtain permission for the
ball first, and then tack on the supper afterwards; commencing with a
mere stand-up affair,--sandwiches, cakes, and refreshments,--and ending
with a regular sit-down affair, with Gunter presiding over all. The
music from two fiddles and a piano also swells into Collinet's band,
verifying the old adage, "In for a penny, in for a pound." But to all
this I gave my consent; I could afford it well, and I liked to please my
wife and daughters. The ball was given, and this house-warming ended in
house-breaking; for just before the supper-quadrille, as it was termed,
when about twenty-four young ladies and gentlemen were going the grand
ronde, a loud noise below, with exclamations and shrieks, was heard, and
soon afterwards the whole staircase was smothered with dust.
"What _is_ the matter?" cried my wife, who had passed to the
landing-place on the stairs before me.
"Ma'am," said one of Mr Gunter's men, shaking the lappets of his blue
coat, which were covered with white dust, "the whole ceiling of the
dining-room has come down!"
"Ceiling come down!" screamed my wife.
"Yes, ma'am," replied our own servant; "and the supper and supper-tables
are all smashed flat with the weight on it."
Here was a catastrophe. My wife hastened down, and I followed. Sure
enough the weight of mortar had crushed all beneath it--all was chaos
and confusion. Jellies, blancmanges, pates, cold roasts, creams,
trifles,--all in one mass of ruin, mixed up with lime, horse-hair,
plaster of Paris, and stucco. It wore all the appearance of a Swiss
avalanche in miniature.
"Good heavens, how dreadful!" exclaimed my wife.
"How much more so if there had been people in the room," replied I.
"What could be the cause of it!" exclaimed my wife.
"These new houses, sir, won't bear dancing in," observed Mr Gunter's
head man.
"So it appears," replied I.
This unfortunate accident was the occasion of the party breaking up:
they knew that there was no chance of supper, which they had looked
forward to; so they put on their shawls and departed, leaving us to
clear up the wreck at our leisure. In fact, as my daughters declared,
it quite spoiled the ball as well as the supper.
The next morning I sent for Mr Smithers, who made his appearance, and
showed him what had taken place.
"Dear me, I'm very sorry; but you had too many people above stairs--that
is very clear."
"Very clear, indeed, Mr Smithers. We had a ball last night."
"A ball, sir! Oh, then no wonder."
"No wonder! What! do you mean to say that balls are not to be given?"
"Why, really, sir, we do not build private houses for ball-rooms--we
could not, sir; the price of timber just now is enormous, and the
additional strength required would never pay us."
"What then! do you mean to say that there are no balls to be given in
London?"
"Oh no, sir!--certainly not; but you must be aware that few people do.
Even our aristocracy hire Willis's rooms for their balls. Some of the
old houses, indeed, such as Devonshire House, may do for such a thing."
"But, Mr Smithers, I expect you will make this ceiling good."
"Much obliged to you, sir, for giving me the preference--I will do it as
reasonable as anybody," replied Mr Smithers, bowing. "I will order my
workmen directly--they are only next door."
For a fortnight we were condemned to dine in the back dining-room; and
after that Mr Smithers sent in a bill which cost me more than the ball
and supper.
So soon as all was right again, I determined that I would hang up my
pictures; for I had been accustomed to look at them for years, and I
missed them. I sent for a carpenter, and gave him directions.
"I have the middle now, sir, exactly," said the man, standing on the
high steps; "but," continued he, tapping with his hammer, "I can't find
wood."
"Can't find wood!"
"No, sir," replied the man, tapping as far as he could reach from right
to left; "nothing to nail to, sir. But there never is no wood in these
new-built houses."
"Confound your new houses!" exclaimed I.
"Well, it is very provoking, my dear!" exclaimed my wife.
"I suppose that their new houses are not built for pictures any more
than for balls," replied I; and I sighed. "What must be done?"
"I think, sir, if you were to order brass rods to be fixed from one
corner to the other, we might find means to fasten them," observed the
carpenter; "but there's no wood, that's certain."
"What the devil is the house built of then?" exclaimed I.
"All lath and plaster, sir," replied the man, tapping right and left.
At a heavy expense I procured the rods, and at last the pictures were
hung up.
The next annoyance that we had was a very bad smell, which we found to
proceed from the drains; and the bricklayers were sent for. All the
drains were choked, it appeared, from their being so very narrow; and
after having up the whole basement, at the expense of 40 pounds, that
nuisance was abated.
We now had two months' repose, and I was in hopes that things would go
on more comfortably; but one day I overheard a conversation between my
wife and daughters, as I passed by the door of the room, which I must
candidly acknowledge gave me satisfaction.
"It's really very awkward, mamma--one don't know where to put anything:
there's not a cupboard or stow-hole in the whole house--not even a
store-room."
"Well, it is so, my dear; I wonder we did not observe it when we looked
over it. What a nice set of cupboards we had at Brompton Hall."
"Oh! yes--I wish we had them here, mamma. Couldn't we have some built?"
"I don't like to speak to your papa about it, my dear; he has already
been put to such expense, what with the ceiling and the drains."
"Then don't, mamma; papa is really very good-natured."
The equinoxes now came on, and we had several gales of wind, with heavy
rain--the slates blew off and rattled up and down all night, while the
wind howled round the corner of the square. The next morning complaints
from all the attic residents; one's bed was wetted quite through with
the water dropping through the ceiling--another had been obliged to put
a basin on the floor to catch the leak--all declared that the roof was
like a sieve. Sent again for Mr Smithers, and made a complaint.
"This time, Mr Smithers," said I, with the lease in my hand, "I believe
you will acknowledge these are landlord's repairs."
"Certainly, sir, certainly," exclaimed Mr Smithers; "I shall desire one
of my men to look to it immediately; but the fact is, with such heavy
gales, the slates must be expected to move a little. Duchesses and
countesses are very light, and the wind gets underneath them."
"Duchesses and countesses very light!" exclaimed my wife; "what do you
mean?"
