AWAKENINGS
When Walpole hurried into the beech alley which he had seen Nina take, and
followed her in all haste, he did not stop to question himself why he did
so. Indeed, if prudence were to be consulted, there was every reason in the
world why he should rather have left his leave-takings to the care of Mr.
Kearney than assume the charge of them himself; but if young gentlemen who
fall in love were only to be logical or ‘consequent,’ the tender passion
would soon lose some of the contingencies which give it much of its charm,
and people who follow such occupations as mine would discover that they had
lost one of the principal employments of their lifetime.
As he went along, however, he bethought him that as it was to say good-bye
he now followed her, it behoved him to blend his leave-taking with that
pledge of a speedy return, which, like the effects of light in landscape,
bring out the various tints in the richest colouring, and mark more
distinctly all that is in shadow. ‘I shall at least see,’ muttered he to
himself, ‘how far my presence here serves to brighten her daily life, and
what amount of gloom my absence will suggest.’ Cecil Walpole was one of a
class--and I hasten to say it is a class--who, if not very lavish of their
own affections, or accustomed to draw largely on their own emotions, are
very fond of being loved themselves, and not only are they convinced that
as there can be nothing more natural or reasonable than to love them, it
is still a highly commendable feature in the person who carries that love
to the extent of a small idolatry, and makes it the business of a life.
To worship the men of this order constitutes in their eyes a species
of intellectual superiority for which they are grateful, and this same
gratitude represents to themselves all of love their natures are capable of
feeling.
He knew thoroughly that Nina was not alone the most beautiful woman he had
ever seen, that the fascinations of her manner, and her grace of movement
and gesture, exercised a sway that was almost magic; that in quickness
to apprehend and readiness to reply, she scarcely had an equal; and that
whether she smiled, or looked pensive, or listened, or spoke, there was
an absorbing charm about her that made one forget all else around her,
and unable to see any but her; and yet, with all this consciousness, he
recognised no trait about her so thoroughly attractive as that she admired
_him_.
Let me not be misunderstood. This same sentiment can be at times something
very different from a mere egotism--not that I mean to say it was such in
the present case. Cecil Walpole fully represented the order he belonged to,
and was a most well-looking, well-dressed, and well-bred young gentleman,
only suggesting the reflection that, to live amongst such a class pure and
undiluted, would be little better than a life passed in the midst of French
communism.
I have said that, after his fashion, he was ‘in love’ with her, and so,
after his fashion, he wanted to say that he was going away, and to tell her
not to be utterly disconsolate till he came back again. ‘I can imagine,’
thought he, ‘how I made her life here, how, in developing the features that
attract _me_, I made her a very different creature to herself.’
It was not at all unpleasant to him to think that the people who should
surround her were so unlike himself. ‘The barbarians,’ as he courteously
called them to himself, ‘will be very hard to endure. Nor am I very sorry
for it, only she must catch nothing of their traits in accommodating
herself to their habits. On that I must strongly insist. Whether it be by
singing their silly ballads--that four-note melody they call “Irish music,”
or through mere imitation, she has already caught a slight accent of the
country. She must get rid of this. She will have to divest herself of all
her “Kilgobbinries” ere I present her to my friends in town.’ Apart from
these disparagements, she could, as he expressed it, ‘hold her own,’ and
people take a very narrow view of the social dealings of the world, who
fail to see how much occasion a woman has for the exercise of tact and
temper and discretion and ready-wittedness and generosity in all the
well-bred intercourse of life. Just as Walpole had arrived at that stage of
reflection to recognise that she was exactly the woman to suit him and push
his fortunes with the world, he reached a part of the wood where a little
space had been cleared, and a few rustic seats scattered about to make a
halting-place. The sound of voices caught his ear, and he stopped, and now,
looking stealthily through the brushwood, he saw Gorman O’Shea as he lay in
a lounging attitude on a bench and smoked his cigar, while Nina Kostalergi
was busily engaged in pinning up the skirt of her dress in a festoon
fashion, which, to Cecil’s ideas at least, displayed more of a marvellously
pretty instep and ankle than he thought strictly warranted. Puzzling as
this seemed, the first words she spoke gave the explanation.