"It's the term we give to slates, madam," replied he; "we cannot put on
a heavy roof with a brick-and-a-half wall. It would not support one."
"_Brick-and-a-half_ wall!" exclaimed I;--"surely, Mr Smithers, that's
not quite safe with a house so high."
"Not quite safe, my dear sir, if it were a single house; but," added he,
"in a row, one house supports another."
"Thank Heaven," thought I, "I have but a three-years' lease, and six
months are gone already."
But the annoyances up to this period were internal; we now had to
experience the external nuisances attending a modern-built house.
"Number 1 is taken, papa, and they are getting the furniture in," said
my eldest daughter one day; "I hope we shall have nice neighbours. And
William told Mary that Mr Smithers told him, when he met him in the
street, that he was now going to fit up Number 3 as fast as he could."
The report was true, as we found from the report of the carpenters'
hammers for the next three or four weeks. We could not obtain a
moment's sleep except in the early part of the night, or a minute's
repose to our ears during the day. The sound appeared as if it was _in_
our house instead of next door; and it commenced at six o'clock in the
morning, and lasted till seven in the evening. I was hammered to death;
and, unfortunately, there was a constant succession of rain, which
prevented me going out to avoid it. I had nothing to do but to watch my
pictures, as they jumped from the wall with the thumps of the hammers.
At last Number 3 was floored, wainscotted, and glazed, and we had a
week's repose.
By this time Number 1 was furnished, and the parties who had taken it
came in. They were a gouty old gentleman, and his wife, who, report
said, had once been his cook. My daughters' hopes of pleasant
neighbours were disappointed. Before they had been in a week, we found
ourselves at issue: the old gentleman's bed was close to the
partition-wall, and in the dead of the night we could distinctly hear
his groans and also his execrations and exclamations, when the fit came
on him. My wife and daughters declared that it was quite horrible, and
that they could not sleep for them.
Upon the eighth day there came a note:--"Mrs Whortleback's compliments
to Mr and Mrs --, and begs that the young people will not play on the
piany, as Mr Whortleback is very ill with the gout."
Now, my daughters were proficients on the piano, and practised a great
deal. This note was anything but satisfactory: to play when the old
gentleman was ill would be barbarous,--not to play was to deprive
ourselves of our greatest pleasure.
"Oh dear! how very disagreeable," cried my daughters.
"Yes, my dear; but if we can hear his groans, it's no wonder that he can
hear the piano and harp: recollect the wall is only a brick and a half
thick."
"I wonder music don't soothe him," observed the eldest.
Music is a mockery to a man in agony. A man who has been broken on the
wheel would not have his last hours soothed by the finest orchestra.
After a week, during which we sent every day to inquire after Mr
Whortleback's health, we ventured to resume the piano and harp; upon
which the old gentleman became testy, and sent for a man with a trumpet,
placing him in the balcony, and desiring him to play as much out of tune
as possible whenever the harp and piano sounded a note. Thus were we at
open hostility with our only neighbour; and, as we were certain if my
daughters touched their instruments, to have the trumpet blowing discord
for an hour or two either that day or the next, at last the piano was
unopened, and the harp remained in its case. Before the year closed,
Number 3 became tenanted; and here we had a new annoyance. It was
occupied by a large family; and there were four young ladies who were
learning music. We now had our annoyance: it was strum, strum, all day
long; one sister up, another down; and every one knows what a bore the
first lessons in music are to those who are compelled to hear them.
They could just manage to play a tune, and that eternal tune was ringing
in our ears from morning to night. We could not send our compliments,
or blow a trumpet. We were forced to submit to it. The nursery also
being against the partition wall, we had the squalls and noise of the
children on the one side, added to groans and execrations of the old
gentleman on the other.
However, custom reconciled us to everything, and the first vexation
gradually wore off. Yet I could not help observing that when I was
supposed not to be in hearing, the chief conversation of my wife, when
her friends called upon her, consisted of a description of all the
nuisances and annoyances that we suffered; and I felt assured that she
and my daughters were as anxious to return to Brompton Hall as I was.
In fact, the advantages which they had anticipated by their town
residence were not realised. In our situation, we were as far off from
most of our friends, and still farther from some than we were before,
and we had no longer the same amusements to offer them. At our former
short distance from town, access was more easy to those who did not keep
a carriage, that is, the young men; and those were the parties who, of
course, my wife and daughters cared for most. It was very agreeable to
come down with their portmanteaus,--enjoy the fresh air and green lanes
of the country for an afternoon,--dine, sleep, and breakfast, and return
the next morning by conveyances which passed us every quarter of an
hour; but to dine with us in -- Square, when the expense of a
hackney-coach there and back was no trifle, and to return at eleven
o'clock at night, was not at all agreeable. We found that we had not so
much society, nor were we half so much courted, as at Brompton Hall.
This was the bitterest blow of all, and my wife and daughters would look
out of the windows and sigh; often a whole day passed without one friend
or acquaintance dropping in to relieve its monotony.
We continued to reside there, nevertheless, for I had made up my mind
that the three years would be well spent if they cured my wife and
daughters of their town mania; and although anxious, as I am sure they
were, to return, I never broached the matter, for I was determined that
the cure should be radical. Numbers 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8, were finished
the next year, and, by the persuasions of Mr Smithers, were taken by
different parties in the spring. And now we had another nuisance.
Nothing but eternal rings at the bell. The man-servant grumbled, and
was behind with his work; and when scolded, replied that there was no
time for any thing, that when cleaning his knives and plate the bell was
rung, and he was obliged to wash himself, throw on his jacket, and go up
to answer the front door; that the bell was not rung for us, but to find
out where some new-comer lived, and to ascertain this they always rang
at the house which appeared the longest inhabited. There was no end to
the ringing for some months, and we had three servants who absolutely
refused to stay in so bad a place. We had also to contend with letters
and notes in the same way, brought to us at haphazard: "Does Mr
So-and-so live here?"--"No, he does not."--"Then pray where does he?"
This was interminable, and not five minutes in the day passed without
the door-bell being rung. For the sake of not changing my servants I
was at last put to the expense of an extra boy for no other purpose but
to answer the constant applications at the door. At last we had
remained there for two years and nine months, and then my wife would
occasionally put the question whether I intended to renew the lease; and
I naturally replied that I did not like change.
Then she went upon another tack; observed that Clara did not appear well
for some time, and that she thought that she required country air; but,
in this, I did not choose to agree with her.
One day I came home, and, rubbing my hands as if pleased, said, "Well,
at last I've an offer for Brompton Villa for a term of seven years,--a
very fair offer and good tenants,--so that will now be off my hands."
My wife looked mortified, and my daughters held down their heads.
"Have you let it, papa?" said one of my daughters, timidly.
"No, not yet; but I am to give an answer to-morrow morning."
"It requires consideration, my dear," replied my wife.
"Requires consideration!" said I. "Why, my dear, the parties have seen
the house, and I have been trying to let it these three years. I
recollect when I took this house I said it required consideration, but
you would not allow any such thing."
"I'm sure I wish we had," said Clara.
"And so do I."
"The fact is, my dear," said my wife, coming round to the back of my
chair, and putting her arms round my neck, "we all wish to go back to
Brompton."
"Yes, yes, papa," added my daughters, embracing me on each side.
"You will allow, then, that I was right in not taking a lease for more
than three years."
"Yes: how lucky you were so positive!"
"Well, then, if that is the case, we will unfurnish this house, and, as
soon as you please, go back to Brompton Hall."
I hardly need observe that we took possession of our old abode with
delight, and that I have had no more applications for a change of
residence, or have again heard the phrase that we were living "out of
the world."
CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.
Cut your coat according to your cloth, is an old maxim and a wise one;
and if people will only square their ideas according to their
circumstances, how much happier might we all be! If we only would come
down a peg or two in our notions, in accordance with our waning
fortunes, happiness would be always within our reach. It is not what we
have, or what we have not, which adds or subtracts from our felicity.
It is the longing for more than we have, the envying of those who
possess that more, and the wish to appear in the world of more
consequence than we really are, which destroy our peace of mind, and
eventually lead to ruin.
I never witnessed a man submitting to circumstances with good humour and
good sense, so remarkably as in my friend Alexander Willemott. When I
first met him, since our school days, it was at the close of the war: he
had been a large contractor with Government for army clothing and
accoutrements, and was said to have realised an immense fortune,
although his accounts were not yet settled. Indeed it was said that
they were so vast, that it would employ the time of six clerks, for two
years, to examine them, previous to the balance sheet being struck. As
I observed, he had been at school with me, and, on my return from the
East Indies, I called upon him to renew our old acquaintance, and
congratulate him upon his success.
"My dear Reynolds, I am delighted to see you. You must come down to
Belem Castle; Mrs Willemott will receive you with pleasure, I'm sure.
You shall see my two girls."
I consented. The chaise stopped at a splendid mansion, and I was
ushered in by a crowd of liveried servants. Every thing was on the most
sumptuous and magnificent scale. Having paid my respects to the lady of
the house, I retired to dress, as dinner was nearly ready, it being then
half-past seven o'clock. It was eight before we sat down. To an
observation that I made, expressing a hope that I had not occasioned the
dinner being put off, Willemott replied, "On the contrary, my dear
Reynolds, we never sit down until about this hour. How people can dine
at four or five o'clock, I cannot conceive. I could not touch a
mouthful."
The dinner was excellent, and I paid the encomiums which were its due.
"Do not be afraid, my dear fellow--my cook is an _artiste
extraordinaire_--a regular _Cordon Bleu_. You may eat any thing without
fear of indigestion. How people can live upon the English cookery of
the present day, I cannot conceive. I seldom dine out, for fear of
being poisoned. Depend upon it, a good cook lengthens your days, and no
price is too great to insure one."
When the ladies retired, being alone, we entered into friendly
conversation. I expressed my admiration of his daughters, who certainly
were very handsome and elegant girls.
"Very true; they are more than passable," replied he. "We have had many
offers, but not such as come up to my expectations. Baronets are cheap
now-a-days, and Irish lords are nothings; I hope to settle them
comfortably. We shall see. Try this claret; you will find it
excellent, not a headache in a hogshead of it. How people can drink
port, I cannot imagine."
The next morning he proposed that I should rattle round the park with
him. I acceded, and we set off in a handsome open carriage, with four
greys, ridden by postilions at a rapid pace. As we were whirling along,
he observed, "In town we must of course drive but a pair, but in the
country I never go out without four horses. There is a spring in four
horses which is delightful; it makes your spirits elastic, and you feel
that the poor animals are not at hard labour. Rather than not drive
four, I would prefer to stay at home."
Our ride was very pleasant, and in such amusements passed away one of
the most pleasant weeks that I ever remembered. Willemott was not the
least altered--he was as friendly, as sincere, as open-hearted, as when
a boy at school. I left him, pleased with his prosperity, and
acknowledging that he was well deserving of it, although his ideas had
assumed such a scale of magnificence.
I went to India when my leave expired, and was absent about four years.
On my return, I inquired after my friend Willemott, and was told that
his circumstances and expectations had been greatly altered. From many
causes, such as a change in the Government, a demand for economy, and
the wording of his contracts having been differently rendered from what
Willemott had supposed their meaning to be, large items had been struck
out of his balance sheet, and, instead of being a millionaire, he was
now a gentleman with a handsome property. Belem Castle had been sold,
and he now lived at Richmond, as hospitable as ever, and was considered
a great addition to the neighbourhood. I took the earliest opportunity
of going down to see him.
"Oh, my dear Reynolds, this is really kind of you to come without
invitation. Your room is ready, and bed well aired, for it was slept in
three nights ago. Come--Mrs Willemott will be delighted to see you."
I found the girls still unmarried, but they were yet young. The whole
family appeared as contented and happy, and as friendly, as before. We
sat down to dinner at six o'clock; the footman and coachman attended.
The dinner was good, but not by the _artiste extraordinaire_. I praised
everything.