[Illustration: Nina Kostalergi was busily engaged in pinning up the skirt
of her dress]
‘Don’t flatter yourself, most valiant soldier, that you are going to teach
me the “Czardasz.” I learned it years ago from Tassilo Esterhazy; but I
asked you to come here to set me right about that half-minuet step that
begins it. I believe I have got into the habit of doing the man’s part, for
I used to be Pauline Esterhazy’s partner after Tassilo went away.’
‘You had a precious dancing-master in Tassilo,’ growled out O’Shea. ‘The
greatest scamp in the Austrian army.’
‘I know nothing of the moralities of the Austrian army, but the count was a
perfect gentleman, and a special friend of mine.’
‘I am sorry for it,’ was the gruff rejoinder.
‘You have nothing to grieve for, sir. You have no vested interest to be
imperilled by anything that I do.’
‘Let us not quarrel, at all events,’ said he, as he arose with some
alacrity and flung away his cigar; and Walpole turned away, as little
pleased with what he had heard as dissatisfied with himself for having
listened. ‘And we call these things accidents,’ muttered he; ‘but I believe
Fortune means more generously by us when she crosses our path in this wise.
I almost wish I had gone a step farther, and stood before them. At least
it would have finished this episode, and without a word. As it is, a mere
phrase will do it--the simple question as to what progress she makes in
dancing will show I know all. But do I know all?’ Thus speculating and
ruminating, he went his way till he reached the carriage, and drove off at
speed, for the first time in his life, really and deeply in love!
He made his journey safely, and arrived at Holyhead by daybreak. He had
meant to go over deliberately all that he should say to the Viceroy, when
questioned, as he expected to be, on the condition of Ireland. It was an
old story, and with very few variations to enliven it.
How was it that, with all his Irish intelligence well arranged in his
mind--the agrarian crime, the ineffective police, the timid juries,
the insolence of the popular press, and the arrogant demands of the
priesthood--how was it that, ready to state all these obstacles to right
government, and prepared to show that it was only by ‘out-jockeying’ the
parties, he could hope to win in Ireland still, that Greek girl, and what
he called her perfidy, would occupy a most disproportionate share of his
thoughts, and a larger place in his heart also? The simple truth is, that
though up to this Walpole found immense pleasure in his flirtation with
Nina Kostalergi, yet his feeling for her now was nearer love than anything
he had experienced before. The bare suspicion that a woman could jilt him,
or the possible thought that a rival could be found to supplant him, gave,
by the very pain it occasioned, such an interest to the episode, that he
could scarcely think of anything else. That the most effectual way to deal
with the Greek was to renew his old relations with his cousin Lady Maude
was clear enough. ‘At least I shall seem to be the traitor,’ thought he,
‘and she shall not glory in the thought of having deceived _me_.’ While he
was still revolving these thoughts, he arrived at the castle, and learned
as he crossed the door that his lordship was impatient to see him.
Lord Danesbury had never been a fluent speaker in public, while in private
life a natural indolence of disposition, improved, so to say, by an Eastern
life, had made him so sparing of his words, that at times when he was
ill or indisposed he could never be said to converse at all, and his
talk consisted of very short sentences strung loosely together, and not
unfrequently so ill-connected as to show that an unexpressed thought very
often intervened between the uttered fragments. Except to men who, like
Walpole, knew him intimately, he was all but unintelligible. The private
secretary, however, understood how to fill up the blanks in any discourse,
and so follow out indications which, to less practised eyes, left no
footmarks behind them.
His Excellency, slowly recovering from a sharp attack of gout, was propped
by pillows, and smoking a long Turkish pipe, as Cecil entered the room and
saluted him. ‘Come at last,’ was his lordship’s greeting. ‘Ought to have
been here weeks ago. Read that.’ And he pushed towards him a _Times_,
with a mark on the margin: ‘To ask the Secretary for Ireland whether the
statement made by certain newspapers in the North of a correspondence
between the Castle authorities and the Fenian leader was true, and whether
such correspondence could be laid on the table of the House?’