"Yes," replied he, "she is a very good cook; she unites the solidity of
the English with the delicacy of the French fare; and, altogether, I
think it a _decided improvement_. Jane is quite a treasure." After
dinner, he observed, "Of course you know I have sold Belem Castle, and
reduced my establishment. Government have not treated me fairly, but I
am at the mercy of Commissioners, and a body of men will do that which,
as individuals, they would be ashamed of. The fact is, the odium is
borne by no one in particular, and it is only the sense of shame which
keeps us honest, I am afraid. However, here you see me, with a
comfortable fortune, and always happy to see my friends, especially my
old schoolfellow. Will you take _port_ or claret; the port is very
fine, and so is the claret. By the by, do you know--I'll let you into a
family secret; Louisa is to be married to a Colonel Willer--an
_excellent_ match! It has made us all happy."
The next day we drove out, not in an open carriage as before, but in a
chariot and with a _pair of horses_.
"These are handsome horses," observed I.
"Yes," replied he, "I am fond of good horses; and, as I only keep a
pair, I have the best. There is a certain degree of pretension in _four
horses_, I do not much like--it appears as if you wished to overtop your
neighbours."
I spent a few very pleasant days, and then quitted his hospitable roof.
A severe cold, caught that winter, induced me to take the advice of the
physicians, and proceed to the South of France, where I remained two
years. On my return, I was informed that Willemott had speculated, and
had been unlucky on the Stock Exchange; that he had left Richmond, and
was now living at Clapham. The next day I met him near the Exchange.
"Reynolds, I am happy to see you. Thompson told me that you had come
back. If not better engaged, come down to see me; I will drive you down
at four o'clock, if that will suit."
It suited me very well, and, at four o'clock, I met him according to
appointment at a livery stables over the Iron Bridge. His vehicle was
ordered out, it was a phaeton drawn by two long-tailed ponies--
altogether a very neat concern. We set off at a rapid pace.
"They step out well, don't they? We shall be down in plenty of time to
put on a pair of shoes by five o'clock, which is _our dinner-time_.
Late dinners don't agree with me--they produce indigestion. Of course,
you know that Louisa has a little boy."
I did not; but congratulated him.
"Yes, and has now gone out to India with her husband. Mary is also
engaged to be married--a very _good_ match--a Mr Rivers, in the law.
He has been called to the bar this year, and promises well. They will
be a little pinched at first, but we must see what we can do for them."
We stopped at a neat row of houses, I forget the name, and, as we drove
up, the servant, the only man-servant, came out, and took the ponies
round to the stable, while the maid received my luggage, and one or two
paper-bags, containing a few extras for the occasion. I was met with
the same warmth as usual by Mrs Willemott. The house was small, but
very neat; the remnants of former grandeur appeared here and there, in
one or two little articles, favourites of the lady. We sat down at five
o'clock to a _plain_ dinner, and were attended by the footman, who had
rubbed down the ponies and pulled on his livery.
"A good plain cook is the best thing, after all," observed Willemott.
"Your fine cooks won't condescend to roast and boil. Will you take some
of this sirloin, the under-cut is excellent. My dear, give Mr Reynolds
some Yorkshire pudding."
When we were left alone after dinner, Willemott told me, very
unconcernedly, of his losses.
"It was my own fault," said he; "I wished to make up a little sum for
the girls, and risking what they would have had, I left them almost
pennyless. However, we can always command a bottle of port and a
beef-steak, and _what more_ in this world can you have? Will you take
port or white?--I have no claret to offer you."
We finished our port, but I could perceive no difference in Willemott.
He was just as happy and as cheerful as ever. He drove me to town the
next day. During our drive, he observed, "I like ponies, they are so
little trouble; and I prefer them to driving one horse in this vehicle,
as I can put my wife and daughters into it. It's selfish to keep a
carriage for yourself alone, and one horse in a four-wheeled double
chaise appears like an imposition upon the poor animal."
I went to Scotland, and remained about a year. On my return, I found
that my friend Willemott had again shifted his quarters. He was at
Brighton; and having nothing better to do, I put myself in the "Times,"
and arrived at the Bedford Hotel. It was not until after some inquiry,
that I could find out his address. At last I obtained it, in a
respectable but not fashionable part of this overgrown town. Willemott
received me just as before.
"I have no spare bed to offer you, but you must breakfast and dine with
us every day. Our house is small, but it's very comfortable, and
Brighton is a very convenient place. You know Mary is married. A good
place in the courts was for sale, and my wife and I agreed to purchase
it for Rivers. It has reduced us a little, but they are very
comfortable. I have retired from business altogether; in fact, as my
daughters are both married, and we have enough to live upon, what can we
wish for more? Brighton is very gay, and always healthy; and, as for
carriage and horses, they are no use here--there are _flies_ at every
corner of the streets."
I accepted his invitation to dinner. A parlour-maid waited, but
everything, although very plain, was clean and comfortable.
"I have still a bottle of wine for a friend, Reynolds," said Willemott,
after dinner; "but, for my part, I prefer _whisky-toddy_--it agrees with
me better. Here's to the health of my two girls, God bless them, and
success to them in life!"
"My dear Willemott," said I, "I take the liberty of an old friend, but I
am so astonished at your philosophy, that I cannot help it. When I call
to mind Belem Castle, your large establishment, your luxuries, your
French cook, and your stud of cattle, I wonder at your contented state
of mind under such a change of circumstances."
"I almost wonder myself, my dear fellow," replied he. "I never could
have believed, at that time, that I could live happily under such a
change of circumstances; but the fact is, that, although I have been a
contractor, I have a good conscience; then, my wife is an excellent
woman, and provided she sees me and her daughters happy, thinks nothing
about herself; and, further, I have made it a rule, as I have been going
down hill, to find reasons why I should be thankful, and not
discontented. Depend upon it, Reynolds, it is not a loss of fortune
which will affect your happiness, as long as you have peace and love at
home."
I took my leave of Willemott and his wife, with respect as well as
regard; convinced that there was no pretended indifference to worldly
advantages; that it was not, that the grapes were sour, but that he had
learned the whole art of happiness, by being contented with what he had,
and by "cutting his coat according to his cloth."
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.
HOW TO WRITE A FASHIONABLE NOVEL.
[_Scene--Chamber in Lincoln's Inn_. ARTHUR ANSARD _at a briefless
table, tete-a-tete with his wig on a block_. A _casts a disconsolate
look upon his companion, and soliloquises_.]
Yes, there you stand, "partner of my toils, my feelings, and my fame."
We do not _suit_, for we never gained a _suit_ together. Well, what
with reporting for the bar, writing for the Annuals and the
Pocket-books, I shall be able to meet all demands, except those of my
tailor; and, as his bill is most characteristically long, I think I
shall be able to make it stretch over till next term, by which time I
hope to fulfil my engagements with Mr C, who has given me an order for
a fashionable novel, written by a "nobleman." But how I, who was never
inside of an aristocratical mansion in my life, whose whole idea of
Court is comprised in the Court of King's Bench, am to complete my
engagement, I know no more than my companion opposite, who looks so
placidly stupid under my venerable wig. As far as the street door, the
footman and carriage, and the porter, are concerned, I can manage well
enough; but as to what occurs within doors I am quite abroad. I shall
never get through the first chapter; yet that tailor's bill must be
paid. (_Knocking outside_.) Come in, I pray.
_Enter_ BARNSTAPLE.
_B_. Merry Christmas to you, Arthur.
_A_. Sit down, my dear fellow; but don't mock me with merry Christmas.
He emigrated long ago. Answer me seriously: do you think it possible
for a man to describe what he never saw?
_B (putting his stick up to his chin_.) Why, 'tis possible; but I would
not answer for the description being quite correct.
_A_. But suppose the parties who read it have never seen the thing
described?
_B_. Why then it won't signify whether the description be correct or
not.
_A_. You have taken a load off my mind; but still I am not quite at
ease. I have engaged to furnish C with a fashionable novel.
_B_. What do you mean to imply by a fashionable novel?
_A_. I really can hardly tell. His stipulations were, that it was to
be a "fashionable novel in three volumes, each volume not less than
three hundred pages."
_B_. That is to say, that you are to assist him in imposing on the
public.
_A_. Something very like it, I'm afraid; as it is further agreed that
it is to be puffed as coming from a highly talented nobleman.
_B_. You should not do it, Ansard.
_A_. So conscience tells me, but my tailor's bill says Yes; and that is
a thing out of all conscience. Only look here.
_Displays a long bill_.
_B_. Why, I must acknowledge, Ansard, that there is some excuse. One
needs must, when the devil drives; but you are capable of better things.
_A_. I certainly don't feel great capability in this instance. But
what can I do? The man will have nothing else--he says the public will
read nothing else.
_B_. That is to say, that because one talented author astonished the
public by style and merits peculiarly his own, and established, as it
were, a school for neophites, his popularity is to be injured by
contemptible imitators. It is sufficient to drive a man mad, to find
that the tinsel of others, if to be purchased more cheaply, is to be
pawned upon the public instead of his gold; and more annoying still,
that the majority of the public cannot appreciate the difference between
the metal and the alloy. Do you know, Ansard, that by getting up this
work, you really injure the popularity of a man of great talent?
_A_. Will he pay my tailor's bill!
_B_. No; I dare say he has enough to do to pay his own. What does your
tailor say?
_A_. He is a staunch reformer, and on March the 1st he declares that he
will have the bill, the whole bill, and nothing but the bill--carried to
my credit. Mr C, on the 10th of February, also expects the novel, the
whole novel, and nothing but the novel, and that must be a fashionable
novel. Look here, Barnstaple. (_Shows his tailor's bill_).
_B_. I see how it is. He "pays your poverty, and not your will."
_A_. And, by your leave, I thus must pay my bill (_bowing_).
_B_. Well, well, I can help you: nothing more difficult than to write a
good novel, and nothing more easy than to write a bad one. If I were
not above the temptation, I could pen you a dozen of the latter every
ordinary year, and thirteen, perhaps, in the bissextile. So banish that
Christmas cloud from your brow; leave off nibbling your pen at the wrong
end, and clap a fresh nib to the right one. I have an hour to spare.
_A_. I thank you: that spare hour of yours may save me many a spare
day. I'm all attention--proceed.
_B_. The first point to be considered is the _tempus_, or time; the
next the _locus_, or place; and lastly the _dramatis personae_ and thus,
chapter upon chapter, will you build a novel.
_A_. Build!
_B_. Yes, build; you have had your dimensions given, the interior is
left to your own decoration. First, as to the opening. Suppose we
introduce the hero in his dressing-room. We have something of the kind
in Pelham; and if we can't copy his merits, we must his peculiarities.
Besides, it always is effective: a dressing-room or boudoir of supposed
great people, is admitting the vulgar into the arcana, which they
delight in.
_A_. Nothing can be better.
_B_. Then, as to time; as the hero is still in bed, suppose we say four
o'clock in the afternoon?
_A_. In the morning, you mean.
_B_. No; the afternoon. I grant you that fashionable young men in real
life get up much about the same time as other people; but in a
fashionable novel your real exclusive never rises early. The very idea
makes the tradesman's wife lift up her eyes. So begin. "It was about
thirty-three minutes after four, _post meridian_--."
_A_. Minute--to a minute!
_B_. "That the Honourable Augustus Bouverie's finely chiselled--"
_A_. Chiselled!
_B_. Yes; great people are always chiselled; common people are only
cast.--"Finely chiselled head was still recumbent upon his silk-encased
pillow. His luxuriant and Antinous-like curls were now confined in
_papillotes_ of the finest satin paper, and the _tout ensemble_ of his
head--"
_A. Tout ensemble_!
_B_. Yes; go on.--"Was gently compressed by a caul of the finest
net-work, composed of the threads spun from the beauteous production of
the Italian worm."