‘Read it out,’ cried the Viceroy, as Walpole conned over the paragraph
somewhat slowly to himself.
‘I think, my lord, when you have heard a few words of explanation from me,
you will see that this charge has not the gravity these newspaper-people
would like to attach to it.’
‘Can’t be explained--nothing could justify--infernal blunder--and must go.’
‘Pray, my lord, vouchsafe me even five minutes.’
‘See it all--balderdash--explain nothing--Cardinal more offended than the
rest--and here, read.’ And he pushed a letter towards him, dated Downing
Street, and marked private. ‘The idiot you left behind you has been
betrayed into writing to the rebels and making conditions with them. To
disown him now is not enough.’
‘Really, my lord, I don’t see why I should submit to the indignity of
reading more of this.’
His Excellency crushed the letter in his hand, and puffed very vigorously
at his pipe, which was nearly extinguished. ‘Must go,’ said he at last, as
a fresh volume of smoke rolled forth.
‘That I can believe--that I can understand, my lord. When you tell me you
cease to endorse my pledges, I feel I am a bankrupt in your esteem.’
‘Others smashed in the same insolvency--inconceivable blunder--where was
Cartwright?--what was Holmes about? No one in Dublin to keep you out of
this cursed folly?’
‘Until your lordship’s patience will permit me to say a few words, I cannot
hope to justify my conduct.’
‘No justifying--no explaining--no! regular smash and complete disgrace.
Must go.’
‘I am quite ready to go. Your Excellency has no need to recall me to the
necessity.’
‘Knew it all--and against my will, too--said so from the first--thing I
never liked--nor see my way in. Must go--must go.’
‘I presume, my lord, I may leave you now. I want a bath and a cup of
coffee.’
‘Answer that!’ was the gruff reply, as he tossed across the table a few
lines signed, ‘Bertie Spencer, Private Secretary.’
‘“I am directed to request that Mr. Walpole will enable the Right
Honourable Mr. Annihough to give the flattest denial to the inclosed.”’
‘That must be done at once,’ said the Viceroy, as the other ceased to read
the note.
‘It is impossible, my lord; I cannot deny my own handwriting.’
‘Annihough will find some road out of it,’ muttered the other. ‘_You_ were
a fool, and mistook your instructions, or the _constable_ was a fool and
required a misdirection, or the _Fenian_ was a fool, which he would have
been if he gave the pledge you asked for. Must go, all the same.’
‘But I am quite ready to go, my lord,’ rejoined Walpole angrily. ‘There is
no need to insist so often on that point.’
‘Who talks--who thinks of _you_, sir?’ cried the other, with an irritated
manner. ‘I speak of myself. It is _I_ must resign--no great sacrifice,
perhaps, after all; stupid office, false position, impracticable people.
Make them all Papists to-morrow, and ask to be Hindus. They’ve got the
land, and not content if they can’t shoot the landlords!’
‘If you think, my lord, that by any personal explanation of mine, I could
enable the Minister to make his answer in the House more plausible--’
‘Leave the plausibility to himself, sir,’ and then he added, half aloud,
‘he’ll be unintelligible enough without _you_. There, go, and get some
breakfast--come back afterwards, and I’ll dictate my letter of resignation.
Maude has had a letter from Atlee. Shrewd fellow, Atlee--done the thing
well.’
As Walpole was near the door, his Excellency said, ‘You can have Guatemala,
if they have not given it away. It will get you out of Europe, which is the
first thing, and with the yellow fever it may do more.’
‘I am profoundly grateful, my lord,’ said he, bowing low.
‘Maude, of course, would not go, so it ends _that_.’
‘I am deeply touched by the interest your lordship vouchsafes to my
concerns.’
‘Try and live five years, and you’ll have a retiring allowance. The last
fellow did, but was eaten by a crocodile out bathing.’ And with this he
resumed his _Times_, and turned away, while Walpole hastened off to his
room, in a frame of mind very far from comfortable or reassuring.