_A_. Ah! now I perceive--a silk nightcap. But why can't I say at once
a silk nightcap?
_B_. Because you are writing a fashionable novel.--"With the forefinger
of his gloved left hand--"
_A_. But he's not coming in from a walk--he's not yet out of bed.
_B_. You don't understand it.--"Gloved left hand he applied a gentle
friction to the portal of his right eye, which unclosing at the silent
summons, enabled him to perceive a repeater studded with brilliants, and
ascertain the exact minute of time, which we have already made known to
the reader, and at which our history opens."
_A_. A very grand opening indeed!
_B_. Not more than it ought to be for a fashionable novel.--"At the
sound of a silver _clochette_, his faithful Swiss valet Coridon, who had
for some time been unperceived at the door, waiting for some notice of
his master, having thrown off the empire of Somnus, in his light pumps,
covered with beaver, moved with noiseless step up to the bedside, like
the advance of eve stealing over the face of nature."
_A_. Rather an incongruous simile.
_B_. Not for a fashionable novel.--"There he stood, like Taciturnity
bowing at the feet of proud Authority."
_A_. Indeed, Barnstaple, that is too _outre_.
_B_. Not a whit: I am in the true "Cambysis' vein."--"Coridon having
softly withdrawn the rose-coloured gros de Naples bed-curtains, which by
some might have been thought to have been rather too extravagantly
fringed with the finest Mechlin lace, exclaimed with a tone of tremulous
deference and affection, `_Monsieur a bien dormi_?' `Coridon,' said the
Honourable Augustus Bouverie, raising himself on his elbow in that
eminently graceful attitude for which he was so remarkable when
reclining on the ottomans at Almacks--"
_A_. Are you sure they have ottomans there?
_B_. No; but your readers can't disprove it.--"`Coridon,' said he,
surveying his attendant from head to foot, and ultimately assuming a
severity of countenance, `Coridon, you are becoming gross, if not
positively what the people call _fat_.' The Swiss attendant fell back
in graceful astonishment three steps, and arching his eyebrows,
extending his inverted palms forward, and raising his shoulders above
the apex of his head, exclaimed, `_Pardon, milor, j'en aurais un horreur
parfait_.' `I tell you,' replied our gracefully recumbent hero, `that
it is so, Coridon; and I ascribe it to your partiality for that
detestable wine called Port. Confine yourself to Hock and Moselle,
sirrah: I fear me, you have a base hankering after mutton and beef.
Restrict yourself to salads, and do not sin even with an omelette more
than once a week. Coridon must be visionary and diaphanous, or he is no
Coridon for me. Remove my night-gloves, and assist me to rise: it is
past four o'clock, and the sun must have, by this time, sufficiently
aired this terrestrial globe.'"
_A_. I have it now; I feel I could go on for an hour.
_B_. Longer than that, before you get him out of his dressing-room.
You must make at least five chapters before he is apparelled, or how can
you write a fashionable novel, in which you cannot afford more than two
incidents in the three volumes? Two are absolutely necessary for the
editor of the Gazette to extract as specimens, before he winds up an
eulogy. Do you think that you can proceed now for a week, without my
assistance?
_A_. I think so, if you will first give me some general ideas. In the
first place, am I always to continue in this style?
_B_. No; I thought you knew better. You must throw in patches of
philosophy every now and then.
_A_. Philosophy in a fashionable novel?
_B_. Most assuredly, or it would be complained of as trifling; but a
piece, now and then, of philosophy, as unintelligible as possible,
stamps it with deep thought. In the dressing-room, or boudoir, it must
be occasionally Epicurean; elsewhere, especially in the open air, more
Stoical.
_A_. I'm afraid that I shall not manage that without a specimen to copy
from. Now I think of it, Eugene Aram says something very beautiful on a
starry night.
_B_. He does: it is one of the most splendid pieces of writing in our
language. But I will have no profanation, Arthur;--to your pen again,
and write. We'll suppose our hero to have retired from the crowded
festivities of a ball-room at some lordly mansion in the country, and to
have wandered into a churchyard, damp and dreary with a thick London
fog. In the light dress of fashion, he throws himself on a tombstone.
"Ye dead!" exclaims the hero, "where are ye? Do your disembodied
spirits now float around me, and, shrouded in this horrible veil of
nature, glare unseen upon vitality? Float ye upon this intolerable
mist, in yourselves still more misty and intolerable? Hold ye high
jubilee to-night? or do ye crouch behind these monitorial stones,
gibbering and chattering at one who dares thus to invade your precincts?
Here may I hold communion with my soul, and, in the invisible presence
of those who could, but dare not to reveal. Away! it must not be."
_A_. What mustn't be?
_B_. That is the mystery which gives the point to his soliloquy. Leave
it to the reader's imagination.
_A_. I understand. But still the Honourable Augustus cannot lie in bed
much longer, and I really shall not be able to get him out without your
assistance. I do not comprehend how a man can get out of bed
_gracefully_; he must show his bare legs, and the alteration of position
is in itself awkward.
_B_. Not half so awkward as you are. Do you not feel that he must not
be got out of bed at all--that is, by description.
_A_. How then?
_B_. By saying nothing about it. Recommence as follows:--"`I should
like the bath at seventy-six and a half, Coridon,' observed the
Honourable Augustus Bouverie, as he wrapped his embroidered dressing
gown round his elegant form, and sank into a _chaise longue_, wheeled by
his faithful attendant to the fire." There, you observe, he is out of
bed, and nothing said about it.
_A_. Go on, I pray thee.
_A_. "`How is the bath perfumed?' `_Eau de mille fleurs_.' `_Eau de
mille fleurs_! Did not I tell you last week that I was tired of that
villainous compound? It has been adulterated till nothing remains but
its name. Get me another bath immediately _a la violette_; and,
Coridon, you may use that other scent, if there is any left, for the
poodle; but observe, only when _you_ take him an airing, not when he
goes with _me_.'"
_A_. Excellent! I now feel the real merits of an exclusive; but you
said something about dressing-room, or in-door philosophy.
_B_. I did; and now is a good opportunity to introduce it. Coridon
goes into the ante-chamber to renew the bath, and of course your hero
has met with a disappointment in not having the bath to his immediate
pleasure. He must press his hands to his forehead. By-the-by,
recollect that his forehead, when you describe it, must be high and
white as snow: all aristocratical foreheads are--at least, are in a
fashionable novel.
_A_. What! the women's and all?
_B_. The heroine's must be; the others you may lower as a contrast.
But to resume with the philosophy. He strikes his forehead, lifts his
eyes slowly up to the ceiling, and drops his right arm as slowly down by
the side of the _chaise longue_; and then in a voice so low that it
might have been considered a whisper, were it not for its clear and
brilliant intonation, he exclaims--
_A_. Exclaims in a whisper!
_B_. To be sure; you exclaim mentally, why should you not in a whisper?
_A_. I perceive--your argument is unanswerable.
_B_. Stop a moment; it will run better thus:--"The Honourable Augustus
Bouverie no sooner perceived himself alone, than he felt the dark shades
of melancholy ascending and brooding over his mind, and enveloping his
throbbing heart in their--their _adamantine_ chains. Yielding to the
overwhelming force, he thus exclaimed, `Such is life--we require but one
flower, and we are offered noisome thousands--refused that we wish, we
live in loathing of that not worthy to be received--mourners from our
cradle to our grave, we utter the shrill cry at our birth, and we sink
in oblivion with the faint, wail of terror. Why should we, then, ever
commit the folly to be happy?'"
_A_. Hang me, but that's a poser!
_B_. Nonsense! hold your tongue; it is only preparatory to the end.
"Conviction astonishes and torments--destiny prescribes and falsifies--
attraction drives us away--humiliation supports our energies. Thus do
we recede into the present, and shudder at the Elysium of posterity."
_A_. I have written all that down, Barnstaple; but I cannot understand
it, upon my soul!
_B_. If you had understood one particle, that particle I would have
erased. This is your true philosophy of a fashionable novel, the
extreme interest of which consists in its being unintelligible. People
have such an opinion of their own abilities, that if they understood
you, they would despise you; but a dose like this strikes them with
veneration for your talents.
_A_. Your argument is unanswerable; but you said that I must describe
the dressing-room.
_B_. Nothing more easy; as a simile, compare it to the shrine of some
favoured saint in a richly-endowed Catholic church. Three tables at
least, full of materials in methodised confusion--all tending to the
beautification of the human form divine. Tinted perfumes in every
variety of cut crystal receivers, gold and silver. If at a loss, call
at Bayley and Blew's, or Smith's in Bond Street. Take an accurate
survey of all you see, and introduce your whole catalogue. You cannot
be too minute. But, Arthur, you must not expect me to write the whole
book for you.
_A_. Indeed I am not so exorbitant in my demands upon your good-nature;
but observe, I may get up four or five chapters already with the hints
you have given me, but I do not know how to move, such a creation of the
brain--so ethereal, that I fear he will melt away; and so fragile, that
I am in terror lest he fall to pieces. Now only get him into the
breakfast-room for me, and then I ask no more for the present. Only
dress him, and bring him _down stairs_.
_B_. There again you prove your incapability. Bring him down stairs!
Your hero of a fashionable novel never ascends to the first floor.
Bed-room, dressing-room, breakfast-room, library, and boudoir, all are
upon a level. As for his dressing, you must only describe it as perfect
when finished; but not enter into a regular detail, except that, in
conversation with his valet, he occasionally asks for something
unheard-of, or fastidious to a degree. You must not walk him from one
chamber to another, but manage it as follows:--"It was not until the
beautiful airs of the French clock that decorated the mantel-piece had
been thrice played, with all their variations, that the Honourable
Augustus Bouverie entered his library, where he found his assiduous
Coridon burning an aromatic pastille to disperse the compound of
villainous exhalations arising from the condensed metropolitan
atmosphere. Once more in a state of repose, to the repeated and almost
affecting solicitations of his faithful attendant, who alternately
presented to him the hyson of Pekoe, the bohea of Twankay, the fragrant
berry from the Asiatic shore, and the frothing and perfumed decoction of
the Indian nut, our hero shook his head in denial, until he at last was
prevailed upon to sip a small liqueur glass of _eau sucre_." The fact
is, Arthur, he is in love--don't you perceive? Now introduce a friend,
who rallies him--then a resolution to think no more of the heroine--a
billet on a golden salver--a counter resolution--a debate which equipage
to order--a decision at last--hat, gloves, and furred great coat--and by
that time you will have arrived to the middle of the first volume.
_A_. I perceive; but I shall certainly stick there without your
assistance.
_B_. You shall have it, my dear fellow. In a week I will call again,
and see how you get on. Then we'll introduce the heroine; that, I can
tell you, requires some tact--_au revoir_.
_A_. Thanks, many thanks, my dear Barnstaple. Fare you well.
_Exit_ BARNSTAPLE.
_A (looking over his memoranda_.)--It will do! (_Hopping and dancing
about the room_.) Hurrah! my tailor's bill will be paid after all!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PART II.
MR ARTHUR ANSARD'S _Chambers as before_. MR ANSARD. _with his eyes
fixed upon the wig block, gnawing the feather end of his pen. The
table, covered with sundry sheets of foolscap, show strong symptoms of
the Novel progressing_.
ANSARD (_solus_).
Where is Barnstaple? If he do not come soon, I shall have finished my
novel without a heroine. Well, I'm not the first person who has been
foiled by a woman. (_Continues to gnaw his pen in a brown study_.)
BARNSTAPLE _enters unperceived, and slaps_ ANSARD _on the shoulder. The
latter starts up_.
_B_. So, friend Ansard, making your dinner off your pen: it is not
every novel-writer who can contrive to do that even in anticipation.
Have you profited by my instructions?
_A_. I wish I had. I assure you that this light diet has not
contributed, as might be expected, to assist a heavy head, and one
feather is not sufficient to enable my genius to take wing. If the
public knew what dull work it is to write a novel, they would not be
surprised at finding them dull reading. _Ex nihilo nihil fit_.
Barnstaple, I am at the very bathos of stupidity.
_B_. You certainly were absorbed when I entered, for I introduced
myself.
_A_. I wish you had introduced another personage with you--you would
have been doubly welcome.
_B_. Who is that?
_A_. My heroine. I have followed your instructions to the letter. My
hero is as listless as I fear my readers will be, and he is not yet in
love. In fact, he is only captivated with himself. I have made him
dismiss Coridon.
_B_. Hah! how did you manage that?
_A_. He was sent to ascertain the arms on the panel of a carriage. In
his eagerness to execute his master's wishes, he came home with a
considerable degree of perspiration on his brow, for which offence he
was immediately put out of doors.
_B_. Bravo--it was unpardonable--but still--
_A_. O! I know what you mean--that is all arranged; he has an annuity
of one hundred pounds per annum.
_B_. My dear Ansard, you have exceeded my expectations; but now for the
heroine.
_A_. Yes, indeed; help me--for I have exhausted all my powers.
_B_. It certainly requires much tact to present your heroine to your
readers. We are unfortunately denied what the ancients were so happy to
possess,--a whole _cortege_ of divinities that might be summoned to help
any great personage in, or the author out of, a difficulty; but since we
cannot command their assistance, like the man in the play who forgot his
part, we will do without it. Now, have you thought of nothing new, for
we must not plagiarise even from fashionable novels?
_A_. I have thought--and thought--and can find nothing new, unless we
bring her in in a whirlwind: that has not yet been attempted.
_B_. A whirlwind! I don't know--that's hazardous. Nevertheless, if
she were placed on a beetling cliff, overhanging the tempestuous ocean,
lashing the rocks with its wild surge; of a sudden, after she has been
permitted to finish her soliloquy, a white cloud rising rapidly and
unnoticed--the sudden vacuum--the rush of mighty winds through the
majestic and alpine scenery--the vortex gathering round her--first
admiring the vast efforts of nature; then astonished; and, lastly,
alarmed, as she finds herself compelled to perform involuntary
gyrations, till at length she spins round like a well-whipped top,
nearing the dangerous edge of the precipice. It is bold, and certainly
quite novel--I think it will do. Portray her delicate little feet,
peeping out, pointing downwards, the force of the elements raising her
on her tip toes, now touching, now disdaining the earth. Her dress
expanded wide like that of Herbele in her last and best pirouette--
round, round she goes--her white arms are tossed frantically in the air.
Corinne never threw herself into more graceful attitudes. Now is seen
her diminishing ankle--now the rounded symmetry--mustn't go too high up
though--the wind increases--her distance from the edge of the precipice
decreases--she has no breath left to shriek--no power to fall--
threatened to be ravished by the wild and powerful god of the elements--
she is discovered by the Honourable Augustus Bouverie, who has just
finished his soliloquy upon another adjacent hill. He delights in her
danger--before he rushes to her rescue, makes one pause for the purpose
of admiration, and another for the purpose of adjusting his shirt
collar.
_A_. The devil he does!
_B_. To be sure. The hero of a fashionable novel never loses caste.
Whether in a storm, a whirlwind, up to his neck in the foaming ocean, or
tumbling down a precipice, he is still the elegant and correct
Honourable Augustus Bouverie. To punish you for your interruption, I
have a great mind to make him take a pinch of snuff before he starts.
Well--he flies to her assistance--is himself caught in the rushing
vortex, which prevents him from getting nearer to the lady, and, despite
of himself, takes to whirling in the opposite direction. They
approach--they recede--she shrieks without being heard--holds out her
arms for help--she would drop them in despair, but cannot, for they are
twisted over her head by the tremendous force of the element. One
moment they are near to each other, and the next they are separated; at
one instant they are close to the abyss, and the waters below roar in
delight of their anticipated victims, and in the next a favouring change
of the vortex increases their distance from the danger--there they
spin--and there you may leave them, and commence a new chapter.
_A_. But is not all this naturally and physically impossible?
_B_. By no means; there is nothing supernatural in a whirlwind, and the
effect of a whirlwind is to twist everything round. Why should the
heroine and the Honourable Augustus Bouverie not be submitted to the
laws of nature? besides, we are writing a fashionable novel. Wild and
improbable as this whirlwind may appear, it is within the range of
probability: whereas, that is not at all adhered to in many novels--
witness the drinking scene in --, and others equally _outrees_, in which
the author, having turned probability out of doors, ends by throwing
possibility out of the window--leaving folly and madness to usurp their
place--and play a thousand antics for the admiration of the public, who,
pleased with novelty, cry out "How fine!"
_A_. Buy the book, and laud the author.
_B_. Exactly. Now, having left your hero and heroine in a situation
peculiarly interesting, with the greatest nonchalance, pass over to the
continent, rave on the summit of Mont Blanc, and descant upon the strata
which compose the mountains of the Moon in Central Africa. You have
been philosophical, now you must be geological. No one can then say
that your book is light reading.
_A_. That can be said of few novels. In most of them even smoke
assumes the ponderosity of lead.
_B_. There is a metal still heavier, which they have the power of
creating--gold--to pay a dunning tailor's bill.
_A_. But after being philosophical and geological, ought one not to be
a little moral.
_B_. Pshaw! I thought you had more sense. The great art of
novel-writing is to make the vices glorious, by placing them in close
alliance with redeeming qualities. Depend upon it, Ansard, there is a
deeper, more heartfelt satisfaction that mere amusement in
novel-reading; a satisfaction no less real, because we will not own it
to ourselves; the satisfaction of seeing all our favourite and selfish
ideas dressed up in a garb so becoming, that we persuade ourselves that
our false pride is proper dignity, our ferocity courage, our cowardice
prudence, our irreligion liberality, and our baser appetites, mere
gallantry.
_A_. Very true, Barnstaple; but really I do not like this whirlwind.